Birthday gift

When Huzoor moved to Europe too many years ago to think about, he left me with a lot of stuff he couldn’t/didn’t want to take along. One of those things was a Cuisinart spice/nut grinder. At the time I thought, pffft, I’ll never use this. But as it turns out, I used it a lot. Enough that I killed it. (Fig. 1 Dead Cuisineart)

Yesterday I was standing in my kitchen trying to think how I was going to grind up cilantro for the street tacos I planned to make for dinner. The door bell rang and Fig. 2 arrived. I was literally standing in the kitchen trying to decide how I was gonna accomplish this. The ol’ ball and chain came through just in time.

The maiden voyage. (Fig. 3) It was fabulous.

I made an extra cup for Ann White

Apparently it is risotto

Although he mercilessly mocked my Instant Pot risotto effort, I received this pic from the Royal Indian mounted Police yesterday. He admitted that it was good. You have no idea how hard it is for him to admit he was wrong.

Pasta é ceci

This is about the most simple thing I think I’ve ever made aside from opening a bag of Cheetos and eating them over the sink and calling it dinner. Encouraged by the Royal Indian Mounted Police who’s so, you know, Italianate, I tried it out. So so so good.

Onions and garlic in olive oil, chick peas, a can of tomatoes and some tiny pasta, in this case, ancini de pepe. I used the water I’d hydrated the chick peas in but I suppose you can just use water (he said rolling his eyes). And that was that.

I should have made a double batch but then probably I’d just have eaten it all.

Dashed hopes and shattered dreams

Scrolling through blog posts from last year trying to refresh my memory of what and where we ate, I happened upon these pix and was immediately transported back to the softly lit romantic (in the sense of food) memory of these warm, luscious pillows of deliciousness that are truffled gnocchi, and the ambrosial, cheesy (in a good way, the best way, in fact) embrace of mushroom risotto. My eyes glazed over as I sat down to fully allow the memories of this meal to flood my mind. So insanely good (once I’d flicked the damn truffles off), so worth, the calories, the trip (from America) that I had to have it again.

So we went back, Murat la Something or Other. Of course gnocchi was no longer on the menu. We ordered a nice appetizer plate which was fine, good even but the RIMP ordered the risotto right out from under me, so I had to settle for these beet stuffed raviolis. I mean, BEETS?!?! OK, they were fine but they were no gnocchi. And really. Beets? What was I thinking. Plus we were sitting on high no-backed seats which were just plain uncomfortable. And the door was open quite a bit to keep the COVID at bay, I’m not sure how that works but I do know that it was cold. It was seriously disappointing. But I lived apparently.