sheldel Food Journal

A quick week #3 CSA recap, and what happens when you don't stick to the list.

We've got more luscious strawberries (literally bursting from all the rain we've had lately), a big bag of new broccoli, sweet spring onions, kohlrabi, assorted lettuce and collard greens.

And what happened with some of our produce this week?

Strawberries were juiced and added to morning mimosas; the collards and onions were chopped and added to a lovely bunch of brussels, some roasted garlic and pancetta for this little delight:

The caramelization on those sprouts alone gives me palpitations. And have I mentioned lately my affinity for all things pork?

The greens were a nice accompaniment to a summer Sunday dinner -- we had a few things that were thawed and needed cooking, and the rest....? Well....that got a bit out of hand.

I believe I have previously mentioned my penchance for impulse buying meat...? Well, in case I haven't, yesterday was no exception. I went out for some heirloom tomatoes (for the caprese)...and that was IT. That was the ONLY thing on my list. (I have to make strict lists and STICK to them or I'll wander aimlessly and fill my basket with bits and pieces...er, just like yesterday.). Chicken, steak, greens and a tomato salad...that was the plan.

But then it started. The deviation from the list. I skulked near the deli counter for pancetta (my brain: "for the collards!") and grabbed a sample of some smoked liver sausage. Ouch. So of course I had to build upon that little "snack" for an appetizer for a dinner that was now rapidly reaching epic proportions. (And while I was waiting, of course, I was lucky enough to snag the last remaining prosciutto "end" as well. Soup? Pasta? Who knows...but that HAD to go right in the freezer, lest we end up with a multi-dimensional, triple-tiered pork explosion on our hands.)

So, Sunday's dinner went in all kinds of directions, but somehow it all went really nicely together.

Clockwise: smoked liver sausage on whole grain crackers with fig confit, fresh fig and spanish garroxta goat's milk cheese; caprese with heirloom tomatoes, marinated mozzarella, basil and roasted garlic; coffee and salt-crusted ribeye (cooked perfectly rare -- flame is for artistic purposes only!); and a pesto "rustica" with the rest of the basil, toasted amonds and more of the garroxta to top the butterflied, basil-infused, grilled game hens that weren't pictured... I believe I was too busy loading my plate at that point and had to lay the camera down...

All in the name of less waste (?!)..... And we get some killer leftovers this week.

I love summer. And pork.

It really IS like Iron Chef!

I open the box each week and immediately begin to envision finished dishes... Last week's box of goodness turned into:

-- Spicy pork lettuce wraps with peanut soba noodles and asian slaw
-- "Greek" feta pie with spinach, dill, chard, kale & garlic scapes
-- A week's worth of colorful, crunchy salads
-- Strawberries 50 different ways...

This week's box:

Chinese cabbage, more assorted lettuces, "dino" kale, strawberries & mini purplette onions

So far, this week's onions & some lettuce made it into a super salad, strawberries went into the freezer and we're having:

-- Thyme-grilled chicken thighs with kale, brussel sprouts & roasted garlic sauteed in walnut oil, accompanied by a red-pepper spelt "risotto"
-- Green curry stir fry atop Chinese cabbage (I may throw some lettuce in this to see what happens when cooked...)
-- Lettuce wraps with crispy pork*, red cabbage, avocado and cilantro-crema, cojita and refried black beans (and probably a margarita or two!)

* See "Cold Hands, Warm Pork" for the basic pork technique -- we can't make any mexican fare without it lately!

It's exciting to experience the progression of vegetables as the season marches on... Can't wait to see what next week brings! Who would have thought a simple box of veggies could brighten my day so much?

'Til next box...

PS: if anybody wants recipes, please don't hesitate to ask!

It's one of those things we've always wanted to try, but just never did. Until now.

This spring, with the timely arrival of our government "stimulus" coinciding with the window for membership in a local organic farm CSA — as well as in the midst of horror story after horror story of tainted produce — the stars finally aligned for us to put our money where are mouths are (literally) and sign up.

Of course it's au courant...it's trendy...locavore, organic and slow food are hipster buzzwords as of late. Waving around the CSA badge is as good as driving a hybrid, isn't it? But isn't that what we want? Don't we strive to encourage others to "think local," "go green" and "eat healthier" without automatically being labeled as one of "those people?" If more people followed suit, we'd be making bigger strides for a better world...without the stigma.

I did the research. I did the math (both kinds: figuring the monetary as well as the health/environmental aspects). And we concluded, why not put our money right back where it's needed the most: The State of Michigan. And better yet, a Michigan farm. It's not a fad... it just makes sense. It's doing our part (however small) to make this planet a better place for current and future generations, with the added bonus of getting to play Iron Chef every week!

The Maple Creek Farm website touts the benefits of organic farming...and the added benefits of supporting a local farming enterprise. Not only are we getting a giant box full of fresh, tasty goodness every week, there's a whole lot more that goes along with that: supporting Michigan, supporting sustainability, supporting safe food... I could go on, but you can read for yourself. I'm not regretting our decision one bit. And I'm certainly not feeling like one of "those people!"

We picked up our first share yesterday, and I could smell the difference immediately. My car was awash with fragrant dill, garlic and the pungent smell of pure, fresh green. A trip home from the grocery store wouldn't even come close.

This week: Five (!) heads of glossy, bouncy romaine and green lettuces...dill...garlic scapes...kale...baby swiss chard... And the reddest, sweetest strawberries I've ever encountered.

The thing that entices me the most is what amounts to a weekly challenge to take what is essentially a puzzle box full of ingredients and transform them into wonderful, healthy meals. The wheels are already churning...my brain is stimulated! This week: Battle Lettuce.

I'm excited for what's to come.

(from the diaries - Kate)

Apologies for not having time to craft a proper entry, but Kate's recent post on the beauty of sandwiches led me to dig this gem out of my photo stash. I believe it more than qualifies.

Don't let the photo trick you...this sucker was as long if not longer than my forearm...
I cannot take credit, this was Hubby's layered creation for the holiest-of-the-holy sporting events each winter...

Hot or cold, this transcended to the upper echelons of sandwich-dom.

The world became a better place the moment this sandwich entered into it.

And the tummies declared "yea, it art great" and were peaceful and satisfied...until the deep-fryer was brought forth upon mankind...

We've all experienced that forlorn, lonely-looking little frilly wad teetering at the edge of many a restaurant plate. Most often pushed to the side or incorporated into a skirt for the leftover carrot guy. (What? You never made the carrot guy with your leftovers?! You just haven't lived!)

Kale. It doesn't even sound exciting. But did anybody know it was actually really good for you? I've always had my suspicions, but never delved further. I was always seduced by the sexier greens. Swiss Chard (those huge, leafy colors!). Spinach (Popeye's favorite!). Heck, even Beet Greens are so much more alluring than plain-jane Kale. Even hubby thought it was kelp at first. "Hey, I thought you didn't even LIKE seaweed?" (But that's another story for another day.)

Some people impulse-buy electronics. Or small dog toys in the checkout. Or cars. Me? I impulse-buy produce. This time it was Kale. I knew there was a soup recipe out there somewhere that incorporated the misunderstood garnish with some white beans and sausage. So I grabbed what I had on hand and gave my best to transform this wrinkly leaf into something lovely. (I have such a soft spot for the misunderstood veggie, I really do.)

So, here's my take on the tried-and-true tuscan soup, starring our lowly friend Kale -- which really shines in this dish, as it should! Eating your greens (even the ugly ones) can be yummier than you ever imagined.

Kale, Sausage and Lentil Soup

1/4 lb. pancetta, cubed OR 4-5 slices of thick, smoky bacon, chopped
glug, glug of olive oil
2 garlic cloves, smashed & roughly chopped
6 shallots, chopped (can sub 1 lg. onion)
8 c. stock (any kind)
1 1/2 c. lentils
5 c. chopped kale (or 1 med. bunch)
salt & pepper, to taste

In a separate pan (will brown and set aside):
5-6 sausages (pre-cooked & packaged, any variety), sliced into coins OR 1# bulk sausage, browned
1T. butter AND/OR 1-2 T. olive oil
1 to 2 packages cremini (or any variety) mushrooms, chopped
1 T. dried thyme

Heat your favorite soup pot over medium/medium-high heat. Add pancetta/bacon & cook until fat just renders. If pancetta has not rendered about 2T. fat, add a glug (or two) of olive oil. Add shallots and garlic & saute until golden, reduce heat if browning too quickly.

At the same time -- in a separate (large) skillet, saute sausage coins (or bulk sausage) until brown and crispy (may take a little time). Set aside. In same pan, heat butter/olive oil and saute mushrooms with thyme until mushrooms give up their juices & turn golden. Set aside.

After shallots have reached perfection, increase heat to high and add 4 cups stock and lentils. Bring to simmer -- covered, about 20 minutes, until semi-soft and lentils lose their starchiness/chewiness. Then stir in reserved sausage, mushrooms and remaining 4 c. stock. Simmer (very gently) another 20 mins. (or until lentils are completely cooked through). Salt & pepper to taste.

Add kale 5-10 minutes before serving, stir until wilted and bright green. Garnish with a sharp cheese (asiago is lovely), if desired.

(From the Diaries - K)

I left the house without gloves yesterday morning, entertaining thoughts of grilling and crisp veggies and maybe soon even plopping an ice cube (gasp!) into a glass of wine and going without heavy socks for the first time in who-knows-how-long.

Foolish me. This is Michigan.

It started snowing mid-day and didn't stop until the wee hours. Long enough to cover everything in a snowy blanket. Again. I saw green yesterday morning, I swear.

Just when thoughts of lighter fare began creeping into my cooking subconscious, they retreated quickly...like the poor Groundhog that always seems to scurry back into his hole for 6 more weeks of winter (SIX, Phil? Really? Ya think?!). And at that moment, I was thankful for The Pot™. Perhaps the most delightful and enlightening part of winter.

The Pot™, which has brought much joy to our lives in the forms of countless braises, stews and savory, brothy delights, will cough up a couple more miracles before this weather has loosened its grip and allows spring to raise its' timid head for real this time.

One of the highlights would have to be the Salsa Verde Carnitas recipe (adapted from Elise's Simply Recipes). Soo yummy, and a perfect distraction to what's going on outside in the cold and yuck.

Because I can't leave anything in its' original, pristine form, I had to mess with the recipe.

It started with a rub the night before.

Now, Elise didn't rub her shoulder, and it may have even compromised the integrity of the original recipe (sorry, Elise!), but I just can't leave a piece of pork alone when I know what's in store.

Why, hello gorgeous!

See?! It's amazing what some spicy love (cumin seeds, smoked & sweet paprikas & brown sugar) can do to a nice chunk of meat. Then tuck it away in the fridge overnight for a nice little nap.

It's even more amazing when you simmer said chunk for a few hours in some smoky pork stock (remember that?!), onions, toasted cumin, salsa verde, cilantro and chopped onions.

Holy cow. Or....pork, rather. And we're not even done yet.

Remove shoulder from liquid and shred, shred, shred away your pork into a large roasting pan.

(And if you live in my house, beware of errant fingers dipping in the mound of succulent meat).

The reserved braising liquid is then simmered for quite awhile to reduce into a sauce that transcends description.

Now for the vital step that totally makes this dish. After the meat is shredded, and while the liquid is reducing and transforming, roast the meat in a 450 oven until it begins to crisp. I can hardly type due to the heart palpitations.

Have I expressed my love for pork lately?

After the sauce has reduced and you are almost fainting from hunger and desire, mix the shredded pork back into The Pot™ and mix well to distribute the sauce. Throw a handful of chopped cilantro in there for good measure.

Serve on warmed corn tortillas with a crunchy jicama & cabbage slaw, tangy queso and some sour cream, or just about any way your heart desires. This is a very versatile recipe and can be made with chicken or beef in virtually the same manner, I really think the final roasting step to make the meat crispy around the edges is the key in elevating this to a whole new level.

And while it might not be warm out just quite yet, dishes like this make the transition just a bit easier.

Around our domicile, we'll look for just about any reason for festivities. "It's Thursday!" or "I think it's the dog's birthday!" being the most common. Our dog must be at least 145 by now...

We're not a picky lot. If we can muster a few friends and I can cook for more than one other person regardless of the reason, bring it on. Mass quantity is my specialty.

Some celebrations are more obvious than others, of course, with St. Patrick's Day being no exception. Somebody somewhere in our diluted European gene pools must have at least had a second-cousin who was Irish, right? As they say, we're all Irish on St. Paddy's Day. Hopefully the Irish whiskey in my blood counts...

My foray into corned beef began many years ago. I'd never made it, yet always wanted to try... I figured it couldn't be that difficult, right? Throw some brisket into a pot with some spices and let it go. And I was right...it's dead easy. With a few caveats.

Before undertaking any new culinary venture, I research the heck out of it. It's in my nature. I'm a virgo -- if I can't get it perfect the first time, I don't even want to attempt it. So I poked around here and there, compiling several scraps of paper filled with mystic scratchings of spice combinations and whatnot. I was certain I had it. The formula.

I procured my virgin slab of kosher brisket from the local market and hauled it home... All 12 pounds of it. For 2 people.
Did I mention I was an army cook in a past life?

I then hand assembled my magical repertoire of spices and seasonings (I'm not sharing!). This was getting exciting. The sheer volume and variety of flavors simmering in a pot of water with a giant slab of meat would be divine. Earth-shattering, even!

I carefully monitored my cauldron all day. I do believe this first corned beef experiment was the beginning of the end for my husband's olfactory sanity — the smells filling the house were beyond imagination.

After bubbling away all day in its magic elixr, it was finally time to taste the fruits of this labor. The maiden taste voyage was nigh. We carefully peeled strands of luxuriously red muscle fibers and sampled.

MEH.

Are you kidding me? What went wrong? With the sheer volume of spices and seasonings and strong, assertive flavors, I was mystified. I expected perfection and I got "Hmmm...it's okay" from my brain. Don't get me wrong...it was delicious. Better than average. Yet it wasn't what I had anticipated — I wanted the Irish dancing a jig on my tongue. (Noo, scratch that completely.) I wanted spicy fireworks exploding from my taste buds. (Much better.) It wasn't happening. So I chalked it up to live and learn. More spices next time? Maybe. Less/more/different cooking time/technique/lunar position next time? It's possible.

So we had our lovely Americanized boiled dinner with all the trimmings, plenty of Guinness and it was a lovely, lovely time. But that meat lingered in my brain. Strangely enough, I was not disheartened by this experiment, but in fact, inspired to re-examine my arsenal and formulate a new plan of attack. But first I needed another taste to see what I felt was missing.

The next day, I poked my head in the overflowing fridge and yanked off a chunk of the gorgeous meat.

And it hit me. Every single seasoning rammed into my brain with such force I was nearly bowled over. Well, not really — but the meat was that good. I tore off another chunk and threw it in the microwave — the congealed fat melted into a divine pool and the meat gently warmed up released an exotic spice 1-2 punch of monumental proportions. And it was like the meat angels were singing. I realized I had stumbled upon something.

Cooking for leftovers.

So now, I don't even bother tasting my corned beef the day it's cooked. Just kidding. Actually, I do. We still have our not-quite-Irish fare with all the trimmings (and did I mention plenty of Guinness?), but the real highlight is what happens with the delicious meat the next day. And the day after that...

One mean corned beef sandwich.

And the Colcannon? It was great. But it's even better the next day smothered in butter and baked until golden and sinful.

Lesson learned. Some things are just better the second time around.

Being socked in this winter (and buried in show, sliding on ice, freezing my -- pork shoulder -- off...) really shifts my desire for cooking into overdrive, moreso this year than in the past. Braising, stewing, souping (of course that's a real word!)...you name it and I want to cook it. Oftentimes I'll get a little carried away and my past-life army cook spirit kicks in and I make waaaay too much of whatever it is that has captured my fancy. It's a calculated risk, but others always seem to reap the benefits.

A few (very cold) Sundays ago I was bitten by the baking bug. Now, I have only made one attempt at a yeast bread and it was of the no-knead variety. Not that yeast scares me, but, well....it scares me. I keep making excuses to not play with yeast. "Oh, the house is too cold for yeast!" Yeah, yeah -- I seriously need to get over that. As a result, I tend to lean towards the...ahem...easier bread recipes. Like quick bread, for example. The only recipes in my arsenal (read: jumbled mess of scraps and sheets) are of the sweet variety, and that just wasn't going to satisfy this particular urge. I wanted hearty. I wanted dense and chewy. Banana-pumpkin-squash-applesauce-bread?! Eh...not so much. So for the longest time I have been in search of other quick breads...breads that only look like I labored. No such luck until recently.

As per usual, looking for inspirations and whatnot, I was cruising around the interwebs, checking in with favorite websites to see what was cooking. One of my favorite sites to poke in on is the Foodie Farmgirl. Not only does she tell the continuous, tremendous story of how she came to be in the country (and has the most incredible, peaceful photos of her everyday life), but she has wonderful, wonderful recipes. To which we arrive at the absolute best (and easiest!) beer bread recipe I've ever seen.

But...allow me to digress for just a moment. I really admire what she and others of her ilk have done. They uprooted from big-city lives to farm — a huge transition in my book. A lot of work. A lot of sacrifice. A jump from — what some may view as — "everything" to "nothing." I think about this sometimes. It has been a shadowy, crazy, secret fantasy of mine to be able to do just that someday — pick up stakes and escape to a rural area, maybe tend a small vineyard and a few goats...make some wine, chevre, grow some veggies, learn how to really make yeast bread...learn how to be if not completely, but almost completely self-sufficient. But I can't get over the thought of what I would miss....and it sounds crazy, but I would miss the "community" aspect of living where we live. The people. The neighbors. (Yes, I actually said that!). I feel good shuttling leftover results of my latest batch of whatever next door. I am honored at getting a request from another neighbor that his ailing father really enjoyed my cheesecake, and could I possibly make another? I love the fact that when we get together with friends (some, former neighbors themselves), it almost always involves or revolves around food. I love picking up new, exotic ingredients from a nearby ethnic grocery...maybe even chatting with the grocer himself to get ideas about what I can do with such a prize. I imagine escaping to the country, you don't get much of that.

I can't imagine that...well, not yet anyways. After my drive in to work this morning, a quiet country day was looking pretty good...

After all my yammering, you still got a hankerin' for some bread...? Well, go make some! Thanks to the Farmgirl for planting the seeds (pun intended) in my brain of a quieter life, and a heck of a recipe.

Adapted from Farmgirl's "Beyond Easy Beer Bread" recipe
makes 1 loaf

2 c. whole wheat flour
1 c. all-purpose (or bread) flour*
1 T. sugar
1 t. salt
1 T. fresh baking powder
14 oz. beer (or 12 oz. beer & 2 oz. water, if you don't feel like cracking another beer...but really, who wouldn't?!)
Mix-ins (see note)
Egg wash (1 egg, 2 t. water, beaten) -- optional

A note on mix-ins: This recipe is the perfect vehicle for tinkering. You can stir in pretty much anything you can dream up, really: fresh or dried herbs, grated or crumbled cheese, chopped onions, spinach, dried tomatoes...bacon, walnuts, pine nuts... I could keep going, but you get the idea, I'm sure.

*Flour note: You can use 3 c. straight A/P flour -- reduce beer to only 12 oz.

Preheat oven to 375 degrees. In large bowl, mix all dry ingredients, then add any mix-ins. Combine well.

This batch included chopped scallions, red onions and fresh parsley

Next, slowly add beer and stir.

Different beers add different flavors -- experiment!

Batter will be very stiff! If, after mixing in all your beer and it still seems too dry (or there is flour left at the bottom that just won't incorporate), add a tad more liquid. It won't hurt. Really.

Spread evenly into greased bread pan and brush with egg wash if desired. You can even garnish the top if you're feeling...fancy!

Bake for about 45 minutes, until golden and pick inserted comes out clean. Remove from oven and cool on rack (in pan) for 10 minutes. Remove from pan and cool another 10 on rack (if you can wait that long!).

Enjoy slathered with butter...maybe even a hot bowl of soup. This bread makes a mean piece of toast, too.

Most importantly, make 2 loaves and share one with your neighbors. They'll appreciate it so much more than you can imagine, and so might you.

(Promoted from the diaries - K)

It arrived yesterday. More pork...in all its splendor.

Our homestead isn't necessarily all about diamonds, roses and fine chocolates. Well, not on Valentine's Day, anyway.
We tend to go for the hard stuff. And by hard, I mean salumi. And pancetta. And capocollo... (Pardon my drool at this point)

If anyone remembers the last season of The Next Iron Chef, you may recall a scrappy contender that made it almost all the way to the coveted spot: California chef and offal-aficionado Chris Cosentino. We were pulling for him from the get-go ("What IS that man doing with those nasty bits?! You can DO that to pork?! I love it!") and were disappointed when he was finally sent packing.

Much to our amazement and wonder, not long ago we discovered that Cosentino has this little "side thing" (ahem) going on out west. Boccalone. Tasty Salted Pig Parts. Pork. Gloriously and painstakingly salted and cured and loved. And the parts are tasty indeed. They love their pork (even more than we do, I dare say), and it shows in every salty, meaty bite.

---------

For a non-traditional Valentine's Day nosh — first off, it being the night before Valentine's Day due to scheduling conflicts (thanks, City!), and second, my normal V-Day endeavors usually involve a few days of prep and lots of pots and ingredients — I decided to call up Boccalone and see what they had for me to create a simple celebration.

Thus, the package arrived and much slicing ensued.

Orange and Wild Fennel Salame. Salame Pepeto (Pepper Salame). Soppressata.

Glorious texture. Soppressata. Can't you just see the love?!

Capocollo. Are you kidding me? The hand-written tag sent me through the roof. That little tag is proof that these folks take their meats very seriously. This little guy was loved. He was an individual. Somebody made sure he was happy and safe and salty.

Lonza (loin). I can't even begin to describe the saliva level generated at the mere sight of this layer of fat. Herbed fat, even.

Opening each package was like Christmas morning all over again. Except better. It was like Christmas...with MEAT.

Pancetta. Who would have thought one would get whipped into a near frenzy at the thought of fatty belly?! Most people weep.

So I got to work. I had no particular plan, I was letting the pork inspire me. With just a few simple ingredients, these bits would be transformed and elevated to Valentine worthiness.

Some grainy crackers here, schmeared with a bit of fig & walnut confit, a slice of Iberico and a slab-ette of pancetta. A slice of baguette there, complemented by some german beer cheese and a slip of lonza. In the oven for a few moments to coax the beauty out of the luscious fat, and voila.

I have to admit, I wasn't even sure what the transformation would merit... But it worked. Ohhh yes it did.
I won't even begin to describe the noises that hubby made -- this is a family show.

Simplicity at its finest. A sip of red. Sliced pear. Black pepper cashews. Fig and walnut confit. Nutty crackers. A bit of this here and there left us open to each craft small, divine bites of sweet, salty and meaty.

Now that's love, my friends.

--------------

Must thank Boccalone for opening our eyes to what cured meats SHOULD be. They rock. If we lived in Cali, we'd be frequent customers, for sure. The items I ordered (and PAID for, of course -- this is pure fan-girl talking here) were a mere sampling of what they hand-craft every day. They offer so much more that they wouldn't dare ship -- you have to grab it in your hot little hands on site -- it's that fresh and good. If you live near Oakland, look them up. I know I would! www.boccalone.com

You can also read about Chef Cosentino's antics and view his great guts pictures at www.offalgood.com

Happy (Chinese) New Year, everyone. It was yesterday. Did you remember?

Regardless of your faith or heritage, the New Year almost always signifies a fresh start. It's an opportunity to look back on the previous year and see what you did right, or what you could have done better. A time of reflection...a time of renewal. Because, really, at the dawning of any New Year (be it Chinese or otherwise), everybody gets a second chance (and a third...fourth... heck, most people get about 80 or so. Who can argue with that?). We get a chance to reset our karmic clocks for the year and start anew.

Chinese tradition, among many other fascinating facets of this holiday, usually dictates that the home be cleansed before the New Year to ensure good luck in the coming year. So I took into consideration that, while I wasn't necessarily cleaning the entire house (who can do that after work on a Wednesday?!), I could symbolically clean something... So I set my sights on the fridge.

One of our long-standing household New Year's resolutions has been to reduce waste, mainly food waste. We've been doing pretty well with this task, but can always do better. Some of my tastiest concoctions have come from a "fridge cleaning," that is, my last-ditch effort to utilize those random items in the fridge that would otherwise morph into something fuzzy and dangerous and be wasted.

Regardless of how often you cook, you're always going to have items that just sit in the fridge patiently, waiting for their moment to come — within reason, of course. If you can't remember what it was, then by all means....out with it! You're not going to hell for trying to salvage some carrots that look like they'd be better sold dried up hanging in a New Orleans voodoo shop. You just have to let some things go...which is ironic, because one peek in my closet will shout "hypocrite!!" in my direction. Eek.

Anyway...If you have some basic building blocks in your brain and pantry, a half-good green pepper, some leftover parsley and other scattered odds and ends can be transformed into something quite lovely. Seriously.

So, finally, a recipe.
Well......sort of. Honestly, more of a "make-it-up-as-you-go" loose-guideline.

First, dig in the fridge. Especially the back, you know, behind that baking soda thingy. You'd be surprised what you'll find back there — just waiting to be transformed into something yummy that will make hubby's eyes roll into the back of his head. Then lay it all out and see what you've got. And remember to ditch anything that may be crawling toward the door...

This is what I started with: 1 eggplant, 1 semi-soft green pepper (no bad spots, tho!), a glob of pureed garlic, 1 baggie of leftover sliced mushrooms and onions, 1 broccoli crown, 1/2 jar sun-dried tomatoes in oil, 2 slices prosciutto, some spinach, a small extremely sad looking bunch of basil and parsley, 1 leftover end of smoked mozzarella, 1/2 bag shredded mozzarella, 6 slices turkey bacon, some wrinkly cherry tomatoes and 1/3 container of home-made ricotta, teetering dangerously close to it's "don't-even-go-there" date... And eggs. Gotta have eggs.

Now, prep everything up that can be chopped and sauteed. Glug glug of olive oil in a warmed skillet, stir, and you get this:

Not bad for a sad cast of characters that would have otherwise gone the way of the 8-track, eh? Next stir in any add-ins: cooked turkey bacon, herbs, sun-drieds and the mozzarellas. While the pan was still warm, I did pilfer a handful of still-good spinach and tossed that around.

Next: eggs. How many? Well, depends on how much "stuff" you end up with and how big your pan is... I beat up 10 with the ricotta, and a dash of salt and pepper. Pour in the pan that you have lovingly dumped your rescue items in.

After the eggs have been coaxed throughout the mixture, top with anything else you'd like — at this point I topped with my paltry prosciutto shavings and wrinkly tomatoes.

Then, because I am a chronic user of too many eggs which often results in overflowing and "oven-bottom-omelette," I slid my pan onto a cookie sheet and into a 375 oven it went. And then I went and worked on my taxes (another lovely New Year's tradition...ahem...).

About an hour later (or however long your egg-cooking comfort level allows), this magical fella popped out of the oven...all those ghosts of not-long-for-this-world-produce exorcised for good.

Which is what a New Year is all about, right? Out with the old, and in with the new.

...and then... in the belly.