Braised Leeks...

I want to love braised leeks, really I do. The French adore their les poireaux, which sound deliciously romantic in French, don't they? But then again, everything sounds sexy in French; especially if you say it slowly, as they do in the south of France.

Cervelles au beurre noir.

Calf's brains in brown butter. See?

The truth is, I'm in love with the idea of braised leeks, more than the actual leeks themselves.

Some of my favorite cookbooks include recipes for braised leeks: Julia Child's Mastering the Art of French Cooking, Alice Waters's Chez Panisse Vegetables, and Susan Spicer's Crescent City Cooking.

So why can't I fall over backwards for a dish of braised leeks? Or at least swoon a little at the thought.

Maybe I would change my mind if I just spent more time with them. So I did.

Here we go.

Simply braised leeks.



(Note: if you plan to serve the leeks as a side dish, count on 2 leeks per person.)

Cut off the root end and the dark green tops, keeping the light green portion. Cut in half and place under running water, fanning the layers to remove any grit trapped between the layers (or gnats, which I found a few in this batch --I love organic produce. You only need to worry when bugs don't want to eat your dinner) .

Place the leeks, cut side down, in a shallow sauce pan that's either buttered or swiped with olive oil. (You need some fat here. I wouldn't blink, or tattle, if you rubbed it with bacon fat.)

Pour in enough dry white wine to come up quarter of the way up the leeks. Using the smallest pan possible is key -- only if you want enough wine left over to drink.

Pour in enough chicken or vegetable stock to come up just over half way of the leeks. Sprinkle with fresh ground pepper.



Turn the heat to medium-high and bring the liquid to a boil. Reduce the heat to simmer, and cover with a lid, partially askew to allow some steam to escape.

Cook until the leeks are tender and the tip of a knife easily pierces through the leek, about 30-40 minutes, turning the leeks twice: once after 10 minutes and then again after another 10 minutes.



Now, for the best part -- a buttered, bread crumb topping.

Time to get that broiler heating. Place the leeks, in a single layer, in a shallow, oven-proof baking dish.

For each portion of leeks, mix two tablespoons of whole wheat bread crumbs (nutty flavor and ultimately crunchier texture) with one tablespoon of grated Parmigiano-Reggiano and toss with a tablespoon of melted butter.

Season with salt and pepper. You could also mix in some chopped fresh herbs if you have any.



Sprinkle the crumb topping over the leeks and place the leeks underneath the broiler until the crumb topping is dark brown and crispy, maybe a couple, three minutes, depending upon how close the heat source is to the leeks.

And there you have it. Tender, braised leeks, with a delicate, sweet, faintly onion flavor. Quite lovely.

After a late afternoon rendezvous, I get the allure: the tactile pleasure of cutting and cleaning leeks; the flittering, wispy aroma, happy to escape the sliver of a crack between the pan and lid. I can see myself making a whole roasting pan full. But still...



after all that, why do I still think of leeks as a seasoning and not a side dish?

Is something wrong with me because of my lack of overt passion for leeks?

Where did this indifference come from? Blame it on early American settlers who weren't in the least bit smitten with the leek.

Neither were early American cookbook authors, writing a couple hundred years after the Pilgrims landed, portraying leeks as a mere flavoring ingredient -- nothing special and certainly not worthy of serving alone.

When it comes to leeks, I rationalize I'm simply all-American.

Peach Pizza...

Do peaches really belong on top of pizza?

Fruit topped pizzas are not that unusual. The Hawaiian pizza is an innocuous combination of pineapple chunks and salty ham.

So when I spotted the peaches, chorizo and goat cheese pizza at a microbrewery, I thought, why not? There are probably more bizarre combination than that.

Let's just say that I'm glad I tasted it. Probably wouldn't order it again. But kudos to the chef for thinking outside the box. Way outside.

Top 10 Kitchen Tools

I couldn't very well post the worst kitchen gadgets without immediately coming clean on the best tools.

And notice I said top 10 "tools," not gadgets.

Because even if a couple of these are truly gadgets in the dictionary sense, they are so critical to a well-equipped kitchen that they've earned a promotion to tool status.

I've not mentioned any pots or pans on this list. Those deserve their own top 10 list, and I'll get around to that one day.

With the exception of one, none of these tools is considered a kitchen appliance, either, as that, too, deserves it's own list. Something like "Cool Kitchen Tools with Cords Attached."

Here are the top 10 kitchen tools that every serious cook should have:

(drum roll, please)

10. Hand held blender

So many tools could have taken this coveted 10th spot, but ultimately I decided on the blender stick. It purees sauces, both sweet and savory and soups and dips. It fits in a drawer, it's easy to store and even easier to clean.

9. Fish spatula

A fish spatula is wider at the tip than at the handle. It's thin and has slats. Not only does it flip delicate fillets without breaking them in two, it's perfect for flipping pancakes, potato cakes and pretty much anything else.



8. Wooden spoon

Why wooden? It works on non-stick surfaces. It's the best, sturdy tool to stir cookie dough. The only downside, if you consider it one, is that it must be hand washed. No dishwasher, unless you don't mind ruining it.

7. Ice cream scoop

Of course it works on ice cream, but it also can portion out muffin batter, cookie dough, meatballs and crab cakes so that each one is the same size as the previous one, which is only important if you want them to cook evenly, and perhaps look a little uniform.

6. Kitchen shears

From snipping herbs, cutting kitchen string and even poultry, shears are indispensable in the kitchen.

5. Microplane

This cool tool moved from the woodworking shop to the kitchen, and we've been grateful ever since. Grate citrus zest, ginger, Parmesan, and even chocolate.

4. Whisk

Get fluffier scrambled eggs with a whisk and fold in whipped cream or egg whites into batters with fewer strokes; this tool is also essential for smooth, lump-free sauces and gravies.

3. Serrated knife

It is the only knife that should touch bread.

2. Paring knife

For those tiny little jobs where a chef's knife is overkill, like slicing strawberries.

1. High quality chef's knife

If you had to chose only one tool, this is THE tool. Since it is the workhorse of the kitchen, you should invest in the best knife you can afford. Which one? That depends on you. Go to a knife shop and hold several. One of them will whisper your name. Buy it.

Top 10 Useless Kitchen Gadgets...

I'd share a picture of one of these contraptions, but I don't have one -- picture or contraption.

That's not to say I haven't had one or three of these "tools" in my kitchen at one time or another.

I have, but after discovering they were pretty much worthless, I donated them.

Why donate instead of toss? Because...

One cooks trash is another cook's treasure.

Even though I've found these doohickeys to be useless, that doesn't mean that someone else, who thinks their kitchen revolves around said items, is wrong. Unenlightened, perhaps, but definitely not wrong.

Teaching cooking classes in dozens of kitchen stores across the country has given me the opportunity to play with more clever-but-inane tools than you can shake a whisk at.

I love gadgets as much as the next cook, but the 10 items on this certifiably unscientific and utterly biased list, do not belong in the kitchen. At least not in mine.

Without further ado, here are the top 10 useless, and therefore don't-waste-your-money kitchen gadgets:

(drum roll, please...)




10. Grapefruit knife

The serrated edge is a good idea in theory, but it just tears the juice pockets. A paring knife works just as well.

9. Strawberry huller

It never works anyway, sometimes leaving bits of leaves behind, or worse, grabbing valuable flesh along with the core, which by the way, tastes just fine if the strawberry is at peak ripeness.

8. Asparagus peeler

Looks cool, but a regular peeler does the same job.

7. Spaghetti server

Tongs work just as well to grab and serve spaghetti. Save a slot in your drawer or utensil crock for another spatula or wooden spoon, both of which are much more versatile.

6. Hand held mini chopper

Never chops evenly. A chef's knife does a much better job.

5. Artichoke stand

Full disclosure: this is the only one on the list that I haven't personally tried, but seriously, a stand to set artichokes on for steaming? Must have been made by the same folks who made the vertical roasting stand for chickens, another gadget that belongs on this list.

4. Creme Brulee torch

Pul-leeze! Your arm will get tired before your sugar burns. Get yourself a real propane torch from Ace Hardware.

3. Avocado scoop

Always leaves behind the brightest green flesh, and I never seem to buy an avocado that's just the right size for this tool.

2. Egg separator

The best egg separator is attached to your arm.

1. Mango pitter

Good idea, bad execution. Every mango pit is different, so you either leave too much mango on the pit, or the pit is too large and the pitter gets stuck, so you end up making chunky mango puree from repeated attempts.

This I believe...

A baker I am not. The whole scientific process intimidates me.

I still shudder when I think about the impact salt can have on yeast.

Did you know that salt can kill yeast? That’s heavy! How do I keep salt and yeast separated long enough for the yeast to have a fighting chance?

I believe bakers are different from normal, everyday folks. Bakers are born with an innate ability to judge things that I cannot.

They know what the dough should look and feel like, and how high it should rise before punching it down. And by punching, do they mean actually hitting the dough with brute force?

A baker's vocabulary is a secret code with undulating terms such as proofing and scaling, creaming, foaming and of course, the muffin method. It’s a conspiracy.

Bakers know what’s missing after only one bite of a cake or bread. My talented, if militant, Chef instructor in beginning baking class, took one bite of my angel food cake and said, “You forgot to add vanilla, didn’t you?”

How did she know that?

I tasted it and didn’t notice vanilla was missing. It tasted like a sugary but dry sponge. It is a sixth sense that I, as a savory cook, do not have.

Testing the bread and pastry recipes for my cookbooks proved to be enormously rewarding for me, and perhaps I learned more than I thought I did during six weeks of baking and pastry classes during my culinary training.

If I can bake breads and cakes, anyone can. You do have to follow the directions, as the ingredient amounts and seemingly inane processes are developed for a specific purpose, like creating a chemical reaction that causes the bread to rise.

It’s not as free form as creating a sauce, which is driven entirely by taste and appearance. But baking has its sweet rewards.

The smell of freshly baked bread is outdone only by the first bite into a hot buttered slice of soft, yeasty bread.

It’s worth the stress of mixing, kneading and punching and keeping the peace between salt and yeast.

Recommended bread books:

The Bread Baker's Apprentice by Peter Reinhart

The Bread Bible by Rose Levy Beranbaum

Professional Baking, 5th Edition by Wayne Gisslen

Top Ten Dishes Best Left to the Restaurants

Just because you can make a dish in your home kitchen doesn't mean that you necessarily want

It might be because of the mess (deep frying) or the lengthy ingredient list (mole) or the whole production of it all.

Or, maybe you lack certain professional equipment (a grill that burns at 1,700 degrees, for instance).

And frankly, certain foods just taste better when made by a talented chef and his or her crew.

Bonus? No dishes to clean up.

Here's our list of the top 10 dishes best left in the hands of a capable restaurant -- and why:

1. French fries

Let us count the ways way. First, there's the mess. And then hassle of double frying to produce crisp spuds. We even know a chef who thrice cooks his fries. What to do with all the left over oil?

2. Egg rolls

Or any Chinese food, for that matter. Too many ingredients, too much assembly required and too much deep frying.

3. Sashimi

Sushi chefs know how to get fresh fish, know how to cut it and nobody gets hurt. Unless it's blowfish.

4. Souffles

When a souffle falls at home before it reaches the table, that's not the only thing that deflates.

5. Tamales

It takes a village to make a tamale. That's why Mexicans make tamales at home only on special occasions, like Christmas and the birth of a child.

6. Soft shell crabs

First there's the matter of cleaning them (removing their guts if we're gonna get graphic). And then that frying thing.

7. Foie gras

Not only is there the beige matter that's high on the ick factor (removing the membrane), most home cooks don't know what to do with a lobe of foie gras -- and it's rather expensive for experimentation.

8. Steak

One could argue that grilling a steak at home is one of life's simple pleasures. But isn't cutting into a juicy steak that's just come off a 1,700 degree grill is much more pleasurable? Oh yeah, especially if butter poaching prior to grilling is involved.

9. Pizza

Unless you have installed a umpteen-thousand dollar pizza oven in your back yard (and you know who you are, MG), re-creating wood-oven, artisan pizza is best left to the experts; like the one in Phoenix, the only pizza maker who's won a James Beard award for it.

10. Any dish from The French Laundry


Even if you wanted to, you probably couldn't. That is not a slam about your cooking skills. It is a testament to the general mystique of dining under Thomas Keller's roof. You've at least seen the cookbook, yes?

So, what's on your list of dishes best left to restaurants? Indian curries or tandoori? Turtle soup or gumbo? How about goat? to.

Trend Spotter: Agave Nectar

Tequila isn't the only byproduct of the agave cactus that chefs adore. Arizona's top toques have been sweetening dishes from appetizers to desserts with agave nectar for a while, and now other chefs (and cookbook authors) are catching on.

Kai, Arizona's only Mobil Five-Star restaurant, and Tonto Bar & Grill both use agave nectar extensively. That makes sense, as both restaurants focus on Native American and Southwestern cuisines, respectively. But chefs cooking all kinds of cuisines are also stocking up on the stuff.

For years, agave nectar was relegated to diet books and health magazines, but the fructose syrup has escaped the niche and is sweetening up restaurant menus and splashing the pages of cookbooks.

In fact, there is a cookbook devoted to baking with agave nectar called, shockingly, Baking with Agave Nectar. And Cal-Med goddess Joanne Weir trumps the desert syrup in her just released Tequila cookbook.

There are are two "strengths" of agave nectar. One is light, almost flavorless beyond the "sweet" flavor. The other is amber, which has a touch of flavor. Some say it tastes similar to honey, although agave nectar is not nearly as viscous as honey.

What's so great about agave nectar? Health experts still say it's "empty" calories, but if you're gonna load up on sugary sweets, agave nectar has some advantages.

For one, it's low on the glycemic index - it doesn't kick start digestive insulin like other types of sugars. And, because it's sweeter than sugar (1.4 times) you can use less of it.

But that's not why chefs use it. They use it because it dissolves quickly and it doesn't crystallize. And it's cool. As in hip.

Just for the halibut...

Because A. J.'s Fine Foods had halibut on sale for $15.99 a pound, I bit. Isn't that a gorgeous pound of fish?



And while I was there, I noticed some plump shiitake mushrooms, big ones, so now I was beginning to picture my Saturday evening dinner.



Grilled halibut, marinated in a sherry mustard vinaigrette with a shiitake ragout (just a fancy name for sauteed veggies). Oh, and don't forget the caramelized onions, garlic and fresh herbs from my garden.



All of it would sit atop fresh baby spinach, dressed in the same sherry vinaigrette I used to marinate the halibut.



I know you're supposed to whisk the vinegar and other flavorings together before you slowly drizzle in the olive oil in an effort to create an emulsion, but I like to use little glass jars I've saved.

I just put some whole grain mustard in the jar with some minced garlic, some thyme leaves, a little salt and pepper and a pinch of sugar. Always a little something sweet in my vinaigrettes, just to take the edge off.

I'll shake up the flavorings, and then I'll pour in a little oil and shake. A little more oil and another shake, and repeat until I've used all the oil. It might not create the most emulsified emulsion, but it works for me, and shaking is a whole lot more fun than whisking, don't you think? Pour a couple tablespoons over the halibut and give a little rub. It can sit at room temperature while you forge ahead.

Now caramelize the onions in a little olive oil. I was in a bit of a rush, so I turned up the heat, which is why the onions are caramelizing unevenly. Chef Hutchins, my saucier culinary instructor, would be mortified. We won't tell him.

Throw the mushrooms in when the onions are getting nice and caramelized. After the mushrooms are tender, you can stir in the garlic.

Once that's fragrant, then you can deglaze the pan with a little sherry. I like Dry Sack. You could just use the sherry vinegar, but that will add a bit of a twang.

OK, it's time to get that grill going. Medium-high heat for searing.

Now we need a little red for the dish. I scraped the mushroom mixture into a bowl and used the same pan to saute up some chopped grape tomatoes with the fresh herbs from my garden.

Pretty sure I'd be washing up the pan anyway, so why use another pan? For the record, those tomatoes wouldn't mind a little drink of sherry, either.

Now it's time to grill the halibut. I cut the original fillet in half. One end was monsterously thick, the other, just plain ole thick, so I knew one of them would be spending a little more time in the incubator.

I grilled them flesh side down, creating grill marks, for about 3 minutes. Then I turned them, skin side down, and turned off just the burner below them to finish cooking with indirect heat. It took about 8 more minutes for the thick one, and 10 minutes for the monster thick one. Then off the grill to rest a bit before plating.

Oh, I removed the skin before I put them on top of the salad. Actually, the grill removed them. The skin was stuck to the grill because I forgot to oil them. C'est la vie.

And so the final dish looks like this: Spinach salad with sherry mustard grilled halibut, topped with sherry glazed shiitake mushrooms and caramelized onions, with herbed grape tomatoes and orange segments.

Just because I had an orange and it was time to use it.

The whole dish took just about an hour from start to finish.

Easy-peasy.

50 Quintessential American Dishes

I just read a story about the top 10 dishes of Great Britain, and it got me thinking about what an American top 10 list would look like.

To be fair, our list has to be longer and not just because we're a nation of braggarts -- that would be a Texas list (and before you go all crazy on me, I'm from Texas and I say that with the utmost pride).

Geographically speaking, the USA is 38 times the size of Great Britain and population-wise, it's five times as large, ergo, we need a bigger list than just 10 dishes.

While I'm certain that I could come up with 380 dishes in a flash, in the interest of keeping your attention, I think I'll just rattle off 50.

To even begin talking about America's top dishes, you have to think both nationally and regionally. While it would be easy to list the top three as apple pie, hot dogs and ice cream, I want to delve a little deeper and pick dishes that not only define us as Americans, but ones that also reflect the melting pot that is our population.

We are a nation of immigrants. Only a few of us are descendants of Native Americans. Our foods are also reflective of this ethnic stew. Some of our foods are truly native: corn, beans and squash, for example. Others came with the Spanish (cows and pigs) and Africans (okra) and other settlers. Still others brought certain cooking techniques (the French and Germans specifically come to mind).

I'm not sure if 50 is long enough to reflect the diversity among our most recognized dishes, but it's a start. So, without further ado, here we go:

(drum roll, please)




50. Blackened redfish (thank you, Paul Prudhomme)

49. Root beer float

48. Pimiento cheese sandwich

47. Scrapple (although I'm not particularly fond of this, many, many Americans swear by it)

46. Frito pie (I'm particularly fond of this staple from my childhood)

45. Bundt cakes (any flavor, sour cream coffee cake is the most popular)

44. Green goddess dressing (over any kind of lettuce, perhaps romaine is traditional)

43. Chicken & dumplings

42. Maryland crab cakes

41. Whoopie pie (yippee!)

40. Jambalaya

39. Cioppino (San Francisco would be hurt if I left them out, they're sensitive that way)

38. Shoofly pie

37. Iceberg wedge with blue cheese dressing

36. Pecan sticky buns

35. Denver Omelet

34. Peach cobbler

33. New England clam chowder

32. Buttermilk pancakes

31. Brunswick stew

30. Philly cheesesteak

29. Chicken fried steak with cream gravy (don't forget the biscuits)

28. Fried rice (of course we fry the rice, we'll fry anything)

27. The Po'boy (oyster, shrimp or even roast beef for purists)

26. Shrimp & grits (I personally like the New Orleans style but the South Carolina version rocks, too)

25. Brown Betty

24. Cedar-planked salmon (Seriously? Only one Northwestern dish? I need to go to Portland)

23. Cobb salad

22. Meatloaf

21. King Ranch chicken casserole

20. Kansas City spareribs (notice I didn't say BBQ -- remember, I'm from Texas and we think we invented BBQ)

19. Succotash

18. Fried catfish

17. Soft shell crabs, fried of course

16. Black-eyed peas

15. Seafood gumbo

14.Wisconsin cheese soup

13. Collard greens (or mustard greens)

12. Grilled cheese (fancy schmancy or plain)

11. Mashed potatoes

10. Chicken pot pie

9. Bowl of chili (red, green, white or even Cincinnati-style with spaghetti)

8. Steamed Maine lobster

7. Chimichanga (yes, it was invented north of the border, although who was first is still in dispute)

6. Chocolate chip cookies

5. Mac & cheese

4. Shrimp cocktail

3. Southern fried chicken

2. Texas BBQ beef brisket

1. Turkey & dressing

...

(keep scrolling....)

...

(a little further...)

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(almost there...)

...

(patience...)







0. The hamburger (had to include it -- it's my favorite)

Orange you glad it's Saturday?

Guess my hand was shaking a bit while snapping this photo. Or, maybe it's just the natural sparkling glow of candied orange peel. Yeah, that must be it.

Making candied peel is a perfect weekend task. It takes a bit of work, but the result is worth it. Start with organic oranges, or if those aren't available, give the oranges a good scrubbing to remove the shiny wax they're sometimes coated with.

While you bring a big pot of water to boil, slice off a little of the top and bottom of 2 to 3 oranges, and then slice off the peel to the flesh. Cut the peel into 1/4-inch matchsticks. Set up a large bowl of ice water.

Gently boil the peel for a couple of minutes and then remove them with a slotted spoon to a bowl of ice water to stop the cooking. Do that two more times, blanching a total of three times.

Next, remove them to paper towels to dry, and scrape off most of the pith with a knife.

Pour 3 cups of sugar and 3 cups of water into a wide saucepan and bring just to a boil, stirring to dissolve the sugar. Stir in the dried orange sticks and cook until the sticks are tender, about 40 minutes. The mixture will reduce and thicken.

If you're so inclined, you can add a cinnamon stick, a star anise pod or two and/or whole cloves into the sugar water in the beginning to spice up the oranges.

Meanwhile, place another cup of sugar in a large bowl. Set a cooling rack in a sheet pan.

When the orange sticks are gooey-thick, remove with a slotted spoon and dump into the bowl of sugar and toss. Be very careful! The sugar syrup is extremely hot and you don't want to get any of it on you.

Space the sugared peels on the rack so they don't touch each other and let them dry for at least a day, maybe two.

Now, what to do with them? Eat them, of course.

Or dip one end in melted dark chocolate.

Or chopped them up and add to muffins or scones.

Or, wrap them in cellophane with a pretty bow and give to a friend.

Chef Showdown

Don't forget about the Great American Picnic this weekend! Saturday (noon to 10 p.m.) and Sunday (noon to 6 p.m.). Admission is $10, and tasting tickets cost $1 each.

The Scottsdale Civic Center Plaza will be swarming with foodies sampling tastes from 50 different restaurants, and imbibing in the vodka tent, the margarita tent or in the beer garden.

If you can only go one day, pick Sunday and arrive before 1 p.m. That's when the Challenge to the Chefs takes place, pitting four rockin' chefs against each other in a crazy, timed competition with a mystery basket of ingredients.

The competitors: Aaron May (Sol y Sombra, Autostrada, Over Easy); Jeff Smedstad (Elote Cafe, Sedona), Tim Fields (Sushi Roku) and Wade Moises (Pasta Bar).

The GAP is always fun, and this culinary showdown just sweetens the deal. It's going to be hot, hot, hot on Sunday, so slather on the sunscreen, wear something light and breezy and go support the festival. See you there!

Trend Spotter: Eggish

Trend: a line of general direction or movement.


I can't help but think that eggs on dinner menus is a rising trend.

The French and Spanish have served eggs for lunch and dinner for hundreds of years, so can it really be a trend if it's been around that long?

Apparently, we are just now catching on. Eggs are peppering the menus of some of the trendiest restaurants across the country. Here's just a sampling:

I tasted a smashing side dish at Zengo in Denver recently -- green beans sauteed with soy sauce and finished with scrambled eggs.

At L20 in Chicago, braised pork belly shares the plate with an egg, and York Street in Dallas serves duck three ways, garnished with a soft poached egg.

In Scottsdale, The Mission plates up arepas (open-faced sandwiches with cornmeal patties instead of wheat bread) with an optional topping of a fried egg.

At Christopher's, in the Biltmore Shopping Center in Phoenix, I had a lovely frissee salad topped with a gently poached egg and copious amounts of smoky bacon -- a classic French bistro dish, to be sure, but all of a sudden trendy again.

Take a look at the menu of your favorite restaurant. Do you spot an egg?

Chopping block...

Sometimes, the only thing to do is to escape to the kitchen, pick up a knife and get to work.

No matter what kind of day I'm having, holding that knife makes everything (and sometimes everyone) else disappear. Who wants to come into the kitchen with a mad woman wielding a knife?

There is something therapeutic about slicing mushrooms, an onion, or any other vegetable. I am at home in the kitchen.

Peace comes with the simple motion of rocking a knife to and fro on a wooden cutting board. The sun streams through the big picture window above the sink, casting a warm glow over the board, my hand and my knife.

Others might run a warm bubble bath to erase the stress of the day. I pick up a MAC Santoku.

Roasted Butternut Squash

Once upon a time, there was a cozy little cafe called Dragonfly. It was owned by a lovely young woman, who poured her heart and soul into the cafe, not to mention all of her time.

Dragonfly became a huge success, garnering awards left and right by the local media, and that just made the owner work harder and harder. Eventually, she sold the cafe because it was consuming her life -- and her health.

A friend emailed me the other day to say that she had dined at Dragonfly (under the new owners) and it was no longer the same. I already knew that because a little over a year ago, I reviewed the cafe for the local paper. We lamented about the demise of the signature salad - roasted butternut squash -- and so, in tribute, I roasted some butternut squash this weekend, recreating the lovely flavors of this fantastic salad. Almost.

I didn't make a cognac vinaigrette to go over the salad, but instead made a maple sherry vinaigrette. Below is a method for roasting butternut squash. Once roasted, you can serve it warm, or let it cool and top a salad with it. Dragonfly Cafe's signature salad, in addition to the roasted butternut squash and red onions, had toasted walnuts, bacon, goat cheese and port soaked raisins atop baby greens. Just lovely.

Roasted Butternut Squash

2 pounds butternut squash, peeled and cut into 3/4-inch cubes
1 red onion, peeled and cut into similar size cubes
2 tablespoons olive oil
2 tablespoon maple syrup
Salt and freshly ground black pepper

Heat the oven to 400 degrees. Line a baking sheet with parchment paper or a silpat. Toss the squash and red onions with the oil and maple syrup. Season with salt and pepper. Roast for 20 to 25 minutes, stirring once, until squash is browned and the onion is tender.

Grilled Asparagus...

Certain ingredients define the season, and for me, asparagus means it's finally Spring. I love nothing better than grilled asparagus. You can serve it hot, straight from the grill, or serve it room temperature, or even chilled. Grilling imparts a haunting, smoky flavor while diminishing the grassiness of the Spring stalk.

I peel the stalks of thick asparagus for two reasons. My friend and culinary mentor, Barbara Pool Fenzl, insists that asparagus should be peeled. Credit her French training or her friend, Jacques Pepin, who also believes peeling is essential.

Peeling allows you to keep more of the stalk, which on thick asparagus can sometimes be woody near the end. It also makes a prettier presentation. Here's a recipe for grilling asparagus. I've used a lemon garlic marinade, but you can use any flavoring, or none at all.

Grilled Asparagus with Lemon and Garlic

Serves 6

1-1/2 pounds thick speared asparagus
2 medium cloves of garlic, peeled and minced
1/2 teaspoon Dijon mustard
zest and juice of 1 lemon
3 tablespoons olive oil (lemon flavored if you have it)
Salt and freshly ground black pepper

Trim asparagus to even lengths, then peel from just below the flowered tip. Place the asparagus in a shallow baking pan. Whisk together the remaining ingredients, and season with salt and pepper. Pour over the asparagus, tossing to coat. Marinate for 30 minutes up to 2 hours.

Heat the grill to medium-high (375-400 degrees). Drain the asparagus and discard the marinade. Place the asparagus on the grill. Grill for 3 to 4 minutes, moving the asparagus around a bit on the grill with tongs. Remove when the asparagus is still crisp tender, but shows signs of grill marks. Serve warm, or room temperature.

Fish Lips...

Rearranging books on my shelf to make room for another, I pulled out a small, red, hardcover book called The Fine Art of Chinese Cooking, by Lee Su Jan. It was published in 1962, or that's what I'm guessing from the MCMLXII stamp near the copyright symbol.

Flipping through the book, I stopped on page 154. Fish Lips.

The ingredient list calls for 1/2 pound of treated fish lips. The first line under method says: soak fish lips for seven days, changing water daily.

Now, where does one get fish lips? What kind of fish have lips luscious enough for stewing?

The recipe also calls for chicken breasts and ham, part of the stewing mixture, but before the dish is served, the chicken and ham are discarded. Fascinating.

A bit of research tells me that groupers have fleshy lips, and are dried for preserving, hence the need for soaking for seven days to rehydrate. I also stumbled upon a recipe for fish maw. Maw is another word for bladder. I put the book back on the shelf.

Circle of life...

I feel horribly guilty. Look at the simplistic beauty of these quail eggs. Now they're gone.

I've deprived the bull and rattlesnakes the pleasure of discovering these tasty morsels.

Actually, I made Jeff remove them. I was going to, but he happen to come home at the most opportune time. Finding me in tears, holding a plastic bag and glove, he asked what was wrong.

I led him to the side yard, where moments before I had lifted the metal washtub that blew over weeks ago. I had thought to myself as I was returning from dumping the trash that the overturned tub could easily be a hiding place for a snake.

We have lots of snakes. I know they are part of the circle of life, going about their business as they are genetically programmed to do, keeping rats and other varmints at bay.

I also know they love quail eggs. Must taste like caviar. So, the eggs must go.

I can't have snakes slithering through my yard because I have puppies that chase anything that moves, including their shadow.

Now I feel horribly guilty. Should I have saved them for breakfast, so at least their brief existence wasn't in vain? I don't even know if I can harvest them. Can I?

Later today, as I walk Skylar and Chloe, I'll turn my head the other way when I pass by the quail couples scurrying about. And, I'll probably cry. Again.

Thai one on...

Normally I don't need an excuse to eat Thai food, but this just came across my desk and I'm wondering if I can do a Thai marathon next week.

Ten Phoenix area Thai restaurants are enticing diners to come celebrate the Thailand New Year, called Songkran, during national Thai Restaurant Week, April 13-19, with special dishes, discounts and Thai entertainment. Oh, and a chance to win a trip for two to Thailand.

Thai Bev, maker of Chang beer and Mekhong, a spiced sugar cane and rice spirit, is sponsoring the week long celebration.

The participating restaurants are: Swadee Thai (Chandler and Scottsdale locations) Thai Elephant (Phoenix and Tempe locations), Phoenix restaurants Wild Thaiger and Yupah's Thai Kitchen, Tempe's Tipps 88, Scottsdale's Malee's on Main and Thai Pan and Chandler's Thai Basil.

Power of the Pantry...

I've always been a fan of V-8 Juice, especially the spicy hot flavor. Maybe it's because I like spicy flavors, or because I have a penchant for Bloody Marys.

The only thing I didn't particularly like was the amount of sodium (a whopping 710 mg per 8-ounce serving, or 30% of the USDA recommended daily allowance). So I switched to V-8 Low Sodium (140 mg of sodium per 8-ounce serving).

There was only one problem. Remove the salt and you remove some of the flavor. Salt is a flavor enhancer.

It's possible to "retrain" your taste buds, and many people do, through sheer mind-over-matter. But I'm not many people, and I just couldn't sacrifice taste for health. So, I came up with a solution.

What V-8 taketh away, my stocked pantry returnith.

Without adding any additional salt, I punched up the flavor of the low sodium V-8 juice by adding dashes of different spices.

My first experiment was green jalapeno powder. It added a nice after burn.

Next, I tried chipotle powder - a nice kick and smokiness.

Feeling embolden, I tried curry powder. W-O-W... what a nice combination. Many curries also include tomatoes, so curry powder and V-8 juice are a natural match.

I have a red curry powder from McCormick that's quite spicy, and I have Maharajah curry powder from Penzeys Spices that's not quite as hot but extremely aromatic with ginger, nutmeg, coriander, cumin, cardamom and cloves, among other spices. It transforms the juice from plain to exotic.

Now, how much to add? That depends upon your own particular taste -- and heat tolerance. I started with 1/4 teaspoon per 8 ounces, and for some of the pepper powders, that was plenty.

I add a smidgen more with the curry powders. If you find a flavor you particularly like, you can add enough for the whole container, but I like the flexibility of having a different flavor each morning.

I'm still exploring new flavor combinations. I just picked up a Mexican Adobo seasoning blend from Penzeys so I'm trying that next. Sometimes I squirt in a bit of lemon or lime juice, both flavor brighteners.

In other words, I guess I just can't leave well enough alone. V-8 juice is good for me. And with my flavor tricks, it's even better.

Sexy Onions...

No, the title isn't an oxymoron, although I guess we don't normally think of onions as sexy.

Fresh peeled fava beans, yes. A bowl of diced, pungent white onions? No.

In fact, it might even seem a little offensive, but what would a bowl of chili be without a spoonful of diced onions?

There are associations for just about every food on the planet. There's the egg board, the pork council, the fig growers association and so on.

Imagine trying to market onions. Yet onions are the pillar, the unsung hero, if you will, of almost every cuisine.

Last week, I was strolling through the exhibit hall at a culinary conference, elbowing my way through the crowd to taste incredible American lamb, buttery cheeses from Wisconsin, and deep, dark, organic chocolate.

And then I turned the corner and saw the onion booth. Not very exciting, you say? On the surface, it may seem that way, but to me, there is nothing sexier than caramelized onions -- sweet, rich, utterly delicious.

Smartly, the National Onion Association decided to serve caramelized onions, a pile of jammy, chipotle infused onions served atop a plain, thin cracker, just something to hold the mound of lusciousness without getting in the way of the flavor.

Caramelizing onions is a simple process, but it takes time. If I know I'm going to be cooking for 45 minutes anyway, I'll caramelize a pan of onions at the same time, even if I don't plan to use them that evening. Caramelizing onions takes anywhere from 30 to 60 minutes, depending upon the technique.

If you can give your undivided attention, you can caramelize onions in about 30 minutes using high heat and a lot of elbow grease.

On the other hand, if you want to slowly coax the natural sugars out of the onions, plan on 60 minutes, but you don't have to give the process your full attention until the last 15 minutes.

You can caramelize any type of onion. Red, yellow, white, sweet, cipollini, pearl or even spring or green onions, although the green (scallions) onions are lower in natural sugar, and therefore aren't quite as partial to caramelizing. You can use olive oil or butter. A pinch of sugar is fine, too, although I've found most onions, especially sweet onions, don't really need added sugar.

The darker you caramelize your onions, the deeper the flavor, but you'll need to stir constantly near the end to prevent scorching. After I've caramelized onions to a deep, mahogany brown, I like to splash in a little acid (like orange juice or white wine) and deglaze the pan, adding another layer of flavor. Last night, I used grapefruit juice.

Bonnie, one of my readers, told me that she squirts spicy mustard over hot, caramelized onions and uses it as a topping for turkey burgers. I like to stir in a little barbecue sauce to create a pork chop topping. Caramelized onions are fabulous folded into a meatloaf before baking, or stirred into steamed broccoli.

I also love to spread them on a toasted pita, sprinkle with a little crumbled goat cheese and top with chopped, fresh sage. Or, deglaze red caramelized onions with a little Port wine, and serve with a juicy, New York Strip steak.

Now, doesn't that sound sexy? mmmmmm.

Slow, Sexy Caramelized Onions

Makes just under a cup of caramelized onions

3 large red, yellow or sweet onions (about 1-1/2 pounds)
1 tablespoon olive oil or butter
Salt and freshly ground pepper

Slice onions in half lengthwise (stem to root). Peel. Slice crosswise into half moons, about 1/4-inch thick. Heat the oil or butter in a large skillet over medium heat and add onions. Cook, stirring occasionally to coat onions in the fat. When onions are just translucent, about 8 minutes, lower heat to medium-low and cook until golden brown, stirring frequently, about 40 minutes. Return heat to medium and cook, stirring constantly, until onions are deep, mahogany brown. Season with salt and pepper.