Monthly Archives: April 2017

Baby Spinach as a Blank Canvas

At Poppy’s house, we start most meals with a salad. More often than not, the greens used are baby spinach or a blend of baby spinach and spring mix. Spinach ranks number 2, right below kale as the healthiest salad greens. But unlike kale, spinach doesn’t constantly remind you how healthy it is while you’re eating it.

If we are making even a pretense of eating healthy, the last thing you want to do is use some store-bought dressing packed with calories and chemicals, especially since making a basic salad dressing is so simple and quick. If you have the ingredients handy, I would say 30 seconds, maybe a minute if you’re listening to some good jazz, having a glass of wine and dancing around the kitchen (just sayin’).

My go-to dressing is a variation on the basic Balsamic Vinaigrette:

3 parts good quality EVOO to 1 part balsamic vinegar – use more or less vinegar depending on your “tart tolerance”.
1 or 2 teaspoons of Dijon Mustard.
This is where Poppy (sometimes), steers this recipe away from the traditional version … I add enough fresh ground Parmesan (whisking the dressing briskly) till it becomes a slurry.
You can take it a step further by adding some chopped red onion.

Sometimes I toss the greens with the dressing, sometimes I just drizzle it over the top … can’t miss.

Lets jump to the fun part. We have stretched our canvas (the greens), primed the canvas (the dressing), now it’s time to get out our paints.

  • cheeses: Parmesan, Feta, Mozzarella, etc.
  • halved grape tomatoes
  • peeled sliced cucumber
  • orange or tangerine chunks
  • pine nuts
  • almond slivers
  • grilled Piquillo peppers
  • red onion
  • strawberries
  • watermelon chunks
  • olives: green, ripe or Kalamata
  • coarse ground black pepper

You can mix these any way you want, some pair very naturally (Feta cheese and Kalamata olives for example), but don’t hesitate to experiment. If you keep enough of these paints (ingredients) on hand, your salads will never be boring.

I’m strong to the fin-ich, Cause I eats me spin-ach– (sorry couldn’t resist)

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Asparagus and Grape Tomato Side

This is so simple, I hesitate to call it a recipe!

I like to keep things fresh. Not fresh like crispy veggies, but fresh as in not cooking the same things over and over again. This is an unexpected side dish that is super simple, not starchy, adds color to any plate, healthy, and goes with anything (unless your main dish involves asparagus and grape tomatoes).

Let’s get started. Halve some ripe grape tomatoes, snap off the hard ends of some medium to small diameter asparagus, then toss both in a little EVOO. Place the brilliant red and green mixture in a large skillet over medium heat.

Put a couple of tablespoons of salted butter in a cup. Take a clove or two of garlic and run it through your garlic press on top of the butter. You do have a garlic press, don’t you? Zap the butter-garlic mixture in the microwave until the butter is melted and the garlic is warmed.

Saute the asparagus and tomatoes, stirring occasionally, until the tomatoes become blistered and the asparagus is done. How do you know when the asparagus is done? … when no one is looking, take a bite out of the end of one of your stalks (you can put that one on your plate).

When ready, transfer to your plates, spoon a little of the butter-garlic sauce over the veggies and top with a little fresh grated Parmesan.

Yes, it’s that simple!

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The 67′ Pontiac and the Comfortable Silence

Mom never drove a car.

To be totally accurate, I should say, I never saw her drive a car. She claims that in 1931, at the age of 16, she went to the drugstore in whatever small town in Texas her family was living in at the time and exchanged a dime for a drivers license. Apparently at that time, proving a proficiency in driving was no more necessary to obtaining a driver’s license than proving a proficiency in fishing was necessary to obtaining a fishing license. Whether or not she actually drove is unknown. No one in the family has any recollection of that happening. Two years later she married and received not only a husband, but a chauffeur. That union lasted 78 years and Dad did all the driving for 75 of those years until he passed the keys over to my brother at age 95. That Dad did all the driving was for the best. Dad was the pragmatist, rooted in logic and a good sense of direction. Mom was the dreamer, the artist, and had no interest in navigation or driving. It was a good arrangement for Mom and Dad and everyone else on the road.

Growing up during the Great Depression, to say that Mom and Dad were frugal, would be an understatement. But if Dad had a fiscal weakness, it was for cars. Even then it exhibited itself in the most conservative of ways. Dad liked big cars with big trunks and he was partial to Pontiacs. In the Pontiac line the Catalina and the Bonneville were the full sized cars. The Bonneville had more luxury features such as power windows, but in Dad’s mind that just meant more opportunity for things to break, and since the trunks were the same size on both models, Dad drove Catalinas. He also paid cash for them. He taught me from an early age the concept of setting aside money every month for your next car purchase.

“Making a payment to yourself,” was how he explained it. I learned the concept, but have yet to apply it. (There was one exception, but that’s a blog post for another day)


And so it came to be, that in the summer of 1967, at the age of 13, I was in the backseat of a brand new 4-door Pontiac Catalina. Dad was taking my mother to the monthly meeting of the South County Art Association. I shared the backseat with a painting that my mom had just completed. I don’t remember much about that painting, except that she had mixed sand with the paint to give an added dimension to her creation. I also remember Mom being very nervous. The art club was having a guest lecturer, Dimitri Zonia, a local artist of some renown. In addition to the lecture, he was also going to critique the work of anyone who wanted to bring in a painting.

Dad pulled up to the entrance of the Presbyterian church whose basement provided the venue for the art association. Putting the car into “park”, he exited to retrieve the painting. Mom climbed out and waited for Dad to come around with the painting. I took the opportunity to slide into the passenger side of the front bench seat and watched as Dad passed over the painting and gave Mom a quick peck on the cheek.

The Midwest sun was close to setting, but there was still enough daylight left for my father to pick a parking spot underneath the shade provided by the boughs of an ancient oak tree that had somehow survived the construction of the church and it’s parking lot. In 1967 the average price of gasoline averaged 33¢ per gallon. That was reason enough to park and wait for the meeting to be over rather than make the round trip home and back again.

Dad turned the ignition key into the auxiliary position, quieting the engine and turning on the radio. We cranked the windows down and the humid Midwest air rolled into the car along with the summer sounds of crickets, cicadas, katydids and tree frogs. Spilling out of the car were the sounds of Jack Buck and Harry Caray, announcing the Cardinals baseball game that was in progress. In 1967 the St. Louis Cardinals were on fire. My favorite players were Bob Gibson and Orlando Cepeda. That night was a good night because Bob Gibson was pitching and Orlando Cepeda was tearing things up. When the opposing pitcher intentionally walked Orlando, rather than face him, I did an imaginary fist pump in my mind. We sat three feet apart on that bench seat. A man and a boy. A boy on the way to becoming a man, and I was learning from the best. Continue reading

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