Mmmm . . . Fried and Delicious

Used with permission.

Tonight at sundown signals the beginning
of the Eight Days of Hanukkah.

Lights, or candles, are integral to this holiday.

We'll light our Menorah, which we bought at the Judaica shop

in Squirrel Hill in Pittsburgh, 34 years ago.

Memo to self: run to Shop Rite and get Hanukkah candles!

Antique menorahs, some from the 12th century.

Like many holidays, Hanukkah is not geared toward the "let's eat light" crowd.  "Eat Heavy," which believe it or not
is the motto of the Tick Tock Diner in Clifton, New Jersey,
might also be Hanukkah's rallying cry.

Blame it on the oil.

Traditional Hanukkah foods are mostly fried in oil.

Which, of course, makes them crazy delicious.

So tonight, we'll have six people around the

dining table, which will be set with blue and white dishes,

for brisket, potato latkes, and a vegetable to be named later.

I make goofy looking shredded potato pancakes,

but they are my family's favorites.

My mother-in-law taught me that I could make them

ahead of time, and keep them hot in a 250-degree oven,

on brown paper-lined cookie sheets.  Brilliant.

She also gave me the brisket recipe, which you can find here.

It involves cranberries and onions and . . . well, it's good.
I may try a variation on it this year.

Our daughter Alida, in Los Angeles, is having a Hanukkah party

on Sunday evening, and she wants to know how I make my latkes.

So, here goes; this is for you, Alida Rose!

Russett (Baking) Potatoes 

Eggs 

Flour

Peanut Oil for frying (gets smokin' hot without losing its cool)

(Some people add finely chopped onion, but my kids didn't like

that, so I still leave it out.  Even though my kids are now ancient.)

Quantities are not exact.  This is cooking, not baking, so you've

got some wiggle room in what you do.  It ain't science class.

It's potatoes, hot oil, and sour cream.  You can't lose.

Method

1)  Peel your potatoes, and shred them.  I count on about 1-1/2 potato per person, if there is going to be other food.  2 per otherwise.  Shred in food processor using shredding blade, or

grate by hand.  Squeeze out moisture, but don't make a career out of it.  That's why God made flour.

2)  Put your taters in a big bowl, and sprinkle in some flour.  Add a few shakes of salt, too.  Mix it up, and see if the flour has absorbed the excess wet stuff.  Don't use too much flour -- you can always add.  Sprinkle some, mix, sprinkle again if needed.  Better too little than too much.

3)  Break a couple of eggs (if you've done 8 good-sized taters, use 3 eggs) into a smaller bowl, and ter-klop them, which is Howard's family's term for a quick whisk with a fork.  Pour the eggs into the potatoes and flour mix, and stir it all up.  

By now your taters may be taking on a distinctly red-brown-pink look.  Don't worry.

It's just some starch.  They'll go all pale and interesting again when they are fried.

(Don't we all?)

4)  Pour peanut oil into a heavy frying pan -- enough to cover the bottom comfortably.  You don't deep fry the latkes, but you need enough oil for them to sizzle satisfyingly, and not to stick.  Let the oil get hot, till a drop of water tossed onto the surface goes FIZZZZ really nicely.

5)  Let the frying begin.  I use a big fork to scoop up the shredded potatoes, which by now should be holding together pretty well from the egg and flour mixed with them.  I use a fork, so excess wetness will drip off back into the bowl and not make ick in the frying pan.  Put the lump into the oil -- carefully! -- and squash it into the size, shape, and depth you want.  Repeat till your frying pan is pretty much full of latkes, merrily sizzling away.

6)  Watch your temperature in the pan; too low a heat, and they just sort of poach.  Too high and they -- duh -- burn.  

7)  Keep an eye on them.  This is not the time to cruise Etsy or Ebay for earrings (I'm talking to you, Alida).  The beauty of shredded potato pancakes is you can see when they are browning on their little bottoms.  When they are, flip 'em.  Carefully.  Hot peanut oil burns.  IF a latke is resisting being flipped, it might not be done on its backside.  Give it another moment.

8)  When you take them out, drain them on paper towel OR even better -- brown paper bags.  Yeah, I know . . . those food store bags, who knows where they've been?  Heck, you are eating potato pancakes fried in peanut oil and topped with sour cream . . . how much more danger can you be in?  

9)  If you want to hold them till your company arrives, then line cookie sheets with paper, and put the latkes, single layer, on them, and into a 250-degree oven.  They'll do just fine.

10)  It's time for the payoff.  Eat them!  With sour cream and a sprinkle of salt or (gasp!) sugar, or (for the faint of heart) applesauce.  Preferably homemade.

Mazel Tov.  You've made latkes!

Happy Hanukkah! -- Cass

Cauliflower Pizza Power

It's been 5 days since my last post.  Why?
I've been indulging in a little pre-Christmas
Retail Therapy this week, both online and real time.

What is it about purchasing stuff that is just so dang satisfying?

It loses the gloss a little bit when I realize I need to

actually find room for the things I haul home.  For me.

Oh, wait.  Was I supposed to be buying presents?

Anne's been pitching in with cooking, and, inspired by a recipe

from her sister, she whipped up pizzas for us for dinner.

With cauliflower crusts!

Did you miss the 10/2010 post about the Cauliflower That Ate New Jersey?  Click here!

This recipe defies all logic; it should not work.

But it does.  Who'd a-thunk?

It's a great recipe for anyone going low-carb, or gluten-free.

Being her Mama's daughter, Anne took pictures.

For the crust, you need raw cauliflower,

shredded mozzarella, and eggs.

A battle with Edward Scissorhands inside the Cuisinart,

and our cauliflower morphs into little itty bits, like grains of rice.

 Squeeze all the wetness out of the riced veggie.

One does not want one's crust to be soggy. 

Mix the cheese and the egg into the riced veg, to make a pasty glop.

Plop it onto a baking sheet.

(Pizza stones or stone sheets are ideal for this.)

Form the glop into reasonable facsimiles of pizza shapes,

and pop them into a 450-degree oven.

They actually get crusty at the edges.
These crusts are showing off their tops and bottoms.

Add toppings:  pizza sauce, cheese, veggies,

pepperoni, crumbled sausage, pineapple . . . 

No! No! Never pineapple, blech . . . 

and back they go into the oven, under the broiler,

to get all melty and crispy and delicious.

 I am not a gambling man, or even woman, but I'd bet

that you could feed this to just about anyone who 

has never had it before, and he or she would never guess

that it's cauliflower lurking under all that pizza-y goodness.

The crusts get crispier in the bottom rack of the oven, and you

can pick the slices up and eat them in your hand, like Domino's.

Only they are better, because Domino's?  Not a high bar.

So . . . the recipe.  It's here:

Preheat oven to 450-degrees.

1 cup "riced" raw cauliflower

1 egg

1 cup mozzarella cheese (if making double the recipe, use 1-1/2 c.)

(Add salt, herbs, garlic, etc., if you want to.)

Mix together, spread in a round shape on baking pan.  (Stone pan works best.  You can spray a cookie sheet with Pam-stuff if you want, or lightly brush on olive oil.)

Bake for about 15 minutes, more if you've doubled to make a BIG pie.

Remove from oven, and pile on your pizza toppings.  You know what you like.

While that's happening, you are goosing up the oven to broiler heat.

Return the pan to the oven, and broil until the cheese gets all sexy, moist, and melty.

Okay, not sexy, but ....

And that's it.  The whole enchilada.  Or, pizza.  It reheats nicely, so they say, but we didn't test that out as we ate the little cuties all in one meal.  

Hey, there were three of us.  It wasn't just me.

That's it for Friday.

I am on my way to pick up my minivan (finally!)

which (also finally!) has a new front facade.

-- Cass

Visit Foodie Friday here!

Squirrel 1, Dylan 0

Remember this guy?

Our portly squirrel, whom we've nicknamed Franklin.

He often hangs out on our fence.

Staring placidly at our dog Dylan, while Dylan barks wildly.

And in vain.

Dylan decides it's time to take action.

 Squirrel Franklin has discovered a bag of kitchen refuse,

on its way to the trash can, but parked there just for a moment.

Dylan is barking so madly, his ears are flying up and down.

"Yo. You barkin' at me?

You wanna piece o'this?"

 Franklin is not fazed by the hubbub happening

just inches away from him.  He's goin' in, no matter what.

"Bark Bark Bark Bark Bark Bark Bark Bark . . . ."

And . . . "Bark Bark Bark Bark Bark Bark Bark . . . . "

"Yo, chump.  Thanks for the eats.

I'm outta here."

I think if we could see closely enough, we might see

a one-fingered Jersey salute from Squirrel Franklin to Dylan.

Dylan takes refuge across the room, where he can curl up on

the back of the club chair, and lean against Annie's head.

And now, it's Sunday, and we're making a small beginning

in our Christmas decorating.  There are lights on Franklin's fence.

I need to get the very last of the Autumn decorating into the cellar.

Pumpkins and Santas don't co-exist gracefully, do they?

Have a lovely Sunday! -- Cass

Happy Frank, Sloppy Snow, Sniffles, And The Turkey Shirt Returns

In our prep for Happy Frank's Giving Day,
we had a serious crisis:  Howard could not find his
(in)famous Turkey Shirt.

Miraculously, it surfaced on The Big Day.

Me:  "Where did you find it?"
Howard:  "In the closet.  Hanging with my other shirts,
                 right where it was supposed to be."

Ladies, you have all been down this road before.

So here he is, Mr. Thanksgiving himself, circa 2012:

Howard and a 28-and-3/4 pound Tom,
looking way better in the picture above than it does in this one:

 Raw turkey.  Not attractive.  But such potential.

What is attractive on Thanksgiving Day?
(Other than Howard in his Turkey Shirt?)

A lineup of pies!

Getting the dessert table set up.  The whipped cream is still being, well, whipped.

 2 apple, 2 pumpkin, one cranberry, one walnut, cookies with
Hersey Kisses, and a pumpkin cheesecake with a gingersnap crust.
We go all out in the dessert department on Thanksgiving.

We fed 22 souls last Thursday, and no one got poisoned.
Another successful Thanksgiving!

*************************************
Today, an actual snowfall.

About 3 inches by nightfall.

Little doggy Dylan is not sure about this cold white stuff. 

Out with Anne for a business trip.

"It's getting kind of nippy out here."

"Let me in!"

Houseguests Josh and Alida
went back to Los Angeles this morning.

We stuffed them like they were Strasbourg geese for a week, 
and in a month we'll welcome them back at Christmastime.  
:-)
********************************

Meanwhile, I am sniffling and sneezing.
My first head cold of the winter season.
And I hope it will be my last.  I'm so impatient with colds.

They don't make you sick enough to send you to a doctor

for some sort of magic drug, but you still feel dreadful.  Crazy.

Having doggy Dylan with me on the sofa, snuggling through a

couple of awful old movies today, was therapeutic.

He really tucks himself into the nooks and crannies, does this dog.

Oops.  I think we woke him up.

I was especially thankful this Thanksgiving

to husband Howard, daughters Anne and Alida,

and son-in-law Josh for their wonderful help in getting

Thanksgiving launched here at That Old House.

Without them, it would have been baked beans and hot dogs.

And of course, I am deeply grateful that Howard found his Turkey Shirt.

Turkey Shirt pose, 2012 Edition.

Now, my friends, it's on to Advent, and Hanukkah,

and Christmas, and the New Year, and Epiphany.  

Let the decorating and celebrating begin!  -- Cass

P.S.  Happy Frank's Giving Day?  For the newcomers to the blog, that's the name given to the Thanksgiving Holiday by our much-missed Cavalier spaniel Dion DiPoochy, years ago.  Dion often waited in vain for Happy Frank to bring him a special present, but being an honest pup he also had to admit that most years, he didn't deserve one.

He passed the tradition to our new Cavalier, Dylan.  Dylan is learning his manners fast, but he's still got a few quirks, like biting his leash in order to take himself for a walk.  We're working on that one!  It's amazing what a couple of Cheerios can do; you can't munch a snack and bite a leash at the same time.  

What T.B.D.B.T. List? One Day, Folks!

There is an Old Wives' Tale - When your 
squirrels are chubby in the Fall,
you are in for a rough winter.

Uh-oh.

One of our local squirrels,
perched on a fence post outside our sunroom.

Bring on the snuggies and the galoshes, friends.

I'm abandoning all hope of a mild winter.

But tomorrow, Thanksgiving Day 2012, will be a lovely day.

Which is a mixed blessing;

brilliant afternoon sun on the west side of the house

highlights how really schmutzig the windows are.

Me?  I like a day with good cloud cover when I give thanks.

Supermarket flowers, waiting to be transformed into centerpieces.

My T.B.D.B.T List?

(To Be Done By Thanksgiving.)

Ha.  Ha.  Ha.

Between one thing and another, including this:

pretty much nothing got done.

Although we did hang the matchstick blinds in the study.

I am thankful for even that small thing.

(Which I call small, because Howard did all the work

and I just had to watch and supervise.  He loves that.)

Meanwhile, at That Old House, preparations continue for

tomorrow's feast and love fest.

Mmmm . . . chopped onions and celery, getting all

hot and bothered and ready for the stuffing.

Our biggest blessing?

A family which really enjoys family gatherings.

And, of course, a full refrigerator.

The turkey, a modest 28 pounder, is in the fridge downstairs.
So it's really two full refrigerators.  Come help us eat!

Next on the food prep list?

Hot artichoke dip, two apple pies,

one walnut pie, and a pumpkin cheesecake.

Have a wonderful Thanksgiving!

You lookin' at ME?

I'll be back to say Hi soon, and share a picture of

this year's pin-up boy:  Howard in his turkey shirt!

-- Cass

Dylan and Dad; a dog and his boy.

Boo-Boos And Bumps

It's 7:55 on Thursday morning at That Old House,
and Howard and I are waiting for an insurance
adjuster to come at 8:00 and look at the boo-boos
on our house, left by Storm Sandy.

It's a chilly morning.

Not only is there frost on the pumpkins,

there's frost on the red minivan.

Frost is not all that is on the red minivan.

There are lots of boo-boos there, too.

And some deer hairs.

That's a pile of grille and other car parts on the right side of the picture, on the grass.

Last night, on a very dark and wooded part of Route 10

in nearby Randolph, a deer and I crossed paths.

As bad as the minivan is, it's in better shape than the poor deer.

And I am fine.

Except I keep hearing the thud, and seeing the blur of tan fur.

Our insurance company was not surprised;

they are get a lot of these calls.

New Jersey's roads are littered with deer this time of year.

I am sure there's no connection, but there were a lot of deer
in our yard this morning, including an enormous buck with
a very impressive rack.  I got a little nervous, thinking
that they'd sent their best hit man (hit deer?) to get me . . . .
After all, these are Jersey deer!  -- Cass