Sweet Bites...

I can live without dessert, but I don't want to. It's a bad habit to fall into--having dessert after every meal. I had broken the habit for a while, but it's back. I'm blaming my job (reviewing restaurants) for the return of the sweet curse, but the reality is that I simply love to end a meal with a sweet bite.

Speaking of bites, why don't more restaurants offer dessert samplers? With some desserts reaching the price of a small entree, who wants to commit that much to an unknown? What if you shell out $10 to $12 bucks and the dessert sucks?

A couple nights ago, we were dining at a locally owned steakhouse. It was a lovely meal -- perfectly dressed Caesar salad spears, perfectly cooked filet (although it didn't have much flavor on its own, the chef topped it with a kicky corn and chipotle relish), garlicky mashed potatoes, and then the dessert tray arrives.

I crack up at those trays, laden with fake or "preserved" versions of the real thing. And steakhouses are notorious for whipping up huge, sugar bombs -- dark chocolate cake, ice cream pies, monster bread puddings.

But this local steakhouse smartly put together a sampler -- a taste of three of their most popular desserts -- bread pudding with butterscotch rum sauce, creme brulee, and Mississippi mud pie. The trio arrived in a long, rectangular tray, with the desserts in three ramekins.

There was plenty of each for two to share. None of the desserts were spectacular, but it was fun to sample three and not feel like we invested all our eggs in one basket. I wish more restaurants would go to the trouble (and it is a little more trouble) to package up dessert samplers.

Crabby

I have nothing against imitation crab (sometimes called krab or surimi) but sushi made with real crab just plain tastes better. It just plain costs more, too. I recently read a story about the nutritional difference between the two, and crab clearly trumps krab.

Both crab and krab are low in fat, therefore neither is a good source of the prized Omega-3 fatty acids found in other seafood, but real crab has more protein, more potassium, and less sodium than imitation crab. That's all fine and good, but for me, taste trumps nutrition and that's why I'll pick crab over krab any day of the week.

Waffling

I almost missed it! This is National Waffle Week, and I nearly let the week slip by without a waffle. Can't let that happen, so just in time, here is a recipe from one of my cookbooks for a cornmeal waffle. The recipe comes from The Great Ranch Cookbook. From Vista Verde Guest Ranch near Steamboat, CO, these waffles were served as a brunch dish, with smoked salmon and white cheddar cheese. But I like them with maple syrup and fresh blueberries, for a sweet version. Don't let Waffle Week pass you by!

Cornmeal Waffles
(makes 8 waffles)

1-1/2 cups cornmeal
4 tablespoons flour
1 tablespoon sugar
1 teaspoon baking powder
1 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon baking soda
4 large eggs, lightly beaten
2 cups low fat buttermilk
4 tablespoons melted butter
Maple syrup and fresh blueberries for garnish

Combine first 6 ingredients (cornmeal through baking soda) in a large bowl and stir. Beat eggs and buttermilk together in a separate bowl. Pour egg mixture over cornmeal mixture and stir just until dry ingredients are moistened, and then stir in melted butter just until blended. Do not over mix. Heat a waffle iron according to the manufacturer's directions. Ladle about 1/4 cup batter over hot iron and cook until crisp. Serve with maple syrup and fresh blueberries.

Take it off...

Is wearing a ball cap in a nice restaurant still taboo? Or am I just old-fashioned?

Last evening, we're seated in a high-end restaurant, but one that doesn't necessarily require you to dress up. You'd feel comfortable in jeans and a nice sweater. The restaurant is in a resort town, and casual dress is the norm.

The white cloth tables are set with wine glasses and heavy silverware.The menu is gourmet (entrees range from $20 to $40).

In walks a young, late twenties/early thirties couple, and the guy is sporting a red ball cap. I notice that he doesn't remove it. I shouldn't look at him but he is in my direct line of sight.

So I'm asking: is that becoming the norm among the next generation? Or did his mama just not teach him any manners?

Cut it out!

The deli was a basic run-of-the-mill joint so I wasn't expecting anything spectacular about the garden salad I ordered with my tuna sandwich. The greens were fresh, mostly romaine with julienned carrots and tomato wedges. The surprise came with the vinaigrette. It was vinegar -- a cheap balsamic at that -- and not one drop of oil. Odd. I guess that's one way to cut the fat out.

Rx for Bottled Vinaigrettes

Bottled vinaigrettes could use a little TLC. I’ve personally never bought one that didn’t need some doctoring to match the flavor of a fresh from scratch one. If you know of one that is just perfect straight out of the bottle, please share with us.

The first thing most bottled vinaigrettes need is a shot of vinegar. It doesn’t have to be the same vinegar that the bottle is based on, but that certainly helps. A pinch of sugar usually helps, too, or a squirt of honey or something to balance the salt, which most bottled vinaigrettes have too much of.

I pour out of a bottle as much vinaigrette as I need to dress my salad. I taste, and then start adding – a teaspoon of vinegar and perhaps a 1/4 teaspoon of sugar, and whisk. Taste. Still not right? Add a little more vinegar and/or sugar. If it is still not right, then perhaps a drop of mustard. If it is still not right after that, I’ll never buy that brand again; because at that point, it’s just as easy to make your own, from scratch.

All you need is oil (olive, canola) and acid (vinegar, citrus) and flavorings (crushed garlic, salt, pepper, mustard, sweetener). I make my vinaigrettes with half oil/half acid, which makes for a vinaigrette with a bite. But the traditional French ratio of 3 parts oil to 1 part vinegar is just too oily for my tastes.

I’ve also been known to mix a couple of bottled vinaigrettes/dressing together. For example, one of my favorite combinations is a couple of brands from Annie’s—I love to mix the Shiitake Mushroom Vinaigrette with the Gingerly Vinaigrette. I still add a pinch of sugar, but that’s it.

Strange Kitchen

I’m in a strange kitchen. The only thing I’ve brought from my home base is my chef’s knife. This kitchen is equipped for squatters – temporary occupants that have no interest in real cooking. I feel awkward, like I’m intruding. How will I manage the next few weeks without my beloved pots, pans, tools and machines?

The layout is a one sided galley, with the refrigerator almost out of the room. The stove is an electric smooth top. Quick cleanup is a small consolation. The big picture window is a bonus, opening outward with a crank to welcome in cool mountain air, even if the view is the side of the neighbor’s house.

We bought some granola at a local bakery and of course it doesn’t measure up to my Triple Creek Granola, so I stock up with the ingredients at the Whole Foods at the edge of town. My friends tell me I should sell it, but it would be the world’s most expensive granola, as it costs $20 for the raw ingredients to make a batch.

I scrounge through the drawers looking for measuring cups. The 1/2-cup is missing, so the 1/4-cup does double duty. I find a large stockpot to mix the dry ingredients – oats, three kinds of nuts, coconut, brown sugar and cinnamon, while a small saucepan gently warms oil, honey and maple syrup.

I find a cheap sheet pan in the broiler drawer beneath the oven and spread half the batch to the edges, spilling gooey oats on the counter. Fifteen minutes later the pan buckles when I take it out of the oven and it hits to cold surface of the cook top.

The granola sticks to the bottom, even though there is plenty of fat in the mix. Through the hot pad, my hand burns, as I forget that one side is only a thin veil of fabric, like a one-sided mitt.

A few more minutes, another stir and scrape, and repeat again, until the granola is golden brown and the house smells of warm cinnamon, maple syrup and toasted nuts. Now I stir in dried cherries and blueberries, breaking up the clumps as it cools.

All of a sudden, the kitchen seems right, like someone turned a light on in a dim room. The granola cools on the counter. The house smells like the home of a cook, and the strange kitchen isn’t so strange anymore.