Grilled Romaine Salad

Hey, it's Memorial Day--the official beginning of summer, in my book at least. And what do you do in the summer? You grill? What do you do to ring in the first day of summer? You grill EVERYTHING. Even your salad.

I have eaten grilled romaine in restaurants, but I haven't been brave enough to try it at home and my grill has been out of propane since mid-August. Those two factors were working against me in my romaine-grilling endeavors.

This past weekend, my uncle brought, quite possibly, the largest head of romaine I have ever seen. He plucked it right out of his garden on his way to my house. He also came bearing red and green onions and cabbage. Did I mention I love summer and fresh produce?

After removing and cleaning the majority of the leaves, I was left with a better-than-store-bought romaine heart. I looked up to see if anyone had noticed how perfect it was. Right then, my aunt said, "You better hide that!" Immediately, it was whisked into a bag and put in the back of the produce drawer.

I knew I wanted to grill the heart to see if I could do it as well as the restaurants. Grilling the lettuce a very simple way to dress up a salad. It only takes a few minutes and has drastic results. If I had a delicious caesar dressing, I would have made a caesar salad, but I only had the homemade balsamic on hand at the time. You could a) chop the lettuce and toss it with dressing, b) drizzle dressing over the lettuce (as I did), or leave it in tact and lightly brush the dressing between the layers of lettuce.

The end result is a lettuce that is very tender--there is very little crunch factor--and flavored with a hint of grill...mmm. Who says lettuce tastes like nothing?!

head of romaine, halved
grill
dressing and toppings of your choice

Warm the grill to about medium heat. Once the grill is toasty, place the romaine halves on the grill. Flip after two minutes. Once the second side has finished cooking...you are finished. See, it's that easy!

If your lettuce turns black or catches fire, either the grill is too hot or you forgot to watch the time.

Fresh! Local! Broccoli!

My small town has an event every month once it gets warm called "Friday Night Jams" where vendors (anything from soap, to concessions, to food, to jewelry, to wine) gather and musicians perform. Last Friday night was the event for May. Mom and I walked downtown--stopping along the way for calamari, softshell crab, and crab cakes...oh, and a martini--to see the happenings.

My aunt, uncle, and cousin were there. It was great to see them, and my uncle had gotten into some of the local wine--POTENT. By the end of the night, he befriended the drummer and, I'm pretty sure, helped pack up the equipment all the while trying to convince the band to play just one more song. My cousin, had we not been outside, would have been hiding in the corner; he had to settle for pretending like he didn't know his father.

There wasn't much produce at the farmer's tables, because it's not quite time yet, but the produce that was in, looked great. The onions looked fake, and the broccoli was huge! I got the ginormous head of broccoli (pictured below) for $2. The farmer was precious. He tried to get me to buy one of everything (an then some) that he was selling, but the broccoli was calling my name. At the end of the evening, Mom and I walked home broccoli in tow.

Right now, my pantry, I'll admit, is pretty bare. I haven't been too inspired recently, but that will change once everything is in season--I promise. Anyway, I didn't have too much to work with, but I had a jar of sundried tomatoes in oil. Those are basically the two ingredients in this dish. Easy as that.

Spring Hash

The Sunday before last was Mothers Day, and I hope y'all remembered that. Remembering constitutes a call, card, gift, and/or hug. I woke up on Sunday morning to the sound of my mother walking down the hall; if I were a better daughter, I would have set my alarm and greeted Mom in bed with breakfast, but since I'm the only daughter, I'm already the best daughter. I ran to the kitchen and started to prepare breakfast; fortunately, I had already decided on something to make the night before, so I could begin delegating tasks to dad.

We made asparagus hash, because what's better than something terribly springy on a beautiful May day? The local farm stand had the most picturesque asparagus. I swear they picked it the day we bought it. I could eat it every other day--yeah, probably not every day--and never get sick of it. My dad, on the other hand, sees having it once a week as an overdose. It was time to get creative; roasted asparagus just wasn't going to cut it any longer.

I also needed to use asparagus in a breakfast dish...other than a quiche. This hash is very simple; it took about 40 minutes from dicing the first potato to topping it with the fried egg and parmesan. It was a great brunch dish and would have been enjoyed even more had we not gone straight from brunch to a huge lunch at my grandparents' to a nap to dinner. At dinner, we were all still full from brunch, yet somehow, we managed to keep eating.

This recipe could have used a little more bacon, because a) Dad snacked on it the whole time we were cooking the potatoes, and b) life can use more bacon. I'm not a huge fan of meat, but I L.O.V.E. bacon. Remember these? As I've said before, bacon alone is enough reason not to be vegetarian. If you are vegetarian, I guess you could leave the bacon out of the recipe.

30-Minute Chocolate Cake

This is a cake that you can make without going to the grocery...I'm betting that you have everything in your pantry--that is, if you keep a well-stocked pantry. If you don't have the basic baking ingredients on hand, you might have to pay a visit to the store.


This recipe has been in our family for as long as I can remember. It lives on a laminated yellow index card that is housed in an old, rusty tin with, what appears to be, hay bales on the front of it. That is where all of the recipes from my childhood are...the chocolate pie, the lemon meringue pie, any casseroles you can imagine--everything is circa the 70s and is, thus, fairly retro. This cake, however, is timeless. It's like that little black dress that's always in style, no matter the occasion or the decade. It's a keeper.


As I have said before, I am not a big fan of cake, and on the spectrum of cake, chocolate cake is my last choice. This cake, however, is so moist and fudge-y that I have a hard time putting it in the cake category. It's a cake in name only.


I made this cake for my aunt's birthday, and she was kind enough to share it with everyone. Maybe the kegs had something to do with her generosity...Yes, this was at our Easter Sunday gathering.


Her cake was nearly gone by the time we left the cookout, and I have a feeling she was regretting letting everyone partake. There was even a marriage proposal made over the cake, but I decided to see if any other offers arise in the next lifetime or so...if not, I might have to reevaluate the offer.


This cake is called a 30-minute cake, because if you bake it in a 9" x 13" pan, it only bakes for 20 minutes, and the prep is about 10 minutes. I used a bundt pan for presentation sake, and it took longer since it was much thicker. So when (not if, because it's only a matter of time before you're going to want to try this cake) you make this, just check back after 20 minutes, and when a toothpick inserted comes out clean, it's done.

For the cake:

2 cups sugar

2 cups flour

1 cup butter

1 cup water

3 T cocoa powder

2 eggs

1 t soda

½ cup buttermilk (or make your own...1/2 cup milk, less 2 t, and add 2 t white vinegar)

1 t vanilla

Preheat the oven to 400. Grease and flour your chosen pan with Baker's Joy...or the old fashioned way. Mix the sugar and flour together. 

In a medium saucepan, bring butter, water, and cocoa to a point. Be sure to whisk out any cocoa lumps. Pour over the flour and sugar. Mix. Add eggs, one at a time. Add soda, buttermilk, and vanilla. 

Once everything is combined, pour into your pan. Bake for 20 minutes if using a 9" x 13" pan, but if not, you will need to check it until a toothpick inserted in the middle comes out clean. 

Make the icing when the cake comes out of the oven. As soon as you finish the icing, pour it over the hot cake. The cake will absorb some of the goodness. With the bundt cake, since the icing is so runny, it was used more as a glaze than a true icing, because it rolls down the sides. Let the cake cool, and the icing will harden. Slice and devour. 

** Note (this is probably self-explanatory, but just covering all of my bases...): If you are not serving the cake out of the pan, turn it onto the serving platter before pouring the icing over it.  

For the icing:

1/2 cup butter

6 T milk

3 T cocoa

1 t Vanilla

1 cup chopped pecans or walnuts, optional

4 cups confectioners sugar

Bring butter, milk, and cocoa to a boil in a medium saucepan. Remove from heat, add vanilla and sugar. Stir until the lumps are gone. You may not need this entire amount. 

Radish Butter

Last Easter I went to France. Two of my best friends were living over there. What better time to go when I had places to stay and awesome tour guides who love food (snacks on every corner), wine (wine at and in between every meal), and exploring (walking, shopping, cathedrals, museums, and Roman ruins) as much as I do. One friend was doing a program that required a six-month stint in New York City followed by six months in Paris--come on?!? And the other, friend was in Lyon (the food capital of France, JACKPOT) teaching English at a public school. I had saved my compensation days from travel season (read: we are gone weeks at a time, come home, pack, and go on another trip from September - December and get four days compensation). These four days along with Easter Monday served as my time to go to France for a week.

Horrible flight aside (the rather large woman beside me took a sleeping pill, slumped over the arm rest into my seat, and snored for over half of the flight...this was after she spilled her third glass of chardonnay in my seat), France was unbelievable. We visited cafes, bistros, landmarks (holla, TJ), farmers' markets, grocery stores that sell designer clothes, bakeries where the bread is still made by hand, museums, boutiques, ice cream places, rented bikes (good thing I had my insurance card with me), had a Moroccan dinner, ate the place the G7 had dinner during its meeting in 1996, etc. I definitely ate my way through France, and in the process, I tried foods I had never seen before and/or had avoided for no particular reason.

French farmers' market = heaven on Earth

 I had never really had a radish. My grandmother always put them in her salads, but they were pretty easy to avoid. The radishes in France were completely different than the ones in the states; their flavor was much more mild. The ones you see in our stores are very plump, large, and red, but the radishes at the markets were long, skinny, and more white/pink than red. Heck, everything in the market was smaller (i.e. not on steroids) and so fresh it looked like the fake stuff you buy in the aisle with the silk flowers. I. could. live. like. that.

We bought a bunch of random stuff for our vegetarian Easter feast, radishes included. Radish butter is pretty popular over there; they also cut just above the root and dip the radishes in salt and eat them like that--another great way to eat them. Anyway this butter is very, very simple--so simple I'm almost embarrassed to post it, but I figure it may be something new...

You must have fresh bread for this if you have time; if not, get a French baguette from the grocery's bakery section...or if you're fortunate enough to have a bakery nearby--ha, that would be the life.

I made this most recently, because a friend and I went to a farmers' market, and the radishes looked JUST like the ones in France! We went to a bakery (I was out of town) and bought a fresh multi-grain loaf to go along with the butter.

Crab Cakes with Spicy Aioli

I really like crab meat, but my adoration is no match for my mother's. No joke. She's a pretty generous person, but try and steal a bite of crab from her plate and risk losing a finger. My dad, a lover of food (good and bad), says that he lives to eat, whereas Mom eats to live. That's a very true statement--with the exception of crab legs. You could rework the phrase to read, "Dad lives to eat, and Mom lives to eat crab legs."

My dad has a certain number of stories that he tells quite often, but they never get old--at least not to me. There are stories from his youth when he thought he was invincible, stories from his crazy teenage years, stories about people he's met along the way, and funny memories that he shares with us on occasion. One of the stories I have heard over and over again is how he discovered that Mom loved crab legs.

During a trip to Williamsburg, VA for a convention for fire fighters (Dad was a volunteer) they, along with another couple, went to a seafood restaurant that had an all-you-can-eat seafood feast. Dad could definitely get his money's worth at this type of event, but Mom...she eats like a mouse. I guess Dad thought he'd eat enough for the two of them...until Mom found the steamed crab legs, and that was all she wrote.

Trip after trip, mom returned to the table with piles of crab legs, and she slowly devoured them...not leaving a piece of meat attached to the tiniest shell. They had been married for well-over a decade at this point, and Dad had never seen Mom eat so much and for such a long period of time. Mom still swears that she could have eaten more that night, but she stopped herself because everyone had stopped eating much earlier. They were all marveling at how much she had eaten.

To this day, if we go to a restaurant and crab is on the menu, Mom orders it. She's still trying to find a crab cake that rivals Sweetwater Tavern's (basically, lumps of crab meat on a plate). Some of the best crab cakes I recall are Uncle Jim's. Mom's extended family is from Maryland, and Uncle Jim always brings fresh crab meat when he comes to town and makes softball-size crab balls.