
To be extra cheesy, either shape your pizza into a heart shape. Or just add more mozzarella and parmesan. Hyuk hyuk.
Now that I’m thirty-something and have a permanent Valentine, Valentine’s Day has turned into a consumer-driven joke of a holiday. It’s not even really a holiday. We all still have to go to work on Tuesday. Double-lame.
I realize this post is sounding cynical. But in reality, I feel like every day should celebrate those we love. Not just spouses and significant others but parents, cousins, friends, and pets. Why should it be just one day a year that we do something nice for those we love? Indeed, Valentine’s Day exists only to make Americans waste their money on bouquets and stuffed bears and to make the singles feel worse. Bah humbug.
People ask me what my husband and I are doing for V-Day. A few years ago, I enjoyed going out to a nice restaurant. Then it would be just going out to any restaurant and engaging in the act of conversation and communion together. This year, I just want to cook a meal at home with my hubby.
Last time, I gave you lamb chops. But if you’re not that fancy food kind of person, here’s a less expensive yet just as tasty alternative. What is more romantic than Italian food? Ever since we bought a bread machine, we’ve enjoyed making our own pizza dough at home. The possibilities are endless for pizza—you can virtually top it with anything you see lying around in your fridge. That’s the beauty of it. Lately, my favorite toppings for homemade pizza are prosciutto, arugula, and fresh mozzarella. After our pie at San Francisco’s Pizzeria Delfina, I became a fan of arugula. I used to dislike this leafy green because of its bitterness, but now I find the dry taste a good balance to richer, fattier foods (like prosciutto). Maybe I’m all growns up now. **Tear**
If you get the right fresh ingredients, this simple pizza will blow you away. So go ahead, score some points with your Valentine by way of the stomach. Or if you’re single, indulge yourself. If the Blind can Cook it, so can you. Buon appetito!
For me, I adore lamb. And not just because it used to be a cute cuddly hand puppet (I say “used to” because it’s now a juicy pink piece of meat on my plate) but because it tastes pretty darn good. But because it’s expensive, I’d always been intimidated to try it at home. But during a recent trip to Costco, I couldn’t resist. Into our cart went a half rack of lamb (which yields about 7 bones) for $22. After tinkering around online, I found a surefire recipe online. The only thing I changed was to omit the bread crumbs since John was eating low carbs.
Before cooking this, you MUST have a meat or food thermometer. It is vital to cooking all meats—you cannot cook a perfect steak, pot roast, turkey, prime rib, or rack of lamb without one. I just got my digital thermometer at Target, and it’s served me fine. For convenience, buy one with a timer and a alarm option for when it reaches a certain temperature. That way, you can set it to ___°F and go watch “Jersey Shore” until it beeps and announces your rump roast is ready. (Just kidding—don’t watch “Jersey Shore.”)
So here is an easy way to cook a rack of lamb. Try it next time for a special occasion. It makes for a beautiful presentation, especially when served with some colorful vegetables like asparagus and purple potatoes. Remember, if the Blind can Cook it, so can you.

Smashingly delicious.
Indeed I found them in the potato section of H-E-B, and John kindly reminded me that he’d suggested I try these purple potatoes long ago but that I was initially repulsed by the idea of my spuds looking like Barney. Alas, I’ve changed my mind.
I was so enamored with purple potatoes that I wrote a Ingredient of the Week post for Eating Our Words, and now I present to you a simple yet delicious method for preparing these smashingly good smashed purple potatoes. Remember, if the Blind can Cook it, so can you.
It’s that time of the year again. You want to enjoy the chilly weather, the Noel season, the gatherings with loved ones, hot chocolate, eggnog, hot pot, turkeys and hams and pot roasts what have you. But what ends up happening is you’re lying in bed next to Death, shivering and sweaty and feverish and pissed. Why is it that the flu is so common during colder weather? My mama used to always warn me if I didn’t wear my jacket and gloves and thermals, I’d get sick. But I’ve heard that being cold is not the culprit—it’s the cold weather driving everyone closer together in a huddle which thereby spreads germs much more quickly and easily. Does anyone know if that’s true?
Either way, cold weather equates to more people coughing and sneezing and getting the flu. Earlier this year at the tail end of flu season, I wrote an article for Houston Press about which things we can ingest or imbibe to fight the flu. I thought it would be fitting to link to the article now that it’s season again.
Despite my compromised immune system from the Neuromyelitis Optica (NMO) and Rituxan treatments, my neurologist told me to get the flu shot this year, saying the benefits outweigh the risks. (I got mine at CVS for $30. You can get them at most pharmacies or at your doctor’s office. Most health insurance policies will cover the flu shot, too, so what’s there to lose?) Good thing because my husband has been sick twice this season already. I hope you can avoid the flu this year, but in the case that it catches you, read my post entitled ”What to Feed That Flu”, and you should be back on your feet in no time. Say “hi-yah!” Miss Piggy-style to that virus.
First, you make turkey stock. Duh! Then, you use that stock to make turkey congee.
Every Asian country has its own version of rice porridge. It’s the ultimate Asian comfort food. Think of the Americans with their chicken noodle soup. Well, the Asians have their rice porridge. It’s what you feed someone under the weather. I admit I used to hate congee or chao (as it’s called in Vietnamese) because it was all my mama let me eat when I was sick. Incidentally, I grew to associate congee only with illness. Of course it left a negative impression on me. But now that I’ve got no mama to cook me homemade congee, I had to roll up my sleeves and do it myself. Now I don’t necessarily eat congee just when I’m sick; I’ll eat it when it’s cold out. (Speaking of which, Houston is finally starting to feel like winter. Yippee!) I eat it because it’s hearty, warm, and best of all, simple to make. I almost always have the ingredients on hand to make congee, but even if I don’t, the great thing about congee is its versatility. You can just about throw anything into it. Perhaps the only requirement is stock or broth and rice. (I’ve even seen some people cook congee with plain water but I don’t recommend this—too plain.)
So read on, and learn how to make turkey stock with that leftover carcass and then, subsequently, turkey congee. And remember, if the Blind can Cook it, so can you. Happy winter eating!
The last time I posted an urban garden update, it was before Houston hit its hottest time of year–that is, the month of August. This year’s summer has had record-breaking heat, record-breaking lack of rain. For every single day in August (and I’m not even exaggerating), we had highs above 100, and I can only recall one morning when it sprinkled. You can imagine how desert-like our city has become.
The drought and extreme heat have not left our garden very viable. In fact, the only thing that seems to be thriving is our Thai basil which, I guess, thinks it’s back at home with this climate. Most everything else has withered like a great-grandma’s toes. I recently wrote a piece for Eating Our Words about what we can do to drought-proof our urban gardens (or at least make it drought-resistant). Got any tips on how to protect your crops from this crazy weather? Help us turn our brown thumbs green, and share the knowledge. Click on the link below to read my Houston Press post.
My husband received a homebrew kit from his brother for Christmas last year, but the idea of brewing our own beer at home was daunting. Combined with the crazy high temperatures we’ve had this year, homebrewing, we knew, was not going to be an easy task. Why we decided to start brewing in the dead heat of summer is beyond me, but the more challenges, the more interesting the life, no?
John has been into craft beers for the past couple of years, and he’s gotten me enjoying beer, too. I’m no connoisseur nor do I ever think I’ll be, but I now prefer a richer, darker beer than your average Miller Light. We brewed our first batch of beer last month, and as with anything one does for the first time, there were many errors and many lessons from which to learn. I wrote a recent blog post about it for Eating Our Words. Check it out and let me know in the comments section for this entry if you have any tips or thoughts. Enjoy!

It’s been six months since we planted the first of our urban garden. Since then, we’ve expanded a little; the backyard is now home to all the original herbs–rosemary, parsley, thyme, cilantro, and oregano–in addition to the original broccoli heads. In February, we purchased lemon and lime trees, roma tomato plants, Italian basil, and Thai basil. We had to show up bright and early at the nursery and elbow all the old people out of the way to get to the tomatoes and basil–those things sell like hotcakes. We were happy to get our hands on some but ended up destroying so many of them anyway. So here are the lessons learned during the first six months of our brown-thumb urban gardening.
TOP 5 BROWN-THUMB LESSONS LEARNED IN THE FIRST SIX MONTHS
John is already talking about building another garden bed–the Beta Bed, it would be called. This garden bed would be built from scratch (rather than from the Costco kit) so that exact dimensions are achieved at a fraction of the cost. In this Beta Bed, we will employ all of our lessons learned in the first six months of urban gardening and try our hand at bettering our brown thumbs–maybe they can become beige. We’ll use the correct dirt, give plants enough space, use an efficient crop rotation. Check back later for more updates.
Since we are in the throes of crawfish season (which lasts from January to June), I decided to do this post. Crawfish (or crayfish or crawdaddy, as they’re known in other parts of the country) are little shellfish that resemble tiny lobsters. Here in the dirty South, we call them crawfish. They are little “mudbugs” that live in the swamps, and yes, while this sounds disgusting, they are actually delicious when cooked Cajun-style.
First, let’s define Cajun cuisine. Often, it’s confused with Creole cuisine, but there is, in fact, a difference per se. The Creoles were wealthy planters who settled in southern Louisiana with their European chefs, thus it is a food of aristocracy. Using Old World techniques on indigenous ingredients, Creole cuisine was born. Bouillabaisse, native to Provence, gave way to gumbo; the Spanish paella was the basis for jambalaya; and so on.
The Cajuns, on the other hand, descended from the Acadian refugees. They were less aristocratic and more agrarian; they cooked simple “one pot” dishes for mere sustenance. Cajun food is usually characterized by such ingredients as wild game, seafoods, wild vegetables and herbs. Ingredients from nearby swamps, woods, and bayous are typical things found in the Cajun black iron pot.
Today, many Creole and Cajun foods have blended into a melting pot, if you will, of southern Louisiana. One things’ for sure, though: it’s an American cuisine from the South like no other.
A crawfish boil is an event native to Louisiana but over the years has spread to most of the deep South (like my native Houston), and now, it can even be found in California, Colorado, and D.C. But because I’m a Southern girl, I don’t trust eatin’ crawfish nowhere but down he’e. What’s unique and fun about a crawfish boil is the atmosphere. Not only are you grubbin’ on good food, but you do it outside on a picnic table covered with newspaper or butcher paper. You do it over beer. You do it with your bare hands. (Or if you’re prissy like me, with plastic or latex gloves.) Most importantly, you do it with good company–it is NOT to be eaten alone. The crawfish and all the fixin’s are poured straight from the pot onto the middle of the table, and everyone grabs from the steaming pile of awesome goodness.
This recipe is based on one I got from a former coworker who has French roots from southern Louisiana. Whether she’s Creole or Cajun, I have yet to determine, but either way, this recipe is pretty tasty. She and her family do a crawfish boil every year for about a hundred friends and family. I, of course, scaled down the servings and tweaked it a little, but remember that you need to do this with a group. Also, it’s like a half day affair, so make sure you have lots of energy. I haven’t held a crawfish boil myself since 2008 because the purging, cooking, and especially the cleaning up have been too much for this tired soul. But when the best restaurants around town sell crawfish for $7+ per pound, a little DIY is something to consider.

Crazy Cajun crawfish
Summary: From the Melancons of southern Louisiana
Cook the crawfish outdoors using the same pot, basket, and propane burner used for deep-fried turkey.
Many people say the larger the better, but I like medium-sized crawfish best because: (1) they’re easier to peel, and (2) they soak up the spices better.
Use andouille or boudin sausage for an authentic Cajun boil.
Avoid eating the crawfish with straight tails: they went into the pot already dead and could contain harmful bacteria. Stick with the curled tails.
Dipping sauces: I like to eat my crawfish straight up without any dipping sauces as I prefer to taste the essence of the spices. But many people enjoy it with various condiments. The ones I often see are: (1) salt and pepper with fresh lemon juice; (2) mayo mixed with Sriracha (or rooster) hot sauce; and (3) Creole seasoning mixed with fresh lemon juice.
This recipe should serve approx. 10.
The longer the crawfish soak after turning off the fire, the spicier they will be. Soak for a minimum of 20 min.
My favorite crawfish restaurant in Houston is The Boiling Crab. They seem to use a ton of minced garlic on their crawfish, which I may try to emulate next time by upping my minced garlic by ten or something. If you get to this before I do, let me know how it is.
Meal type: dinner
Culinary tradition: USA (Southern)
Microformatting by hRecipe.

Crisphy cha gio on top of a bed of vermicelli
Cha gio, or Vietnamese eggrolls: one of my favorite things to eat. I can make 100 of them and nibble on them every day for weeks. I never get tired of this homemade version which is a recipe I modeled after my own mother’s. And you know mama’s home cookin’ is the best kind of cookin’ they is.
My mom used to make these as a treat every once in awhile, and they’re so good that I don’t even eat them with nuoc cham, or the fish dipping sauce that is a staple condiment for many Vietnamese. I prefer the eggrolls virgin, untouched and unmarred by any any additional sauce or lettuce or vermicelli. Of course, eating them this way makes them disappear much quicker, so I like to feed them to others with a bowl of vermicelli (bun cha gio).
This recipe is not exactly my mothers–she passed away when I was 14, an age before I became interested in cooking. But of the dozens of Saturday mornings I spent in the kitchen peeling eggroll skin after eggroll skin for her, I got to “know” the ingredients by sight and smell. It sounds a little sick, but I loved inhaling the aromatic raw meat and vegetable mixture that is to become the eggroll filling. As a matter of fact, I still do that today when I make eggrolls–that’s the only way I know if the mixture needs more fish sauce or garlic or whatever.
So eggrolls being one of the things I missed most from my mama’s kitchen after she died, I came up with my own concoction that, if my memory doesn’t fail me, tastes incredibly similar to hers. Now if only I was talented enough to figure out her homemade pho from scratch.
Eggrolls contain pork, but one time in elementary school for an international culture week, my mom substituted the ground pork with turkey because I had a Muslim classmate. Now that I have a husband who avoids beef and pork, I too make my eggrolls with ground turkey. They’re not as juicy but they’re healthier. (Well, as healthy as they can be after being submerged in the canola oil.).
I must say cha gio are my masterpiece, but they’re only made like once a year because the whole process–from chopping the veggies to wrapping the eggrolls to frying them–used to take six hours or something insane. Thank God for the food processor, which now has cut my prep and cook time down to a mere four hours. (Har, har.) Don’t let that scare you away from attempting them though; keep in mind that I’m a slow worker, not to mention blind. So remember that if I can do it, so can you. And I encourage you to try this.
Summary: Based on my mom’s cha gio recipe
Refrigerating the filling mixture overnight allows the flavors to meld together better.
Don’t overstuff your eggrolls or else they will either burst or not cook through.
The folding technique is as follows: if using the square eggroll wrappers, set the skin so that it is a diamond in front of you. Set the filling in the lower center of the skin. Fold the corner pointing at you up over the mixture. Then fold in the two sides. Then roll eggroll away from you, sealing the far corner with a little bit of beaten egg. If using round rice paper for skin, simply wet the banh trang in a lg. bowl of very hot water. It just needs to be immersed for a few seconds; don’t oversoak–the paper will get more and more pliable as it soaks up the water. Oversoaking the rice paper results in mushy skin that will tear easily. Place the circular skin in front of you, place the filling in the lower center of the skin. Fold in the same pattern as with the square skins, but omitting the beaten egg for sealing.
Line the cooked eggrolls on paper towels or paper bags to drain excess oil. Paper bags, I heard, do a better job of soaking up the oil without making the eggrolls soggy.
The authentic Vietnamese eggroll uses rice paper for the skin, but many use the Filipino lumpia eggroll skin nowadays. Just be sure not to use the Chinese eggroll skin; I made that mistake the first time I ever made eggrolls (yes, back in college), and the skin puffed up like a wonton crisp, which is NOT what you want.
Meal type: hors d’oerves
Culinary tradition: Vietnamese
Microformatting by hRecipe.