Cracked Conch Cracks My Heart Wide Open

Lime. Salt. Blue water close and reaching to the horizon. Let's face it, the first time I had cracked conch, I was set up to love it. But over the years, I've had it many more times, and it's become one of those "vacation" meals, you know, the one that you're like, "Aah, NOW there it is. I'm really here" kind of taste bud experience?

Well, it was already dark on a Sunday evening, and I was here in the land of Lowcountry marsh, not on vacation on a dock, my eyes not filling with the Caribbean blue that I crave just before I go to sleep. Still, I was in for a treat, I knew. There are some meals that you know you are not going to be able to recreate. Fine. But to eat a meal that you know is only a mirage as you're still chewing is a kind of desperate joy.

The conch was from the Bahamian out island of Andros. It was clean and milky white, not gray like the stuff you can get here. It was imported on a personal flight, a checked baggage of deliciousness that was worth any customs hassle.

We were about to have cracked conch from a home kitchen. First, we had to flatten it "like it's done something to your Mama." Pound it thin, sprinkle salt and pepper directly on the meat, dredge it in an egg wash first, then flour laced with Adobo.

And at every step, squeeze a lime on it. Before the dredging. After the dredging. After frying (which you do until it reaches golden brown deliciousness.) And serve it with a slice.

Now, at this point, I always liked a little heat, but I didn't realize that I was working with a new level. What new level? This:

Matouk's Calypso Sauce is the new level

Good stuff. One drop, awesome. Bring it. Two drops, of course. I'm a professional. Three drops, oh, I've gone too far. Is it hot in here or is it just me?

But the cracked conch was ... heartbreaking. With every bite, I knew I couldn't cook this again, make this happen again. This was it.

Tuesday Night Tortilla

 I don't have a microwave.

I know. This means, to some of you at least, that I can't cook fast food. That, when I'm hungry, I can't eat when I want to. That it has to be roasted chicken, short ribs, or nothing.

Wrong. Have you ever died in 20 min. from hunger? Uh, no.

Well then. You can have this on a Tuesday evening, like I did last night. I have discovered these habanero-lime tortilla wraps from Trader Joe's. They make goat cheese and tomatoes a meal, but more importantly, they make weeknight "cooking" easy -- without a microwave.

I had tilapia in the freezer ... now I am not 100% sure it was tilapia because it wasn't labeled, and I don't purchase that anymore, but still.  It was there; I needed to use it. Enter the tortillas.

A quick oven foil packet for the fish was all it took, 20 min., with lime and some salt and spices. Add spinach and avocado, and we have a meal. See? Non-processed food doesn't have to be hard. But having a killer tortilla wrap helps.

Mango is Just a Playa

I have a love/hate relationship with mangoes.

First: the hate.

I see them on sale at the grocery store, with a sticker that says "RIPE". I narrow my eyes at the sticker. Really, I think? But in the end, I believe it, just like I do the guy who says, "Baby, you are very special to me."

I go home with high hopes, only to have them dashed the next day in the kitchen. The mango is not ripe, smells and tastes pine-y, and has a fibrous pit that takes up most of the fruit. Despite the sweet juice running over my fingers as I slice little pieces off, it's basically unsatisfying.

This has happened numerous times. Why? Because I remember the love. I want to experience the love again.

Second: the love.

I'd taken the Tequila Trolley across the border to Juarez, before the heavy start of the war zone it is today, but just enough of a rough spot to make it a bit exciting. Of course, I and my companion bailed the trolley and ended up walking most of the way to the market. I was young and silly, but really, what was I thinking, thinking how odd it was to pass a hospital where everyone bandaged was leaning and standing on crutches outside, smoking?

But, flippantly naive, we made our way safely to the market.

It was midday and we walked into the non-air conditioned hangar. The scent of overripe mangoes soon overtook me, and my eyes filled with the sights of counters for a fast meal, piles of fruit, cold soda of indiscriminate variety, and plenty of crafts. Mangoes were forever associated with my first foreign market.

A few years later, I tasted a mango as it should be, ripe from a tree from a neighbor's yard in Florida. It was hot and honey and sweet and all the things I wanted it to be in the exotic way that none of my cut-and-dried Carolina fruit had ever been.

I was hooked.

Finally: unrequited love resolved.

But since then, it's been back to the hate, back to the empty promises of the "RIPE" label in the produce section, so much so that I resolved to stop on-and-off dating such a player. I mean, really? Is it worth it?

Last night, I finally got what I was asking for, and it was because I refused to listen to the label. Yes, the mangoes were labeled "reduced for quick sale." But they smelled ripe and looked ripe, and I trusted my instincts instead of some story that the store was trying to tell me.

I picked some winners, bringing home four that sliced like butter and were honey and rich and orange and sweet, none of the bite and all of the kiss. Aaah. I added a little honey, a sprinkle of cinnamon, nutmeg and ginger, and they were the dessert of late summer dreams, hurricane humidity in the air and the feeling of the end of long lazy days drowsy with heat.

Dreaming of Dinner

It happens every year. August. For some reason, I just have a hard time cooking this month. And this year more than most years.

There's the heat. And the work. And the fact that, really, I'd rather be anywhere else other than standing  in my little kitchen. That's right. I feel this way too. Cooking is for crisp autumn days, where it doesn't seem a chore to peel more than a few apples, and where you can spend a lingering dinner with friends without having to worry about being too hot and too bothered to enjoy their company.

Yes, I have air conditioning, but I don't have it up so high that I don't know what season it is. And when I'm searing something in the oven, it seems that in my little kitchen, every time the oven door opens is a time for the smoke alarm to go off. And that's just one more thing. It is just too hot to hear that noise, over and over.

So I haven't been doing much cooking. Celebrities such as Gwyneth Paltrow or Gwen Stefani would call it a raw diet, but I call it lazy. Do I want to make a quiche with cheese, spinach and tomatoes? Uh, no. I will just eat slices of cheese, some raw spinach and tomatoes with maybe a boiled egg. Or maybe if I eat enough olive oil popcorn, almonds and edamame I won't have to eat dinner. Done.

Now, we all know this is excluding my comfort go-to, the roasted chicken. Eating like a king for 5 min. prep is worth it. I've recently been using a Caribbean oil blend from Charleston Spice Co. that makes it amazing. Still ...

I dream of being motivated, of deciding on a whim to bake a cherry lemon pound cake. I think of how good a mustard braised pork chop dinner with mashed potatoes would taste, or how I'd like to try to make a bread salad like the one I saw last week at another person's house. But I'm just too hot. Too unmotivated. Too hungry to wait. So I wait a little more, until that day, when suddenly the "project" of one of Rick Bayless' Mexican dishes sound like fun, not like a chore.

Until then, I'll be here, loving the heat but not able to stay in the kitchen. It's one of those worlds, isn't it?

Does That Taste a Little "Goat-y"?

Sometimes the Little Kitchen goes on a road trip. This is especially true this time of year when I'm officially too hot and stressed to cook very often. So Sunday evening I attended my second LIME dinner in as many weeks, though this time without the pirate outfit I sported last time ... but that's a story for another day.

This was was a truly underground dinner -- five courses of goat, with a starter goat cocktail. Although I played bartender, I thought the concoction of goat whey, rum, lime juice and sugar was, well, a bit "goat-y." Everyone seemed to love it, but I was a bit skeptical. Where was my Cardinal and tonic? Sigh. You know I drank it anyway ...

But then we were on to the meal itself, and the second course ended up being my favorite of all -- a flatbread made with housemade goat cheese along with goat sausage crumbles seasoned with an African berber spice blend. As you can see, I ate a piece before I remembered to take a picture:

OK, looks like it was two slices. Sorry.

But wow, it was amazing. It had an earthiness that was perfectly balanced by the crispy flatbread, and the microgreens were just a bit of bright to heighten the deep flavors. 

In the next course, the soup course, the goat was more like short ribs, and by the time we got to the goat chop crusted in pistachios and coconut, I had given up taking pictures, and instead was just eating, talking (no surprise there) and pouring wine for the other guests. 

Trident Tech student chef Helen Hayes tapped her inner alter ego (pictured below in tattoo form) and rocked it ninja-style in the kitchen, cooking multiple meat courses in the July heat and smiling through it all:

I won't even mention that this was her first time cooking goat. No one would ever notice. In fact, none of us are sure we believe her, the food was that awesome. And besides, who has the guts to make her professional chef debut underground cooking something she's never done? Right. No one.

As always, Dr. Ruth and Chef Renata, along with Ollie and the Gang, were great hosts. This was technically an iLIME dinner, a more informal setting for the dinner. It is a great way to experience your first underground dining experience -- it's more economical, more intimate, and all fun. 

And like me, you might discover a favorite new food, goat!

From My Little Kitchen to Nursing Home Admittance

I live alone.

This means that one day I will have to go into a nursing home, that is, unless some kind soul takes me in. It's not that I wouldn't like to live my days out in my own house, defiantly driving my old car slow, going to get my own mail in my own mailbox, and baking cookies for little neighborhood girls who are scared to eat them because of all the crazy ingredients in jars lining my kitchen ...

In short, it's just that packaging is going to send me there. That's right, packaging.

Now, at my vibrant age (no snickering back there!), it's already come to this: I can't open most chip bags, block cheese, shredded cheese, coffee bean bags, milk containers, and assundry other products. So how do I survive? The knife.

I use the tip of a knife to break the seal on the gallon of milk, cut open the chips, block cheese, and shredded cheese, and get out the scissors for the coffee beans. I even take off wine foil with knives. I need a glass of wine, ok? Well, one grey-haired day, one of my neighbors will walk in on me wielding a chef's knife against a small package of cheese and will decide that I could be a danger to myself.

And he will be right, because it's not like I can store anything either. I can't close the zip on a zippie bag (if it's torture watching, trying being the one watched). Only Hefty one-zips please, and yes, those do get stuck too. I use old hummus containers and Parmesan cheese containers to store everything, but the lid matching can make everyone feel like we're playing a sad game of matchmaker that doesn't quite match.

And let's not even mention Saran Wrap. Let's just not.

Coupons for Creativity

One of the ways life in the Little Kitchen stays exciting is through creative shopping. Grocery shopping, that is.

To me, the heart of being creative is shopping the sale. Buy it, and figure out a delicious way to use it. One of my newest ways to do this is a weekly coupon for something free from Earthfare. I signed up on the website, and each week, I receive a coupon for something awesome. Chicken (my favorite meal!). Bulk items. And this week, cherries.

Friday was a day at the Little Desk, lots of writing, lots of research, and not lots of time for food. But lunch was a 5 minute drive away.

The Flying Pig Turkey Wrap, potato salad, and the cherries, all from Earth Fare

Everything was delicious, and I fell on it like a pack of hyenas. You know what this looks like. I did not take a picture of it, k?

However, I am not being creative with the cherries. I am eating them straight out of the fridge, cool and sweet on my tongue. My friends Lindsay and Joe brought some to my house last week, and I ate all those too. This is cherry-time, sweet candy direct from the tree.