Enjoy the Delicious

My friend came over last night. "How was your day?" I asked as he walked in the door. "Swell" his clipped reply. Funny hearing the exact exchange while watching Jaws just half an hour later. We chuckled, engrossed in the Dreyfuss, Scheider banter. I'm 37. Jaws is the Saw of my generation. As a child, I remember when it started playing on cable or was it just being played on Beta? It was huge. During sleepovers we would have random bed checks from parents worried that we were watching; worried that the sheer primal subject matter would manifest itself into nightmares. There was something so ordinary about it though, Scheider, ranting while swinging around a wine bottle, Dreyfuss, reasoning while munching on a pretzel. Scheider, in a life jacket, Dreyfuss, in a jean jacket. Dreyfuss, Scheider and The Crew sitting around and singing "Show me the way to go home" just before the panic sets in. The beach, the sun, the shark!

For lunch today we decided on seafood. "Lobster Rolls!" I exclaimed. I love lobster rolls and was reminded of this by a friend that recently reported on her Facebook status that she had just eaten 4 in 2 days. I remember the last time I had one. It was much too long ago. I was starving and ready to indulge. "Have you ever made them?" he asked. Oh shit. That's the thing when you love to cook. People just assume that you always want to do it yourself. No, I have not. "Let's try it" he said. OK, I guess. This is probably the only time that you will get a traditional "recipe" from me so heed well:

about 1 pound of cooked lobster meat
about 1/4 to 1/2 cup of mayonnaise. Start with less, adding more as necessary but don't drench the meat
A dash of Dijon mustard
A dash of white wine or sherry vinegar
1 celery stalk chopped
2 pieces of shallots, chopped
Lemon juice, per your taste
A few tarragon leaves, chopped
Salt and Pepper
Top split hot dog buns, buttered and lightly toasted

In a drizzle of olive oil and the dash of white wine/vinegar, saute the celery and shallots until golden and take off the heat. Add the lobster meat and let it infuse with this flavorful mirepoix. Drain any excess liquid and mix in the mayonnaise, mustard, tarragon, lemon juice and salt and pepper. Chill in the fridge for about 10 minutes then scoop into your buttered, toasted, top-split buns. Serve yourself a cold beer and think of snuggling up to your beloved on a beach somewhere in New England on a late summer evening. Just don't let the sharks get you.

I'm not even going to try to pretend. I, very, very rarely, cook on Fridays. On the alternate weekends that I have my boy, he is in heaven because we undoubtedly ingest the gastronomical delight that is only enjoyed by a 9 year old boy; and his 37 year old mother. I have a rule in my house - McDonald's twice a month. Fridays are all about Mickey D's. On these days I play all huff and puff with the boy, scolding him and schooling him on the virtues of good nutrition. All that nonsense before taking a walk through those beloved Golden Arches. Secretly though, I know that I love McDonald's Fridays more than he does. I yearn for these days when I can treat myself to the ultimate culinary sin, a crispy chicken sandwich with bacon and ranch dressing, the ultimate in perfectly golden fries and a soda of some sort. Sometimes, when persuaded, I will spring for milkshakes. Chocolate. Divine heaven.

The boy is with his dad this weekend so I am free to eat as I please. Don't tell but I treated myself to a 3rd day AND the milkshake. The utter satisfaction of this meal is fleeting though. I know at some point tonight I will have to sate myself with real nutrition.

It's Labor Day weekend and the social calendar is full. A farewell party for my friend Mariel who is leaving to teach in Spain for a year and a cookout and cocktails on my friend Ali's deck where we'll spend all our time petting her new kitten. This is my last hurrah. The last weekend of summer that allows any abandon. After this it's all down to business. All the moms are making contact with each other, the kids are bitching, complaining that school is no good because they won't be able to get in enough pool time but desperate to see all their friends again, the Parent's Board is in full swing again planning our first meetings of the school year. There's just something about September rolling around that yields to structure, a taming of your wild side.

My only culinary instruction today is to enjoy what you want, indulge your culinary whims and have fun. Enjoy the Delicious, caniculares dies, these last dog days of summer.

I got an email today from someone who read this blog. It was from someone I didn't know and that shocked me; I am surprised when people tell me they are reading but I am even more shocked by the fact that someone would randomly contact me. In this email, the sender was very sweet and told me she enjoyed my musings but questioned why, in my posts, I didn't provide a "recipe" with ingredient lists and clear cut instructions on how to make a dish.

I immediately went to my blog and read my posts - low and behold, she was right. I never even realized I was doing this. I sat for a couple of minutes and thought about it. When I cook I never really know exactly what I'm going to use until I check my fridge to see what's on hand but then it dawned on me. It was my mother. As a young girl, I did with my mother exactly what my son does with me. I sat in the kitchen watching as she created meals that have inspired my culinary adventures throughout the years. I diligently followed her instructions as she told me to feel if a batter was right or to smell if something would taste good. A few years ago during a visit to my mother she was cooking a curry in her kitchen. This was a dish that I never really mastered. I asked if she would write down the recipe so I could take it home. "What recipe?" she queried, "Just watch me." And I did. I watched as she sweated her onions, how she added her spices and tomatoes, how she seasoned and cooked her chicken, all without measuring, but smelling and tasting as each step progressed. It was then that I realized I had been given this great gift, this want to nourish those I love, from my mother.

My mother (above on the right) passed away a couple of years ago and I often think of her while I cook. I do regret that she never wrote down her recipes but as I try to recreate those dishes I use my own creative license. I haven't responded to the email yet but I'm going to tell that reader to use my blog as an outline for cooking, to add or subtract ingredients as she pleases, to be inspired by food and the joy it can bring. I am going to tell her to just feel what she wants to eat. That's what I do. I learned from the best.

My little man, my sensitive thug has always been my culinary partner in crime. Ever since he was very young I have had him up on step stools stirring sauces, measuring out ingredients for recipes or pounding out chicken with a mallet for Chicken Paillard. Until now he has always been my sous. Everything changed this weekend.

At the beach last week, his little friend Via made us all pancakes one morning. The boy was intrigued and had to see if he could master this culinary feat all by himself. He succeeded. He did everything from measuring and mixing the batter to flipping the pancakes to spreading melting butter on them. They were perfectly golden, fluffy circular discs and they were delicious.

No one wants to cook on Friday nights but since NYC will be a rainy wonderland tonight, stay in and cook a hearty dinner.  Caramelized onion tarts and steak with white beans.