Broccoli & mushroom lasagna

There are certain signifiers in life that really signify adulthood: driver’s license, gambling, voting, drinking, and the ability to rent a car for less money (really a let down, turning 26). But there are also little moments, subtle indicators based on your own memory, when you look down and realize, “Oh shit. I’m a bill paying, census-counted, no-longer MTV-courted ADULT.”

Let me illustrate with an example. My mom has always been a very hands-on cook, and being able to use a knife as fearlessly as she did also seemed to be a far-off, grown-up thing. “I could never do that,” I’d say to myself (note: this also managed to get me out some chores in the kitchen.)

One day recently I was washing some strawberries, and was slicing them quite thoughtlessly, cutting the stem off against my thumb–when all of a sudden I realized that I, too, was now cutting in that same way that had impressed me so much as a kid. I had conquered that kitchen knife. I was no longer scared. And I, unquestioningly, was very ADULT.

This dish somehow seems very ADULT to me. It’s easy, it smacks of sensible Mom (coming via Real Simple, that makes sense), and it also very delicious.

Enjoy with a glass (or two) of wine and relish in your adulthood.

Niçoise salad

Niçoise salad

OH boy. Some weather goddess blessed us this weekend, took her a righteous sword of seasonal weather against the perils of global warming and favored the Bay Area with sunshine and blue skies, blossoms and baby birds, and all around loveliness.

It’s so… poetic. I hate poetry, and Middle English, but it reminds me of the Prologue of the Canterbury Tales (which I was forced to memorize and, along with early Britney Spears lyrics, have never forgotten).

Ahem. I digress. Spring is also a good time for food. Therefore it’s a great time for a Nicoise Salad. Easy, classy, fresh and just plain tasty, it is, in the immortal words of my salad-hating roommate, “The best kind of salad: no lettuce.”

Baked eggs

It’s a Friday in April, and a young woman’s thoughts turn to love. Love of brunch.

Brunch gets a bad rap. Or maybe just a silly rap, being one of many obnoxious things urban-dwellers do on weekends (see also: farmer’s markets, home brewing beers, etc.).

Baked eggs with toast, and salad and brother's hand

Ladies and gentlemen, I am not here to defend brunch. I am merely here to point out the pleasures of honest-to-heart-attack breakfast foods: pancakes, omelettes, fried potatoes, WAFFLES!! And let us not forget the true appeal of brunching: a valid excuse to get soused at 11:00 am.

Personally, I understand the charm of eating out for brunch (I guess your mom refuses to make you pancakes these days), but I get annoyed easily by the wait times, the babies, and the prices. Really, breakfast foods are so EASY. And people get very impressed by them.

Roasted tomato soup

Has it been as randomly cold for you as it has in the Bay Area?

Two weeks ago we had nothing to complain about. Sunny! Breezy! Get out your skirts, pack up those sweaters! Spring had sprung!

Now – March must have heard what everyone says about April, and decided to do a preemptive strike. Now, it is cold. And rainy-sunny-cloudy-rainy-cloudy but always cold-cold-cold. I don’t know how to dress, and certainly don’t know how to bike in this weather.

Needless to say, my desire to eat fresh Nicoise salads has diminished as we have to turn on our heaters again. It’s soup time. This one got me through winter; it’s VEGAN and delicious. Guaranteed to warm you up on a randomly horrid spring evening.

Crustless spinach quiche

I deeply enjoy cooking. I find it a relaxing task, and much more of a hobby than a chore.

Baking is another kettle of fish entirely. Bakers are the Marines of the culinary world: highly detailed and militant about their processes. A golden brown flakiness cannot be achieved with the right brand of butter, the proper amount of dough handling (I confess! I overmix!), the correct temperature of water, the wire racks at the right height, and a strict cooling procedure. THERE IS NO ROOM FOR ERROR.

Baking is far more permanent because it takes a while to figure out if you’ve made a mistake. Case in point: if I am sauteing mushrooms and they get dry, I can add something. Turn down the heat. I am part of the process. But with baking? Once you put that sucker in the oven, it’s on its own. And don’t you dare open the oven to peek because your concoction WILL suffer (I confess! I peek!).

Because of my fear of baking, I have no problem with store-bought pie crusts and phyllo dough. It’s like penicillin and indoor plumbing – a confirmed perk of modernity!

My dear friend J., however is a baker. And her eyes get wide with shock when I admit my weakness.

So when J. came to dinner, I found this recipe. A crust-less quiche! Crisis and judgment, averted. I can still hold my head up with pride.

Cinnamon chicken

Cooking chicken freaks me out. My mom falls very much on the paranoid side of raw chicken preparation. After she prepared it, the kitchen would get cordoned off by lines of Comet or Ajax sprinkled liberally. “Don’t touch the sink,” she would hiss. “RAW chicken.”

Being vegetarian for a few years did nothing to soothe my fear of uncooked poultry. This Thanksgiving was the first time that I tackled a big ole bird by myself. I actually managed to focus less on the germ-factor…probably because I was giving a naked chicken a gynocological exam.

In short, I’m improving. But I still really appreciate chicken recipes that can be done without totally disinfecting the kitchen…or requiring me to provide interior massages.

Banana chocolate chip cookies

These should be called office breakroom cookies (even if they never actually made it there).

Let’s back up a bit. I may be incriminating myself here, but it must be said: I rip pages from magazines. Not at bookstores or libraries, but ones found at doctor’s offices, the gym, my office break room.

Does this make me a bad person? I’ve wondered. On the one hand, I do share my own old magazines. I make sure the magazine in question is out of date (yes, one month counts!) before I tear. And sometimes I think of myself as a liberator, rescuing the recipe from a lifetime of sitting fallow!

On the other hand, if it’s not a bad thing do to, why do I act like a spy when I do it?

So. Guilt aside, sometimes it must be done. Especially now that someone at my work has been doing some spring cleaning, and all these new Martha Stewart magazines keep appearing.

When I saw this recipe, my mouth started watering. I thought of what I had at home: everything but the banana. (Note: I could have bought one, but the recipe suggests the riper, the better. Plus, I get lazy.)

I texted a friend and neighbor, M. “Do you have a banana!” “Yes,” she replied immediately. She came over that night with a perfectly browned, mooshy specimen. “I got it from the fruit bowl at work,” she confessed.

How appropriate.

Grilled cheese with fig jam & pear

There are few things that even the most basic cook can make with confidence. Usually, microwaveable meals from Trader Joe’s top that list, but there would typically be toast. MAYBE scrambled eggs. And definitely a grilled cheese.

Grilled cheese is fast and delicious, and beloved by (most) fussy children. I know I made a lot when I was baby-sitting (that and mac & cheese. Are picky eaters soothed by the color orange? Discuss).

But a grilled cheese sandwich may also become a more sophisticated version of itself. (Like Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman? Maybe.) I love the sweet of the fig and pear with the savory of the cheese and ham.

I found this recipe in Fitness magazine, which assured me that it was “guilt free” and, no matter how much I veer off from their recipe, I’m going to promote it as such. Here it is! Your classy, adult, wine-drinking, New Yorker reading, grilled cheese.