Now television is about elimination, survival by less than admirable instincts, pitting individuals against each other. Or, staged giveaways and makeovers so that we feel we’re not so bad for despising that one person in the reality show the networks want us to hate; we tear when someone gets their dream house, even though we want to see that one person on the island publicly humiliated. That might be interesting, but it’s no mystery. 

I’m not begrudging anyone their entertainment. If there is one thing that reality shows have, it’s human spirit.  I’m just not so sure it’s nurturing the better part of the human spirit; and I say “I’m not sure” because I have never watched a reality show (Iron Chef America, a couple episodes of Hell’s Kitchen). I am so not saying people who don’t watch are superior than those who do, I’m just saying, what was so wrong with Thomas Magnum (Magnum P.I.), with Uncle Jesse and Danny Tanner (Full House), with David Addison (Moonlighting)?

Thank goodness I can buy these shows on DVD now. So I can hear Magnum say “Deductive reasoning, logic and intuition,” or see John Stamos (with a mullet!) play guitar to three little girls, and smirk as Bruce Willis asks “Do bears bear? Do bees bee?”

Here is what I am hoping, optimist that I am: life, even scripted life, is cyclical.  There will be a return to better days and resolution at the end of the half or one hour. Waiting to see who gets eliminated next will be replaced by the ellipsis, and our hope for a happy ending. I know sitcoms and hour shows are televised now, but, I admit, my anxiety level can’t take ten different shows nightly about crime and punishment. And the only thing my brain wants to solve is what food may be the Chairman’s secret ingredient.

So I want a happy ending more than I want to connect with the last man or woman standing. So Law & Order, even though I admire the genius of Dick Wolf, makes me neurotic over my children’s safety. So I grew up in the age of predictable dialogue and the suggestion of things, rather than in-your-face things. I’m really more comfortable with that.

When I haven’t been sleeping one of the above things off, I’ve been in the kitchen. A few ibuprofen and I’m right enough to get to the real medicine; minestrone, roasted chicken, brownie cookies (from scratch), spaghetti and meatballs, oatmeal raisin cookies, couscous with lots of citrus juice and zest, pineapple upside down cake, caramelized smashed peas with garlic and mint, and cheeseburgers, but only one thing really worked.  Potatoes. I think it all comes down to childhood and genetics.

I did not want guilt on top of all of the other reasons I was hibernating - and I know my reasons could be so much worse - so I oven baked said potatoes and called them”fries”.

In case you wanna know, check it out;

5 large red potatoes, peeled or unpeeled, doesn’t matter
Whites of 2 eggs, whip them a little

1 - 2 tbsp. extra virgin olive oil
1 tsp. garlic powder
Coarse grain salt to taste
1/2 tsp. white pepper
Dash chili pepper

Preheat oven to 375 degrees.
Julienne potatoes until they look like fries to you.
Put egg whites in a Ziploc bag, then add potatoes.
Work potatoes in egg whites a bit, then remove with a spoon or your hands.
Combine olive oil, garlic powder, salt, pepper, and chili pepper in bowl. 
Add potatoes until coated with oil mixture.
Place potatoes on baking sheet lined with parchment paper.
Cook potatoes on one side at 375 degrees for 12 minutes.
Remove from oven, turn potatoes on other side, and cook for an additional 10 minutes or until done.

Keep in mind, these won’t get crunchy, as they would if fried. If you want some crunch, sprinkle on some fine breadcrumbs when you flip them. I have considered doing this with parmesan and breadcrumbs, we’ll see.

The more carbs, the better sometimes…pasta, potatoes, and oatmeal can bring me back from a lot.

Sometimes I just need to hibernate, and staying in bed watching movies doesn’t work. Does nothing more than stir my hunger. No surprise I start and end up in the kitchen, my cave, balancing out the effects of my hibernation by gifting people with tons and tons of food. 

Regarding the characters of Brody, Quint and Hooper…once they get on the Orca, shed the small town politics of Amity and agree on the method to destroy their common problem, the killer shark, Jaws becomes less of a horror film and more of an analysis into and test of the psyche. Robert Shaw, Richard Dreyfuss and Roy Scheider perfected their roles in acheiving this.

Quint becomes more than the crusty, working class, rugged individual - we see him as a (WWII USS Indianapolis) survivor; that and a madman. When he smashes the radio on the boat as Brody tries to call for help, there’s no need for a subtitle that says “This is the point of no return.” Quint sealed his own fate, and even now, I haven’t really figured out why.

Brody is the prototypical hero, this never changes in the film. A hero is necessary against a villain, and for the cause of hope in a cinematic journey (and Jaws is one hell of a journey, also, based on real events). I can’t ever get enough “Smile, you son of a *****!” in my life. He never gives up on his own survival. I dig that.

Hooper, I have a sentimental attachment to, I just love a rogue intellectual (Ian Malcolm in Jurassic Park, same thing - intelligence saves the day more often than brute strength). But not just that, he gets in the water with a 25-footer, two tons on him (and have you read the book? Do you know what happens to Hooper?). Not only in the water does he show, well, character; Hooper’s conviction is admirable against the inept system that also acts as an antagonist - “This was no boat accident!” Who cares if he was cutting money all his life. He had the goods.

And the test of the psyche, when you finally see the shark, you are still scared, but how much can you take? Aren’t you so wrapped up in just how the trio is going to defeat the beast? That’s good storytelling. Are you asking yourself, would I be able to hit the scuba tank with a bullet, would my fight or flight see me through, would I get that lucky? Would I have the sense to take a bigger boat than the Orca? Deep questions for just a fish tale, huh? And finally, do your wheels start turning about what your shark will look like? 

I ask myself those questions, still, every time I watch Jaws. My six-year-old daughter, Zoe, rewinds Quint getting eaten alive over and over. She, right now, does not have the fear of death that I seem to at my age. I guess I am hoping I can outsmart any potential string of events that lead me into the belly of a beast. Maybe I’m building on my own Brody should I come face to face with a monster. 

If I do, I hope I have the fortitude to stand poised on the very top of a sinking boat with a gun, until I’m out of bullets or out of luck.

What I am also attached to, unexpectedly, are the cooks I saw on The Ultimate Recipe Showdown. They are home cooks, like you and me. They had a particularly good recipe to make it that far in a Food Network televised contest, but more importantly, they had the chutzpah to get up there in front of the world, against other home cooks, and let themselves and their food be judged. Let me tell you, it is difficult, especially if you are not a professionally trained chef, to carry yourself off on televison like you have THE culinary goods and maintain sufficient confidence to be that last cook standing. This may sound sentimental but I’ll say it anyway; I am so proud to be in the home chef ranks with these people - college students and grandmothers to mothers of lots and lots of kids, distinguishing themselves not only in their own homes but on an intimidating, worldwide stage. 

I always say, a good cook will find recipe inspiration anywhere, the same way a good writer sees a story in everything. When I fell asleep last night, still thinking about that pineapple-ginger-cilantro roast chicken, I was hoping I would wake up with a new roasted chicken recipe divinely seeded into my subconscious, food-obsessed, mind.

It didn’t happen. I dreamed about a girlfriend of mine who strangely enough called me today. So I found myself assuming a typical home cook position; left hand on my hip, right hand holding the top of my open pantry door, weight shifted to my right foot, staring at my foodstuffs and invoking my hungry muse.

I seem to have more Mediterranean pantry items than anything, this is something I need to build upon in 2008. So Mediterranean Roast Chicken was born from availability. I took what I had on hand and multiplied it by media snippets of Nigella, Jamie Oliver, and of course, the Ultimate Recipe Showdown.

In my largest saucepan, I sauteed 4 minced garlic cloves in extra virgin olive oil. Then I added 1/2 cup of roasted red and yellow peppers. Next, 1/4 cup chopped pitted Kalamata olives, about 1/4 cup capers in their juice, 1/2 cup balsamic vinegar, and 2 tbsp. honey. Oh, I also added dried oregano, salt and pepper.

I cooked over medium heat for about 2 minutes. 

To a whole chicken, I squeezed in the juice of a lemon, and stuck the two lemon halves into the cavity. I poured over the yummy stuff I sauteed in the saucepan over the chicken and roasted at 400 degrees for 1 hour, 20 minutes (it was a 4.63 pound chicken).

I should have put foil over the chicken so the capers, etc, would not burn but I was out of foil. My two-year-old, the ankle sock flusher, uses my aluminum foil to wrap around her favorite DVDs.

But my dish, the Mediterranean Roast Chicken, what flavor, how tender, and the pan juices, oh, some insanely good stuff.  I strained the pan juices into a separate bowl, and reserved the peppers, capers and olives that roasted along with the chicken for later addition into some orzo.

When the chicken was cool, I ripped it off the bone. To the saucepan where I roasted the chicken, I added 8 oz. cooked orzo, the chicken, the peppers/olives/capers, and some of the pan juices. I warmed up over a low flame, added goat cheese (feta would work too!) and toasted pine nuts.

This is how trademark recipes are made. You see something you like, you make it you. You leave behind a legacy, televised or not.

However, the pineapple-ginger roast chicken recipe from The Ultimate Recipe Showdown, made by the Mom of four from Arizona, I downloaded that recipe this morning and it’s marinating in my fridge right now. I won’t deviate from that much, I find that recipe captivating. Just as captivating as the Grand Prize Winner, Amparo, and her fried yucca root, but I never thought of using pineapple juice, cilantro, ginger, cumin, soy sauce and chicken together. It spoke to me. 

Besides, I used the pineapple rings that came with the 100% pineapple juice and made a pineapple upside down cake. Double-ingredienting empowers me. 

Now, dinner is ready for when the kids get home from practice, and I can sit down and watch the Food Network again. Or maybe eat the crumbs of the pineapple upside down cake my kids were kind enough to leave behind.

When they like my food that much it’s so…inspiring.

I’ve done it. I’ve gotten the restauarant flavor, consistency, texture, and WOW! factor attributed to Italian restauarant tomato sauces. It took a while, but I did it.

When was the last time you ate tomato sauce at an Italian restaurant and said blech-this sucks! ? It’s probably been a while, right? And that probably wasn’t an authentic Italian place or sauce you ate. Because when you go to a Mom & Pop/laid American roots down within the last two generations or so/non-corporate Italian eatery, you’re most likely getting a tomato sauce that has been tried, perfected, requested, and adapted for more years than anyone alive can count.

So it’s bound to be pretty damn good; deep, rich tomato flavor. A color that suggests either slow-cooking or fresh from the vine. Herbs and spices that are standard in every sauce, and also some that speak of a specific region. A good tomato sauce is a history lesson and a successful communication with all five (even though I believe in six) senses.

So since I started this home cooking thing, since I joined the ranks of cooks all over the world needing to leave a culinary legacy, I have of course been determined to create a tomato sauce of my own. A sauce that I am known for, a sauce that I can make in my sleep, a sauce that stands up at dinner parties but can be prepped in a rush on a Saturday afternoon in between games (do you know what professional atheletes eat before games? I do, on credible authority, and I’ll tell you, in another blog).

My only frame of reference are the tomato sauces I’ve grown up eating at Italian places run by traditionalist yet innovative home cooks turned chefs/restaurant owners. I am also lucky enough to have some Italian girlfriends, to whom food is a second language. But somehow, we seem to drink more wine than we do share recipes. Inquistive as I am, they get me drunk so I forget to chase them around their homes on weekends pleading “I’m entitled to rice balls too!”

I suppose I’ll have to come up with a rice ball recipe of my own as well. When it comes to the food of Italians, I can’t seem to leave well enough alone.

So, here is how I do tomato sauce; but this is just me. How I got to this recipe was to taste others, read cookbooks and menus, learn the preferences of my own family, and then one day - what do you know - I had something worthy.

TOMATO SAUCE
* Using canned, because right now tomatoes are not in season. Fresh tomato sauce recipe coming this summer.

1 sweet onion, diced
4 garlic cloves, smashed
2 big cans organic tomato; puree, sauce, diced tomatoes or whole tomatoes in their own juice - or whatever you have on hand!
Extra virgin olive oil, 1-2 tbsp.
Pat of butter, maybe
2 bay leaves
Few sprigs thyme, and/or
1-2 tsp. dried oregano
Worcestshire sauce, about 1 tsp.
Balsamic vinegar, about 1 tbsp.
Coarse grain salt and pepper to taste

Over medium-high heat, sautee onion in about 1 tbsp. olive oil.
When soft, add garlic and sweat for around a minute, don’t burn the garlic!
Add tomatoes.
If using whole or diced, mash with potato masher. Or leave whole, you know, it’s up to you.
Add bay laves, thyme, oregano, Worcestshire sauce, balsamic vinegar, salt and pepper.
When sauce starts to bubble, reduce to barely a simmer.
Cook as long as you either can or want; when it looks reduced and it’s color is crimson, it’s a good time to serve over freshly cooked pasta.
I simmer the sauce anywhere between 20 minutes and 1 hour.
Lastly, drizzle some olive oil over, melt a pat of butter into, maybe grate some nutmeg over or tear fresh basil leaves onto your sauce. 

Now, to strain or not to strain the sauce? I say, the hell with it. You’ve got hungry people waiting and they’ve been smelling the sauce, give it to them rustic. Unless you are really trying to impress someone, in which case you should have started out with what my Sicilian girlfriend calls The Trinity (I’m pouring you a virtual glass of red wine, my recipe is about to get very fuzzy, purposely). Don’t worry, though, the red wine either encourages you to improvise brilliantly or add some vino to the sauce - either option yields personal and fantastic results.

You can trust me.

My next venture into authentic, restaurant-equivalent sauce involves hazelnut oil, heavy cream, all day simmering and yes, straining. Maybe some glace de veau, we’ll see. I’ll let you know when I get there, because I just can’t stop the process of saucing, peeking, and researching. 

Spending up to $12 a day, five days a week on lunch is just ridiculous. 

When my husband is out in the field everyday working and driving from place to place, he stops for fish tacos, carne asada burritos, sub sandwiches and bagels. It used to not cost very much, but along with the way prices have shot up at the grocery store, the cost of buying lunch has inevitably increased too.

I can’t remember why I don’t make hubby’s lunch along with my kid’s lunches.

Oh, that’s right. He’s more particular in his appetite than I care to accommodate.

Well, that’s going to change. He’ll compromise, I’ll step it up, and hopefully we’ll save enough money to justify the dates we still try and take (there’s a new Eric Bana movie coming out next week, we’ll go whether we can afford it or not).

I mean, really, in the age of panini makers, Thermos’s that truly keep things warm and lunchboxes that actually keep things cool, who needs to spend $75-$100 bucks on lunch every work week?

The thought of that bugs me more than my two-year-old flushing a sock down the toilet while I try to write a blog.

So here is what I am making for hubby’s lunch tomorrow.  I am so excited about it, I’m making one for myself too.

Salad Nicoise Sandwiches
1 panini roll, cut in half
handful black Kalamata olives, pitted and maybe sliced
3-4 new potatoes, cooked and sliced lengthwise
handful green beans
1 can tuna in olive oil, drained
1 large romaine leaf
vinaigrette: red wine vinegar, extra virgin olive oil and dijon whisked with salt and pepper

Since I am making this sandwich tonight, I’ll place the romaine leaf on the bottom half of the roll first. Then I’ll layer the starchy potatoes, tuna, eggs, olives, and beans. I’ll pour the vinaigrette over the sandwich insides last, then add the panini top, of course.

My husband just can’t eat a salad and feel satisfied, he has a subconscious notion that there isn’t enough protein. This Nicoise Salad (double protein with tuna and egg) becoming a sandwich, I hope it works. He gets a little grumpy when his blood sugar gets low or when he feels he was robbed of his protein requirement. My son is the same way. They’re lots of fun to be around when there is a long wait at a restuarant.

If this sandwich still misses the mark, I’ll tell him I first saw a version of this recipe in Men’s Health. That’s totally true. Because my health-conscious husband is the type of guy who comes home to a turkey sandwich with extra-sharp cheddar bought specially for him, with crispy romaine leaves peeking out underneath a ciabatta roll and says “Why isn’t this sandwich on whole wheat bread?” 

In the “almost like” sort of mood that I am in this rainy V-Day, I’m am so excited about the new Mom Writer’s Literary Magazine (http://www.momwriterslitmag.com) contest beginning next month.  Instead of doing a fiction only contest, we’ll be holding a “First-Liner Contest.” The Editors are coming up with a first-line, and essays, fiction, poetry, creative nonfiction, etc. will be written and based on that first line.

This thrills me, because now, I’m in ninth grade again.

In ninth grade, my teacher, Mr. Poston (wherever you are, dude, thank you) pulled me aside and said “You know, you scored higher than was possible on the Romeo & Juliet/West Side Story Comparative Exam. Keep going with that.” He told me, in words I can’t remember verbatim, not to stop writing. But that is not all; our homework assignment every night was to take the first line he had written on the chalkboard that day and expand it into an entire page of whatever we felt moved to write about. Like a kid who discovers he is good at baseball, who feels the future when he holds a bat in his hands for the first time, Mr. Poston’s endorsement and assignments were my defining I’m going somewhere with this moment of childhood.

So this contest has me charged, even though I’m the Editor, the reader and not the writer, I have first lines swimming through my mind, the rush of creative energy carrying me through all things writing. It’s “almost like” that euphoric moment of discovery, putting my No. 2 pencil to lined paper, when the words spilled out of me, and I was happy. When I was no longer disappointed in myself for not being a chick-jock or popular girl. When I became Sam, who liked, and was even good at, writing. I find myself now still in writing, in various formats, inside many circles, with clear goals in mind. If it were not supposed to be, it wouldn’t be, and everyday I thank the Universe for showing me and keeping me involved in what I am so passionate about. 

Last month Jeanett, the bad-ass exercise instructor (around my age) at my neighborhood gym, played 80s music during a class I was taking. From what I can remember, she told us that while downloading these songs onto a disc and listening to them at rather high decibels, her neighbor asked her “Why are you playing that music so loud?” to which she responded, something like, “I’m thirteen, okay! Just leave me alone!”

I’m thirteen, too. I’m in ninth grade, and I’m going somewhere with this, okay?

I heard Trenchtown Rock this morning, so appropriately tied to The Grammys which are on right now. I have to say there is a lot of mediocre music out there now, but I suppose it just readies us for omething really good when it comes along. Have you ever heard a song, read a book, saw a photograph and known it was created just for you? I love it when that happens. It makes me hungry. 

The process of creation is celebrated at awards shows, that is the only reason I still watch them. Right now non-mediocre things are happening that will become songs, books, paintings, and I love the idea of that. Every night at 5pm, I feel that creative energy fill me.  I wish I could say that about every time I sit down to write, but that is subject to a little struggle now and then; and with cooking and eating, well, I have never stood in front of a pantry or fridge full of items and wondered what to do. The culinary creative process is ever reliable for me.

One good thing about food, is when it cooks, I’m me again.

So, because it’s too late tonight (I could certainly eat a bowl of something warm and hearty at this time, of course), tomorrow I am going to make a pasta dish that has disappeared from restaurant menus but was wildly popular a few years ago. I’ll pour a glass of wine, light some candles, and put Rumours, The White Album or Ten into the cd drive. When artists are good, they’re timeless. And when a dish feeds you, when the flavors blend together in a way that was created just for you, you shouldn’t stop eating it.

Pasta with Broccoli, SunDried Tomatoes, Feta and Toasted Pine Nuts 
3 garlic cloves, minced
1 bunch of broccoli, washed, chopped, stalks trimmed and diced as well
1 jar sundried tomatoes, drained with packing oil reserved
1 lb. pasta, thin spaghetti works well
1 cup chicken broth
1/2 cup white wine
1/2 - 1 cup crumbled feta cheese
2/3 cup toasted pine nuts
1 bunch flat leaf parsley, chopped

Bring a pot of water to a rolling boil.
When water is boiling, add pasta.
Drain the sundried tomatoes, reserving the oil they were packed in.
Chop tomatoes roughly, set aside.
Over medium-high heat, in a pan large enough to hold pasta later, add sundried tomato oil to pan and sautee garlic until soft.
Add chicken broth.
When broth begins to simmer, add broccoli.
Let broccoli cook until it begins to soften, then add wine.
Add chopped sundried tomatoes.
Turn down heat to low until pasta is ready, the sauce should reduce a little.
When pasta is al dente, drain, then add to broocoli/tomatoes/wine broth.
Mix all ingredients well, toss pasta with sauce and vegetables.
Transfer pasta with broccoli/tomatoes to serving dish, then top with pine nuts, feta and parsley.

This version of Pasta et al, created by me, has been requested and replayed over and over. To my houseful of cute, hungry people around 6pm, I’m an artist to someone.

It’s rare that we go out for Chinese, however, we try to eat fried foods moderately. There are heatlthy Chinese food alternatives, I know; chains in food courts, and even upscale/gourmet Chinese places, but our preferred non-chain Chinese restaurant makes Chinese food the way they always have. No lightening up or trend following, and that is what I like about it. Last night we dined in-house, amidst the red dragons, drinking steeped tea cupful after cupful, enjoying family-style with our family. The kids fortune cookies promised trips to far off places, exotic locales, and mine said something about self-improvement. I never can escape introspection, even when we go out to enjoy life and forget such things.

Better than going out to eat, however, is eating Chinese food the next day. You probably know by now how much I love leftovers. I just polished off the remaining House Special Chicken, Lemon Chicken, and Chicken and Broccoli with Fried Rice. I saved the Lo Mein Noodles for my son. We had to package them up and bring them home for him because he didn’t eat so much as he did discuss baseball; Little League, Padres Spring Training, his new bat, pitching rotations. Not me, I become very quiet at dinner time.

My favorite way to enjoy Chinese food, though, is straight out of the paper/fold-on-the-top containers, around midnight on the weekend to my husband, in comfortable jammies (Padres shirts that have seen many, many seasons). It’s romantic in a cinematic way. 

Quite serendipitously, last week I discovered 50 recipes from my catering archives. Mostly Mexican cuisine (My girlfirned Seni and I decided we were having a Jacuzzi/Ceviche party, our kids love both), I also found classic recipes, as well as Asian inspired and desserts. I am going to wait for the weekend and make the following salad:

Oriental Chicken Salad *
1 lb. Chicken breast, no skin, sliced into strips
1 lb. cooked green beans
1 lb. snow peas
1 bunch green onions, sliced

Dressing…
6 oz. rice wine vinegar
1 oz. sesame oil
2 oz. dark soy sauce
1 tbsp. ground ginger (or mince some fresh ginger on a grater, I prefer that, actually)

Mix salad and dressing together. You can certainly add chopped cabbage to be used as a bed for the chicken breast, beans, onions and snow peas, or maybe some cooked rice noodles(even ramen noodles), in which case you should make more dressing. The dressing is also a fantastic marinade.

An early Spring day that presented me my Catering recipes from long ago, fortune cookies that knew we had started planning our summer cruise that very day, and Chinese take out - what could be better? 

Maybe this weekend around midnight.

Her “Premiere Asian Cucumber Salad” was so good, and gone in a flash. We used the remaining rice wine vinegar dressing to dip the orange roughy into. What a meaty, mild fish it is - no bones, doesn’t fall apart while cooking, sweet, mellow flavor. I melted butter and olive oil together in a pan, added the fish which I seasoned with garlic powder, cayenne, salt, and white pepper, and cooked a few minutes on each side, after squeezing fresh lime juice over the fish. When the fish was ready, I plated it and topped with fresh cilantro, chopped green onions, and lime wedges. Yum.

But the best part about the meal - to me, at least - was the brussels sprouts. I have always roasted them in a 400 degree oven with olive oil, salt and pepper, but I modified a recipe from this month’s Gourmet magazine. I halved about 1 1/2 to 2 pounds of brussels sprouts. In a pan, I melted butter and olive oil and sauteed chopped garlic. In went the sprouts, which I stirred around until they were coated with the olive oil and butter. Thereafter, I seasoned with salt and white pepper (I’m really on a white pepper kick right now). Then I added a little more than 1/3 of a cup of water (only because I was out of chicken broth), and covered to cook for seven minutes give or take on medium high heat. They were so soft, so sweet, and so good for us.

I don’t know how eating healthy by default happened in this home, or to this girl. Moderate butter usage aside (a pat here, a sliver there), seems to me I got omega-3s, heart healthy oils and probably every vitamin possible down the gullets of my kids last night.  Hubby didn’t need convincing, he is Greek, and ate dinner like this every night as a kid. Last week his mother served us slow cooked beets and calamari in a red wine vinegar sauce. She sauteed the beet greens in olive oil, salt and pepper and mixed in with the calamari. It is no wonder people aspire to eat like Mediterranean countries. America leads the world in the production and consumption of processed foods.

But not in this house. Not when I have a six-year-old sous chef who knows how to prep vegetables, make a tasty salad out of them, and does it without a nasty, globby, fat-laden bottled dressing.