what to do with leftover phyllo.

Last weekend, Mom was here for an awesome visit. We had a great time, starting with a wine tasting Friday evening, followed by Chinese takeout. Then she and I stayed up way too late just catching up. It was great.

When Mom's here, we tend to make dinner into a special occasion, particularly since she's fun to have in the kitchen. Rob dug into an old favorite cookbook, a Junior League behemoth from San Francisco, to find something we hadn't tried before: chicken in a mustard cream sauce wrapped in phyllo, bûche de noel-style. It was really terrific. But it left us with half a box of phyllo.

What to do?

This: Salmon Filets in Phyllo. Really, where else would you go for a recipe to use leftover phyllo than Martha? It was terrific, and ridiculously easy: spread salmon filets with a bit of horseradish, do 2 layers of phyllo (with a bit of parsley between), then wrap up burrito-style and bake for like 12 minutes. Delish!

too many beans.

I was thrilled to discover that my seed order from Cook's Garden arrived yesterday: four kinds of lettuces (Butterworth, Oliver, Summer Mix and Lollo Rosa), something yummy-looking called Corn Salad and two kinds of filet-type green beans (well, actually, one is green and the other yellow).

Funny, though ... I don't think I intended to order a HALF POUND of bean seeds. Rob thinks I need to traipse through the countryside scattering them as I go ... Bryn Beanseed!

dear winter.

Dear Winter,

I remember fondly our first meeting in December. You came along at the right time; I'd put the garden to bed after the season and played my last round of golf, so your timing was ideal. It was a blast hanging out with you during the holidays—you charmed me with the light snow flurries you brought, and I loved how your cold, brisk nights made the Christmas lights seem to dance.

And then ... Then I began to see things in you I didn't like so much. Sure, I loved spending a snow day off work with you. And the icy tree branches were lovely shimmering in the sun. But don't you think the widespread power outages were a bit excessive? And that snow squall was an unexpected surprise—but really? At rush hour?

Now, well, now it's over. You're so cold, you just won't give me space ... we have nothing in common anymore. I'm sorry, Winter, but it's over between us.

It's not me, it's you.

ever the girl scout.

Bear with me for a little lunchtime rant. I'm hormonal and a bit bothered, so deal with it.

As I've written about here and here, I am hardwired with what I call my Need for Order and Correctness. Which means that I have fairly high standards. Which, in turn, means that I'm usually disappointed.

Simply because I try to be considerate, courteous and helpful, I assume that the rest of the world will, too. Doesn't work that way.

(Note: If you're reading this, consider yourself among the friends and loved ones to whom these broad generalizations do not apply.)

And I end up getting frustrated by the dumbest, smallest things. I'm irate that very few people in our neighborhood shovel their sidewalks like Rob does. I'm beyond annoyed when fellow employees leave their nas-assty dirty dishes in the kitchen sink at work. I fume when I feel like I or my team are the only ones going the extra mile. I want to hit the person who doesn't hold the door open for me, or who doesn't put their weights away in the gym, or who nearly runs me over as I'm standing in a crosswalk. Because I tend to look out for others, to leave a place better than I found it and pitch in willingly, I'm always let down when others don't act as I would.

I recognize that I'm somehow still living by the Girl Scout Law:

I will do my best to be
honest and fair,
friendly and helpful,
considerate and caring,
courageous and strong, and
responsible for what I say and do,
and to
respect myself and others,
respect authority,
use resources wisely,
make the world a better place, and
be a sister to every Girl Scout.

I understand that here lies the path to madness. I'm aware that this is my problem and that this frustration is of my own making. Self-awareness makes you only marginally less pissed off.

today is edgar's birthday.

Today is Edgar's birthday. Edgar, if you don't know, is the Big Bear; Henry is the Little Bear. We figure Edgar is probably 13 years old (Henry is maybe a year or two older) and came to live with us in St. Louis.

Henry and Edgar are best friends, inseparable. Henry is to Edgar what George is to Lennie, what Jim is to Kevin, what Greenberg is to Golic (seriously, where else do you get cultural references to "Of Mice and Men," "The Office" and ESPN's "Mike and Mike in the Morning" radio show??). Henry is wily, sharp, cynical and a bit of a critic; Edgar is big-hearted, friendly and encouraging. Edgar isn't dim, he's just unsophisticated, and he thinks more often with his belly than his brain.

Edgar has trouble grasping the concept of coincidence, so he's pretty convinced that the Super Bowl is a giant, football-laden celebration of his birthday. We haven't had the heart to correct his thinking on this.

What else do you do for a bear's birthday than bake a chocolate cake?

snowy day.

Just last week, Rob and I were commenting that we'd made it through almost the end of January without a significant snowfall. We should have knocked wood ...

... today, we got a pretty good dump (5 inches, maybe) with more to come tonight and tomorrow. Interstates are shut down in various spots so I'm working from home, with a cup of coffee within reach and a sleepy dog curled up on his pillow across the room.

We took our regular morning walk about 7 a.m., when it was dark and still and quiet. It's been cold, so the snow is the light, powdery kind that doesn't pack (no snowman-making for us), which made walking uphill quite a workout. Wrigley had a bit of trouble with snow-packed paws, but we got through all right. It was pretty, a good start to the morning. Off to work now ...

crunchy granola.

A few months ago I was disappointed to learn that the homemade granola I'd been buying at the market was no longer available. So today I made a batch that comes close ... almost. The only thing I need to figure out is how to make it more cluster-y, if that makes any sense. But it tastes great.

Crunchy Granola

Preheat oven to 350 degrees

3 cups rolled oats
1 cup mixed nuts & seeds (I used sunflower seeds, walnut pieces and slivered almonds; if I had sesame seed I would have added that)
1/4 cup maple syrup
1/4 cup honey
1/2 tsp. cinnamon
generous pinch of salt

Mix together thoroughly (so all the nuts and oats are coated with the sweeteners), then spread on a rimmed baking sheet lined with parchment.

Bake 10 minutes; stir. Bake 10 more minutes; stir. Again, 10 minutes and a stir. I gave it another 5 minutes, stirring frequently, until the granola was a deep and even brown (total baking time 30 to 35 minutes). When you stir, be sure to gather the well-browned bits on the outer edges of the pan and scoot them inward so it all browns evenly.

Remove from oven; cool. Stir in 1 cup of mixed dried fruit of your choice.

a cold winter's day.

Not as cold as yesterday, but still really cold. As we drove down Columbia Parkway to the market this morning, the sky was a brilliant pinkorangegold and it made me think it might get sunny, but not so much. We'll brave the elements later to take Wigs out for a spin. We all need to get outside.

These winter days I always hold out a bit of hope: We've hit the coldest stretch of the year, yet the days are growing perceptibly longer; there was a sun delay on my way home. So there's that.

Doing chores today, I was thrilled THRILLED to see a cluster of buds on my beloved olive tree. It has never borne fruit, and now there are two tiny bud clusters. The tree drops leaves in the winter just as it hits a growth spurt (old making way for new, I suppose). Here's a blurry photo:

please, enough with the pears already.

In the Mooth household, we have a serious pear problem: three -- count 'em, three -- deliveries of Harry & David pears within the space of about three weeks. We have 14 pears, and two people. Clearly, too many pears.

Pears are fine (and truly, these pears are delicious), but we're not huge winter-fruit eaters, and with only two of us, we just don't go through them quickly enough. (Plus, Rob has a little, erm, issue with them, which I won't go into here.)

So, what to do with all the freakin' pears?

Cocktail maestro that he is, Rob found in the Diffords Guide a recipe for a cocktail made of pear puree. So into the blender will go several of these blushing beauties. I'm a fan of sliced pears wrapped in proscuitto for a nice snacketizer. So that'll take care of another one. A recipe for salad of grilled chicken, blue cheese, red pepper, diced fennel and diced pear in a spicy cayenne-pecan dressing will no doubt be on the menu for Monday. And perhaps a pear crisp might need to happen.

Please, Harry & David, do not send any more pears. Ix-nay on the ears-pay.

roasted olives recipe.

I'm not a huge olive fan, though I do love olive oil and tapenade. I guess really I'm a very picky olive eater -- I only like the ripe ones (green = ick!), and I like to nosh on tiny Arbequino, Nicoise and oil-cured black olives with a glass of wine before dinner.

When Dad & Ellen were here for a Christmas visit a couple of weeks ago, we hit Lavomatic, a delightful French-style wine bar/cafe, for an afternoon pick-me-up. We ordered a dish of roasted olives to snack on -- I'd never had roasted ones (and these were served cold, which didn't seem ideal), but they were tasty and I resolved to try making them. I sort of made this recipe up:

assorted olives of your liking
a sprig of rosemary (fresh thyme would work, too, maybe for a spring or summer variation)
1 clove of garlic, smashed
a pinch of red-pepper flakes
a glug of olive oil
a splash of red wine
a piece of orange peel would be nice, too

I warmed the olive oil in my small Lodge cast-iron skillet (any oven-proof skillet would do), then added the garlic, rosemary sprig and pepper flakes and warmed them until they were fragrant. I added the olives and stirred them around for a few minutes, then added the red wine. Then I shoved the pan into a preheated 400-degree oven for about 12 minutes, until everything bubbled and smelled delicious.

These improve greatly over time -- I made a batch for New Year's eve that were much better when I finished them off on Friday evening, more than a week later. Yesterday's batch will sit in the fridge until next weekend, when I'll scoop a few into a small dish and let them come to room temp for a little snacketizer.