Relish This

Come and Get It! The 2011 Cookbook is Ready....

2012-01-03T11:55:00.000-08:00

Happy New Year Everyone. Hope your holidays were peaceful. Not that you were all waiting on the edge of your seats, but there was no blog in December (as is the story every December), since I was updating my cookbook with this year's recipe additions.

It's ready to go now and I'm happy to share it. Just shoot me an email at pegSrosen@gmail.com and I'll send you the file. You can keep it on your computer or, if you find you like it, you can upload it to Staples or some other copy place and ask them to print it double sided. From there you can have them coil bind it and cover it with a clear plastic cover on front and solid plastic cover on back. Or, like some people do, you can have them three-hole punch it, so you can then slip the pages into a three ring binder. This way, you don't have to print the book every year but can simply print the new recipes (which I send in an additional attachment) and add them to your book.

I'm eager to hear from you and always welcome your recipe ideas, input and suggestions.

Best,

Peg

Farro: The Official Food of Armageddon

2011-11-07T18:36:00.000-08:00

What a crazy ass scene last week was. No power. Barely any school. Trees and downed wires blocking just about every other street. And Halloween not just once, but TWICE, thanks to someone's genius idea to cancel and reschedule it, but failure to get word out to the critical mass of treaters and treatees.

Yee ha! There were definite upsides to the whole thing, of course. It did bring out the best in most of us. So many people shared their homes and hearths, as well as their fridge and freezer space. And I think it's motivated most of us to just finally bite the bullet and buy a darned generator, since it looks like the weather is only going to get freakier from here on in. And lastly, my love affair with a certain farro became even more passionate.

If you're thinking that I've been getting busy with some ancient Egyptian tyrant, you not only need to check my spelling. You also have to get on the bandwagon with the rest of us who have raised farro--an ages-old Italian grain--to near-rock-star status in the U.S. these days. A little bit like barley, with a nice firm bite and slightly nutty taste, farro is actually an ancient variety of low-yield wheat that is high in fiber and--if you give a hoot, which I don't--low in gluten. It's showing up on restaurant menus and in cooking columns everywhere these days, adding chew to soups, body to stews and starring big-time in salads.

I'm even more smitten with my fair farro than I am with quinoa, which is saying a lot. Here's why: First: It's sturdier and starchier, without being too earthy, so my pasta-loving teenage boys not only eat it. They adore it. Second: It's a perfect side dish but is nutritious and satisfying enough to stand in as a main course when snuggled up to a gorgeous salad. And third: My favorite way of preparing farro is tailor-made for Armageddon cooking. All you need do is boil the darned stuff, toss it with some sauteed mushrooms and cheese and you're in business. What you end up with is a sort of dryish risotto, with a dose of fiber for good measure. I brought bags of farro up to Lake George this year and it it became our go-to stove-top meal when the wood was too wet to build a fire. And this week, when the power went out, I didn't have to think for even a second about what I was going to make for dinner. A little old match to light the stove and we'd be in business. Not just surviving but surviving deliciously and oh-so in style.

The only possiblly tricky thing about making farro is actually finding farro, and the right farro at that. I know, for example, that Whole Foods carries it, but the type they carry is a little too dark and earthy for my pasta-loving boys. My local Kings also has it, but again I'm not crazy about the brand. Our favorite farro is the semi-pearled variety that goes under the no-frills Roland brand, which Fairway carries, as do numerous web retailers. Because it's semi-pearled, this type doesn't deliver as much fiber as the whole grain farro. But it's got a less oatsy-groatsy texture and taste to it, which is what lures my kids in. You choose whichever kind turns you on. My mother-in-law regularly ferries farro out to us from the Upper West Side. And my girfriend Gail (who turned me on to farro in the first place) is always happy to plop a few bags on my doorstep after one of her sojourns to the Fairway on Rte. 17. Make a few calls and see who carries it in your neighborhood. Then fill up your cupboard and sigh with relief. Armageddon may come. But you'll know what to serve!

Gail's Perfect Farro

1 17-ounce bag semi-pearled farro (preferably Roland brand)
1 basket fresh cremini mushrooms, cleaned and sliced up (white button fine, too)
2 cloves garlic, minced
3 Tbs. olive oil
1 Tbs. or so fresh chopped herbs of your choice (I usually substitute 1/2 tsp. dried herbs de Provence)
1/2 cup or so dry white wine (I just tip in whatever I'm drinking at the moment)
1/2-3/4 cup grated Parmesan or Romano cheese (or even more, to taste)

Bring a big pot of lightly salted water to a boil. While the water is doing its thing, heat large skillet over medium flame. Add olive oil to the skillet. When the oil is warm (but not too hot), add garlic and saute until soft. Add mushrooms and herbs and saute all of this until it cooks down. Add wine, bring to a gentle boil and allow to reduce so there is about a tablespoon or two of liquid left in pan. Off heat.

Now, dump the whole bag of farro into the boiling water. Boil for about 21-23 minutes, testing every so often for doneness. When cooked perfectly, farro is tender but still offers a little bit of resistance when you chew it through. It shouldn't be hard, though. Drain farro and return it to the pot you boiled it in. Do not turn flame back on. Now, dump the mushroom mixture and its liquid into the pot with farro, along with the parmesan cheese. Stir it all up. Add more cheese, as well as salt and pepper, to taste. Serve with roast chicken or all on its own with a big salad of bitter greens, diced bosc pear, crumbled gorgonzola and a dijon mustard vinaigrette. As a main dish, one bag of farro should serve about 4. As a side, you'll have plenty leftover for another night.

Feeling a Little Jumpy?

2011-09-20T06:48:00.000-07:00

If you live in San Francisco, Boston, or a handful of other cities that have caught onto the trampoline park craze, you have a handy new outlet for your frenetic energy. The rest of us, alas, will have to stick with Xanax or primal screams until one of these massive rubber rooms comes to a warehouse or airplane hangar near us.

Personally, when I got wind that there was someplace a person could literally bounce off the walls, I couldn't entertain the idea of waiting. So when the family headed out this summer to San Francisco, a session at House of Air was the second reservation I made. (If you know me, you can probably guess what the first one was.)

I kept my machinations a secret. All Paul and the boys knew was that on Day 2 of our trip, I was frantically pushing them to ride faster on the bikes we'd rented at Fisherman's Wharf because we had to "be somewhere" in the Presidio by 3 PM. Super annoyed does not describe the tude I was getting from them. Add "confused" to the mix when we rolled up to House of Air and they saw people popping in and out of sight beneath the roof of what looked like (and indeed might well have been) an enormous wall-less airplane hangar. When I walked them in and they spotted the near-endless sea of contiguous trampolines underfoot, their heads nearly spun off their bodies.

We plunked down $16 per person for our hour in the air. Signed waivers, the gist of which was, I believe, that if we broke our necks or ankles, it was our problem. Donned cute little rubber shoes. And headed to the open jumping section, where "air traffic controllers" kept potential mayhem at bay. We joined the ranks of about 30 hoppers of all ages and shapes, ranging from a group of 8-year-old girls popping about one inch in the air to a 20-year-old guy doing flips from an elevated launch pad to a jiggle-bellied Zach Galifianakis lookalike who bounced back and forth across the length of the room in a trancelike state for the entire hour.

Paul and the boys quickly abandoned this scene when they learned that a game of trampoline dodgeball was about to get underway in another massive jumping bin across the way. They never bothered to come back, except to laugh at me as I jumped up and down, up and down, up and down, up and down. "It's great for core strength!," a 22-ish air traffic controller bubbled to me as I bopped along. "You burn the same amount of calories during 10 minutes of trampoline jumping that you do running for a half hour! That's 1000 calories an hour!" she raved.

Maybe. I had broken a sweat by the time the buzzer rang, but I sure didn't feel like I had run my usual route or taken a spin class. I might have gotten more of a workout if I had had taken one of HOA's organized "air conditioning" classes, but perhaps next time. As for joint and bone health, that's even iffier. Already, law firms and orthopedists are doing business with jumpers who have suffered trampoline park injuries ranging from head trauma to dislocated shoulders to broken arms and ankles. One venue in Illinois had 16 ambulance visits within just the first months of doing business.

Paraplegia was hardly on my boys' minds when our hour at House of Air was up. In fact, they declared their rubbery interlude one of, if not, THE highlight of their trip along the California Coast (really? Not Big Sur? Not those 1000 -year-old redwoods? Not Chez Panisse?). And I'll bet that if Chelsea Piers were to open up one of these places, it would become the toast of New York's exercise and kiddie party circuit. At least until someone sued their asses off. In the meantime, if you happen to visit San Francisco, a pitstop at House of Air during a bike ride up to the Golden Gate Bridge might be a risk worth taking. And a decent way to burn off all those California eats.

Now....Some Good News from Greece

2011-07-27T10:19:00.000-07:00

Greeks may not know how to manage their economy but they make one hell of a good cucumber and tomato salad. And it's only somewhat recently that I've learned why the "Greek salad" my decidedly nonGreek mom has always made tastes nothing like the ones I've devoured over in the land of Athena.

Thanks goes to my sister Jamie, who married a Greek guy and let me in on the secret a few years ago. Here it is: When her Greek friends and relatives make their horiatiki (as the salad is called), they DON'T use vinegar. Not one little drop. It may sound crazy to U.S. salad eaters, who can barely utter the word "oil" without attaching the words "and vinegar" when they are talking about dressing. But it's the god's honest truth. Instead, they rely on the ripest, juiciest, buxomest summer tomatoes to provide the perfect acid foil to the fruitiest, fullest extra virgin olive oil they can get their hands on. Then they top everything off with REAL feta....not the bland white crumbly stuff that tastes more like a pencil eraser than a piece of cheese. But good, gamey Greek (or French or Romanian) feta that actually tastes like it came from a warm, furry, grass-munching animal.

Mid-January, when tomatoes taste and feel like cotton batting and cucumbers are bitter and limp, is decidedly NOT the ideal time to make this salad, which hinges on peak-of-flavor ingredients. But right this minute absolutely is---you may even have your own bumper crop of cukes and tomatoes that you're wondering what the heck you'll do with. Or a green market in town that's more than happy to shower you with fresh-grown goods. Decent feta cheese is a little harder to come by: Sometimes I can find a fair rendition in the "fancy" cheese case at the local supermarket. Cheese shops are a far better bet. Surprisingly, I've also been able to pick up a tub of pretty good Greek-style feta at my local Costco. Pitted Kalamata olives are also relatively easy to find these days. If my pathetic A&P sells 'em bottled, chances are your supermarket does, too. Greeks also love to sprinkle in roughly chopped caper leaves, which are sold in little brine-filled bottles. I love these little things so much, they and a box of my favorite baklava were the only thing I asked my mom to bring back for me when she visited my sister last May. Be assured, your horiataki will survive very well without these little leaves. But if you are ever at International Foods behind the Port Authority in NYC or some other Greek speciality shop and espy little bottles of caper leaves, by all means grab a bottle. And snag one for me, too!

Here's the recipe. It's very loose--you can adjust the ratio of tomatoes, cukes, and peppers based on your personal preferences. My son Ben isn't a huge green pepper fan so I usually go lighter with them. Fresh oregano is a really nice touch but not a must. When I'm throwing together this salad for my family and I don't have any on hand or in my herb pot, I sprinkle on the dry and it's fine. The amounts I'm giving you here are what I use to serve my family of four. You can just up quantities if you are preparing horiataki for a crowd (which I do scarily often during the summer).

2-3 cucumbers, peeled, seeded, and cut into chunks

3-4 ripe, juicy, beautiful tomatoes, cut into chunks

1 or 2 green peppers, cut into chunks

1/2 cup pitted Kalamata olives (or to taste)

1 Tbs. (or more) capers

2 Tbs. fresh, chopped oregano or 1 scant tsp. dried (or to taste)

3-4 Tbs. (or to taste), fruity, yummy extra virgin olive oil (Greek olive oil is fantastic)

4 ounces excellent feta (or to taste)

salt and pepper to taste

Gently toss together the cukes, tomatoes, green pepper, and olives in a big, pretty bowl. Sprinkle on capers, then crumble feta over the top, and then sprinkle on the oregano and some generous grinds of pepper. If you are prepping in advance, you can stow the salad in the fridge at this point, but be sure to let it warm up to room temp before you serve it. If you aren't prepping too far in advance, keep your tomatoes, cukes, and peppers on the counter at room temp until you are ready to make the salad and serve the salad at room temp. The flavors sing so much more beautifully when the veggies aren't ice-box cold. Just before serving, drizzle salad with enough olive oil to moisten well, then salt to taste. Kali Orexi!

Heat Wave Lemon Chiffon Cake

2011-05-31T18:39:00.000-07:00

I know that citrus is a winter thing and that we're all supposed to be fawning over strawberries right now, but there is just something about lemon that says "summer" to me. It's bracing, refreshing--sort of like a culinary air-conditioner. And nothing screams louder to me on a balmy evening than a slice of this luscious-yet-light lemon chiffon cake. I baked three of them this holiday weekend and still am not tired of it.

I tore the recipe for this beauty out of some magazine while I was languishing in the waiting room at my gyno's office years ago. I kept it in my recipe folder for probably a year and never got around to making the cake, however, because I couldn't get past the fact that the recipe used oil instead of butter. And you know how I feel about butter and baking. One afternoon, when I had absolutely nothing in the house and I needed to bring a cake for some occasion, I whipped this cake up. It was so extraordinary I was stunned. I think four people asked me for the recipe that very night. I've made it countless times since and it never fails to turn out fabulously--moist, moist, moist, delicate, and positively regal looking. I can't recommend it enough.

If you've never baked a chiffon cake, be not afraid. It really isn't tough at all to pull off. You will, however, need a few key tools: An angel food cake pan or a tube pan with removable bottom, something to whip up those egg whites, cream of tartar (which you can and will buy at your local supermarket even if you have always been mystified and just a little intimidated by it because you don't know what the heck it does), and the courage to turn your pretty cake upside down in order to let it cool properly. Oh, and one more thing: You'll need to stay just a little bit humble when everyone swoons all over you and tells you what an amazing cake you've baked. Here's the 411:

Cake:

2 cups flour

1 1/2 cups sugar

1 Tbsp. Baking powder

1 tsp. Salt

3/4 cups water

7 egg yolks

1/2 cup vegetable oil

Grated zest of 2 lemons

2 tsp. Vanilla

8 egg whites

1/2 tsp. Cream of tartar

Icing:

1 1/2 cups confectioners' sugar

2 Tbsp. Plus 1 tsp. Fresh lemon juice

2 Tbsp. Melted butter, cooled to tepid

1 tsp. Grated lemon zest

1/2-3/4 cup sweetened, shredded coconut (utterly optional)

To make the cake: Preheat the oven to 325. In a large bowl, combine the flour, sugar, baking powder, and salt. Make a well in the center; add the water, egg yolks, oil, lemon zest, and vanilla. Whisk the dry ingredients into the yolk mixture until the batter is blended and smooth. Set aside.

In a large mixer bowl, beat the egg whites and the cream of tartar at medium-low speed until foamy. Gradually increase the speed to high and beat the whites until stiff (but not dry) peaks form. Gently fold 1/3 of the beaten egg whites into the batter with a rubber spatula just until blended. Fold in the remaining whites just until combined. Pour the batter into an UNGREASED 10-inch tube pan (I use a tube pan with a removable bottom.)

Bake 1 hour, or until the top springs back when lightly touched with a fingertip and a cake tester inserted into the center comes out clean. Immediately invert the cake, still in the pan, onto the neck of a wine bottle or a large funnel. I personally set my cake to cool on three, stout overturned juice glasses. Cool completely.

To make the icing: In a medium bowl, whisk together the ingredients until smooth.

Remove the cake pan from the bottle or lift from inverted juice glasses and turn right side up. Run a long, thin knife around both edges of the cake pan. Transfer cake to a serving plate and remove the pan. (If you are using a tube pan with a removable bottom, lift cake out by the cone of the pan, invert over a serving plate, run knife around the bottom of the cake to release.) Spread the icing gently on top of the cake, allowing some of the glaze to drip down the sides. If you are a coconut fan (which I am) press generous amounts of coconut onto the top of the icing and sprinkle a little around the serving dish. Expect compliments.

Gooey, Easy Coconut Chip Meringues

2011-04-04T19:03:00.000-07:00

I don't care if you celebrate Passover, Easter, or just the fact that you are alive every day. This little meringue recipe will provide you with an unparalleled religious experience this Spring. I promise.

For what it's worth, I have absolutely no business posting right now. I should, in fact, be writing about one illness or another for one deadline or another that is coming up way too soon. Or at least paying attention to my kids, who were largely ignored this past weekend because "mom had a deadline" and dad was slaving away in, ahem, Las Vegas. (No, really he was working. He hates that place.)

But I have my priorities. And when I see that Passover is right around the bend, I feel duty bound to get this recipe out into the ether. I call these miraculous meringues for many reasons. First and foremost, if you are used to those heinous chalky blobs that plague just about every seder dessert table, these gooey, toothsome, fragile beauties will be a downright revelation. Second, these meringues are so yummy--imagine a slightly melted marshmallow, with a crisp shell on the outside and flecks of coconut and chocolate chips within--they will even win converts among the Easter crowd, who have absolutely no need whatsoever to be eating crappy, flourless desserts on their big holiday. And third, you can whip these up on the fly absolutely any time, since their basic ingredients are so humble even old Mrs. Hubbard is likely to have them in her cupboard. I mean, four measly egg whites make about a million cookies. And you don’t even need flour in the pantry! I toss in coconut along with the chocolate chips, since the combination ranks among my all time favorites. But if you fall into the coconut-hating crowd, you can stick with chips and live happily ever after.

Give these a shot this holiday season. You might very well end up making them all year long. A few words of wisdom to keep in mind:

* These are best if eaten the day you bake them. You can get away with baking one day ahead if you must. But be sure to taste one about 20 minutes after it comes out of the oven so you can experience utmost bliss, if even fleetingly.

* Tie children and maybe even adults to the dining room table while they eat these unless you want meringue flakes all over your house.

* Don't even think about mailing these anywhere. Your recipient will call asking why you sent them a box of sand and chocolate chips.

* Don't make these when it is raining torrentially or super super humid. They won't turn out very well. Good rule of thumb (at least for me): If it's a bad hair day. It's a bad meringue day.

* Oh, and Julie, if you live 80,000 feet above sea level, I don't know what to tell you.

4 large egg whites, at room temp

1/8 tsp. Salt

1 ¼ cups sugar

1 tsp. Vanilla extract

½ cup semisweet chocolate chips

½ cup sweetened, flaked coconut—or more to taste

1. Preheat the oven to 300 F. Lightly grease several cookie sheets with butter. Sprinkle flour over the sheets and shake to distribute the flour. Then turn the sheets upside down over the sink to knock off any excess flour. (Alternatively, go out and buy parchment paper. I know it sounds like a big serious step, but just go to the aisle where you find Saran Wrap and aluminum foil and boldly pluck a roll of parchment off the shelf. No one will ask for your diploma from the CIA, I promise. Then skip all that silly greasing and flouring and just line each cookie sheet with a nice neat rectangle of parchment. The meringues are so dry, you can just brush off the parchment and reuse it when you make your next batch. Which I suspect you will be doing soon thereafter.)

2. Using an electric mixer with the whisk attachment on medium-low speed, beat the egg whites with salt in a medium-size mixing bowl until frothy, about 40 seconds. Gradually add the sugar, then raise the mixer speed to high and add the vanilla. Beat the mixture for 50 seconds, stop to scrape the bowl with a rubber spatula, then continue beating until the mixture forms very stiff peaks--should take a few minutes longer. Then gently fold in the chocolate chips and coconut with the rubber spatula.

3. Drop the mixture by slightly rounded teaspoons (or with a small ice cream scoop) about 1 inch apart onto the prepared cookie sheets.

4. Bake the cookies until they turn a very light beige, 25 to 30 minutes. Cool the cookies on the cookie sheets. Again, make the kids eat them at the table, unless you want white crumbly stuff all over the house. Makes about 40 cookies.

The Dark Truth About Whoopie Pies

2011-03-06T07:11:00.001-08:00

I don't know if you've been following the burning controversy surrounding Whoopie Pies and the campaign to make them--not blueberry pie-- the official dessert of the State o' Maine. For sure, there are other things that might be catching your eye, like that little dust up in the Middle East. Or the nutsiness out in Wisconsin. Or the fact the end of the world is coming on May 21st. Or, well, let's just put it out there: The moth-to-flame adventures of Chuckie Sheen.

But being a baker and a bubble head, I've been keeping up with the aformentioned Whoopie Pie hoopla and the Tri-State Whoopie Pie mania that's ensued. And I can't help feeling just a little bit smug. Because I was onto these babies years ago, as a result of a trip up to Maine during which my obsessed family purchased Whoopies at virtually every deli, gas station, and market in the state. The kids and Paul bought them because--with all that creamy white yumminess oozing out between hockey-puck-sized cakes--the Whoopies all looked so utterly irresistible.

Here's the dark truth about why I personally kept buying them: I was hoping against hope I'd find one that actually tasted as yummy as it looked. And the fact is I never really hit pay dirt. The chocolate cake part was sort of bland and the cream was absolutely flat. When I got home, I got to work, scouring the Internet for a better Whoopie Pie. En route, I learned what Whoopie proponents are arguing about now: That both Maine and Pennsylvania lay claim to the cakes. I also learned why most Whoopies weren’t making me want to say “Whoopie”: The cake is often made with shortening. And the cream? It basically IS shortening. Whipped Crisco with lots of sugar and some vanilla if you’re lucky. Ew. Finally, though, I found a few promising prospects and I baked all of them. This one here is the best I’ve come upon. There’s still a nice, trashy touch: Marshmallow Fluff is the cornerstone of their filling. But there’s also a comforting amount of butter in the picture. Bring these to your next school bake sale and you will be a rock star. Bring these to Maine and maybe THESE will deserve the "Official Dessert" title campaigners have been angling for. In the meantime, I think Mainers should stick with blueberry pie and make nice with the peeps in Pennsylvania.

For the Cakes:

2 cups all-purpose flour

1/2 cup cocoa powder

(Dutch process, if possible, but not at all mandatory)

1 1/4 teaspoons baking soda

1 teaspoon salt

1 cup well-shaken buttermilk

1 teaspoon vanilla

1 stick (1/2 cup) unsalted butter, softened

1 cup packed brown sugar

1 large egg

For the Filling:

(This is enough for two batches of Whoopies)

1 stick (1/2 cup) unsalted butter, softened

1 1/4 cups confectioners sugar

2 cups marshmallow cream such as Marshmallow Fluff

1 teaspoon vanilla

Preheat oven to 350°F.

Whisk together flour, cocoa, baking soda, and salt in a bowl until combined. Stir together buttermilk and vanilla in a small bowl.

Beat together butter and brown sugar in a large bowl with an electric mixer at medium-high speed until pale and fluffy, about 3 minutes in a standing mixer or 5 minutes with a handheld, then add egg, beating until combined well. Reduce speed to low and alternately mix in flour mixture and buttermilk in batches, beginning and ending with flour, scraping down side of bowl occasionally, and mixing until smooth.

Spoon 1/4-cup mounds of batter about 2 inches apart onto 2 buttered (or parchmented) large baking sheets. Bake in upper and lower thirds of oven, switching position of sheets halfway through baking, until tops are puffed and cakes spring back when touched, 11 to 13 minutes. Transfer with a metal spatula to a rack to cool completely.

Make filling:
Beat together butter, confectioners sugar, marshmallow, and vanilla in a bowl with electric mixer at medium speed until smooth, about 3 minutes.

Assemble pies:
Spread a rounded tablespoon or so of filling (not too much!!) on flat sides of half of cakes and top with remaining cakes. Cakes can be made up to three days ahead, separated by wax paper in airtight containers and kept in a cool-ish place or in the fridge (and let them warm up a tiny bit before serving).

Stop the Insanity! Ski Belleayre.

2011-01-31T05:26:00.000-08:00

Whoa! Do we have snow. Cabin fever is getting so bad, even my non-skiing friends are surrendering to the slopes. Which thrills me. What kills me, though, is that a day of skiing in these parts all too often is defined by two destinations: Mountain Creek and Hidden Valley.

Forgive me for being a killjoy. But, if you want learn how to hate the sport, visiting these Jersey snakepits is a surefire way to go about it. The slopes are absurdly short. The lift lines are sickeningly long. And the crowds? I don't know what's worse: Their daunting numbers or the lack of control and judgement they exercise on the slopes. Names might have changed. And years might have passed. But it's pretty much the same dopey scene I encountered as a teen in my alcohol-infused high school ski club. (My most distinct memory of Great Gorge/Vernon Valley: Trying to zip my ski jacket over my head on the chair lift to shield myself from the icy assault of the snow cannons and accidentally zipping my lips into my zipper in the process. Tumbling off the lift with my lips still zipped into my coat while my friends laughed their asses off pretty much sums up my what my teen years were like) .

Here's my suggestion: If you want to spend a Saturday skiing, head up the NYS Thruway to Belleayre Mountain. Granted, it's a little too long a drive for a one-day trip, so you'll need to skip town Friday night. Granted, with its gritty, no-frills lodges and East Coast conditions, it's still a far cry from Colorado. But it's real skiing on a 3,325-foot mountain (compare that with 1480 at Mountain Creek), as well as one of the best bargains you'll find anywhere.

Here's the deal:

Sleeping over means serious savings: The Belleayre region is so starved for tourism bucks they make it almost cheaper to spend the night and ski than it is to visit for the day (okay, I'm exaggerating a tad). Crashing overnight at one of the very modestly priced local inns, hotels or motels that participate in the area's promotional program means kids under 17 can stay free in your room and ski scott free, too (limit is two kids per family; adults pay $55 for a lift ticket). That's not just a big savings on the youth tickets sold at the mountain. I did the numbers and my family only ends ups paying about $40 more for a mini sleepover vacation at Belleayre than we would if we day-schlepped over to Mountain Creek.

You'll only need about 24 hours: We skedaddle out of town right after work on Friday nights and are up at Belleayre in time for a 7 or 8 pm chow. With an early rise the next day, we beat daytripping crowds to the slopes by 9 am, are in the car by 3, and are back in Montclair in time for Saturday evening dinner and hijinx. UPDATE: We day tripped a few times this year and it was actually quite doable. A 6:00 AM departure from Montclair got us to the mountain by 9 sharp, with a hearty diner breakfast en route. A full day of skiing 'til four landed us back in Montclair about 6 PM with zippo traffic. Definitely an option if you don't have really little kids.

You shouldn't expect Aspen: Belleayre is about an hour and a half up the Thruway from Northern Jersey, 45 minutes west on Rt. 28, and a steep descent into the belly of the Recession. Once you pass Woodstock, "For Rent" seems to be the most popular retail sign and most buildings haven't seen a fresh coat of paint in decades. Belleayre itself kind of sits on its own, with a handful of once-cute-but-now-sort-of -haunted little towns spilling off either side of the highway. Since the Mountain is run by the NY Department of Environmental Protection, the whole place has a no frills feel to it. Expect a crowded, slippery cafeteria, grubby bar, and chilly lockers. No Colorado cushiness, whatsoever. But it's all about the skiing here, which is pretty darned good considering how close to home and affordable it is.

You'll Teach Your Children Well: Learning to ski for lots of kids is misery, either because their parents are screaming at them or they're stuck in ski school, where they spend a good part of their time shivering on the ski slope, awaiting their turn to practice whatever the teacher is telling the group to do. Charging just $65/hr ($35 for each additional skiier), Belleayre makes private lessons a viable alternative and a golden opportunity for anyone who wants to learn to ski. Paul and I had the boys start off every visit with a shared 2-hour private lesson when they were young and it was an investment we don't regret. Every instructor they ever had was wonderful. They learned what they had to learn without hating us. And Paul and I got some much-treasured time to ski together on our own. If there's one reason to come to Belleayre, this might top the list. And just FYI: There's lots of room to grow at Belleayre. The Tomahawk lift services some pretty respectable blacks and double blacks that continue to keep us and the boys plenty happy and challenged.

Wait and Watch: No real need to commit to anything far in advance, as long as you're not coming over a holiday weekend (which we avoid at all costs anyway). If the stars align weather- and committment-wise, log onto the Belleayre website, click on the lodging tab and start calling around to see who has a room. Don't get all fussy--the goal should be to find whatever place will fit the most of you into the fewest rooms (cots are fair game). Remember, you are only CRASHING here. You're not looking for mints on the pillow or Stickley accent pieces. For the most part, you can expect wall-to-wall carpeting, wood panelling, and limited cable service. (There are some higher-end options, like the Emerson, but they are so not worth it considering how briefly you'll be staying and what you're coming for, in my opinion.) The pleasant surprise: I think some of our best family memories come from sitting around playing dumb board games or giggling in the dark with each other at these funky places. Kind of like those great memories I have of staying at HoJo's when I was a kid, ordering room service ice cream sundaes in those styrofoam cups, and running down the halls in our footie pajamas. With nostalgic treasures like that, who needs Paris, right?

Wanna Go? Need to Know:

Where to stay: I'm not tipping my hand too much because I don't want to fight you for rooms. The towns of Pine Hill and Fleishmanns are both a stone's throw from the Mountain and offer a number of options. We tend to prefer lodges and B&Bs over the motels since they offer common spaces for us to hang out together. Log onto http://www.bealleayre.com/ and go to the lodging page. It lists every option, including exact distances from the Mountain. If you really want specifics, shoot me a flattering email and I'll probably cave.

Where to Eat: Options are limited. The Pine Hill Arms (also a lodge) serves up one of the best bacon cheeseburgers on the planet, kick-ass chocolate cream pie, and a range of other hearty ski fare. There's also a weird Mexican restaurant in the town of Fleishmanns that we think doubles as a disco at certain times. Ask your innkeeper or motel owner where to eat and just go with it. A cold beer and some calories is all you really need before you ski, right? As for lunch at the slopes, bring your own unless the kids really require hot food. The cafeterias are pricey and pretty gross.

Alpine Intelligence: Lifts start operating at 9 am, but the mountain opens at 8. Take advantage of this if you have to rent equipment so you don't spend precious ski time in a rental line. If you are beginner skiiers or need to rent equipment, you'll need to park in the Discovery Lodge lot near the base. If you are a bit more experienced, avoid the base lot and drive right up to the Overlook Lot, which puts you at a nicer lodge and at the lifts for the higher trails. If you are experienced skiiers, skip both of these lots and park at the Tomahawk Lot. It services the more challenging trails and is a far less-crowded scene. There's no lodge at Tomahawk, but there is a ticket kiosk. Parking is so convenient, you can simply keep your supplies in the car and run over and get them when you need them. In any case, plan on getting to the slopes early to avoid having to park in the overflow areas, which are a haul from the lifts, even with the help of shuttle vans. If you are just learning to ski, check out the special introductory packages. They do involve group ski lessons, but they are free, so you don't have much to lose.

What to Bring: We bring nothing but the clothes we are wearing and our ski stuff. There is no reason to bring anything whatsoever to make yourself the least bit appealing. Unless, of course, you still have some sense of personal dignity. Which I lost when I zipped my lips into my jacket long ago!

Cheers! The 2010 Cookbook is Ready!

2010-12-28T06:35:00.000-08:00

Another New Year. Crazy, huh?

I’m sitting here in front of the fire, putting the last touches on this year’s cookbook, and I feel like I can taste the future. Paul is sitting across from me glaring at his laptop. Ringo is sleeping nearby. And save for the clicking of computer keys and Ringo’s snoring, the house is dead silent. The boys and my mother-in-law, you see, are spending this Christmas break in California with Paul’s brother and his family. Paul and I are, for the first time ever, spending a week alone, without working, in our house.

I won’t go telling you how lonely we are without the guys here. We are, in fact, having a pretty excellent time. The only moment when I start feeling a little weird is when I step into my kitchen. Absent are the telltale pretzel trails left by hungry boys. Absent are the muffins or cookies I’ve baked and placed under the cake dome for them. Absent is that familiar voice in my head telling me to start preparing dinner. Absent are the aromas, the din, the taste of family.

I remember my mother-in-law telling me how she stopped cooking big meals when her kids left the nest. And how she stopped cooking all together when her husband Bernie passed away. I nodded my head as if I understood, confident in my belief that I’d never retire my apron. This week, however, gives me pause. I’m astonished by how quickly I abandoned my kitchen once the boys no longer depended on my being there.

I certainly hope I won’t lose my obsessive love for making all things edible. The kitchen still is the first place I head when I finish work or find a spare hour in my life. It’s the one spot where I can be creative, loving, industrious, nostalgic, somewhat girlie, and blissfully distracted, all at the same time. It will be pretty hard coming up with another endeavor that can give that scorecard a run for the money.

For now, though, I’ll go ahead and take the rest of the week off. There are so many things Paul and I want to do. And so much to think and talk about at the end of yet another year. Ben is a high school freshman and now owns his own razor. Noah is in his first year of middle school and is surgically attached to his cell phone. Yes, we tangle with them over everyday teenager stuff, but a short step back always reminds me how lucky we are to have such smart, affectionate, and hilarious young men in our lives. The grandparents are all well, my brother and his family are in Belize at this very moment, and my sister and her family are off living in Greece for the year. Good stuff for the most part, though I must admit I miss my sis.

I hope this year has been good to you. If it hasn’t, I hope the coming year brings better things. Thanks for following or occasionally reading the blog. If you ever have ideas or suggestions you'd like to share, I'm all ears. If you would like me to email you a copy of this year's cookbook, shoot me an email at pegsrosen@gmail.com and I'll send it your way. Cheers.

P.S. The additions to this year’s cookbook are:

Canal House Scallion Meatballs (turkey)

Easy Cheezy Cheese Straws

Rosemary Currant Pecan Crisps

Thai-Spiced Butternut Squash Soup

Sexy Summer Fig, Mozzarella, and Prosciutto Salad

Pat’s Smoked Salmon and Potato Salad

Velvet Asparagus Pesto

Savior Ass Chicken

Asbury Park Lamb Burgers

Ina’s Panko-Crusted Salmon

Peanut Butter Milk Chocolate Chippers

Ina’s Insane Pecan Squares

Pretty Darned Good Apricot Passover Kugel

Flash Back Cheese Blintzes

Holy Grail Coffee Crumb Cake

Leapin' Lizards! It's the New York Reptile Expo

2010-10-31T06:01:00.000-07:00

Right this second, grab your phone and see if you've got anything going on Sunday, November 28. If not, and you live in the New York area, have I got a kooky family outing idea for you.

It's the New York Reptile Expo out at the Westchester County Center in White Plains. I know. You don't want a pet iguana. And reptiles aren't exactly cuddly cute little critters that make darling little children like yours swoon. So why on earth would you schlepp the family out to White Plains to look at hundreds of these scaly things, for Pete's sake? I was wondering the same thing when my friend Leila Loring--a fellow mom of boys--swore to me that the Freundlich clan would dig it big time. "No purchase necessary! You can just go and look!" swore Leila...though she admitted she did come home with a four-foot lizard that proceeded to terrorize her household. No doubt, I was about as interested in that prospect as I was about about having more frequent colonoscopies. But there was something alluring about having something somewhat amusing to do on a gray November Sunday, when it's too darned cold to run around outside, most Fall sports are done for the season, and my kids are hooked up to the Playstation as if they're on life support.

So, on the day of the big show, I packed up my extremely perplexed family and hauled them out to White Plains. What we walked into was an alternate universe--a place where latter-day Eves in tight jeans and suede booties swooned over slippery snakes that were longer than my own torso. Where children begged mommy to buy them pets that looked, essentially, like fish with legs. Where food stands didn't dish up hot dogs and hamburgers, but zip-lok bags full of frozen rats and mice.

Truth be told, the kids--and especially my husband Paul--were at first horrified. When Ben spotted the expo model wrapped in nothing more than skanty lingerie and a boa constrictor, I thought he was going to have a stroke. I was, however, smitten with the whole scene right from the start. I couldn't help eavesdropping on handholding couples as they strolled from one stand of creepy critters to the next as nonchalantly as if they were perusing sweaters at Bloomingdales. When I actually started to chat up vendors and shoppers, I was utterly hooked. "This one is a real mush. I hang him from my swing set and he swings along with the kids," gushed one burly guy, as he showed me a snake he had hidden in his backpack. "This one is the love of my life," said one middle-aged blonde as she flashed a snapshot at a vendor. "I couldn't bring myself to bury him when he died so I paid a taxidermist to stuff him. He's hanging in my apartment now." Part zoo, part sideshow, part anthropology expedition...how could anyone NOT love this place!

By the time I rounded up the rest of the Freundlichs, Paul was pretty pale. Ben wanted to get the model's phone number (just kidding). And Noah was begging, pleading, insisting upon getting a painted dragon. We left, thankfully, reptile free. And by the time we got home, Noah's sudden, desperate need for a pet reptile was easily supplanted by our fuzzy, cuddly decidedly nonreptilian dog Ringo. This year, I fear, we might not be so lucky.

Wanna Go? Need to Know:
When to Go: The next New York Reptile Expo is Sunday, November 28, from 10 AM-4 PM. If you miss that date (or just can't get enough), there are additional NY shows in April, July, and September. The Expo also travels to New England and Long Island. Log on at http://www.reptileexpo.com/ for locations, dates, and further 411.

Getting There: If you're coming from the Montclair, NJ area, you can take the Garden State Parkway North to the exit for 287 East. Cross the Tappan Zee Bridge and proceed from there. This is a pretty trafficky drive so be prepared. I think it took us over an hour. Click here for specifics: www.reptileexpo/nydir.htm

What to Bring: An agreement in writing (just kidding, well, kind of) as to why you are going (sightseeing, pet shopping) and what you intend to bring home (nifty memories, scary lizards, lacerations). Bring lots and lots of antibacterial gel for your hands. Other bringalongs: Camera. Smelling salts.

Costs/Services: Admission charge is $10 per adult, $4 for kids 7-12, kids under 7 are free. There may very well be more than rats for snacks at the Expo but, I dunno, do you really want to eat in a giant reptile house? We pit-stopped at a diner on the way in.

Fear Factor: Shoppers are allowed, to some extent, to handle the reptiles. I guess you or your child could get bitten or strangled. At the very least you could get a nice case of salmonella. As you can see from the photos, I did get up close and personal. What can I say, it's as close as I'll come to living dangerously at this point in my life. Do what feels right for you.

Belize Part III: Luxe Lodge, Hidden Bargain

2010-10-07T09:30:00.000-07:00

Last post left you at Lamanai Outpost, a jungly river retreat adjacent to the ancient Lamanai ruins in Belize. Up Next: Three nights at Chaa Creek, a "wildly civilized" nature lodge located in the cooler, mountainous Cayo District further to the south. Here's the scoop:

Getting There: You can shell out big bucks (and pop a few sedatives) if you want to puddle jump it to the tiny airport near Chaa Creek. We played it safe and cheap with a return boat trip down river and a van back to Belize International, where we were easily handed off to our Chaa Creek driver. From there, it was a two-hour drive to the mountainous south, a clearly more prosperous region, replete with horse and cattle ranches. The last couple of miles along a jangly dirt road led us finally to the lodge.

The Spot: Chaa Creek's got that whole "cushy wilderness resort thang" down: Neatly pressed staff trade cool drinks for dust-covered luggage when guests arrive. Artful thatch-roofed cottages nestle among riotous blooms. Stone, iguana-dotted paths lead to civilized perks like a freestanding spa, butterfly garden, and a breezy white tablecloth restaurant. And yep, there's a drop-dead gorgeous infinity pool, flanked by canopied massage tables and crisply clad chaise lounges.

Before you go rolling your eyes, let me tell you what makes this place truly likeable--and downright doable--even for us non-investment bankers: First, as gorgeous and extravagant as it is, Chaa Creek happens to also be a pioneer in sustainable eco-tourism. The owners--an American and a Brit--are long-time champions of the cause and stick by their commitment, creatively recycling waste on property and milling much of their own furniture with the help of local labor. So if you choose to indulge, you can actually feel good about being there.

Second...and this is my favorite part: While staying at the main resort is a kick-ass awesome experience for sure, there's a far-less-publicized, and more affordable alternative just a 10-minute walk down/up river along a well-groomed trail. Called Macal River Camp, it's basically 10 treehouse-like casitas clustered around an immaculate central bathhouse, convivial bonfire pit, and a rustic Belizean dining room. Since Macal River Camp is owned by the Chaa Creek folks, guests who stay there get to take take advantage of the resort's amazing amenities...for a fraction of what the fancy folks are paying. Granted, this option ain't for everyone. We didn't stay there because my workaholic husband puts up with my crazy camping stuff all year long and I knew he craved some comfort (and just a bit of privacy) on this go round. But if you're open to a more communal, close-to-nature experience--and want a lovely home-base in the Cayo region--Macal might be a fantastic option for you. I personally would have preferred staying at Macal because the vibe was so much hipper and friendlier than at the main resort. And, as you know, I'm just soooo hip and friendly.

The Digs: Rooms at the main resort are ripped straight from Conde Nast Traveler. Cool stucco walls, clay tile floors, double-sheeted queen and king beds, handwoven textiles, and a huge bathroom with an array of eco-friendly unguents are standard. Our digs even had a separate, landscaped outdoor shower. (Great for late-night hi-jinx when you're sharing digs with kids). Flower petals sprinkled around the bathroom and towels twisted into swan shapes on the bed had me looking around for errant honeymooners. Not that I'm complaining but it did feel a little bizarre sharing our tropical sin bin with two adolescent boys.

As for Macal--don't imagine muddy pup tents at some skeevy KOA campground. These are permanent structures, simply but prettily appointed with colorfully covered single beds (some casitas accommodate 4), private hammocked porches, and screened windows. What they don't have is plumbing, electricity (guests use kerosene lamps), Four-Seasons-caliber mattresses, or glass on the windows (any romance has to be low key here). If I had a "camp" like this in Lake George, I'd stay there year round.

Action Plan: Chaa Creek's 365-acre private nature preserve is there for you to explore and enjoy in numerous ways, mostly for no additional charge. There are guided hikes, medicine walks, canoes to paddle down the river, bird watching tours, horses to ride, mountain bikes to borrow (good luck...the trails are so vicous I ended up walking mine the entire way), and a butterfly garden and natural history center worth checking out. The really serious planning takes place each night, when guests take turns sitting down with the very official white-garbed concierge to sign up for the off-site excursions. This is where you spend real money (some trips cost as much as $100 or more per person), but this is also where it's truly worth it. We opted for a half day at the nearby ruins of Xunantunich, a half-day canoe paddle into stalactite/stalagmite riddled Barton Creek Cave, and the full-day Actun Tunichil Muknal adventure, which took us on an hours-long cave hike through waist-high water to ancient Maya sacrifice grounds. Truly, one of the all-time nutsiest adventures we've had as a family. There's also ziplining at a nearby resort (which seemed like a touristy knock off of Costa Rica); cave tubing; an excursion to Tikal in Guatemala, and more. Truly, if I could only call one place in Belize home base, Chaa Creek would be it. There really is THAT much to do.

Grub: Chaa Creek, like many upscale properties in Belize, did a diligent job of serving up the kind of fare that high-ticket travelers might want. There's just something about eating braised lamb shanks and creamy fettucini when I'm in the middle of Belize....at a wilderness lodge...that doesn't work for me. I crave local food. And therein, I'm guessing, lies the rub. Belizean food, while tasty, is pretty simple and can get monotonous. It always seems to be some type of stewed meat or poultry and rice and beans. And I guess high-end hotels don't think their guests want that. We, however, preferred simple and local and thus took most of our meals at Macal River Camp, where traditional food and local beer are served up as a matter of course and guests are happy to devour it.

The 411: Three nights at Chaa Creek was about all we could afford, time-wise and money-wise. But given our druthers, we might have stayed a little longer. The semi-all-inclusive high season package rate for our cottage, which had two double beds and a day bed, ran about $ 215 per adult per night; $55 for each child. Another option is to pay a flat nightly room rate of $300 (which includes breakfast); order box lunches from Chaa Creek ($12/pp) or pick up lunch in town en route to your excursion; and eat dinner ($12/pp) at Macal River Camp. Rates at the main resort decline considerably after May 1 and Chaa Creek also offers affordable packages. Transfers from Belize International to the resort are $ 150 for 1-4 people. At Macal River Camp, the charge is $55 per adult, including breakfast and dinner. Kids under 6 no charge; 6-11, $ 12.41; and 12-18, $ 24.63. That's right. What a deal. Could make a camper out of the best of us, huh? For info and rezzies go to www.ChaaCreek.com

Getaway on the Lagoon: Belize Part II

2010-10-01T09:55:00.000-07:00

As promised in my last post--which detailed WHY Belize is such an easy and amazing family adventure--I'm giving you the lowdown on the three great places we stayed during our trip.

Here's the scoop from the first leg, which took us from Belize International Airport up to a far flung lodge on the New River:

Lamanai Outpost:

Getting There: A driver was waiting for us when we arrived at the Belize International Airport, quickly whisked us into his van, and drove us about an hour to a jungly but tidy landing on the New River. A way cool--and kid-pleasingly fast-- little motor boat then snaked us up the river for about an hour to the Outpost.

The Spot: Directly adjacent to the lush Lamanai ruins, Lamanai Outpost truly feels like an Outpost. About 20 thatch-roofed cabins crouch among the palms, overlooking an enormous, lake-size lagoon and acres of rustically tended plantings. Paths lacing the property lead to a beautiful open-air pavillion, where down-to-earth guests hang at the bar, eat meals, and sign up for daily activities.

Our Digs: Our woodsy cabin--hewn from local materials-- struck that perfect balance between comfort and rusticity: No A/C, TV, or shiny tiles, but good linens on the bed, screened and louvered windows, a stylish yet lowkey bathroom, and our own private little porch with chairs for reading. The coolest amenity: A troop of howler monkeys who inhabited the overhead canopy of trees. Waking at sunrise to their insane, gutteral shrieks rates as one of the most mystical and hilarious experiences we've had together.

Action Plan: Each day, we could sign up for two activities--which was generally enough to keep us busy and provide some time to just hang out at the cabin or swim and sun off the river dock. These included sunrise canoeing (think birds, birds, birds) and spotlight safaris on land or on water (think bats, scorpions, crocs). We toured the neighboring Lamanai Maya ruins in the early morning with a guide who knew just how to engage the guys and how to avoid the daily cruise ship crowds. We zipped out on an airboat in the pitch black (the guys were blown away by how cool these things are) and helped preservationists tag baby crocodiles. We took a guided "medicine walk," and learned about trees and plants that traditional Belizeans use to treat everything from anemia to athlete's foot. One afternoon, our guide walked with us into the nearby village, where the guys helped the cooks at a small restaurant grind hominy and make chicken tamales --I think the simple, Belizean meal we had there was the best we had on the trip.

Grub: Since there ain't that much else around, guests generally eat all their meals under the gorgeous thatch canopy of the central lodge. The food is okay--beats me why they're serving up heavy, American style meals in the middle of the tropics. But the waitpeople are all very accommodating and the kitchen is pretty good about whipping up something to placate picky kids and health-conscious parents.

The 411: Three nights at the lodge was plenty for us. After that, you might have to start repeating daily activities. But hey...if you like just chillin' at a remote river outpost, you might want to stay longer. All-inclusive rates--which even cover transport from and to the airport--start at about $260 per adult/$80 per kid from December--mid-April. The beauty part: From mid-April -December, those numbers drop to $149 per adult/$55 per child. A Screamin' Deal we happily took advantage during the kids' spring break. The weather was perfect. And yes, there's Internet in the main lodge. For rezzies and more go to www.lamanai.com. Or email me and ask!

Itching for an Easy Adventure? Think Belize.

2010-09-15T11:21:00.001-07:00

Not to put another thing on your plate. But just in case you're hoping to take a vacation this year, now's the time to start planning, or at least dreaming. Here's my pitch: Go Belize. I know a zillion people might already have told you about it. I know there's press up the wazoo about what a trendy Green destination it is. I've just gotta say, though, that after taking a two-year hiatus from big ticket travel, this trip was not only just what the doctor ordered last Spring. It was probably the best trip we've taken as a family. Here's why:

1. Logistics are stupid simple. Hop an easy flight to Belize City with a switch in Houston or Dallas (in many cases). Then let those smarty-pants Belizeans take it from there....the resorts work together, picking you up at the airport and getting you back to the next resort driver for the coming leg of your trip. This isn't hoidy-toidy chaffeur stuff...just a smart strategy to get timid tourists off the beach and inland to explore (and spend money in) the rest of the country. To top it off: There's no significant time difference, English is the official language and American dollars are accepted just about everywere. Truly an adventure vacation that doesn't leave you needing a vacation.

2. Belizeans actually seem happy to see us. Call me neurotic, but it's nice traveling to a place where people don't want you dead. Plus, although Belize is relatively poor, the country--unlike many Caribbean islands--has an economy that extends beyond tourism, so you don't have that feeling that everything is hinging on you and your Tourist Dollar. Plus, the tourism economy itself is being developed in a relatively environmentally and culturally responsible way. In short: You don't feel guilty vacationing here. You might actually feel like you're doing something good.

3. There's plenty to keep culture vultures happy. Archaeological ruins, along with excellent, government-licensed guides, are everywhere. Bonus: Unlike a number of other ancient sites, many of these are in lush jungle, so you're not burning up under the blazing sun. If you're really hot on ruins, Tikal (in Guatemala) is an easy day trip from Belize's popular Cayo region.

4. There's outdoor adventure up the wazoo. Sure, you've heard about the diving and snorkeling. But inland is a wonderland, too: We canoed through pitch-black caves used by the ancients for human sacrifice (the skeletons are still there); we zipped off on airboats into the night and helped preservationists capture and tag crocodiles; we woke at dawn to the screech of howler monkeys congregating over our cabin; we hung out with a brigade of bat researchers at our lodge at Lamanai and actually hung with the bats, too. Who needs Disney's thrill rides when real thrills await?

5. The country is compact. You really can get a taste of everything without getting all "planes, trains, and automobiles" about it. We spent three nights at a far flung river outpost in the jungle, three nights in the mountains and three nights on the beach near the second largest reef on earth. Not for even a minute did we feel rushed, overwhelmed or harried. You can also hole up at one spot, do some day excursions and be perfectly happy.

6. There are amazing and affordable places to stay. Belize has its share of budget and backpacky accommodations. But it also has a wealth of gorgeous, comfortable and unique resorts that meld beautifully with their surrounding culture and ecosystems. These places aren't cheap by any shot of the imagination. But many, if not most, offer packages that include excursions, activities and meals, which makes it easy to budget for your trip. All said and done, we spent less on this trip than we did on a 10-day vacation at the Basin Harbor Resort in Vermont two years ago. And it was a fabulous and and less costly alternative to the Galapagos trip we've long dreamed about but will likely never be able to afford.

Want details on where we stayed and what we did? Stay tuned for Part II, coming soon.

The Next Best Thing to Eating Naked

2010-08-27T13:05:00.000-07:00

Blink and you'll miss it. I'm not talking about the state of my newly organized, freshly scoured, and flotsam-purged third-floor office. I'm talking about fig season. Fig season??? If the only word that comes to mind when you hear the word "fig" is "Newton," you're probably saying, "Big whoop Peg! I'd rather come take a look at your new filing system."

But if you happen to be among the culinary cognscenti who understand just how luscious, unctuous, and utterly sensual a fresh mission fig can be on a late summer afternoon, you're nodding your head knowingly. You blush just thinking about how that velvet skin gives way to your gentle nibble, revealing wildly pink, honey-sweet flesh. Your heart beats just a little faster as you imagine the titillating crunch of tiny seeds, as the fig's heart slides satisfyingly over your palate and down your throat. You can feel yourself reaching for another tender orb, wanting, needing to experience it all again. And fast....since the magic time when figs arrive at the markets in late summer is over faster than a first kiss. (There's a crop in springtime, but I always miss it. And the summer crop supposedly ends in mid-October, but I am seldom able to find them so late.)

If you're not yet a fig fan, consider this your wake up call. Run out and hunt down whatever vendor is smart enough to sell them--your local greenmarket is a great option, my local King's also sells them for a royal ransom. Sure, you can rinse 'em and eat 'em just like that. But figs are so wondrous because of the way they make other foods sing. For breakfast, I chunk them up, fold them into thick Greek yogurt, and sit out on my deck pretending I'm in Santorini. Sliced, they are the star of the most sophisticated dessert in my repertoire: a fig-and-lemon mascarpone tart in a cornmeal rosemary crust. And notched at the top and drizzled with honey, fresh lemon juice and fruity olive oil, they are the cornerstone of an appetizer that guest after guest at my home--die-hard fig lovers and virgins alike--have variously raved about as "a salad that the best restaurants could charge big bucks for," "crazy, insanely delicious," and "so obscenely yummy it should be eaten in private." I still favor the name that came from its creator, Jamie Oliver: "The Easiest, Sexiest Salad in the World." It really is crazy simple. It showcases some of the best foodstuffs on the planet. And after you make it once, you needn't follow the recipe at all. Give it a try and I promise--you'll get lucky, even if you manage to keep your clothes on.

Fresh Fig, Mozzarella and Prosciutto Salad

6 ripe figs, black Mission preferable (not too ripe; you don't want them to be super mushy)

6 slices of prosciutto (splurge on good di Parma or something similar--a little goes a long way and this recipe is so simple, it's all about the quality of the ingredients).

1/2 pound fantastic mozzarella, torn into strips (I get mine from my local Italian grocer while it's still warm and practically pulsating; you can also do very well with a hunk of beautiful buffalo mozzarella. Just don't use that rubbery stuff from the supermarket.)

Healthy handful of green or purple basil

For the Honey and Lemon Juice Dressing

1 Tbsp good honey

6 Tbsps extra virgin olive oil

3 Tbsps lemon juice

salt and freshly ground black pepper to taste

Putting It All Together:

Cut a criss-cross in the tops of the figs, but not quite to the bottom, and then, using your thumb and forefinger, squeeze the base of the fig to reveal the inside.

Place the figs on a beautiful serving plate and weave the slices of prosciutto around and among the figs. Intersperse this perty arrangement with strips of mozzarella and the ripped up basil. Drizzle honey, making sure each fig has some in the the middle, then sprinkle the olive oil, lemon juice, and salt and pepper over all. Or mix all the dressing ingredients together in a bowl and season, to taste, then drizzle everything with the honey-and-lemon-juice dressing.

Go nuts.

Forget the old "Boil and Butter"...Get Those Artichokes on the Grill!

2010-07-27T10:34:00.000-07:00

Just got back from my extended family's annual Lake George camping trip. If you know me just a little, you know that this excursion is a pretty kooky one, about which I've written, joked, grimaced, and reminisced relatively often. If you don't know me too well, basically imagine 11-15 Jerseyites (and ex-Jerseyites plus one pure-blood westerner) on a 1/2-mile long island in the middle of an Adirondack lake, with a couple of outhouses, a stone firepit, a handful of tents, and copious amounts of Deep Woods Off, sunblock, bacon and vodka---and you've basically got a picture of what life is like during the two family weeks we've spent there each summer over the past 52 years.

Now, up at the Lake, division of labor is serious business. My brother John is the wood, fire and fishing guy. My sister-in-law Julie is the only one kind enough to pay attention to the gaggle of mud-covered juveniles running wild around us. My sister Fred, our group's very own untouchable, cleans the outhouse. My parents worry about the weather and make cocktails. The kids haul buckets of water from the lake and chop kindling. And I have, over the years, taken over the role from my mom of grocery shopper (via boat) and cook. All of this makes for a pretty darned efficient and fight-free environment. Though I suspect we'd each be up sh&*t's creek if left on the island to survive on our own.

Anyway, people are always very curious about how I cook for 14 odd people for 14 days without the benefit of electricity or running water. More often than not, my friends muse about the gourmet feasts I must be able to innovate with nothing but an open fire and the great outdoors to inspire me. And my answer is the same: Food up at he Lake is basically calories. It provides energy so we can do all the other crap that needs to get done, like hauling wood, running up Black Mountain every morning, and chasing rattle snakes off the campsite.

Sure, my siblings and I went through a period where we tried to prove our parents wrong. We hauled up special spices and did our best Bobby Flay impressions. But after hours spent hovering over misbehaving flames, washing too many pots, and cowering in front of singed disasters (my pitch-black-but-raw country pork ribs come to mind), we've all arrived back at that sensible place that tells us to stick with what's easy, fast, and tasty. That means a pretty predictable rotation of steak, burgers, spaghetti, tacos, and iceberg lettuce salads.

There have been some notable additions over the years, however...dishes where the finished product exceeds the sum of its very few parts and still manages to get us out from under the kitchen tarp in a jiff. Case in point: My brother John's recipe for grilled artichokes, which he imported to the island two summers ago. I swear to you, once I tasted artichokes from the grill, I haven't once considered returning to my boiling ways and never even entertain the idea of dipping those delicious leaves in butter. Certainly, you can tackle this dish over an open fire like we do up at the Lake. But it's easier (and better for your complexion) if done on your tame little backyard grill. Give these a try. And let me know what you think.

John's Grilled Artichokes

Artichokes (figure on 1 per person; nice, fresh ones generally feel heavy for their size, sport tightly packed leaves, and have plump, non-shriveled stems)

Salt and Pepper
Exra Virgin Olive Oil
Fresh Squeezed Lemon Juice

Put a large cauldron of water on to boil or, if a you're a steamer-type of person, set up a steamer large enough to accomodate your artichokes.

While the water heats, prepare the artichokes. If you've never wrestled with these critters before, be brave. I'll walk you through it....the pictures here should help. First, give them a wash. Next, use a sturdy pair of scissors to clip the tips off of the bigger, visible leaves. Once the outer leaves are de-tipped, you'll have the delicate inner leaves sticking up from the center in a point. Use a sturdy knife to just whack off the whole pointy cone and discard what you've cut off. Finally, cut the bottom off the stem (if your artichokes still have theirs). This part of the artichoke, especially if it's a big artichoke, is pretty tasty, sort a continuation of the heart. Sometimes, though, they can be a little bitter. Just put them aside later if they are.

Now, once your water is boiling, drop the artichokes into the boiling water or put them in to steam for 15 minutes. While they are cooking, spray your grill with some Pam so the artichokes won't stick later and THEN heat up the grill. If you have one of those veggie grates that you can lay on top of your grill grate, go ahead and use it. No reason not to play it safe. As for how high to heat the grill? I'm not exactly picky about the setting since, as mentioned, I'm usually doing this over an eyebrow-singing fire. I'd say a medium fire is fine.

After about 15 minutes of boiling or steaming, your artichokes should be almost, but not completely, cooked. It's important not to overcook them at this point because they will fall apart on the fire. And if you undercook them, the heart may still be hard when you take them off the grill. The goal is for a knife or cooking fork to be able to pierce through the artichoke with just a little resistance.

Take your artichokes out from the cooking water and set them on a towel for a few minutes (go ahead and squeeze your lemons and wash your cooking pot while they cool. ) Now, use a sharp knife to cut each arichoke in half lengthwise. Once that's taken care of, your next job is to take out the hairy pokey stuff from the center. Here's how: Using that sharp knife, make a nice shallow smiley-face-shaped cut right along the line where the heart ends and the thistles begin (see picture. ) Then, use a melon baller, measuring spoon or plain old teasopoon to scoop out all the hairy stuff and tiny leaves above that cut line. No leaves that are too small and spiny to eat should be left.

Whew. Now that that's done, just brush the cut side of the artichokes with olive oil, and sprinkle them lovingly with salt and pepper. Lay them cut side up on the grill (close grill if you're not using an open fire) and cook for 10 minutes. Then flip them so they're cut side down and cook for another 5-10+ minutes, or until they are nice and crispy and and nut brown in spots.

Okay. Now lay these babies out on a platter. Drizzle with olive oil and lots of fresh lemon juice. Devour. Mmmmmmmmm.

Looking For Close-to-Home Adventures This Summer? Click Here.

2010-06-30T11:08:00.000-07:00

Okay, here's the big, exhausted sigh. Siiiigggggghhhhhh. Or however you spell the sound that basically captures the "I'm so pooped I can't bring myself to stand up and I can't believe we actually made it to the summer and before I know it I'll have to start making lunches and badgering kids about homework so I'd better make the most of this supposed summer break."

Maybe you don't even feel that way. But if you've got kids in the house--and haven't been able to con them into spending 8 weeks at summer camp like my parents did with me and my sibs--I'll bet you're looking for things to do with them over the coming steamy weeks.

This is just my friendly little reminder for you to CHECK OUT THE SERIES I WROTE LAST SUMMER. There are numerous blog entries covering everything from hikes in NJ to bike rides on the West Side to evening outings in the Meat Packing District. And all suggestions are all affordable and kid friendly. I'll be making more entries as I go this season. But for now, check out what I already have--you'll see a full listing on my home page on the right side, somewhere below my profile picture and the email subscription box. And please, please feel free to post any suggestions that you might have. I'm always eager to discover new adventures in the area.

P.S. I don't quite know how to correct it now, but Buddahbar, which is mentioned in "To Hell With the Hard Rock: Take the Kiddies to Buddah Bar" blog, is now a similar spot but with a new name. It's called Ajna Bar.

Need Party Food? Be a Genius. Make This.

2010-06-01T07:57:00.000-07:00

It’s that time of year. School is winding down, graduation parties are kicking in, bbq’s are getting into gear. And we all stand in our kitchens, scratching our heads about what to contribute to all those potluck parties etched in our calendars. Right here is a recipe that you’ll kiss me for. This cilantro shrimp appy from some old issue of Gourmet (may she RIP) is not only super delicious and makes everyone believe you’re a genius cook. It’s got all the right elements that make it perfect for a party bring with. It’s a snap to make (so you can devote more time to putting on your false eyelashes). It feels a little special, since pink little crustaceans are in the picture. It’s waistline friendly, since it doesn’t have all the mayo, sour cream and other artery busters that plague most party appetizer platters. And it can be served warm or at room temp, so you can make it at home, dump it onto a pretty dish when you arrive, and let it sit out on the table ‘til the last little shrimp vanishes. Don’t count on that taking too long, mind you. I don’t call this dish Gone Light Lightning Cilantro Shrimp for nothing. For the first dozen times I made this, I think I got to taste about three. Most of the time, they disappeared before I got my coat off. My kids actually love these shrimp so much that I am perpetually slapping their hands while I’m cooking to stop them from snitching. I stave off a full fledged mutiny by making this dish even when there isn’t a party. To stretch it from appy to main course, I whip up the recipe, then pour out the shrimp and some sauce onto a pile of angel hair pasta or thin rice noodles, toss it all up and holler “dinner!” Problem solved. Note: The original recipe calls for 1 pound of shrimp but that is a lot of work for such a skimpy output of food. I’ve found that the marinade can easily accommodate two pounds of shrimp or perhaps a bit more. You can also use half the marinade for one pound of shrimp. Then make it again a few days later with another pound of shrimp for your next shindig.

3 large garlic cloves
1 1/8 tsp. salt
½ cup fresh lime juice
¼ cup sweet orange marmalade
¼ cup finely chopped fresh cilantro
4 tbsps. Olive oil
1 tbsp. Soy sauce
½ tsp. red pepper flakes
½ tsp. freshly ground black pepper
1 lb. or more large shrimp in shells (21-25 per pound), peeled, tail and first segment of shell left intact, and deveined

optional garnish: fresh cilantro sprigs

Using a large knife, mince and mash garlic to a paste, with 1 tsp. salt. Whisk together garlic paste, lime juice, marmalade, cilantro, 3 tablespoons oil, soy sauce, red pepper flakes, remaining 1/8 teaspoon salt, and pepper in a small bowl. Transfer 1/3 cup mixture to another small bowl or ramekin and reserve for dipping sauce. Combine shrimp with remaining mixture in a large sealable plastic bag and seal bag, pressing out excess air. Marinate shrimp, refrigerated, turning bag once, for 15 minutes.

Drain shrimp and gently pat dry. Heat 1 ½ teaspoons oil in a 12-inch nonstick skillet over moderately high heat. Add half of shrimp and cook, turning occasionally, until golden brown and just cooked through, about 3 minutes. (It’s tempting to cook all the shrimp at once, but try to resist. It cools down the pan and the shrimp will sort of steam instead of brown.) Transfer shrimp to a platter and cook remaining shrimp in remaining 1 ½ teaspoons of oil in the same manner. Garnish shrimp with cilantro, if desired, and serve with dipping sauce.

The Benefits of Braless Spinning

2010-05-19T08:43:00.000-07:00

I was on my cell this morning, explaining to my friend Gail that I did actually intend to go to some work-related event tonight, but that I'd forgotten to RSVP. "I've been dropping balls everywhere," were my last words before I hung up the phone and ran into my local spin studio for my 9:30 class. Only when I warmed up a little and--like always--tore off my sweatshirt, did I realize what other balls I'd dropped this morning: I was still in my pajamas. And as if that wasn't bad enough, I had no bra on. I thought about getting off the bike and sparing everyone in class a rather scary show, but decided to stick it out. Having survived, I share here the hidden benefits of bouncing around a spin class without any support whatsoever:

1) I squeezed some extra mileage out of my tad-too-small pajama top, which is now two sizes larger.

2) I have a renewed appreciation for my humbly endowed chest. If I were built like my sister, I might have blinded myself or even been liable for inflicting grave (and embarrassing) harm on the biker next to me.

3) My erratically bouncing torso was so distracting, no one noticed the cellulite on my ass.

4) I was so busy laughing at my goof, drumming up fodder for this list,and trying to keep my chest under control that my torturous hour of hamster spinning passed like lightning.

5) This whole incident gave me the perfect opportunity to touch base and apologize for not posting this past month. As mentioned, I've been a little busy. And now that I might have to schedule a surgical lift, you might not hear from me until August!

In all seriousness, keep your eyes posted for a great appetizer recipe that will be your new "go to" for all those upcoming, end-of-year pot luck events. I just have to find time to make the darned dish and take pictures. Oh, and to fix my camera, which fell in a river. But that's a whole 'nother story....

Forget Spring Training. Hit the Bronx!

2010-03-03T10:19:00.000-08:00

Got Yankee fans in the house? Can't think of what to do while the snow melts and spring sports haven't yet monopolized your weekends? Here's an awesome idea: Pack up the family and head to the Bronx for a behind-the-scenes tour of Yankee Stadium. Maybe you're saying, "Well duh, Peg, we did that when the kids were still growing baby teeth." But maybe, just maybe, you're as clueless as I and the rest of my family was and you have no idea that this opportunity even exists.

We discovered the Yankee Stadium tour back in December while trying to figure out what to do for my older son Ben's family birthday outing. On a whim, I logged on to the Yankees web site--looking for I don't know what. Divine inspiration, maybe. But I noticed a little line on a pull-down menu about "stadium tours." Further reading revealed that the Yanks offer these one-hour adventures through the stadium several times a day, seven days a week during the off season. Tours are also offered during baseball season, but only when the team is on the road. At $20 a head, we figured what the heck. If it turned out to be a real bomb, we'd just head straight for lunch or dinner at Arthur Avenue.

Well, what a great surprise the whole day turned out to be. Without the usual baseball crowds clogging the area, we zipped up to the House that Ruth Didn't Build in just about an hour and parked right next to the stadium. We checked in about 20 minutes in advance and joined a group of about 15 others (ranging from Korean tourists to local fans). There was something eerily wonderful about wandering around that massive new stadium--utterly empty save for some isolated foot steps. We checked out the Yankee Museum first for about 20 minutes and then walked over to Monument Park, a collection of big plaques honoring the most illustrious Yanks. All of that was interesting enough. But then things really got juicy. Our Yankaholic guide (a retired cop)marched us down to the dugout and invited us all to sit right in it (!). We then meandered over to the batting cages and practice rooms, which was way cool. Best of all--we were waltzed right into the Yankee locker room. And let me tell you--that place ain't no tile and metal athlete's foot hatchery. It was so cushy, so fancy, so over the top, it looked more like a high-end gentlemen's club than a place where sweaty athletes have towel fights. Ben was swooning at the very idea of being so close to greatness. I was nearly faint knowing that I was mere feet from where Derek Jeter has actually stood naked. We even got to see what was in Johnny Damon's locker (I assume he's since packed up those cleats and Yankee jerseys).

The tour wound up just around 4, perfect timing for us to get down to Arthur Avenue (Bronx's Littly Italy), park on the street, and snag a table at Roberto's newish pizza trattoria, Zero Otto Nove, which doesn't usually take rezzies and opens for dinner at 5. What a great spot--really pretty, really cozy, with a huge wood-burning pizza oven right in the middle of the dining room. There are lots of great options other than pizza on the menu but the pies really were to die for. I devoured La Riccardo, a crispy crusted beauty topped with butternut squash puree, smoke mozzarella, pancetta, and basil. Noah was in utter bliss over his Patate Salsiccia e Provola, a tasty tangle of sliced potatoes, sausage, and smoked mozzarella. Glance at the menu and you will start salivating. Promise. And dinner won't put a huge dent in your wallet. Really.

And that was the day. Perfect. Weather friendly. Pretty affordable. And truly, truly a hoot. The only downside? I can't imagine doing the tour more than once every many years. So now I'll have to find some other excuse to get up to Zero Otto Nove for that butternut squash pizza.

Wanna Go? Need to Know.
Getting There: It's a snap getting up to Yankee Stadium when no games are on. Go to www.yankees.com, click on the Stadium pull-down menu and you'll see an option for "Getting to the Stadium," which includes public/private transporation info and parking details. There are a couple of parking garages right on River Avenue, as well as some nonmetered street parking.
When to Go: You can reserve spots on the Yankees site through Ticketmaster--seems like openings are pretty scarce at this point, probably because all those baseball fanatacs are getting pumped for the season. If you can't get tickets for now, keep this trip in mind for next winter when you've all got cabin fever and can't figure out what to do with yourselves. We were able to get tickets just a day ahead of time, no problem. As for timing, try, if possible, to get a 3 PM tour time. That will get you out at just the right time to have dinner at Arthur Avenue, which is about a five or ten minute drive away. If you get out earlier, I guess you could also go for lunch or wander around and shop for cheese.
Services/Costs: Each ticket is $20. There might be a surcharge if you use Ticketmaster. There's also a kids price of $15, but it never seems to be available. I noticed that you can also bring a group of kids for a tour of the stadium--that brings the per kid price down to $8. What a concept for a birthday. You could also book an actual birthday package for $40 a head for kids 14 and under, which includes lunch, etc. at the on-premises Hard Rock Cafe, but that might be a little steep if you're bringing more than just a handful of buds.
What to Bring: If you come when it's cold out, dress warmly. If it's damp, you might even want to pack an umbrella. There's coverage from the elements for the most part, but the place is, well, an outdoor stadium.
Fear Factor: None, unless you get caught in rush hour traffic. But I'm assuming you'd be coming on a weekend, so that shouldn't be a huge problem.
In the Area: Arthur Avenue is a natural landing place after a Yankee tour--much better, I think, than overpaying for a meal at one of the chain places on premises. (www.arthuravenuebronx.com). The Arthur Avenue Market (www.arthuravenue.com for hours, info), if it's open, is a great place to kill time if you have it before or after your meal--it's sort of a covered bazaar with a million cheese, meat, veggie, olive oil, and god-knows-what other types of Italian vendors. There are even guys handrolling cigars in there. There are also about a zillion bakeries, cheese shops, ravioli shops, and more lining Arthur Avenue and the streets that radiate from it. Roberto's, probably the finest restaurant in the area, is a great bet--but snagging a table can be tricky and it's not exactly a cheap family dinner. There are other popular spots--Emilia's and Dominick's come to mind--but they are more along the lines of the red-sauce-and-melted cheese tourist traps you find in Manhattan's Little Italy. I think Zero Otto Novo--an offshoot of Roberto's--is a terrific option. It's less expensive and not quite as crowded as Roberto's, but the food is quite yummy. Do get there at 5 PM if you come on a Saturday and don't want to languish on a line. Line ups, after all, are for baseball teams (and criminals, I guess). For info on both restaurants: www.roberto089.com.

Frozen Solid? Don't Be a Fool............................ Make This Pasta Fazool.

2010-02-08T11:14:00.000-08:00

A good six or seven years ago, my friend Pat raved to me about an amazing version of pasta e fagioli she had come upon in her latest issue of Cook’s Illustrated. She loved Cook’s take on the classic Italian pasta and bean soup, she said, because it was thick, chunky, and absolutely bursting with Parmesan flavor. It didn’t hurt either that the whole hearty shebang could be whipped up in just about an hour’s time.

A couple of days later, Pat appeared in my third-floor office waving a copy of the recipe and urged me to have a go at it. Of course, I was game but when I glanced at the recipe I noticed that it called for a large rind of Parmesan to be tossed in with the other ingredients. That was a bit of a problem, since—I’m semi-ashamed to admit it—I don’t tend to use chunk Parmesan as my everyday Parmesan. And the Parmigiano Reggiano chunks I do keep in the house are treated like a controlled substance: Seldom is there more than a tiny nubbin of rind left when I am through with it. So did I simply blow off the recipe? Did I take a stab and ignore that cheese rind demand? Not bloody likely. Instead, geek that I am, I taped the recipe over my computer and proceeded to squirrel away parmesan rinds one tiny nub at a time.

Finally, one September my little bag in the freezer boasted what I though would equal the 5 inch by 2 inch rind the recipe called for. I could barely contain myself with excitement as I assembled my other ingredients. I followed the recipe to the letter and you know what? It didn’t just rock, it ROARED. My family, which will never recognize soup as a meal, went for it that night like wolves. Even Noah . . . who doesn’t eat anything that has even a blush of tomato. The entire batch was polished off by the next night’s dinner.

Like a good apostle, I reported back to Pat. I raved. I swooned. I lamented the fact I would have to wait another three years until I had enough Parmesan rind to make her amazing Pasta Fazool. Which is when Pat said . . . “What are you talking about? You can get Parmesan rinds at just about any good deli or Italian food store. And sometimes the even give it to you for free.” Do I need to say more? Other than the fact that what Pat says is true and I’m grateful she didn’t tape a “kick me” sign on my back. And, oh--you don’t even need to use Parmigiano Reggiano rinds. Any rind from a nice Parmesan will do just fine. Enjoy.

1 Tbsp. extra virgin olive oil, plus more for drizzling

3 ounces pancetta, chopped (Supermarkets usually sell it at the deli counter where the slice meats are. Ask them to just cut you a chunk.)

1 medium onion, chopped fine (about 1 cup)
1 celery rib, chopped fine (about 2/3 of a cup)
4 medium garlic cloves, minced (about 1 heaping Tbsp.)
1 tsp. dried oregano
¼ tsp. red pepper flakes
3 anchovy fillets, minced to a paste (about 1 tsp.)
1 can (28 ounces) diced tomatoes, with their liquid
1 piece Parmesan cheese rind, about 5 inches by 2 inches
2 cans (15.5 ounces each) cannellini beans, drained and rinsed
3 ½ cups canned low-sodium chicken broth
Salt
5-6 ounces small pasta shapes (Ditalini and Tubetini are both great, orzo will do, as well)
¼ cup chopped fresh parsley leaves
Ground black pepper
2 ounces grated Parmesan cheese (about 1 cup)

1. Heat oil in a large Dutch oven over medium-high heat until it is shimmering but not smoking, about 2 minutes. Add pancetta and cook, stirring occasionally, until beginning to brown, 3 to 5 minutes. Add onion and celery; cook, stirring occasionally, until vegetables are softened, 5 to 7 minutes. Add garlic, oregano, red pepper flakes, and anchovies; cook, stirring constantly, until fragrant, about 1 minutes. Add tomatoes, scraping up any browned bits from bottom of pan. Add cheese rind and beans; bring to a boil, then reduce heat to low and simmer to blend flavors, 10 minutes. Add chicken broth, 2 ½ cups water, and 1 tsp. salt; increase heat to high and bring to a boil. Add pasta and cook until tender, about 10 minutes (refer to package instructions for a better estimate of the pasta’s cooking time.)

2. Discard cheese rind. Off heat, stir in 3 Tbsps. of the parsley; adjust seasoning with salt and pepper (taste before you sprinkle—the pancetta already packs a salty punch). Ladle soup into individual bowls; drizzle each serving with olive oil and sprinkle with a portion of the remaining parsley. Serve immediately, passing the grated Parmesan separately. Makes about 3 quarts.

Get Your Free Cookbook. Yes, It's Free!

2010-01-04T19:00:00.000-08:00

No blog this month. I've been busy putting together the ninth edition of my yearly cookbook. Kind of the mother of all my blogs. If you haven't already gotten an email from me, I'm blogging to let you know I'm finally finished and will be happy to email you a free copy. You can either keep it on your computer or upload it to Kinko's or some other copier place, ask them to print it double-sided, coil bind it and give it a clear plastic cover. Should cost about $20, but ask first so you can decide if it's worth it. Just let me know where to send it. And I always welcome your feedback and suggestions. My email is: pegsrosen@gmail.com.

A Cozy Outing for Cold Days

2009-11-14T07:49:00.000-08:00

The grey skies and newly naked trees of late November are a huge relief for my husband and kids. Finally, it's just too darned chilly and wet for all those hikes and bike rides. And we won't be skiing for at least a handful of weeks. They know, though, not to get too comfortable on the couch. Because I'm always drumming up something to get all of us off our asses.

One of my favorites tricks during the late fall--and even during winter before the snows--is a trip up to the Walpack Inn in Sussex County, NJ. Yes, it's a restaurant and I do lure them with the prospect of food. But you probably can guess by now that, in my book, there's gotta be some kind of physical output to merit a meal. Especially because the Walpack Inn is a hefty hour and 15 minutes from my house and I'm not inclined to drive that far for any plate of chow in the Garden State.

In this case, the pre-meal prerequisite is a quick romp at nearby Stokes State Forest. Nothing too demanding, mind you. Just enough time out in the open to bring color to our cheeks, rouse our appetites, and make our bods crave some warmth. Most times, we simply turn off Route 206 into Stokes, drive past the park office on up to the lake and--depending upon our mood and the weather--kick a ball around Kittle Field or follow one of the easy trails that radiate from the main picnic area. When the kids were younger, they particularly dug the playground that is also situated in this spot.

When it's just about dark, we pile into the car and point it towards the Inn. It's a beautiful 15-20 minute drive through surprisingly remote countryside, past signs for Peters Valley art colony and the virtual ghost village of historic Walpack Center. At points, you'll wonder if you've taken a wrong turn. But eventually, you'll come upon the smoke puffing chimney and the unexpectedly busy parking lot of the Walpack Inn. You'll tumble out of your car, push open the heavy wooden door of this quasi-log cabin and feel like you've joined a party everyone else has been celebrating forever.

The room is toasty, the air perfumed with a heady mix of wood burning fire and freshly baked bread. Some old guy is usually banging out tunes on a piano and everyone's bellied up to the bar, sipping a scotch or a beer while they wait for their table. The area is big, friendly, and casual enough for kids to wander around freely, checking out historic artifacts on display or sipping a Shirley Temple at one of the big old oak clawfoots scattered about the space. When your dinner table is ready, they'll shout your name. And here's where you'll become even more of a god to your kids than you already are: You'll sit down to see deer happily grazing just inches from your window. It's not some fluke of nature: The Inn puts out food for the animals and has outdoor lighting to make sure guests stay entertained well into the evening. Think of it as Sussex County's finest (only?) dinner theater.

Walpack's food is nothing spectacular, but certainly acceptable and just right for families. There's a Seventies style salad bar, a relatively reasonable menu featuring corny standbys like prime rib, teriyaki chicken breasts and shrimp cocktail. And there's a decent kids' menu, too. Best of all is the crusty, hearty, whole grain bread they serve up in slabs with sweet butter on everyone's table. It's so well loved, the restaurant sells loaves to take home and even prepackaged mixes so you can whip it up yourself. Top it all off with dessert, collapse back into the car, and by the time you arrive home and rouse your sleepy kids, you'll feel you've been away for a week.
Wanna Go? Need to Know:
Getting There: Stokes State Forest is a huge area in northwestern NJ. The spot I'm talking about is called the Stony Lake Day Use Area/Kittle Field. It is a solid hour and fifteen minutes from Montclair, heading out 80 West to Exit 34B and up along Route 15 which turns into 206. For more detailed directions, click here: http://www.nynjtc.org/ and type "kittatinny ridge stokes state forest" into the search function. To get from Stokes to the restaurant DO NOT use your GPS. It may very well take you on a backwoods road toward Tillman Ravine WHICH IS CLOSED during the winter months. You're best off calling the restaurant ahead of time and asking them for directions from the main entrance of Stokes State Forest on Route 206: 973-948-3890.
Trail Tips: The Stony Lake Day area is a fine spot for a romp during cold weather. When it's warm, there are tons of other trails to try out. A good, relatively easy one for agile kids about 8 and up is Tillman Ravine. You can get info by Googling it or going to the aformentioned http://www.nynjtc.org/.
When to Go: The Walpack Inn is generally only open during the winter on Fridays, Saturdays and Sundays. It may be open an extra night during the summer. Not sure. The restaurant only takes reservations for groups of eight or more and it does tend to get busy. The earlier you go, the better if you don't like waiting. If you want to sit by the window for prime deer watching, you'll wait longer than if you'll take any old seat that comes along. Either way, we've never waited longer than 45 minutes and it's such a fun place, it doesn't really matter. Just build that time into your plans so your kids don't go mad with hunger. This is a great outing all year long, except perhaps in the dead of snowy winter. During cold weather, when it gets dark earlier, we tend to leave Montclair about 2:15, which gets us to Stokes by about 3:30 and gives us about an hour to romp around. We get to the restaurant by about 5:00 and after a wait for a table, sit down around 5:15 to 5:30.
What to Bring: We sometimes bring a change of clothes for dinner but not a must at all. This place is pretty laid back. You might want to bring cards, dominos, Take Two tiles, or whatever to keep the kids and yourselves amused while you wait for a table.
Costs/Services: Off season there is no entry fee at Stokes. Entrees at the Walpack run between about $23 to $29. But servings are generous and come with bread and salad bar. Meals can easily be split. The kids menu is very reasonable. Their web site is: http://www.walpackinn.com/.
Fear Factor: None. Except fear of waiting for a table. But don't fret. Just factor this in as part of the adventure.

Got Apples? Make This Cake.

2009-10-13T12:36:00.000-07:00

Every October since we moved to Montclair back in 1998, we've gone apple picking up in New Paltz. And every October, we've come home with enough apples to adorn the desk of every teacher in the tri-state area. When first faced with this embarassingly huge apple supply, I scoured the web and old cookbooks for a truly delicious apple cake that might help use up some of our bounty. Yet, I didn't have much luck--some cakes were too oily, some were too dry, some were just plain dull. I suspect that my search was so arduous (I know, I need to get a life), because many apple cakes come from traditional Jewish cookbooks (I think it has something to do with the whole apples-Rosh Hashannah connection). And unfortunately that means they are usually made with oil instead of butter so that Kosher folks can have their meat and eat cake, too.

Well, I’m not Kosher. I am, in fact, convinced that in the vast majority of cases, there’s no point to baking anything sweet if butter isn’t part of the picture. Anyway, in 2002, I finally stumbled upon this apple cake recipe from Rosie’s Baking Book. It was so phenomenal, I made it twice that very first day. I, in fact, made this cake so many times that fall that my apple supply vanished by the winter holidays. A first.

I really can't recommend this recipe enough. It is, along with my pumpkin muffins, the most requested recipe in my repertoire. It's moist, perfumed with cinnamon, buttery, and keeps like a dream. It calls for granny smiths, but I use any firm, tart apple I happen to have hauled home with me from Upstate. Kids love this cake, grownups swoon for it....it's perfect for a fall dessert or can even stand in for a coffee cake at brunch. And it's practically foolproof. The only person who can't seem to pull it off is my mom. But then again, her oven runs about 150 degrees cooler than it's supposed to. Other than having an oven that works, there's really only one trick to this cake: Once you turn it out from the tube pan onto a plate, you're supposed to place your actual serving plate on top, and then flip it back over so the cake is right side up. For years, I didn't do this, nor did I realize I was serving this cake upside down. If you don't feel like taking the risk of a flip, forget this step: Serve it as it comes from the tube pan and let your friends and family flip for the cake instead.

3 cups all-purpose flour
2 tsps. Ground cinnamon
1 tsp. Baking soda
1 tsp. Salt
1 cup (2 sticks) unsalted butter, at room temperature
¼ cup vegetable oil
2 cups sugar
2 tsps. Vanilla extract
3 large eggs, at room temperature
4 cups apples (3 to 4 large apples), peeled, cored, and cut into ½-inch cubes

1 tsp. Cinnamon mixed with 1 tbsp. Sugar (turbinado ideally for some crunch) for topping.

confectioners sugar glaze (highly optional, to drizzle over finished cake. You'll need about 1/2 cup of confectioners sugar, stirred up with enough milk to make it drizzly, yet still thick. That's very little, s0 start with about a teaspoon and keep adding milk slowly until you reach the right consistency.)

1. Preheat the oven to 350 F. Lightly grease a 10-inch tube pan with a removable bottom with butter or vegetable oil. I make life easy and spray the pan with Pam for Baking, which combines flour and oil in one simple squirt.
2. Whisk together flour, cinnamon, baking soda, and salt in a medium bowl.
3. Cream butter, oil, sugar, and vanilla in a medium-size mixing bowl with an electric mixer on medium speed until the ingredients are blended, about 2 minutes. Stop to scrape the bowl twice with a rubber spatula.
4. Add the eggs one at a time, and mix on medium-low speed after each addition until blended, 10 seconds. Scrape the bowl each time. Once the eggs are added, mix again for 10 seconds.
5. Add half the dry ingredients and blend on low speed for 15 seconds. Scrape the bowl, add the rest of the dry ingredients, and mix on low speed until blended, about 5 seconds more.
6. Add the apples with a few turns of the mixer or by folding them in by hand with a wooden spoon.
7. Spoon the batter into the pan and sprinkle with the cinnamon-sugar over the top. Bake the cake on the center oven rack until the top is firm and golden and a tester inserted at the cake’s highest point comes out dry, about 1 hour 5 minutes. Let cool in pan for 10 minutes.
8. Invert cake onto large plate. If desired, place actual serving plate on top of cake. Flip over. Allow to cool completely.
9. Drizzle with confectioners sugar glaze, if desired. Devour and win raves.

For A Quick Leaf Peep: Go Wawayanda

2009-09-15T11:18:00.000-07:00

Yeah, I know. It's back to school insanity. Weekends are now hostage to homework and sports mayhem. But sometimes you end up with a Sunday surprise: a little bit of sun, a little bit of energy and.....an open few hours on the schedule.

Here's my suggestion: Skip the leaf-peeping crowds clogging the New York Thruway and head Wawayanda. It's just about an hour from Montclair and maybe a little more from the City. But this glassy lake surrounded by miles of trail-laced wilderness really does make you feel like you're, well, just what its name implies. Last autumn, on one of those precious Indian summer days, Paul and I popped up there with Noah, his friend, and Ringo. The colors were riotous, the air perfumed with that spicy, heart-tugging smell of dying leaves, the water as still as a mirror. We ate turkey sandwiches, then tossed fishing lines from the shore. We walked with Ringo along the flat, easy path around the lake, while the boys scrambled up fallen tree trunks and rocky shelves. And when we hit the dam at the other end, we laughed our own pants off as Noah and his bud stripped down to their boxers and ducked under the waterfall.

I've returned often ever since: For a Mother's Day picnic with Grammy Florence. For a day of kayaking with Grandma Carol (all sorts of boats are for rent between Memorial Day and around about mid-October). And just last weekend, I took all of my males on a New Year's hike to Shelter Pond just outside the park. You see, I gave them a choice: synagogue or the woods. I don't think they realize we don't belong to a synagogue and that I'd sooner go to a Nascar event in Texas than wear a skirt, read a book I don't understand, and stand up and sit down for five hours straight. Yes, I'm probably going to hell. But Ben the Nature Hater did fall three times and was tormented by a bee, so it's not as though there wasn't suffering involved. And we did do some good Nature worshipping, right? Whatever your inclinations, spiritual or sporty, go ahead, give it a try. Wawayanda will take you where you need to go.
Wanna Go? Need to know....
Getting There: Wawayanda is almost at the New York State border in the NJ Skylands, about 10 minutes from West Milford. Your best bet is to follow directions at this web site: http://www.state.nj.us/dep/parksandforests/parks/wawayanda.html. You can also punch this address into your GPS: 885 Warwick Turnpike Hewitt, NJ. Keep in mind, though, that this is a mailing address and when your GPS tells you you have arrived, you will see only houses and get very nervous. Keep driving a few hundred yards, though, and you will see a big sign on the right pointing into Wawayanda, the entrance of which is on your left. For details, you can call:(973) 853-4462.
Trail Tips: Wawayanda State Park is a huge recreation area, with many trails (including 20 miles of the Appalachian Trail) and several parking lots. When you enter, you might want to pop into the park office for maps/info/recommendations. If you want to hike and boat as I've described, follow the signs to the lake. And here's the important part....drive right through the first parking lot for the lake and continue on to the second lake parking lot. This is where the boats and easy lake trails are. (The first lot is for swimmers, I think.) You can picnic at the picnic tables, throw your stuff back in the car, then take a walk around the lake and follow any of the trails for as long as you like. Just keep track of where you're going! If you want a more serious hike, ask the park office for advice and buy a map of the area (the ones they give out for free ain't so great). The Shelter Pond hike I took with the boys is amazing (so is Bearfort Ridge), but they can be tricky to follow so only undertake them if you are somewhat confident reading trail maps and blazes. The trailheads for these are actually outside the park.
When to Go: As I said, Wawayanda rents kayaks, peddle boats, small electric boats, etc. between Memorial Day and mid-October, so it's a great summer/early fall destination. Be warned, though, that it can get busy on peak swim weekends. Fall is divine, spring, too, and I've heard Wawayanda is the bomb for cross country skiing and even ice skating. I'll report this winter.
What to Bring: Bathings suits, water shoes, towels, picnic stuff when it's warm. Fishing rods any time--it's one of the few year-round habitats in NJ for landlocked salmon and trout. Mountain biking is big here. Dogs love this place and yes, signs say to keep them leashed. I generally let Ringo loose once I'm in the woods.
Costs/Services: There's a per car charge of $5/weekdays and $10/weekends between Memorial Day and Labor Day. The rest of the year it's free. Boat rentals start at about $15/hour (I may be wrong here). There are lifeguards and a concession stand at the swim area; there's a decent bathroom and picnic tables at the lot where you rent the boats. All garbage must be carried out. If you don't feel like shlepping bikes, call ahead to the park office. I saw a sign recently that bikes are available for rent.
Fear Factor: None if you're just hanging around the lake. There are enough people so you won't feel creepy about getting lost or about being attacked by a bear or human. If you take a real trail, they are generally well marked, but it's still easy to get lost ,so always take another adult with you.

Fresh Spin on the City: Ride the West Side

2009-09-04T10:29:00.000-07:00

My girlfriend Gail turned me on to this wild West Side adventure a few years ago. And I’ve been doing it spring, summer, and fall ever since.

Here’s how it goes: Tell the kids you’re all going biking. Load up your gear. And point the car toward the Lincoln Tunnel. Then watch your passengers get increasingly confused as they see the city skyline growing ever closer.

At this point, my guys are already onto this trick. But they--especially Ben the Nature Hater--become way psyched when they realize that this day of biking will not take them into the woods but down the (now newly/or nearly completed) Westside Greenway that ribbons down Manhattan’s West Side along the Hudson River. It’s such an amazing ride, cooled by the water and chock full of eye goggling, nose-to-window sights, from the hulking Intrepid in the 40s to the swim-suit studded pedestrian piers off Tribeca, to the fang-like skyscrapers and Lady Liberty that beckon way on down. Just don’t get too hypnotized: On his first ride, our then-seven-year-old Noah was so entranced as he biked beneath the yawning hulls of the cruise ships docked at the Maritime Terminal, he drove right into another rider. This kicked off a chain reaction, whereby I rode over Noah, and two more bikers piled on top of us. The great gash in Noah’s bike helmet from that incident drove two unforgettable points home for all of us: Keep your eyes on the bike path. And a helmet really can save your life. At the very least, your day.

Here’s how we generally tackle the Greenway when kids are involved: We come in the Lincoln, zip up West End Avenue and park in the garage behind my mother-in-law’s apartment at Lincoln Towers. You can, of course, unload at any garage near the West Side Highway. But I favor this Lincoln Towers spot because it’s a super easy, quick, and safe hop from the garage onto the Greenway. And since it’s out of a touristy neighborhood (unlike near the Intrepid), the garage is quite affordable and the crowds are absent. (We also get to use Grammy’s bathroom, but I don’t know how she’ll react if you show up asking for the same. The garage has a bathroom, too.)

So, with kids, we roll onto the Greenway and head south…..stopping when we feel like it for cold drinks or an amble out onto one of the many park-like piers that jut out into the river. Follow, follow, follow the path---if at any point you get confused about which way to go (the path branches off frequently into minor detours and mini parks), just keep heading south and stay close to the river. You really can’t get lost.

Eventually, you’ll find yourself in the crystal canyon of the World Financial Center, surrounded by suited-up lunch crowds (weekdays), enormous yachts lolling in their privileged slips, and tourists from across the globe. When I’m with my kids, we usually lock up our bikes at this point (we just hook up to a barricade). Then we head into the Winter Garden, where there are tons of food options. We usually pick up sandwiches from Cosi, then head back outside and snag a table. After a good hang, we’ll head a little further south to soak up a primo view of the Statue of Liberty, then turn around and head back uptown.

When I go with my girlfriends or Paul, we usually spice things up a bit. That includes riding all the way down the West Side Greenway, around the Battery, back up the East Side, over the Brooklyn Bridge, into a little bit of Brooklyn, and then back across Manhattan on the streets. Our adventure also includes hunting a lunch spot down in the Village where we can lock up the bikes, eat outside, and order wine. Even more reason to wear a helmet, wouldn’t ya say? With kids, without kids, keeping it short, or exploring big time, this is one ride that satisfies. Every time.

Wanna Go? Need to know….
Getting There: If you’re heading to my mother-in-law’s garage, come in via the Lincoln, hang a left on 41st, then turn up 10th . I usually take a left at 66th Street (where the old Martin Luther High School is). Take 66th Street, cross over West End Avenue, then take the next right onto Freedom Place. The garage I use is on the right, about a half a block up, across the street from the Jubilee Market.
Trail Tips: Once you unload your bikes, ride about one block west toward the water (this is through the newish Trump apartment complex). There’s an entrance to the Greenway down a ramp just to your--I believe--left. If you stay below about 74th Street, the trail is flat and easy all the way. Farther uptown, things get a little hillier.
When to Go: Even on very hot summer days, this is a great ride thanks to river breezes. I tend to avoid riding with the kids on peak weekends: This is the busiest bikeway in the country and slow or fallen riders can get mowed down pretty easily. (As I described above). My top pick: Playing hooky with a girlfriend on a spring weekday. Or a late Sunday afternoon ride with the kids and Paul.
What to Bring: Of course, bring your bikes. If you don’t or can’t byob, you can rent from Bike and Roll at 43rd Street/Pier 84. Haven’t used it myself, but it’s probably a good bet: Check them out at http://www.bikeandroll.com/. What else? Keep cargo to a minimum. In warm weather, I carry just my cell phone, water, and wallet on my bike. When it’s cooler, I’ll keep some fleece in a daypack. A camera, of course.
Costs: The garage I use costs something around $18 for the day, I think. Maybe a little more. Lunch is up to you….pack one if you really want to economize. A bike rental for the day will run you $30-$40, depending upon what you rent and how long you rent it for.
Fear Factor: No crazy rapist fears here--though if you ride above about 100th Street the scene can get a little sketchy. The biggest thing here is making sure the kids and you pay attention to the bike traffic so you don’t end up in a pile up. If you stay slow, steady, and alert, you’ll be fine.
　

Hit This Spot While It's Still Hot

2009-08-27T20:41:00.001-07:00

Until about two weeks ago, there was only one place where I really loved to swim. That’s Lake George, the mountain-rimmed glacial lake in New York State where my family’s been camping for 52 years. I’m partial to that lake because it’s clear and rocky. No weird muddy froggy lilly pad stuff going on. No sand to get stuck in funky places. No salt to make things sticky.

Who woulda thought I’d find a spot that would give old George a run for the money less than an hour from Montclair? In central Jersey, no less. It’s called Round Valley Recreation Area and until I stumbled upon it on the Internet, I had never even heard of the place. What I read online was intriguing: The area centers around a huge, deep reservoir that is nearly encircled by mountain biking trails and footpaths and, at one end, boasts a swimming area. (It is also one of the few spots in Jersey that offers wilderness campsites). "Perfect jaunt for a hot August day," I says to myself, I says.

Noah and I threw our swim stuff, the dog, and an errant playpal in the car and set off to check Round Valley out. We zipped right down 78, got off at Exit 18 and paid our $5 at the entry booth to get into the park. My heart quickly sunk when we pulled up to a packed parking lot. We trudged across the tarmac in the blazing sun and caught sight of the “swimming area”: A sprawl of brown sand clotted with daytripping moms and crying babes and edged by a stone complex containing a snack bar and changing rooms. So much for the great NJ wilderness. I rolled my eyes and figured we’d chalk this one up along with our paintballing foray (tune in later for details.)

Since the swimming looked so awful, I loaded the gang back in the car, figuring we’d check out the trails--evening though it was 8,000 degrees out and all we wanted to be was wet. We backtracked a few hundred yards to another lot where the trailheads started and …..just like that, we were in another world. Just a few cars, just a few feet to a woodsy path, and crowds were a distant debacle. Not a structure in sight, save for the dam building down in a far corner--just waves of green hills backdropping a crystalline clear lake nearly as blue as the Caribbean. I hate to admit it, but this water was clearer, by far, than Lake George. And here’s the beauty part: It was warm.

We wandered along the path, running into the water at will. Yeah, there were signs saying “no swimming” and “dogs must be leashed,” but the few people around didn’t seem to give a hoot. Finally, the water became so irresistible, I gave in: I hadn’t brought a bathing suit, so I walked right into the water in my clothes and Tevas. Even Ringo, who doesn’t swim, joined Noah, Adam and me, and the four of us splashed around, hooting and hollering in the heat.

That’s basically how we blew a whole day. Popping in an out of the water. Strolling along the reservoir under the trees when we felt like it. For a whole hour, I stared up into a beautiful pine while Ringo and the boys splashed. The day disappeared before we knew it. And we had done, well, not much. But it’s a day I’ll remember well when the temp dips below freezing and the chaos of the working year is in full swing.
Wanna Go? Need to know……
Getting There: Take the GSP South to 78 West. Follow 78 West to Exit 18. Follow signs to the park. Once you pay at the gatehouse, take your first right into the parking lot for the trailheads. There’s a lower parking lot near the water that’s for divers or boaters or something. The upper parking lot is closer to the trailheads. Park there. This trip took us about 50 minutes without traffic. Park info: 908-236-6355.
Trail Tips: If you are looking at the lake and the lower parking lot, there’s an easy trail that starts just to your left. Follow a sort of dirty muddy road for a few hundred feet, then bear left and follow the trail around the shore of the lake. It’s shady in most parts and stays close to the water. I believe you can walk all the way to the dam at the far side. There is also the much longer Cushetunk Trail (probably good to do in cooler weather) that goes around a fair part of the lake--it’s a little less kiddy and grandma friendly and is also farther from the water. Very popular with seasoned mountain bikers. I plan to hike this in the fall with the guys.
When to Go: As mentioned, this lake is so gorgeous, it’s a shame not to visit when it’s hot enough to jump in. I was concerned about it being crowded on the weekends, but when I returned to the same spot on a Sunday with the rest of the family in tow, it was still blissfully quiet and relatively unpopulated (unlike the dreaded swimming area). I’ve got to guess that fall is gorgeous here--and the hike along Cushetunk must be a blast. I’m sure there’s a way to avoid the GSP (maybe catching 287 off 78, then going up to 80?), but dealing with the GSP rush hour thing is tricky on the weekdays. So, you might want to leave after the morning rush and try to get back to the GSP going north before it starts jamming up with commuters coming from the Holland Tunnel.
What to bring: Water shoes (the bottom is rocky and pebbly), goggles and snorkels (the water at Round Valley is so clear, many scuba divers come here), sunblock, bug spray. Pick up lunch before you leave home….the pickings are very slim once you get off 78 and the snack bar at the swim area only sells burgers, hot dogs, etc.--not very picnic-friendly fare. Also consider bringing fishing rods (kids under 12 don’t need licenses in NJ, I believe). The lake is stocked with trout and other species--we didn’t catch anything but that doesn’t mean much. And if you have kayaks or mountain bikes--bring em. Chances are, though, that if you have this stuff, you already know this place.
Cost: There’s a $5 charge per car weekdays; $10 per car on the weekends.
Fear Factor: My biggest fear here was getting busted for having Ringo off leash and for swimming in the “no swimming” reservoir. Didn’t happen. To me or to anyone else breaking these rules during our visit. I’ve got to believe this isn’t really a drinking water source---there are no fences blocking people from getting at the water and scuba divers and boaters are allowed in. It’s got to be a lifeguard/safety thing. So swim at your own risk--which is really pretty minimal, since the shore slopes so gently into the water even little ones can splash around while mom sits on her keester. (Don’t quote me on that.)

To Hell with the Hard Rock. Take the Kiddies to Buddhabar.

2009-08-25T14:15:00.000-07:00

I’ve been married long enough to know that I need not spend my anniversary at some romantic restaurant staring into the eyes of my beloved. We’ve gone that route before and usually end up telling one another we need new glasses and Botox. So last May 31, when my husband and I found ourselves up against our big night with no big plans on the the board, we took a Meat Packing District denizen’s recommendation, and popped into Buddhabar for a coupla drinks and dinner.

Neither of us knew squat about the place…other than that it wasn’t Buddakan, the super luxe temple of excess where the uber hip flock for overpriced Asian food. I guess we both assumed that because the word “bar” was tacked onto the name Buddha (in itself comical), this spot would be more cajz--perhaps a good place to throw back a few Kirins and order a round of dumplings.

We must have walked up and down hipster-packed Little West 12th Street five times looking for Buddahbar before we realized it was the spot fronted by a pair of those tell tale red velvet club ropes. Hmmm. We hauled open a pair of enormous doors, the sunlight slipped away behind us, and we were suddenly walking through a darkened tunnel flanked by luminescent Buddhas. We were greeted at the end of this tunnel by one of the most cavernous and spectacular spaces I’ve seen yet in Manhattan. And by a coat-hanger of a hostess (and her many clones), whose neckline scooped so low it revealed her belly button. (I am not exaggerating.)

The place was virtually empty--no self respecting clubber would be seen anywhere at 7 on a Saturday, of course. So we ambled over to the bar area, climbed onto a pair of bordello-inspired couches and ordered up some absurd club cocktails--I think mine was a, don’t laugh, Buddhatini. As we moved from cocktails to dinner, and as the place started filling up with studiously garbed Buddha babes and beaus, the truth about Buddhabar became hilariously apparent: When you see more than five girls yank down their black minidresses in a span of 15 minutes, it’s a dead give away they have bought a new dress for the occasion and are probably from Paramus or Peoria. This place--with its flames, sky-high statues, meandering indoor streams, costumed characters, and kooky drinks and eats--was basically a high-end theme restaurant just a hair away from being a big-time bridge and tunnel attraction. Moments after a buxom 20-something-year- old girl fell off her platform shoe and nearly landed in our sashimi, Paul and I looked intently into each other’s eyes and said, virtually at the same time: “The boys would think this place rocks.”

Flash forward to a late Saturday afternoon in early August: We get the boys into the closest thing they have to unstudied casual chic--khaki shorts with rolled up, slightly wrinkly oxfords on top. We cruise into the Meatpacking District and snag a parking spot right on the street (again, no one really shows up til 9 or 10 around there). We take a walk around--the people watching (and window shopping if you’re into it) is pretty snappy. Then we saunter into the restaurant. The boys’ eyes nearly pop out of their heads. (And not because of all the short skirts.) They love the whole experience, the whole side show feel of the place…right down to the “copper waterfall sink and the guy giving out free gum” in the men’s room (don’t think Noah knew a tip was in order). “This,” declares my 13 year old, “is what I call an insanely cool restaurant.” Mission accomplished.

We top off the evening by heading diagonally across the street and climbing a stairway up to the High Line, that spectacular park that’s just opened along what used to be the abandoned elevated train tracks. I am a bit nervous at first about going up--it is about 9 PM and Paul has gone uptown to work a concert, so I am alone with the boys. But once we get there, all worries fall away. The place is teeming with people--strolling, lying on the park’s skyline-view chaise lounges, soaking up the hot August night. We buy some Ronnybrook ice cream cones and lap them up as we stroll. It is all we dream New York can be. Then we pop back down to street level and jump in the car for the burbs. Now that’s a theme night grown up and kids can all handle.
Wanna Go? Need to Know….
Getting There: In case you don’t know this already, Little West 12th Street is in a weird spot. You can take the Lincoln Tunnel, go down Ninth Avenue, turn right on 14th, then take left on Washington Street and then a left on Little West 12th. If you Mapquest it, the address is 25 Little West 12th. If you go early, there’s usually parking right on the street. Call the restaurant for reservations (and garage info if you want it): (212) 647-7314.
Trail Tips: If you don’t want to blow money on dinner at Buddhabar, you can grab a couple of drinks and appies there, then walk over to Chelsea Market and pick up some good eats (I think it closes at 9). If you want to go to the High Line after Buddhabar, come out of the restaurant, cross over Little West 12th and walk toward the river (to the right). The nearest entrance to the High Line is at Gansevoort and Washington Streets (literally right there). The northernmost entrance is at 20th Street.
When to Go: If you go to Buddhabar early in the evening, you‘ll be fine: The night crowds aren’t out yet, rezzies are pretty easy to get even on a Saturday, and there’s often still parking outside. If you have dinner at about 7, you’ll still have time for a stroll on the High Line, which closes at about 10 (I believe).
What to Bring: Don’t look like you’re going to a wedding. And don’t look like you just finished a trip on the Circle Line. I got away with a long sundress, (I’d wear slacks otherwise). Paul wore , a good t-shirt and casual jacket. You’ll see I have none of my own pictures in this blog. Just couldn’t bring myself to do it. You might be a bit more self-actualized, so you might want a camera. Your call. Don’t bring any child young enough to cry in a restaurant. Same goes for a kid too young too sit still in her/his seat. I’d say this is a perfect adventure for tweens/teens and their parents/generous aunts and/or uncles.
Costs: I think each cocktail at Buddhabar was about $16. Dinner can include things like sushi, sashimi, dumplings and some hot entrees. Both times we’ve been it’s been fine. Not spectacular. But certainly better than the stuff you’ll get at Planet Hollywood. We got out for under $150 for the 4 of us, booze included. (We ordered a bunch of rolls, some apps, and one hot main for the boys.)
Fear Factor: The only thing to be afraid of in the Meat Packing district is fatal pretentiousness. You, like me, will be able to get past it. I know it.

Have fun.

Great Jaunts, Part II: Go Climb a Rock.

2009-08-23T18:50:00.000-07:00

When I take my kids out in the woods or out in the wilds, I find no thrill in the experience if everyone’s life is at stake. (Been there, done that, children still traumatized from the experience.) So, when I got a bee in my bonnet about taking the youngins rock scrambling up in New Paltz for the first time a few years ago, I knew just what I had to do to preserve all of our sanity: I’d pass up Bonticou Crag, my fave scramble in the area, swallow my pride, and shell out bucks for day passes at Mohonk Mountain House.

Mohonk Mountain House, if you aren’t familiar with the place and haven‘t read my previous blog about it, is a rambling, old resort that occupies one of the most gorgeous spots in the Shawangunks. Perched next to a mountaintop lake, it is surrounded by miles of gazebo-dotted trails and rimmed by a profusion of carefully tended gardens. It is also home to The Labyrinth--a well-used, carefully marked maze of ladders and rock scrambles that leads intrepid climbers to the resort’s mountaintop tower. While not risk free, it’s about as cushy as a bouldering spot can get. I mean, even if you do happen to fall and crack your skull open, there’s a nice tea salon inside the hotel where your clan can hang out while you’re rushed to the local ER. (Actually, day trippers aren’t allowed inside. But I’m assuming they’ll take pity if someone actually gets bloody while visiting.)

Now, when I was a kid and we wanted to hit the Labyrinth, my father refused to pay for a day pass at Mohonk just on principle. So--principled man he was--he’d usually con his way out of paying by telling the gatehouse some farfetched story about scoping out the restaurant for a family reunion. Or he’d try to cajole at least a couple of us kids to hide in the trunk so he could cut down on the per person charge. At this point in my life, it still makes me gag to pay a steep fee just to use the grounds. And I’m not too proud to say it irks me just a bit to be the interloping day tripper on Mohonk’s privileged premises. But, it’s easy to get over myself and the charge once we’ve parked the car, hiked our way up to the hotel (the shuttle busy is for babes with bingo arms,, thanks) and started scrambling up that good ol’ Labyrinth.

It’s not a fear-free venture, mind you. In fact, Ben and our neighbor Nicole sobbed the whole way up when they took on the Labyrinth at 10 years of age. But Noah and tiny Stefanie, just 7 and 8 at that point, scrambled up without a hitch. Except, perhaps, for the infamous Lemon Squeeze--a long ascent via rickety ladder through a rocky chimney at the top of which climbers must physically haul themselves up into the sunshine. They all cried, but I got them there, even if pushing them all up to safety took a permanent toll on my rotator cuff. The take home message here is that each of the kids I had in tow not only survived, they felt amazing pride in the fact that they succeeded. And every single one declared they would do it even faster….next time. And there have many “next times,” not necessarily with the same players, but with kids and adults of many ages who have all lived to tell their tale. Including me. Now, as for Bontcou…
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Want to go? Need to Know….
Getting There: It’s about an hour and 15 minutes from Montclair, up the GSP to the NYS Thruway to New Paltz. It’s a quick and pretty drive from Exit 18 to Mohonk Mountain House, as long as town isn’t choked with apple pickers (the legions of which include us at some point in mid October). Find exact directions at http://www.mohonk.com/.
Trail Tips: The hike up from the parking lot to the hotel is scenic and not too long….about two miles maybe. You could also take the free shuttle, which lets you off at the picnic lodge. Ask anyone there how to get to the hotel. Then ask anyone on the hotel grounds how to get to the Labyrinth. It should take an hour or so to get to the tower via the Labyrinth…all along the way reassure the kids that they will not come down the same way. It’s a gentle stroll back to the hotel down a well-tended path. Fit grandparents and non-climbers can walk the gentle way up and meet scramblers at the top.
When to Go: The Labyrinth is good for a visit any time it’s dry out and pleasant enough to be outside. I tend to stay away from Mohonk Mountain House on peak summer and autumn leaf-peeping weekends, since the hotel books up, and crowds pack the whole New Paltz area. In fact, if you don’t get there early enough on some prime weekends, the hotel stops issuing day passes in order to control crowds.
What to Bring: Sunblock, sneakers, crummy clothes you don’t mind snagging on rocks, water. Pack a lunch for eating up at the tower. Don’t have the kids carry daypacks--they can be cumbersome while climbing. As for the adult sherpa in the pack, pack as little as you can and put it in the smallest daypack that’s practical--you won’t want anything big and bulky on your back either. You might also take a bathing suit and leave it in the car--there’s some good swimming in the Mohonk area (Lake Minnewaska or, if you hike in to it, spectacular Lake Awosting.)
Services/Costs: As mentioned, lowly daytrippers aren’t allowed in the hotel. I do think the hotel is happy, however to sell the hoi polloi overpriced bottles of Poland Spring from a kiosk outside near the lake. The picnic lodge (where the shuttle bus drops and picks up) will also sell stuff to interlopers. I pick up eats/drinks just after I pull off the Thruway and begin heading into New Paltz. Now for what it costs to lurk around Mohonk Mountain House: Adults are $23/weekends and $18 during the week. Kids are $18/weekends and $13/week. As mentioned, the hotel only issues a limited number of passes and they are available on a first come, first serve basis. I know it hurts to pay for a walk in the woods, but hey--it’s cheaper than shelling out $1000 to stay at the resort for the night (which is, um, really fun, too).
Fear Factor: Anyone who tries the Labyrinth should be tall and strong enough to climb a ladder and climb up big rocks. As I mentioned earlier---you can’t really state a specific minimum age here. My younger son did fine at 7. My older, more cautious Ben, was threatening to call DYFS. I wouldn’t bring a grandparent on this (they can stroll up the path and meet you) or anyone who is terrified of heights. And it’s never a bad idea to bring along an extra adult, in case there’s a problem or in case one or some of the kids opt out.
Nearby: There’s so much to do and see in the New Paltz area, I can’t even attempt to give you a thumbnail here. Frankly, though, you’ll have enough to do on the grounds of Mohonk Mountain House to keep you busy for a day. There are rowboats to rent after you finish the Labyrinth. You can check out the gardens if you please. You’ll probably need to save further exploration of New Paltz for another day.

Have fun.

Hot? Try Hacklebarney.

2009-08-21T18:23:00.000-07:00

Let’s say you’ve got a free morning or afternoon. It’s sunny. You want to get outside. Maybe get a touch of exercise. But it just so happens that it’s a kajillion degrees out.

My advice: Pack up the kids, the dog if you have one, and a picnic lunch and head for Hacklebarney, a gem of a state park tucked off a side road near Chester, NJ. This rocky, quiet, glacial glen is so effectively cloaked by its leafy canopy of trees, I don’t even bother with sunblock when we pay a visit in high summer (Bug spray is another story.) The icing on the cake: The trail follows a splashy, waterfall-bedecked brook that is just deep enough for a dunk but shallow enough for kids to play in. In fact, our boys and their buds usually come dressed in swim suits and water shoes and walk the whole way through the river, catching frogs and having water fights, while Ringo and the grown ups take the rocky path right beside the river. Picnic tables are sprinkled along the path--we generally choose a spot for lunch that’s right on the water so the kids can frog hunt while we read or play Take Two. Then it’s back to the trail, which slopes down to a gorgeous (sunny) spot on the Black River, a fast running little number during the spring that usually runs pretty low by August. It’s supposed to be a good spot for trout fishing, but we’ve never caught anything and I’ve never seen anyone else catch anything either. (So I don’t know if it’s worth schlepping your fishing rods). Once you hit the Black River, you can retrace your footsteps if the kids want to stay wet, or cross over the brook and take the woodsy loop back up to your car. If I walk Hacklebarney alone I can do this whole walk in one hour--add kids, grandparents, a picnic and water fights and you can easily kill two or three.

Wanna Go? Need to Know?

Getting There: Hacklebarney is just under an hour from Montclair. Google it for details or punch the following address into Mapquest or your GPS:
Hacklebarney State Park 119 Hacklebarney Rd Long Valley, New Jersey Phone: 908-638-6969

Trail Tips: Soon after you pass the bathrooms, you’ll see a steep stone staircase down to the left….we generally take that route and follow the path alongside the stream, which takes us down to the Black River. It can be sort of rocky--what’s nice is that grandparents and parents with Baby Bjorns can can take the smoother, gravelly path that parallels the river higher up and can meet the splash-pack down at the Black River.

When to Go: I love summer best at Hacklebarney, though the weekends get busy. That said, it is a great outing during the fall and spring. Just beware of the pumpkin/apple picking crowds that jam the roads near Chester in October.

What to Bring: Water, swim suits (in summer), bug spray, towels for drying off and for covering your picnic table, water shoes, small plastic shopping bags for garbage and dog poop, plastic container for examining frogs/bugs, Scrabble tiles, books, trashy magazines. Also bring a leash for your dog---we generally let Ringo roam free, but things can get dicey when the park fills up on the weekends. (Officially, dogs must be leashed.)

Services/Costs: Ample free parking. No admission charge. Decent bathrooms, one spot for garbage.

Fear Factor: It’s virtually impossible to get lost at Hacklebarney. Most paths seem to lead back up to the parking lot. There are warning signs about bears but I’ve never seen one. As far as crazy rapists and that stuff goes, I never feel uneasy at Hacklebarney, even when I go alone on a weekday. It’s a pretty popular, though not crowded, spot.

Nearby: If you visit during the fall, stop by the old cider mill for, um, cider or an ice cream after you wind up your day in the park. Chester also has a bunch of produce farms and a bevy of cutesy antique shops and boutiques, if that’s your kind of thing. If you go to Hacklebarney in the late afternoon, you could top off your day with dinner in Chester.

Have fun.
　

Screw the Mall. Get Out There, Jersey Jane.

2009-08-19T05:41:00.000-07:00

Yeah, we still did our two-week camping thing in Lake George. But a far-flung family vacation--that included dad--wasn't in the cards this summer. Neither was a work-friendly home environment for me, since we can't seem to convince either of our sons that sleepaway summer camp is a nifty idea.

All of this meant that--at various times when various day camps were in and out of session--I had kids lurking around AND the perfect excuse to declare it was IMPOSSIBLE (!) for me to work during the weekdays. My mission: To keep the kids off of electronics and on the hunt with me for close-to-home adventures that would spare my wallet undue stress and make us feel okay about hanging out in the Garden State this summer.

What I hope to post over the next couple of weeks are quick takes on some of our best discoveries (full disclosure: some are new to us this summer, some are favorites I've been doing since I was a girl.) Here's the need-to-know info: My older son, Ben, declared several years ago that he "categorically Hates Nature" and has stood his ground ever since. My younger son, Noah, would rather be chasing frogs and toads than just about anything and is practically allergic to anything cultural. My dog Ringo is really cool and I prefer any activity that can include him. And I am officially terrified of ice-cream-eating crowds and any tourist mecca that comes close to having a theme. Taking all of this into account, I tackled the city stuff with Ben, the woodsy stuff with Noah, and--when I had both of them plus Paul and Ringo (George and John didn't attend)--I tore my hair out trying to come up with something that would make us all happy.

And ya' know, we did pretty darned well--from the Methodist camps down at Ocean Grove to the pristine, Carribean-clear waters of Round Valley Reservoir to the 4H kids preening their pigs at the State Fair in Augusta, Jersey can really be quite exotic and wild and beautiful. I know, it's still Jersey. And I sure would like to get to Idaho next summer. But we had some great times...and I heartily recommend that you try a couple of these trips before this summer takes its last gasp. Or any time you've got a dead day and the mall starts beckoning.... Stay Tuned.

Make This Salad....NOW!

2009-06-28T17:36:00.000-07:00

Last night, I was helping clean up after yet another end-of-school-year party. And, yet again, I found myself shaking my head as the poor host of the party freaked out about the trays and trays of leftover watermelon that had taken over her kitchen counters.

Watermelon always seems to put us in that position. Here is this amazing, crunchy, sweet, thirst -quenching gift from the earth and time after time, it ends up being the last girl left on the dance floor. It has two strikes against it, I think. First, it's always competing with some summer treat that's downright sexier, say a strawberry shortcake or, in last night's case, a cherry vanilla sheet cake with my son's entire Mudcats baseball team scanned onto the top of it. Second, there's just so freakin' much of it. Frankly, I think that if it came packed as tiny little balls in those precious little plastic containers that usually hold raspberries and ransom-like price tags, watermelon would go like hotcakes. I also think that most of us don't know what to do with watermelon other than slice it and serve it, so people get just plain sick of the stuff.

As I stuffed leftover hamburgers into a Ziploc (with plans to win big with my dog back home), I told my watermelon-panicked host exactly what she should do with the stuff. After she heard my description of a watermelon, feta, and tomato salad, Amy's lip curled ever so slightly and she said ever so politely, "could that really be good? It just sounds so weird."

I thought the same thing when my girlfriend Pat brought this amazing dish to a picnic three years ago. I took one look at the funky combo of ingredients and visibly wrinkled my nose. But Pat promised that if I just gave a taste, I’d be won over instantly by the unexpected yet tongue tantalizing contrast of juicy, sweet, crunchy fruit and creamy, tangy feta.Not only was she right….she was onto something. Over the course of that summer, the feta/watermelon combo (in a wide array of variations) showed up at at least four dinner parties I attended. And each time, guests were slow to try it yet quick to finish it. I spent last summer whipping up my own versions and conning my friends and family into giving each a try. Sometimes I used blue cheese instead of feta. Sometimes I added a sprinkle of cayenne to spice things up. On occasion I added thinly sliced red onion or some mint from my garden instead of basil. Black olives were also a nice touch. Mostly, I just tossed the watermelon, tomato, basil, and feta together with some olive oil, vinegar, salt and cracked pepper and called it a day. And every single person who tried these salads became a fan. My sister Jamie went so far as to declare I was a genius. (I didn’t bother correcting her.)

Try this recipe. Experiment. You’ll love the way the watermelon and tomatoes mingle together. And your body will love the fact that both watermelon and tomatoes pack a serious punch of Vitamin C, the antioxidant lycopene and a whallop of summer flavor at a pretty low caloric cost. Following is a good basic blueprint--- make as much or as little as you want but think in terms of about a 2/3 watermelon to 1/3 tomato ratio. (is ratio the right word here? Whatever.) Eat this salad promptly—time is not its friend.

2 1/2 cups seedless watermelon, in 3/4-inch cubes

1 1/2 cups ripe gorgeous tomatoes, cored and cut into ¾- inch chunks

1/2 cup crumbled feta (French, Greek or Bulgarian are tastiest)

Salt to taste
Freshly ground black pepper to taste
2 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil
2 tablespoons red wine or sherry vinegar
Pinch cayenne (highly optional)

1/2 cup basil, torn, chopped or cut into chiffonade

Toss the watermelon, tomato, cheese, and basil into a pretty bowl. Add olive oil and vinegar directly to bowl. Toss gently. Add cayenne (if using), salt and pepper to taste. Toss again lightly. Do not refrigerate. Serve within 30 minutes.

DO try this at home: Dovetail's Savory, Sweet, Buttery Crunchy Corn Scones

2009-06-04T10:50:00.000-07:00

It was my mother's birthday recently. And as usual, my sister and I were tearing our hair out (at the last minute, of course) about a gift. Something for the house? Jewelry? Clothes? After 7 decades on earth, Carol's cup has long since runneth over. Photos of the grandkids? Hate to say it, but they're just not as cute as they used to be. A weekend away with the two families? The whoosh you're hearing is the sound of wind blowing through my very empty wallet.

So we decided on lunch. Not with all the eye-rolling preteen grandkids. Not with the Blackberry wielding son-in-laws. Not even with obstreperous grandpa. Just mom and her two daughters (who still roll their eyes but have improved somewhat over the years.)

I took the day off from work and we met at Dovetail, a tiny hideaway on 77th, right off Columbus, that I had been eager to try. It was that kind of gorgeous NYC spring day where everyone was out, the flowers were riotous, people were even smiling. So I was a bit dashed when I trounced into the restaurant and found it to be not only darkish and spare (it almost had the feel of a sushi place), but nearly empty. Was it the economy? Was this more of a winter spot?

Couldn't quite figure it out but my worries soon flew away. The $24/pp prix fixe meal we had was not only a great deal, it was so inventive and delicious, I cleaned every plate brought to me--from the beet salad with horseradish, pears, and ricotta cheese to the milk chocolate panna cotta with lemon curd and vanilla chantilly. What made the meal even sweeter was the service--I swear I don't remember the last time a restaurant in the city made me feel so welcome and appreciated as a guest. I suppose it's the proverbial silver lining to this grim recession. Just before leaving, I told the maitre d' what a wonderful time we'd had and how crazy I was for the cornbread they had served: It was that perfect balance of salty-sweet, crunchy and tender, buttery and fragrant. I was thrilled when he appeared a few moments later with the recipe. As we strolled through Central Park afterwards, I could barely wait to get home and give these babies a go.

I tweaked the recipe just a tiny bit and...as Borat would say....."Great success!" I've made these a bunch of times and find them addictive. My boys love them for breakfast as well as for snacks. They were a hit with parents at ballgames, too. This is sort of like a recipe for scones--but don't be afraid that it calls for rolling out dough: If that really freaks you out, just pat the dough flat with your little ol' hands before you slice it into wedges. One more thing: I tend to mix about 3/4 tsp. of dried, crumbled rosemary into half of the dough since I love rosemary in my cornbread. I leave the other blob of dough plain because, well, my boys aren't quite there yet.

Enjoy!

Dovetail Cornbread

3 cups all-purpose flour

1 1/4 cup coarse cornmeal ( not mandatory but it does make for a toothier texture. I buy Indian Head brand and can usually get it at ShopRite. You can probably find something similar at Whole Foods, Kings, or other high end or specialty markets.)

1 1/4 cups sugar

2 1/2 tsps. baking powder

1 1/4 tsps. baking soda

1 1/4 tsps. salt

1/2 cup grated cheddar cheese

2 sticks cold, cubed, unsalted butter

1 cup buttermilk

For brushing on top:
1/2 cup heavy cream

In a food processor using the steel blade: Mix flour, cornmeal, sugar, baking powder, baking soda, and salt together with a quick whir. (If you are adding rosemary to the whole batch, you can include the rosemary here with the dry ingredients). Add butter cubes and pulse into dry ingredients until butter is reduced to small, pea-sized pieces. It should look like very coarse meal. Pulse in buttermilk JUST until dough forms. Add cheese and pulse a couple of times, just until cheese is distributed. Dump lump of dough onto a lightly floured work surface and divide in half. Place each blob of dough onto a large piece of plastic wrap, slightly flatten each into a disc with your hand. (If you are adding rosemary to only half of the dough you can sprinkle rosemary over one of the flattened blobs at this point, fold it over once or twice, and flatten it again. Don't handle too much because you want the butter to stay cold.) Wrap up each disc and stick in fridge for about an hour or longer.

While dough is chilling, line two or three cookie sheets with parchment (if you for some reason consider yourself unworthy of parchment, butter and flour them.) Pour about 1/2 of a cup of heavy cream into a bowl. Pull out a pastry brush. Go find a rolling pin if you have one.

Preheat oven to 350. Flour work surface. Don't get all dramatic about it, but take out one of the discs of dough, unwrap. Sprinkle the top lightly with flour and, lay plastic wrap you just took off the the dough on top of the disc. Quickly just roll the disc into a circle about 7-8" inches across and 3/4" thick. Cut like a pie into eight wedges and place wedges a few inches apart on parchment-covered cookie sheet. Brush each with heavy cream and sprinkle not too shyly with salt and, yes, pepper (trust me!). Repeat this whole process with the next blob of dough. If just one half has rosemary in it, you can sprinkle a little rosemary on top of the wedges along with the salt and pepper so the kids will know to avoid them.

Bake about 10 minutes, turn cookie sheets. Bake 5-10 minutes or more, until the cakes are golden brown. This will all depend on how hot your oven is. You want them to be as crispy and brown as possible without burning on the bottom, so be careful. Serve and devour warm if you can. They're also pretty darned yummy at room temp.

Need a Quick and Affordable Trip with the Kids? Try Gettysburg.

2009-04-26T19:42:00.001-07:00

It seemed like no big whoop back in February when I casually informed the boys we'd be staying home over spring break. As I've mentioned before, we've been cutting back--just like everyone else--and big ticket vacations have been a top line casualty. But as break week neared and my husband Paul announced he'd be off on business for the duration, I became fearful that sitting around staring at dirty laundry might make me crazy enough to eat my own young. And god knows what my young might do to each other.

I also happened to have just finished up a story for Family Circle on historic family vacations. And I have to admit, what I had initially taken on as a hohum, eat-your-vegetables assignment turned out to be fascinating and inspiring. Not only was I eager to explore more; I was itching to take my boys for a test run and see if American history really could turn them on if I brought them to where it all actually went down.

So, I chewed on some ideas. And one word jumped out at me: Gettysburg. Just a 3.5 hour drive away in PA, this pivotal Civil War battle site didn't demand air tickets and was far more affordable than Revolutionary Boston or Philly. It would get us outdoors in the spring weather and the terrible violence that occurred there might just appeal to my testerone-tinged lads. When my 13 year old came home from school that day, I excitedly ran my big idea by him. He rewarded me with this heartwarming response: "An educational vacation? Can't you ever write about anywhere that's fun???"

It took great maturity for me to refrain from spitting back that I personally would rather ditch him and his brother and spend the week at Canyon Ranch. But after taking a deep breath (and a Klonopin...kidding), I took his diss as a downright challenge: I would get him and his brother to Gettysburg and make one of the most tragic chapters in American history an absolute gas.

I kicked things off by borrowing my father's Civil War tapes (yeah, Ken Burns' thing) and popped the Gettysburg chapter into the VCR. The boys both fell asleep faster than you can say Little Round Top. Next, I tried Glory--granted, it had nothing to do with Gettysburg-- but it was much more of a turn on for them and--thanks to Denzel Washington--for me, too.

The next morning, we loaded the car and headed out.....in the cold, pouring rain. As I drove, I wondered what I was in for. Would we get to see the battlefields at all? Would the boys commandeer the car and head for the Camden Aquarium? We pitstopped at Cabela's--that amazing hunting/camping/yahoo emporium on 78--continued on our way and arrived in Gettysburg at about 1:00 PM. Forty eight hours later, my sons--I swear--threw their arms around me, thanked me for an amazing trip, and told me, and I quote, "Gettysburg was a blast." Here's how we did it:

1. We passed up elegance for elbow room. Many a vacation with kids has taught me that when indoor amusements in the area are limited and weather can't be counted on, the place you're staying should be entertaining in and of itself. For kids that doesn't mean the chintz and charm of a B&B or historic inn; it means a sprawling spot with an indoor pool and room to run around. We holed up at the glitzy new Wyndham and--while it's marooned in what looks like a vast parking lot outside of town--it fit the bill perfectly. Rates for very spacious rooms with two queen beds run as low as $129 per night on Travelocity. If you really must have a historic hotel fix, the Gettysburg Hotel is smack dab in the middle of the historic downtown. It's a Best Western property, so nothing too exotic, but it's got some charm.

2. We got basics under our belt and out of the way. That first afternoon, with the rain teeming, we headed straight for Gettysburg's new visitors' center, watched the requisite film, examined the famed Cyclorama (a huge 360 degree painting of the battle) and toured the rambling, surprisingly interactive exhibit rooms. The boys actually got a kick out of all the guns and weapons. I'd say if you come, don't let this eat into a whole day. You need just about 2 hours before you get museum burnout.

3. We found ourselves a great private guide. Having someone who is tuned into you and your interests, who can field your questions, who can skip what bores you and build on what thrills you, can make all the difference between a tour being something about dusty hot old ruins or graveyards or a thrilling journey where history comes alive. I truly believe that on just about any vacation with an educational element, this is the place to splurge. And splurge we did when we took the boys to the Acropolis in Athens last summer--6 hours with our own guide was a steep 350 Euros. Now, here's the beauty part about Gettysburg: The destination has an army of licensed and legit guides who will drive your car through the battlegrounds, lead you out into the fields and tell you all the tales, for a mere, get this, $50 for a group of 1-6 people. Hell, the tour busses charge $20 per adult and you're stuck gagging on fumes. I requested a guide in advance who could thrill a couple of boys and landed amazing Renae MacLachlan, who not only shared lots of gorey, boy-friendly details, but had them acting out Pickett's charge across the Bloody Angle and scurrying along the sniper perches at Devil's Den. When she shared the story about how the mysterious sound of popping corn on the night of one of the battles turned out to be the sound of buttons popping off the uniforms of tens of thousands of bloated corpses, I could swear I saw both of my boys turn a shade green. Here's proof positive Renae succeeded at her mission: My boys asked so many questions, the tour ran overtime to almost 3 hours. And they each expressed a sadness, compassion, and empathy for the young men who lost their lives on those bloody battlefields. If you go, you can ask ahead of time for a kid-friendly guide (http://www.gettysburgtourguides.org/; (717) 337-1709. Or, just contact Renae directly: rhm1863@comcast.net or 717-3380719. She's great.

4. We got physical: Several local outfits hire those very same licensed guides like Renae to lead group bike tours through the gorgeous, rolling countryside where the battlefiels are situated. For kids and teens--who generally detest seeing the world through a car or bus window (heck, so do most grown ups)--this is an amazing way to go. Ben and Noah and I joined up with an outfit called Gettysbike and headed out with just one other family in the group. The whole formula was a win: other kids and adults to socialize with, a great guide, beautiful scenery and plenty of riding time to get our ya yas out between each lecture pitstop. Unfortunately, about 25 minutes into the trip, the skies opened up and--since we'd already done the tour with Renae--the boys and I turned around and rode back into town. The other family sojourned on with the guide and had a great time. I heartily recommend this if your kids are decent bike riders and can keep up with a group. Three-hour tours with Gettysbike, including the bike, run $61 per adult and $26 for kids 10 and up. http://www.gettysbike.com/

5. We didn't overdo it. I knew there were other sites to see after the bike tour--the historic Gettysburg homes where families nursed wounded soldiers, General Lee's headquarters, etc. But I also knew when to stop pushing. So on our last morning I followed the boys' lead, took them for a big breakfast at Perkin's Pancake House and headed back to the giant boulders at Devil's Den, where they scrambled over the rocks for good hour before we piled back into the car and headed home. As we sat in traffic on Route 78, Ben tapped me on the shoulder. I could see him grinning sheepishly in the rearview mirrow. "You know mom. I need to apologize for the way I reacted when you told me we were going to Gettysburg," he said. "You see, I thought we were going to drive hours and hours to some random place in Pennsylvania just to see the spot where Lincoln gave the Gettysburg Address. I had no idea there had been a battle there." Oh geez. Am I glad I took them.

Happiness....is a Warm Bun.

2009-04-04T12:27:00.000-07:00

It's been a while since I tore my last food column out of the New York Times Magazine. Somehow the recipes of recent years seem less relevant, less honest than they used to in the old days, when I could practically count every week on finding something to stow away in my stained blue kitchen binder. The sad truth is, on most Sundays I now skip right past the column en route to the Puzzle. So, when my mother-in-law arrived one recent weekend with her usual wad of "articles that might come in handy," I glanced with only half interest at a food column she'd torn from the Magazine. The fact that it focused on popovers--which I have always felt were more about drama and pretense than they are about true deliciousness--engaged me even less. But then, somehow, my eyes caught on the second recipe, apparently from David Lebovitz's new book, "The Sweet Life From Paris." Not straightforward popovers, the treat Lebovitz shared was what he called "sugared puffs." The idea being that you make a popover first, then brush it in butter and roll it in cinammon sugar. I think it was the writer's description that ultimately hooked me: "A crisp, fragrant swell of pastry, pebbled with sugar. Part souffle, part donut, part cinnamon toast."

Within 20 minutes, I was busy whipping up my own batch. And I've been baking these things obsessively ever since. Not just because they are completely scrumptious and addictive and my boys and all of their buddies beg for them. But because they are, quite possibly, the world's most convenient Sunday breakfast treat. They require no special ingredients. The most exotic thing on the ingredient list is whole milk. The recipe requires no fancy equipment--just a regular old muffin/cupcake pan. You don't even need a KitchenAid or a mixing bowl, since you whip the whole thing up in a blender. And to top it all off, you can roll out of bed, start baking, wash your equipment, and have warm, yummy, hug-winning treats piled home-ily on a plate at the center of your breakfast table within about 45 minutes. These babies may not look quite as glamourous as traditional popovers, but the swoon they'll inspire will be genuine indeed. Here's the recipe:

For the puffs:

Softened unsalted butter (For greasing the pan. If I think of it, I leave a half stick out on the counter the night before. If not, I zap the butter in the microwave for a very few seconds just to soften it up a tiny bit.)
2 Tbsps. butter, melted
3 large eggs, at room temperature if possible (I also leave those out on the counter the night before if I think of it. Otherwise, I just crack the eggs open and leave them in a bowl while I prepare everything else. Just to take the chill off.)
1 cup whole milk (Don't use low fat or skim. I keep individual pints of shelf stable whole milk in my pantry for just this kind of thing. The stuff doesn't taste so hot in coffee, but it's fine for baking.
1 teaspoon salt
1 1/2 teaspoons sugar
1 cup flour

For the Sugar Coating:
2/3 cups sugar
1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
4 tablespoons butter, melted

1. Preheat the oven to 400 degrees. Spray a nonstick popover or muffin pan with 1/2-cup-size holes/indentations with Pam, then grease 9 of the holes very liberally with softened butter. You should be able to see the butter--check out the picture over to the right to see what I mean.
2. For the puffs, put the 2 tablespoons of melted butter, eggs, milk, salt, and sugar in a blender and whiz for a few seconds.
3. Add the flour and whiz for 5-8 seconds, just until smooth.
4. Divide the batter among 9 greased molds, filling each about 2/3 full.
5. Bake for 35 minutes until the puffs are deep brown (I have a very hot oven and find that it takes mine about 28 minutes to get the puffs dark brown. Watch yours carefullly, starting at about 25 minutes. You want them to be a nice rich brown in order to get them as puffed and crispy as possible but obviously you don't want them to burn at all. Yuk.)
6 Remove the pan from the oven and wait a few minutes until cool enough to handle. Don't bum out that your buxom popovers will become sadly saggy during this time. Beauty is, after all, fleeting. You might need a small knife to help pry the popovers out--don't worry if they take a little bit of a beating. Sugar and cinnamon can cure most any ill.
7. Mix the sugar and cinnamon in a medium bowl. Thoroughly brush each puff all over with melted butter, then dredge in sugar and cinnamon to coat completely. Devour immediately. I put away 8 of them myself yesterday morning and haven't been able to eat anything since.

Now Do You Think You're Too Cool for a Ski Helmet?

2009-03-19T08:03:00.000-07:00

When I heard the devastating news last night about Natasha Richardson, I nearly fell to my knees. It's not that I am or was a particularly devoted fan of hers or tend to get overly interested in celebrity news. It's the simple fact that this 45-year-old mother hit the slopes just a few days ago with her two boys--something I do all of the time. She had no big intentions--she wasn't headed for the terrain park or double blacks or high altitude bowls. She simply went out for a spin on the beginners slope and ended up dead.

By the time I hit the gym this morning, it was all anyone was talking about. I'm sure a lot of the interest was due to a shared sense of projection--most of us there are mothers in our 40s and 50s. What I didn't share with my gym mates, however, was a general sense of "you just never know when it's your time to go." It's a concept I do generally embrace (and I thus try to make hay while I can), but as a skiier and health journalist, it's a notion I flat out reject in this very tragic case.

Bottom line is Richardson should have been wearing a helmet. It doesn't make a damned bit of difference that she was on a beginners' slope or that she was with an instructor or that she was a glamorous movie star who didn't want to look like a geek. The fact is that it just takes one blow to the wrong spot to ruin a life. Some may counter that you can't spend your whole life in a helmet, worrying about the random brick that might fall from above or the unfortanate slip down icy stairs. And that's true. But here's the difference: Skiing is not a situation you "suddenly" find yourself in. It's an activity that has its own inherent risks and--just like driving--we should take every precaution we can to minimize our chances of becoming a statistic. We wear seat belts. We use car seats. And yes, we should all be wearing helmets when we ski, bike or are otherwise deliberately put our brains on the line.

Should ski helmets become law? I personally think it sounds like a good idea but the big ski resorts counter with the unappealing logistics of renting and cleaning helmets and then policing their resort guests. I say let everyone argue and waste time. But any adult with brain (yup, that's pretty much all of us, I think) can make the right decision now.

And I'm NOT talking about merely telling the kids to wear helmets, which I think is one of the most misguided concepts going. A parent who goes bare headed next to her child is basically sending the message that "babies" wear hemlets and "cool grown-up people" get to go bare headed. (They're not cool, they're idiots.) Secondly, as we've seen with Richardson, head injury is an equal opportunity debacle. You may be an expert on the slopes, but all it takes is one out of control snowboarder to smash into you and wreak havoc on your life. And sometimes, all it takes is a quirk of fate. For years our extended family skiied in Colorado together--the kids with their helmets, the adults bare headed. That was, until my brother-in-law Dennis was found on the slopes unconscious with spinal fluid coming out of his ears. He's a pretty good skiier, but it was his last run of the day on a blue slope and he lost control and skiied into a tree. You can bet all of us protect our heads now.

Fortunately, after being airlifted from Telluride, Dennis recovered. But that's not necessarily the end of the story. I'm currently reporting a story on brain aging and apparently, any trauma to the head---even if you don't totally lose consciousness like Dennis did--can injure the brain and increase your risk of developing Alzheimers or dementia later in life. Do any of us want that? I think not. So go ahead and give up the idea that helmets ruin your look or make you seem like a rookie. I know I personally look like Kazoo on the slopes. And I admit that I used to resent moms who biked around with their hair flowing while I pedalled along with my hardhat. But I'm so over that. Not just because I want to be a role model for my kids. But because I want to be around long enough to take on those double blacks with them.

You'll Thank Me For This Recipe

2009-02-24T09:42:00.000-08:00

About a year ago, at about 3:30 in the afternoon, two of my sixth-grade son's friends showed up at my door holding what appeared to be a black velvet riding hat for an American Girl doll. “Hi, Peg,” said Johnny. “We were walking by your house and found this on your lawn. Is it yours?” Considering the fact it was obviously way too small for my head and there are no girls in my home who might own a horse-riding doll, I was a little perplexed by the question. I thanked them for their concern and even balanced the little hat on my head to show them why it wasn’t mine. I asked them how their first year in middle school was going and figured they’d be on their way. But Johnny and his pal stayed put, swaying from foot to foot and staring down at their feet as middle school boys tend to do.

They couldn’t have been looking for my older son—his bus wouldn’t get him home for another hour yet. They didn’t want my little one—I mean, he’s cute and entertaining, but he was 8. And then Johnny spoke up. “You know, I really liked those pumpkin muffins you had on the kitchen counter when I was over Saturday. Do you have any left?”

For a second there, I stepped out of my body and swore I was staring down at Mrs. C from Happy Days chatting with Potsie and Ralph Malf. I mean, the neighborhood boys are coming around to taste my wares? Could The Fonz be far behind? What’s even scarier is that, after telling Johnny that the muffins had long since been polished off, I immediately offered to bake another batch and have fresh muffins waiting for him if he came around at the same time the following day. “You see,” said Johnny. “I told you she’d do it.” They tromped off and eagerly returned for their muffins 24 hours later.

When I shared this little episode with DH, he nearly blew his lemonade out of his nose he was laughing so hard. He couldn’t believe what a sucker I was and how goofy I am that I actually seemed delighted by the whole caper. But I was. I know it’s totally stupid and anachronistic, and I don’t care. Just like I don’t care about the fact that the single most used garment in my wardrobe is a faded yellow apron. Do I care that it makes me look like a domesticated she-creature? Bah. I think I wear an apron just to put that issue out there. It says “Go ahead! Make your assumptions! Decide that the woman whom you are looking at likes to cook! And she cooks a lot!” Actually, I’ve been thinking about this quite a bit lately. And I think women are losing the battle if we avoid doing things like cooking simply because we are afraid we’ll turn into June Cleever. I’m as comfortable in my kitchen as I am at the computer. I’m no less proud of my culinary accomplishments than I am of what I’ve written during my career. I love the fact that after a near fruitless, shapeless, and open-ended day spent producing maybe two sentences, I can come down into my kitchen and create something wonderful simply by following directions. I treasure the fact that I can wake up early on Saturday mornings, whip up an apple cake, and rouse my family into the day with the fragrance of cinnamon and browned butter. I relish the idea that my two sons love to cook with me as much as they love to eat with me. And that—when my family is driving me insane or I am so bitchy I’m downright scary—the simple act of making a meal shows them I love them.

So, that's why I plan to share many of my favorite recipes with you in this blog. And I give you my word that these won't be random, risky formulations I'm throwing out at you just to fill a blog page. What you are getting are road-tested, just-can't-fail dishes and desserts that I've cooked up countless countless countless times in my kitchen and served to a staggering and varied array of hungry souls.

So, I know you must be curious about those muffins Johnny loved so much. They truly are unspeakably moist and delicious. My kids love them. Their teachers love them. My neighbors love them. Complete strangers love them. And, yes, I--who hate pumpkin pie and just about everything gourd-related--love them to pieces, too.

"I Love Autumn Pumpkin Muffins"
(I know I should have saved these for next Fall, but tuff)

1 ½ cups lightly packed light brown sugar
1 ½ cups white granulated sugar
1 cup vegetable oil
3 large eggs
1 15-ounce can solid pack pumpkin
3 cups all-purpose flour
1 tsp. ground cloves
1 tsp. ground cinnamon
1 tsp. ground nutmeg
1 tsp. baking soda
½ tsp. salt
½ tsp. baking powder
3/4 cup raisins, optional (if hard, soak in warm water, drain and pat dry)
Turbinado Sugar as needed (sold as Sugar in the Raw, nice but optional)

Preheat oven to 350. Butter and flour 2 muffin tins that hold 12 muffins each. (I use Pam for Baking, which does the job of buttering/flouring in a couple of squirts. I urge you to follow suit. I also use oversize muffin tins that hold six muffins each. There's something so wonderful about sticking your face into a huge fragrant pumpkin muffin.)

Beat sugars and oil in large bowl to blend. Mix in eggs and pumpkin. Whisk together flour, cloves, cinnamon, nutmeg, baking soda, salt, and baking powder into another large bowl. Stir into pumpkin mixture in 2 additions. Mix in raisins, if using.

Generously fill muffin tins almost to the top. Fill as many as the batter will allow. Sprinkle the tops of each with a little bit of Turbinado Sugar;. This coarse sugar (commonly sold as "Sugar in the Raw") gives these—and all muffins—a fantastic crunchy top. Not a must, though. Bake until tester inserted into center comes out clean, about 25-35 minutes (this isn’t exact, but start checking at about 25 minutes). Transfer to racks and cool 10 minutes. Using a sharp knife, cut around the edge of the muffins. Turn onto racks and cool completely. Invite neighborhood boys over for a party.

A Break During a Dark Winter

2009-02-20T08:59:00.000-08:00

I don't think I'm alone in my feeling that this is one heavy winter we're slogging through. It's cold cold cold--at least up here in the Northeast--and the dreary economy is adding an extra chill. I know that in this house, my husband and I have been working overtime, making every penny we can before the oncoming train hits us. We've passed on making vacation plans and have been eating in a whole lot. I am absolutely positive we are among those who--by virtue of our fearful cutbacks--are only making the economic disaster worse. It's that self-fulfilling prophesy thing.

Anyway, DH had to take yet another trip out of town last week, which meant the boys and I would be alone over their February break. Usually, I'm okay with hanging out at home but I think I had just had enough. I needed to get out of the house and they had to get away from the Playstation. I started looking into airfares to any place warm, but it all ended up costing too much. I thought about taking them skiing, but I'd already done that solo with them once this season and macho I may be, but I'm not macho enough to tackle that endeavor twice in one year. Plus, I've been just plain pooped lately.

So, on a lark, I dialed up Mohonk Mountain House in New Paltz, NY, just to see what a room might cost for a couple of nights. As I expected, it was pricey--a total of about $500 per adult per night. But when I started rolling the numbers around in my head, it began to sound sorta doable. Here was my thinking: That $500 was the charge for me, the adult. The kids (both under 13) were free--as part of a package the resort tends to offer when it's not high season. The charge included everything--all meals (including afternoon tea, a fancy pants dinner each night, dinner the night of our arrival, and breakfast and lunch on the day of our departure), all activities (and equipment) including skating, cross country skiing, hiking, swimming in the gorgeous indoor pool, and full run of the sprawling resort. That price also took into account all tips and taxes the hotel automatically adds to your bill.

Now, if DH had been around, this little jaunt would have been a thousand dollars a night, since we'd have to pay another $500 for an additional adult. But because I was alone with the boys, $1,000 for a full, three-day vacation all-in seemed very fair. I signed on and was psyched.

We took off in the morning on Monday and spent the early part of the day at Hyde Park touring FDR's family estate (perfect for President's Day, huh?). We arrived at the resort just in time for tea, which we snarfed down before heading up to our room. And what a beauty it was: Fully renovated with a working fireplace, deep carpet, a full bed and day bed, and a balcony overlooking Mohonk's mountaintop lake and famed stone tower. This was a HUGE improvement over the last time I had stayed at Mohonk about 9 years ago, when their upgrading endeavors had begun but the still-extant kinks didn't merit their already high room rates. Those old scratchy sheets and blankets have finally been replaced. The doors to the terraces no longer leak cold air. The good news only got better: We headed to the new indoor pool, located in the new spa wing, and found ourselves in a spectacular vaulted structure that spared us that icky, soggy, chloriny feeling you usually get when swimming indoors. We came back to the room and dressed for dinner, which turned out to be not just acceptable resort food. It was truly excellent--I had a 2-inch -thick piece of snapper in a horseradish crust that can rival just about any fish entree I've had anywhere lately. After dinner, we played a little Ping-Pong, stopped in at the evening Victorian Lantern show (just okay, don't even ask me to describe) and headed for bed. The next day was equally lovely--highlighted by hours upon hours in the new outdoor skating pavillion. Long a skating hater, I have found a new love. I just wonder if skating indoors at our local hockey arena will have the same magic. I was able to squeeze in a brisk walk while the boys hung out and explored the resort and its countless game and sitting rooms. Because check out time the next day was at 2 PM, we truly felt like we had another nearly full day at the resort before we left on Wednesday, fully rested, fully fed, and very very happy.

My final thoughts? Mohonk has really found its way. I grew up visiting New Paltz and peering around the grounds of the hotel, which always looked a little worn at the heels and stodgy. I can say now that, though the price tag is high, this resort finally delivers on all its promise. It has one of the most spectacular locations anywhere, on a mountaintop in the Shawangunk Mountains, surrounded by acres of trail-laced nature reserve. It is unbelieveably close to home (1 hour, 15 minutes from our NYC surburb) yet feels like true mountain country. It has tons to offer, day and night, cold weather and warm, rainy or sunny. The service was terrific. The food was very good and bountiful. I'd say it's a particular value for a single parent who wants to get away with his or her young kids--since, if the resort is offering the package I got, you're only really paying for yourself. But any time of year, for anyone who has a little cash to spare, Mohonk is a treasure and a true value that's not be missed.

It all starts here....

2009-02-19T08:39:00.000-08:00

I guess the appropriate--if cliched--phrase I should use to kick off this blog is "better late than never." If I look way way back, long before the web changed our world, I can see that I was already blogging. I did so through letters....long funny obtuse letters, short strange ones, flirtations, suggestions, you name it. And I remember explaining to someone, somewhere that I loved letters because they were spontaneous and were unencumbered by high expectations. I didn't need to present an argument or clean organization or even a cogent thought. Whatever I decided to slam down at any given moment....it was acceptable to throw it in an envelope and call it "mail."

I've been watching the blogosphere from the sidelines for a handful of years now. Each time I pull up a post, I see that same unfettered writing inherent in my old letter writing. I scan the stories, laugh a little, write down some recipes on occasion. And then I get a little uneasy. A little pissed off. Because there's that voice saying, "I should have done this. I could have done this." And then, of course, that clincher rises up through my gut, "it's too late."

Well, maybe it's not. For years, I've been writing a cookbook and sharing it via the internet with a web of friends, family, and acquaintances. For years I've been reporting for countless women's magazines about health, fitness, food, nutrion, travel, and god knows what else. And for years, I've been aching to share what I've learned about relishing all of these aspects of life with friends, family, and just about anyone who will listen.

Well, I'm making this blog on this ordinary February day my official mouthpiece. And I welcome anyone to read along and relish life with me. Enjoy.