The very moment my food-enunciating paranoia hit was when I was on a date with a blue blood type boyfriend, whose parents challenged me with culinary tests like eating whole lobster and using sauce spoons. At an unpretentious restaurant while we glanced over the menu, he displayed a rare moment of seeming humility and asked me how to pronounce… and he pointed to this word – gnocchi. Trying to show an upper hand for once, I boldly guessed – not from my knowledge of gnawing and gnarly – but rather my uncultured assumptions that this word was foreign and thus would be spoken with a hard g as in… nothing else I knew of. Are you envisioning this scene. “It’s ga – nyo – key,” I said. He took it in and when the waiter asked for his order he said, “I’ll have the nyo-key [with a silent g that screamed idiot].” The only test I didn’t fail with this guy was the one that challenged me on whether to stay with him or not.

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When this magazine exploited a healthier version of chicken piccata, I accepted that it would bear a spritz of lemon and three capers all in the name of 300 calories a serving which was okay because it is the new year and we’re all eating like squirrels. I didn’t, however, expect ladles of sauce with intense flavor and that the whole family from the spice-averse to the Nutella spokespersonwould rave. Audible, repeated compliments. Best part, this chicken recipe is even better the next way which means the do-ahead options help anyone who is squeezing dinner between snowsuitraincoat unzipping and homework wrestle matches. Thankfully, we made double the recipe and I urge you to do the same; weekend lunches done in sixty microwavable seconds.

Did I say yet, this chicken piccata is so ridiculously good that you’ll be embarrassed by the praise?

A few simple steps:

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Things were happening at our house that made me negligent with cooking and posting. For nine weeks during the holidays we cooked out of a plug-in kitchenbecause the heart of our home had a situation. Although we were blessed with a host of small appliances that supported any food heating need from sear to zap, eighty year old electrical wiring made sure wecouldn’t use them at the same time. There were nights that I’d bring a pot of water to boil water on a hotplate, throw in some string beans, turn off the burner to use the toaster over, and when it dinged, push ‘start’ on the microwave. Beans steeped in near boiling water while chicken roasted in the oven, then while chicken rested, semi-instant rice microwaved to a fluff. Something about the challenge, the water jugs, paper plates and blown fuses made us cherish this family nesting experience.

Alas, we’re back to gas stoves and ready to take on a bigger challenge: cruciferous vegetables.

Many posts about broccoli have found their way into this site. Maybe it’s because don’t crave broccoli and I can barely eat cauliflower without getting a little gaggy. Their health power is undeniable and to make it better (worse) they offer the lowest of low calories while filling you up and making you a little gaggy. My kind of diet. So I’m always searching for easy ways to give these bitter foods a boost – usually that starts with something sweet for balance.

Check out two easy concoctions that make broccoli and cauliflower ratchet up to kid plate worthiness.

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Twenty one years and counting.

The teenager who once donned costumes and wrote plays for our annual Christmas celebration, does her part now by asking “will there be goat cheese?” The boy, eleven, enthusiastic in spirit, selected the country based on the amount of chocolate involved. Yet, it wouldn’t be Christmas in our house without celebrating traditions of another country.

Truthfully, the children don’t own this tradition. When Dan and I, not married perhaps engaged (Christmases are an amalgam of ornaments and faces), celebrated an early Christmas before departing for our respective family holidays. Not satisfied with the idea of ham for two and sitting cozy by the fire, we thought we should make our celebration more interesting. More international. More themed. We were afterall living in the city whereJesuss themed restaurants were born.

That year we chose Japan, surely for cuisine and not for the wild Christmas traditions. We rolled our own sushi and got drunk on sake. As Dan rolled a tight tekka maki, I knew that I needed this man with sushi mite in my life. Had we been truly authentic to modern day Japanese Christmas customs we would have ordered carryout from here. Many countries have slithered into our Christmases. Some good, some challenging. We brought our act on the road. Had it catered one year. Hosted friends and family. Every year, when we think it’s just our little thing, friends come out of the woodwork asking “what country is it this year?”

And so in 2011 (Griswold drumroll please) we will honor the country that sits center to Italy (2002), Germany (1994), and France (1996), one that doesn’t take sides, and where chocolate fondue prevails: Swiss Chris.

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If I tell you that these homemade cinnamon rolls are easy, would you believe me? Admittedly, slightly (just slightly) more elbow grease will go into these gooey wonders than cracking open a tube of the Pillsbury laboratory project, but the taste is better here and these somewhat nutritious ingredients appear in a dictionary. And if you don’t want to be rolling out dough on Christmas morning while the kids missile lock onto a screen and dad searches for batteries, make the rolls ahead of time.

I made these on a school morning…a school morning when I had to drive carpool – moms in Los Angeles you can attest to the crazy. But, the recipe from a fellow blogger boasted three little words: fastest – cinnamon – buns and the challenge was on. Take a look at the steps. read more