TheKitchenSinkRecipes.com

After a lovely, cozy dinner with some friends last night, one of our guests asked me when, exactly, my life was ending. I missed only about a half a beat before responding, “Oh, you mean when do I start working this fall?” I gave the answer (late September) and realized that I had apparently been talking about my transition from studenthood to lawyerdom in fairly bleak (okay, perhaps apocalyptic) terms.

And surely it will not be quite so bad. But it will probably mean an end to weeknight dinner parties (sniff) and my weeknight menu aspirations will likely need to downsize. Before I get too woe-is me, though, there are also a million things I am excited about, in terms of working, and plenty of things I will not miss about student life. I am just saying that Monday night dinner parties are decidedly not one of the student-lifestyle features I won’t miss.

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Sandwiches are my idea of the perfect meal. I think many consider them a strictly lunch thing, but I would happily eat them for breakfast (like a bagel slathered with cream cheese and scattered with onions and capers, or an egg white omelet stuffed between two slices of multigrain) and dinner (thinly sliced flank steak or roasted vegetables or, oooh-I-know, both). Every day. One of my favorite parts of my neighborhood (other than the market I mentioned yesterday) is that it’s home to many, many, many quality sandwich purveyors. And I’ve been known to spend entire vacations seeking out a city’s or region’s best sandwich (a road trip up the West Coast provided particularly fertile terrain for such an endeavor).

And, chances are, on a Saturday around noon, you can find me whipping up a homemade sandwich. And, while I admit that I’m a turkey sandwich kind of girl, I occasionally diverge. Good thing, too, because a turkey sandwich—even one as completely out-of-this-world as mine (right, Kev?)—never seems to merit a blog post. By contrast, the homemade sandwich that grazed our lunch plates this Saturday was decidedly worth a blog post.

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Two things I mentioned yesterday factor heavily into today’s post too. First, the weather. Whoa it is cold. We are being mocked for enjoying the holiday season so much, apparently. Second, the new pot in my life. And the final element that completes the picture above was the fact that New Years Day, like a Sunday, calls for a meal that gives your day some purpose, but doesn’t have you chained to the kitchen all day. Something that you can invest in and something that will result in a soothing, memorable meal. But a menu that doesn’t hold it against you that you enjoyed one too many glasses of champagne the night before and thus need to put in some major couch time. Hypothetically.

A braise is just the thing to satisfy these New Years Day criteria: a braise takes hours, but requires very minimal attention, and the magic it works on short ribs—rendering them into fall-apart loveliness—is certainly comforting and memorable. Especially when it’s very, very cold out (okay, I promise to stop whining and start acting like the Minnesotan-turn-Chicagoan that I am) and when you’ve got the perfect new vessel for braising (that’d be the aforementioned dutch oven that I am obviously just way too excited about).

This meal also gave me a chance to re-create the lettuce wraps that I made for a holiday party in December. You see, when I made them then, I threw a little of this and a pinch of that into the pot and was delighted when they turned out to be delicious. But my delight quickly gave way to dismay when I realized I wasn’t exactly sure what I’d done. This time around, I diligently measured and took notes and I think the result was even better.

And after a holiday season of heavy, decadent bite-sized treats, these bright, flavorful and light wraps are a welcome change. But I’m not ready to give up hearty, hibernation-worthy food like the braised short ribs just yet. I’d like those kind of dishes to stick around—and stick to my ribs—for at least another couple months. Even if my better judgment has me serving lightly stir-fried, garlicky and fiery baby bok choy along the side.

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As I’ve mentioned a couple of times, I’m in the middle of final exams. While I’m moving into the home-strech now, last week was pretty busy. Because of that (and as I’ve also mentioned), our kitchen was a little under-utilized last week. One exception, though: family dinner. I really didn’t want to cancel on my sister, who comes over once a week for dinner. But I also couldn’t bear the thought of planning a menu, grocery shopping and prepping. Frankly, the Uniform Commercial Code had ruined my appetite.

So, we set a tentative night for family dinner (Tuesday) and all agreed that we’d play it by ear. By Tuesday afternoon, I still hadn’t made a call. While I would’ve gladly swapped text books for cookbooks and traded in my computer for a cutting board, I didn’t think I could afford the time away from studying. We were this close to pulling the plug. There would always be plenty of time for family dinners in 2008, right?

But, it was Ali to the rescue! My sister saved the family dinner by planning the menu (fajitas and fixins) and doing the shopping. She even braved Whole Foods for me (no fewer than five phone calls were exchanged for additional guidance). Then she hauled all the groceries over to our place on the bus (after waiting in the rain at the bus stop). When she got here (after toweling off—it was really raining), she unloaded the groceries and started chopping veggies and chicken (yes, mom, Ali was slicing and dicing raw chicken). By the time I finished studying and Kevin got home from work, dinner was well under way.

By the time we sat down to eat—with our tortillas bulging with spicy, smoky peppers and chicken, salsa and guacamole—all thoughts of good faith purchasers for value and the fiduciary duties had disapppeared. It was a family dinner fiesta! And it was just the re-charge I needed.

There’s nothing novel, fancy or complicated about these recipes. In fact, I’m sure mine resemble many of yours. But there’s something wonderful about a meal that involves recipes you know by heart and that you can put together with your eyes closed. And something completely nourishing about sharing them with people you love.

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I’m sure that most Americans couldn’t possibly bear the sight of a roasted bird a mere two days after Thanksgiving.  But I didn’t cook Thanksgiving dinner and in fact arrived to my dinner destination after the turkey had already been pulled from the oven.  So, I don’t mind writing about roasted chicken today.  Especially one this spectacular.

When I first started cooking, the thought of trimming the excess fat off a boneless, skinless chicken breast was enough to make my heart thump.  And any red meat?  Forget about it.  While I quickly overcame these fears in my early cooking days, I still couldn’t fathom dealing with an entire chicken.  In fact, I averted my eyes at the butcher’s counter, much preferring the already dismembered parts. So I was shocked when a certain roasted chicken recipe—from San Francisco’s Zuni Café cookbook—began to pique my interest.  At the time, the recipe got a lot of discussion on Chowhound.com’s Home Cooking message board.  The marvels and swooning over this particular recipe finally got to me.  I had to try it. 

The key to this recipe is the pre-salting and the high heat.  Because this was the first roasted chicken recipe I’ve tried, I can’t speak to how it measures up to others.  And this recipe will probably be the last roasted chicken recipe I try because it’s that good.  And because my husband would certainly revolt if I abandoned his beloved bird (which we refer to as simply “Zuni”). 

From the very first time I tried it, the recipe has not disappointed.  Every time, the chicken comes out golden and crisped on the outside, with incredibly flavorful and succulent pieces of chicken.  This is how chicken is meant to taste. I typically surround the chicken with thinly sliced potato rounds, which fry in the chicken drippings—a tip I picked up from one of the Chowhound Zuni faithful.  The potatoes are extremely decadent and I usually can’t justify having more than one or two rounds, but my husband has no problem polishing off hefty mound.  Served with a pile of spicy greens, it is a simply perfect dinner. 

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