Time for a fresh appetite

I love ringing in a new year.

There's something about fresh starts - new notebooks for the first day of school, a clean page on the calendar - that I find incredibly refreshing.

Sure, maybe another year is gone without us accomplishing all of the things - or anything - we thought we would when it started. We still carry those extra few pounds. Didn't manage to accrue that savings.

But that's the beauty of life. Things come up that we could never expect. Plans change. We figure out how to deal with it.

Besides, we must have accomplished something?

I learned my best lesson about short-term goals when I was the editor of the college newspaper. About halfway into my term I hadn't made a dent in my to do list. I got frustrated. My predecessor gave me a piece of advice.

Rip it up and start all over again.

I'm not one for just giving up, but I've definitely learned that circumstances change beyond our control. Problems come up. New people come into our lives, and others leave. At the end of the day a page on a calendar is just a page on a calendar. It does not define our successes or failures.

Maybe New Year's is just as much about leaving a lackluster year behind as it is starting a new one.

New Year's is usually a time for setting goals we hope to keep for the next twelve months. This year I'm taking a different approach. I'm not making any. I'm just going to pour some champagne, take it one day at a time and see where the new year takes me.

Hopefully somewhere yummy : )

Happy New Year!

Have a holly, jolly apron ...

I'll admit this one. It's kind of hard getting into the holiday spirit in Florida.

To state the obvious, there's no snow. A week or so ago the temperature hit 80. There are no fluffy green trees or deer running around or snowmen or anything else that smacks of Christmas.

How could a girl from one of the most wintry places in the Great White North not notice?

It hit me the first year I was living in Florida. I went through all of the motions of getting ready for the holidays - decorating the apartment, sending cards, baking cookies - but it still didn't feel like Christmas. I got bitter about it.

To make matters worse, that same year I spent the week before Christmas taking my turn answering calls from irate readers complaining about everything from the size of the print in the newspaper to a late delivery.

What a happy, jolly way to kick off my holiday.

But then my last day on the job before heading home to Buffalo, Santa brought me a little bit of Christmas magic. On Christmas Eve, the phone line flooded with calls from people wanting information about where to make donations of food and clothing, or where to send presents to U.S. soldiers.

Yes, Tiffany, the Christmas spirit does abound, even in the land of palm trees and surfer Santas.

Ever since then, I take it one year at a time, looking for the small and subtle ways to gear up for the holidays, often times the ones that don't require a whole lot of energy or planning.

Some years are easier than others, and this wasn't one of them. I didn't bother with the cookies or cards. Maybe spending the weeks before Christmas reporting on childhood hunger, homelessness and teen suicide dampers the holiday spirit. Maybe this was just a long and tough year for the whole country.

But, just as always, the holiday spirit eventually caught up with me.

It could have been seeing my Christmas presents all ready to pack sitting on the kitchen table. Or the anticipation of spending a quiet evening at home - something I love but hadn't done for a while - making a warm and comforting mushroom soup.

Or maybe it hit when I opened my kitchen cabinet and saw the little corner of poinsettia fabric.

My holiday apron.

My mom started making seasonal aprons a few years ago, something that stemmed from a general dissatisfaction with the selection available on the retail market. We have fall aprons, holiday aprons and summery aprons with bright floral colors, all with special tags sewn in the front with loving messages from mom.

I saw it and that Saturday night I was ready when the Christmas spirit came looking for me.

I cranked up the Christmas tunes, wrapped myself in holiday cheer and started cooking.

I've never been that fond of Paula Deen ...

... but this recipe for her hashbrown casserole got the better of me.

I found it earlier this week when I was thinking about having some people over for a holiday brunch. For some reason when I started contemplating hearty egg and sausage dishes, I gravitated to the Paula Deen cookbook.

I consulted with my copy of Paula Deen Celebrates, the first addition to my now growing collection of autographed cookbooks. The holiday brunch didn't pan out, but the hashbrown casserole sounded good, so I figured I'd make it for myself. (And various co-workers who I shared it with at work today. Feeding the bosses can never hurt ...)

But my Paual Deen story actually starts about eight years ago before I moved to Florida. Before Paula made it big.

My father and I were driving to Jacksonville, where I was spending my summer doing an internship at the newspaper. Along the way, we stopped in some southern state where my dad found a copy of her original Lady and Sons cookbook, all authentic and spiral bound like she had it done at Kinkos.

Later that summer my dad and some other family members stopped at the Lady and Sons restaurant on the way down to see me. My dad raved about the food. Pure southern cooking. As the story goes, he asked the waitress to give the chef his compliment.

"Well why don't you tell her yourself," the waitress told him. "She's sitting over there having dinner with her family."

Maybe this is where I got the foodie stalking from. My dad went over, shook Paula Deen's hand, got his picture taken with her and my brother and told her the food was delicious. She was sweet as pecan pie to him, and thus began my dad's Paula Deen fandom.

Not long after my dad's visit, as another story goes, the people from the Food Network stopped at the restaurant and they, too, were wowed by her cooking. The rest, as they say, is history.

Fast forward a few years to when I'm living in Sarasota. I saw ads that Paula Deen was coming to town to do a book signing right around the holidays. I thought that would make a great gift for my father.

The whole operation was quite strict. You needed to call and order your cookbook from the now defunct Sarasota News and Books, pick it up that evening (probably to ensure you bought it from them) and then wait in the line to see her.

There were probably about 400 people waiting in the line when we got there. Another 200 or so waited in a separate line for those who didn't get their cookbook far enough in advance, but could wait and see if she still had time to sign them.

The rules were rigid as we made our way into the store. No one was allowed in who wasn't getting a cookbook signed. Show your receipt. Open you book to the appropriate page. No pictures. No personal message. Don't bother asking. I felt a little bit like cattle being herded.

The line moved swiftly, basically giving you a quick walk past the table where she sat with her husband signing "Paula" assembly line style.

Despite the warning, I couldn't help but ask her to personalize it for my father.

"Hi Paula. My dad loves you. He met you at your restaurant a few years ago. Could you please personalize it for him?"

She didn't even answer. She just signed her name and slid it down the table and grabbed the next one. We snuck a friend of mine in the store to take a picture of me getting the book signed. The picture revealed Paula Deen giving me a nasty look as I plead with her.

I was a little disappointed, but thus began my dislike of Paula Deen. (Even though I do find some of her shows on the Food Network entertaining.)

Some of my friends have since been to her restaurant and say it's morphed into a totally different place then it as when my father met her. Apparently it's a multi-story, multi-hour wait to get in kind of place. And the food wasn't as good as they expected.

As far as the casserole goes, not so awful : )

Holiday cheer by way of 1,500 cupcakes

So there's this phenomenon every year at my place of employment. I call it the Holiday Cheer Epidemic, because that's exactly what our top boss asked for a few years ago to counter a rash of bad news in the paper. Holiday Cheer stories. The kind that people find uplifting.

It makes sense to some degree. The holidays move people to volunteer time, donate presents and otherwise do nice things for people who aren't as fortunate. That's a lot of what is going on in the community.

I'll be honest that some of these efforts have rubbed me the wrong way over the years, coming off as condescending or self-serving. Besides, people who need help need it all year long. Not just at Christmas.

And the irony of Holiday Cheer stories is that once you cut through the warmth they really aren't that cheery. They're really about people who are hungry, homeless or otherwise struggling to get by, and that can be tough to get across in a simple news story.

But over the years I've become less jaded and figured out a way to write Holiday Cheer stories to my liking. The solution has been to look for genuine people trying in the very simplest (AKA: not attention grabbing and splashy) ways to make the holidays a little more bearable for some people. Besides, why not cash in on this spirit of giving and generosity and inspire people to help out the children.

This week I found Chef Cindy.

I heard about Chef Cindy doing another Holiday Cheer story at one of the high schools. I wrote a story last week about how the year-round food pantry the school had started to help needy kids and their families was empty. They got cleaned out right before Thanksgiving. After the story ran, the school got an outpouring of support - food, clothes and over $4,000 to help families with things like utilities. One of the largest donations was a batch of food to feed 400 people from the area food bank.

As we were waiting for the food to arrive on Wednesday the lady from the food bank started casually telling me about a woman who made 1,500 cupcakes to send home with homeless and needy children for Christmas. I'm not sure she realized that's a heck of a lot of baking.

"Did you say 1,500?" I asked her, just as a point of clarification. Journalists like to be accurate.

She looked at me like I had just landed from Mars for questioning whether a single woman was really baking 1,500 cupcakes to distribute to poor children.

"Uh, huh," she replied. "1,500. They're going out Friday."

I had my notebook out and started doing some basic long division. That would be about 125 dozen cupcakes ... You could maybe fit four dozen in a standard oven at a time ... Baking time is about 25 to 30 minutes ...

I couldn't believe someone was actually doing this.

So I set out on my quest to write about the Cupcake Lady.

I went back to the office and pitched the story to my editors. They signed off, so I called the food bank and asked them if they could put me in contact with Chef Cindy. And then I did the thing most journalists hate. I waited.

A few hours went by before the lady from the food bank called me back and gave me Chef Cindy's number.

"She's a little," she paused. "Shy. But I think she'll talk to you since this is such a good story."

I called and left a message, waited about an hour and got no answer. Of course we had to try and get photos of her baking, and that meant we had to do it Thursday.

I think I let two hours pass before I walked down to the restaurant where she was alleged to be baking. It was closed, the dining room dark, but I could see a light on back in the kitchen.

"Do I go around the back and knock on the door?" I thought. "Would that be creepy?"

It's important to note this kind of determined reporting is usually reserved for big stories or tracking down bad guys. I still can't believe I put forth this much effort toward a story about cupcakes. Stories about baked goods just shouldn't be so challenging.

I opted not to stalk her through the back of the kitchen.

"I'm sure she'll call me back later." I thought.

I left the office and headed home. Around eight-o-clock it was bugging me I never heard from her. The chances of us getting any kind of photo in her kitchen were getting slimmer and slimmer.

I dialed the number I had saved in my phone as Cupcake Lady and to my surprise she answered.

"Hello," said an obviously frazzled voice on the other end. "This is Cindy."

"Hi," I started. "This is Tiffany, the reporter from the Herald-Tribune. I think the food bank told you I might be calling.

She gushed a sigh.

"Oh," she said, clearly regretting she picked up the phone.

She continued with a note of exasperation:

"I'm a little busy. I'm on my way to Sam's Club. I RAN OUT OF EGGS. I only have 500 cupcakes done. I have A THOUSAND I need to finish by Friday. I'm going to be up all night. I DON'T KNOW HOW I will ever finish."

For a moment I wished I could volunteer to help, but reporters don't really do that sort of thing. So instead I just asked if we could come hang out and get some photos of her baking.

"I'm not really very photogenic," she said. "I'm a mess. I'm covered in cake batter. And I can't really have you in my kitchen. I HAVE TO FINISH A THOUSAND CUPCAKES."

My attempts to sway her were useless. I agreed that we would just come get a picture of her when she dropped off the cupcakes Friday morning at the food bank.

It took most of the day Thursday to even get a time flushed out for when the big drop would happen. Then finally we got word: 8 a.m. Friday morning.

I barely get my butt to work before 10 a.m. most days, but for the Cupcake Lady, I'd get there early.

Shortly after the photographer and I arrived, the woman from the food bank came down to greet us with a shocked expression.

"She's gone," she said. "She must have come really early and just left the cupcakes. They were here when the first person got here."

"Sneaky," I thought, annoyed, but kind of admiring the Cupcake Lady for eluding us.

Anyway, as it always does, it all worked out in the end. I called Chef Cindy and, after laughing a little - probably for pulling one over on me - she did chat with me for a bit about why she took on this effort.

"It just bothered me so much," she said. "That some children go hungry. I can't solve their problems, but maybe I can make them happy."

These are the kind of stories I love, anytime of year. Normal, everyday people doing creative and extraordinary things to make a difference. Even a little one, especially for children.

But those are the stories that are also hardest to write. How do you take an incredible person, all their emotions and drive, and put them into words on paper?

We went to a school later and watched the principal and guidance counselor hand out the cupcakes and bags of food for the winter holidays to about 50 homeless and needy children.

Watching this sort of thing used to really upset me when I started covering schools seven years ago. It's hard to comprehend so many kids not having anything to eat for two weeks but a bag of beefaroni and canned veggies when some of us are so lucky. The TV reporter said she was ready to start crying. So did the lady from the food bank when we were at Booker High on Wednesday.

Even after so many stories and so many years covering schools, I still get choked up a little sometimes. But I guess you kind of get used to it after awhile. All you can do is use your talents to try to help them.

At some point the lead for my story just popped in my head, inspired by the ultimate of holiday cheesiness and drawing the parallel between Chef Cindy and Santa.

"She came in early Friday, leaving no trace of her visit but 1,500 cupcakes."

The whole time I worked on this I kept trying to wrap my mind around 1,500 cupcakes. Just how much is that? Well if you're curious, check out the sweet graphic on the story.

And Chef Cindy may have tried to dupe me, but clearly didn't get up early enough in the morning. Everyone reading the story would want to know what the Cupcake Lady looked like. As it turned out, we had a nice picture of her in our archives from a cooking demo she did a few years ago, so we were able to run that with the story (I don't think, by the way, Cindy was opposed to running her picture in the paper, I think she just didn't want to make a big deal about her part in the cupcake situation).

So as I said to our graphic artist in sheer fun when it was all done:

"Put that in your Kitchenaid and mix it."

Happy holidays!

Firehouse Throwdown

So I just happened to be watching Throwdown (Ha! Just happened. Like it was unusual for me to be watching Food Network).

Anyway ... the episode where Bobby Flay squares off against a firehouse chef to make chicken cacciatore is on. Seeing as that's one of my favorite Bobby Flay recipes I've tried, I figured it was prudent to blog about it.

This chicken cacciatore is full of flavor, with the jalapenos giving it a nice, spicy kick. The capers and balsamic (I use both) add a salty, Mediterranean flare. And red wine! How can you beat that flavor combination? I like to make mine with chicken thighs because I think the dark meat gives it more flavor.

Bobby Flay, by the way, lost this one. Apparently, the judges liked the other one because it was more traditional.

Not surprising.

"Bobby does stuff different from everybody," his competitor Keith Young said. "That's what being a chef is all about."

From Emeril's Kitchen

The 10-year-old girl behind me in line grew up watching Emeril with her mother. The two women forged an early bond watching his show on the Food Network.

The woman in front of me was a cancer survivor.
During her sickest times, she lay on bedrest watching Emeril whip up a root beer glaze for his pork chops. She'd send her husband to the store to pick up ingredients for the dish, but every time when he returned she realized she was too sick to get up and make it. He cooked for her.

"Damn," I thought still trying to come up with the perfect thing to say to this food icon. "I can't compete with that story."

Not everyone gets a second chance to do things in life, especially those things from which we get the most enjoyment. But I have been fortunate in many respects, and on Monday I got a second chance to meet Emeril.

I found out he would be signing more copies of the new cookbook in front of his restaurant at Universal's CityWalk at the same time I learned about the book signing in Brandon. At first I thought driving to Orlando on a weeknight would never work. But then I figured, why not make it happen? It would be kind of fun to eat in the restaurant while he was around. So I picked up a weekend shift to get an extra day off so that I could make the pilgrimage.

I spent the weeks beforehand strategizing the perfect time to stake out the restaurant (Lunch? Dinner? Before or after the book signing?) I called to see if he would only be signing the new book (Just the new one, the restaurant said). I studied the menu to pick out the perfect entree (It came down to a gametime decision between the rotisserie roasted duck and quail two ways). I saved my pennies, and then I waited.

Leaving my apartment, I decided on a whim to bring along my copy of From Emeril's Kitchen, the one with recipes from the restaurant. Who knew? Maybe he would stop by my table and sign it.

I arrived at CityWalk about an hour before my reservation and, just like I was in Brandon, was really surprised there weren't more people waiting. I figured people would line up hours in advance for the chance to have Emeril sign their cookbooks. But about halfway through the signing, there were maybe 40 people waiting, a steady line that kept moving.

I decided to ask whether they would let me through to have him sign my renegade cookbook. It was no problem. I hopped in the line in between the 10-year-old girl and the cancer survivor. After I heard their stories, I decided to keep mine simple.

I watched him smile warmly at the woman in front of me as she stood there, meeting him for the first time, telling him about her cancer.

"Well, my story's not as good as hers," I said when I walked up to the table. "But you did inspire me to cook."

He looked at me smiling, like he didn't know what to say to this cheesy line I'm sure he hears often, but was amused by my admission. So I did one of the things I do best. I filled the awkward silence with nonsense.

"So what should I get for dinner? The quail or the duck?"

Emeril's clearly not a sappy or sentimental guy, but likes to get right down to business. He looked up from the signing and the warm, gentile look kind of melted into one of real concentration.

"That's a really tough one," he said. "Those are both really great items."

He thought about it for awhile. Quite a while actually, without ever offering a recommendation. Perhaps trying to move the line along, the employee standing next to him suggested I get both. Emeril suggested I also consider the specials, one of which included a rack of lamb.

He finished signing my book and I said it was great to meet him (not acknowledging the fact it was the second time in a month). I'm pretty confident he didn't realize that.

"The pleasure was mine," he responded smiling. "I'll see you in there."

The restaurant was all decked out for the holidays, with arches wrapped with white Christmas lights and garland. Formally dressed VIPS (or investors) lingered around the bar and lobby sipping champagne like it was going out of style. I ended up scoring a seat right by the window.

When Emeril walked in the restaurant everyone clapped, but the chef hardly paid them any attention. He headed right for the kitchen, where he stayed for about an hour. Then he, looking kind of tired, made the rounds to all the tables, spending a few minutes chatting with the apparent VIPS. But still stopping briefly to ask how my banana cream pie was.

And that was it. Perhaps somewhat anticlimactic. He left the restaurant and I headed home. I was thrilled to get my favorite cookbook of his signed.

Oh and for the record, I went with the quail, served two ways actually. One stuffed with a shrimp and andouille sausage stuffing the other a quail breast. Served with baby carrots and wilted spinach.

It was all delicious.

Tis the season to be merry

So if you're wondering would could possibly be more enticing to me than cooking up a good meal in my kitchen, consider the following: FREE ... HOLIDAY ... WINE TASTING.

That's right, this year I've learned that swanky businesses and upscale restaurants like to promote themselves by inviting wine-loving people like me in for "holiday parties" that involve free food and dozens of wines to try. All of this in exchange for a toy that will be donated to a charity.

Part of me thinks this is a brilliant and altruistic thing for seemingly successful businesses to do, forfeiting profit from entrance fees for gifts for the children. But in reality I realize their ulterior motive is probably to get people all tipsy and enamored by their concern for the kids that they spend big wads of cash in their stores and restaurants (or, as always noted, on those perfect stocking stuffers - gift cards).

Either way, I consider this a win, win, win situation - for me, for the businesses, for the children.

On Thursday I'm planning on hitting up an event at Sarasota Architectural Salvage. The list of contributing restaurants includes local favs like The Colony, Michael's on East, Bijou Cafe and Libby's.

Then on Saturday I head over to Michael's on East for their holiday wine tasting.

As they say, tis the season to be jolly : )

Good thing I've got that big pot of soup to feed off of.

A big pot of yummy comfort for the holiday season

Tis the season to be busy, and lately my kitchen has been feeling it.

Not the cookie baking or turkey roasting. I head out of town for all of that. No, during the holidays my kitchen tends to get a little lonely.

Between all of the traveling, holiday parties, shopping, Nutcracker watching and various other festivities, I have little time to get behind the stove and try anything too adventurous.

But a girl has to eat, doesn't she?

So in lieu of some interesting and exotic menu, tonight I decided to whip up an old favorite - minestrone soup.

A few years ago I adapted a recipe that involves Italian sausage (really the heart of its yumminess). It may be a little off point for the blog (these days, most of it is). But it is delicious, comforting and filling. Oh, and incredibly easy. A pot of it will last me days and the rest freezes well so I'll have plenty to eat until I have time to cook something more interesting.

Oh and by the way, this is an extremely flexible dish if you want to adjust the flavors and spices to meet your tastes.

Without further ado ...

The Best Ever Minestrone Soup

2 tbsps. olive oil
5 links of hot Italian sausage
3 medium yellow onions, chopped
6 cloves of garlic chopped
5 carrots, chopped
5 celery stalks, chopped
2 zucchini, chopped
3 tbsps. dried thyme
3 bay leaves
salt
pepper
1 fourteen ounce can diced tomatoes
3 cans cannellini beans
1 bag spinach

What to do:

Heat olive oil in a pan. Remove casings of sausage, break into chunks and add to the pot. Cook until the sausage is done all the way through. Remove the sausage (leaving the oils) and put it on a paper towel-covered plate to drain.

Add onions, carrots, celery and zucchini to the pot and cook until soft. Add the spices and cook for a few more minutes. Then add the tomatoes.

Rinse and drain the three cans of beans and using an immersion blender puree about half of them with about two cups of water. Add the pureed beans and more water (as desired - depends how soupy or stewy you want your minestrone... I like mine more stewy). Bring to a boil.

Once the soup has boiled, add the sausage, the remaining beans and the spinach. Let simmer for a bit. The soup will get yummier the longer it sits! This is great with some fresh grated parmesan cheese on top!

Overindulgence

They say too much of anything isn't good for us.

I now believe that explains the death of my letter "N" on the keyboard.

(Which, by the way, my family came to the rescue again, hooking me up with a USB keyboard for my laptop so I can proceed with the blogging.)

And how ironic for this to happen right at the start of the season of overindulgence.

Parties. Cookies. Shopping. Family. Fun in general. All of the festivities and responsibilities that come with the holidays can get overwhelming and exhausting just thinking about them.

Right in the midst of all of this holiday splendor, I woke up this morning - my first day off since I got back from Thanksgiving - and immediately started thinking about blogging.

That's how it's been since I started this project. Every day off. Many evenings. Spending my time blogging.

That's not as carefree and simple as it sounds. I'm an obsessive personality. One blog post might turn into hours toiling to perfection. Then another idea pops into my head. I have to get it all down before I forget something. Before you know it, the morning or evening is gone, swallowed up by a computer screen.

If you've been following you've probably noticed I've done more writing and pontificating lately than cooking. One of the unintended results of the blog is that it has been a fun outlet for my writing, without the constrictions that come with doing it for a living. I'm enjoying it.

But all that time spent in front of a computer isn't relaxing. Piles of cooking magazines lay all over the apartment, my yoga mat seeing a little less use, old hobbies fallen victim of my new obsession.

I've become overindulgent.

This morning it dawned on me the whole point of the blog was to distract me from other things I tend to obsess over, like work and life in general.

So what does that mean when you've traded one obsession for another?

I guess that's when you rely on the universe for balance. I couldn't blog the week I went without the letter "N", so I did other things. Dusted off some of those cooking magazines and spent some time on the patio just thinking and listening to music. I reacquainted myself with life beyond blogging.

Now the letter "N" is back in my life. And, if you haven't noticed by now, I'm sitting here blogging.