Culinary Quote: Me

"Here's what I've learned about cooking eggs that has improved the finished product. One: never go in against a Sicilian when death is on the line; and two: cook eggs at a lower heat than you think you need. Well, it's really just the second one."

Recipe: Peasant Pasta with Swiss Chard

I come by my love of peasant food honestly -- my grandfather's birth certificate from Sao Miguel in the Azores says "peasant" right on it. A love of bitter greens and ways to stretch a buck is in my DNA.

I'm posting this for a friend who asks me almost every week at the farmer's market how I cook swiss chard. IT Guy, this is for you.

Peasant Pasta With Swiss Chard
Serves 4 peasants

12 oz. package fettucine
1 large bunch (or two small) swiss chard
3 Tbsp. olive oil
3 cloves garlic, minced (or more to taste)
4 eggs
4 oz. fresh mozarella, cubed
salt and pepper
Parmesan cheese, grated

1. Bring a large pot of salted water to a boil. Meanwhile, slice swiss chard leaves and stems in approximately half-inch slices (you can do this while it's still bunched) and then run your knife through the leaves to rough chop. Fill a large bowl with cold water and place chard into it, swishing the chard around to clean it.

2. Cook pasta according to package directions. When it is within 4 minutes of being done, scoop the swiss chard out of the water bath and into your pasta water. Stir. Cook 4 more minutes.

3. Heat olive oil in a non-stick skillet over medium heat. Saute the garlic for about 1 minute (be careful not to burn it) and then pour garlic and oil into a small bowl.

4. In remaining traces of oil, cook the eggs over easy, over medium, or sunnyside up (according to preference; you want a bit of runny yolk). Season with salt and pepper.

5. Drain pasta mixture, return to cooking pot, and pour garlic and olive oil over it. Stir. Add parmesan cheese, salt, and pepper to taste. Toss well.

6. Scoop pasta mixture onto four plates, garnish with an egg, mozzarella cubes, and a little more parmesan cheese (why not?).

* Note: this recipe is a good way to use up greens that are a little wilted or a mixture of more than one kind of green you may have on hand. You could also make it even heartier by putting two eggs on each plate.

Heirloom Tomatoes

From My Inner Twelve-Year-Old To You

Image: BedBathandBeyond.com

This image made me laugh out loud. It's a real product available for purchase from Bed Bath and Beyond. Rush over to their website and buy one. You know you want to.

I'm Betty Ready

Gentle readers, feast your eyes on this photo of me rocking the Betty Crocker look. I created it on YearbookYourself.com, and I think it proves I'm ready to join the culinary pantheon of imaginary housewives.

See? I'm WAY cooler than Ms. Boring 1996. Get with it, General Mills. Retro is the new modern!

Cereal Killer

During these hot summer days when maiden aunts are subsisting mostly on smoothies and sandwiches, our thoughts naturally turn to food tales of yore.

The Scene: My mother's kitchen, circa 1983. Cereal is kept in a floor-level cabinet so children can serve themselves for breakfast and snacks.

The Players: Me. My sister Rachel, age 6. Our brother Aaron is 13 -- seven years older than Rachel and seven years younger than me.

Rachel: Maria, would you please get me some cereal?

Maria: You can get it yourself. I'll get the milk out of the fridge for you.

Rachel: Can you get me cereal too?

Maria: You can get your own cereal. Open the cabinet and pick the kind you want.

Rachel: I want Cheerios. Get them out for me, pleeeeeeeeease?

Maria: [opening cabinet and pulling out a cereal box] Okay, here you go.

Rachel: Open it.

Maria: Open it yourself.

Rachel: [never taking her eyes off the box] You open it.

Maria: Rachel, you're a big girl! Why won't you do this yourself?

Rachel: I'm scared.

Maria: What can you possibly be scared of?

Rachel: I'm afraid of monsters. In the cereal box.

Maria: What in the world? ... AARON!!!!

Chocolate Fountain

During these hot summer days when maiden aunts are subsisting mostly on smoothies and sandwiches, our thoughts naturally turn to food tales of yore.

Picture it: my mother's kitchen, 1985. My youngest sister Rachel (age 8 at the time) asked me to help her make a milkshake. Since I was fully grown and much taller, she stood in front of me while we loaded the blender with ice cream, milk, and Nestle's Quik. As I reached out to pick up the blender's lid off the counter, Rachel pushed a button and started the blender.

Have you ever noticed how, in moments like this, time seems to slow way down? I saw her push the button. I heard myself say "NOOOOOOOOO." I saw the blender's contents fly high into the air, and then splash down upon us. I was still reaching for the lid while flailing toward the off switch.

I surveyed the wreckage. There were chunks of ice cream and splashes of milk everywhere. I was spattered from the chest up and completely clean from there down since Rachel had made a very effective human shield. She was drenched from head to toe, her hair dripping chocolate milk onto the floor. I ran across the kitchen and unspooled a roll of paper towels to mop us off, and then sent her to take a shower and change. I cleaned the kitchen, although I suspect my mother is finding bits of chocolate in odd places to this day.

When I got back from my turn in the shower, believe it or not, the kid still wanted a milkshake.