Spinach Pie, Manute Bol, & Inner Strength

On Saturday afternoon en route from D.C. to St. Louis, I spotted one of the tallest men to play in the NBA, Manute Bol. Mr. Bol was amazing, took up two seats, and friendly enough to say hello as I deplaned with Dave, my boyfriend, and Dave's dad Charles. Funny enough, Mr. Bol lives fairly close to the Kansas City area, where I grew up in Blue Springs, Missouri. In fact, Dave and I had our first date in Olathe, Kansas at a Waffle House; now Mr. Bol calls Olathe home. And for those of you who were like me, and didn't know how cool Mr. Bol was/is, he is not only a great basketball player, but also an exceptionally generous activist for his homeland of Sudan.

I mention Mr. Bol because I noticed how so many people in Lambert Airport pointed and stared at his 7'7" frame, and I think it takes strength to be ogled and looked up to when you're simply trying to claim your luggage. I mentioned as much to Mr. Bol when I asked him if he got sick of people staring. He seemed to believe that most people were simply curious, generally kind. I think about his war-ravaged country and his ability to still believe this, and I feel incredibly awed by his kindness, his sense of humor and strength.

So, this post goes out to Mr. Manute Bol, one of the tallest and kindest celebrities I've ever met. In honor of Mr. Bol, I channeled my What-Would-Popeye-Eat? energies and created a spinach pie that combines savory chunks of feta with almost three pounds of spinach, all wrapped up in a buttery phyllo crust. Again, credit must be given to the lovely Ina Garten, whose recipe book, The Barefoot Contessa, I again consulted. The next recipe, I promise, will come from another cookbook.

Banana Cake Blues

Lately it seems like everyone I know is going through something hard. My best friend Jenna was laid off in January and had to euthanize her cat Norma last week. I ruptured my Achilles tendon three days after the New Year, and I'm still not walking without the assistance of some pretty hefty gear and physical therapy (and sometimes major painkillers). My boyfriend Dave lost his mother last August. And I'm beginning to sound like a really depressing, poorly written country-western song...

The point is that life often sends us grief and hardship, and there are some days that seem harder than others. For me, baking often softens the blow, makes the kitchen smell nice, and soothes my need to be busy with something productive, tangible and comforting. I also think of my grandmother, Anna Lee Cooper Hammond, when I bake; she taught me a lot about life, love and how to run a respectable kitchen.


Today I got the chance to drive past the farm my grandma and granddad owned in Weaubleau, Missouri. I spent many summers watching my grandma bake, cook, and tell stories. I knew I had arrived at my grandma's house when my sister Jenna and I sang "Over the River and Through the Woods." We also knew that by the time we crossed grandma's door, we would smell food unlike anything our busy momma had time to make: cinnamon rolls heavy with brown sugar and pecans, new potatoes and peas in cream, pecan pie, homemade chicken and noodles, blackberry cobbler, and a caramel cake with boiled frosting that I still haven't figured out how to make.

Before my grandmother died six years ago, she wrote out her top 20 favorite recipes for me, my sister Jenna, and my cousin Sheila. Those recipes, while saved for special occasions and all-out caloric mayhem, are a part of my heritage. And despite the sentimentality of this post, my grandma was anything but. She was finicky and particular about how to knead bread, bake her much-requested chocolate sheet cake, and prepare family meals. She would fuss if I futzed with the gravy or didn't check on the biscuits like she had told me to do. She was a tough teacher who had high expectations for the quality and flavor of the food she served.

So, this post and the banana cake I made on Thursday night is for my grandma Anna Lee, who was born on March 8, 1930. This windy afternoon, right between Collins and Weaubleau, Missouri off 54 East, I put some day lilies on her grave in the Robinson Cemetery, said hello, and then hobbled back to the car with my guy Dave. So, Happy Birthday, Grandma! Your life and love still live on in me and many others.

Outrageous Gratitude and Brownies

Today was one of those days where everything went right. The weather was in the 70s; I gave away my crutches because my orthopedic surgeon says I can put weight on my bum leg and massive black monster-truck boot (I ruptured my Achilles tendon on Jan. 4, 2009, and I'm still on the mend). Dave and I slept in, and I baked brownies as he slept some more. These brownies are not to be trifled with--these aren't your box-mix brownies. The richness and density of Ina Garten's glorious recipe take decadence to a whole new level. For those who love European-style sipping chocolate, these brownies are your friends.

Once household chores and the brownies were finished, we made our way to chocolatier Brian Pelletier of Kakao. Dave selected 25 amazing truffles (lavendar-vanilla, Maker's Mark, chai, Turkish coffee and cardamom, etc.) as a belated birthday present. Then we walked to Taqueria El Bronco on the corner of Cherokee and California; the shrimp burritos and horchata (cinnamon rice milk) were superb. My genuine keening for decent Mexican food was finally relieved from this little outside lunching experience. St. Louis' idea of Mexican counters my experiences growing up in Kansas City for the first 18 years of my life and then living in Tucson, Arizona for two years for graduate school. Hacienda just doesn't cut it; their salsa assuredly leaves something to be desired, to say the least.

Tomorrow I'll be baking up a storm in memory of my grandmother Anna Lee Hammond (March 8, 1929 or 1930; she had no birth certificate) and using up some bananas that have started to get pretty spotty and ready-ripe.

Putting the "Pro" into Procrastination

The good news: My second essay in Sauce Magazine just got published today!! Hip, hip, hooray.

The bad news: I didn't bake the citrus bars I was planning on baking this morning because Dave, my boyfriend, and I slept on the floor of his father's apartment. Dave's dad Charles just celebrated his 7oth, and wow, I hope I'm that rowdy when the next 40 years pass me by.

But I have a big, fat promise: Tomorrow night I make Outrageous Brownies from Ina Garten's loverly cookbook, The Barefoot Contessa (the original). Nothing says food porn like chocolate. This recipe is so over the top that I think Dave will feel the love on his 33rd birthday this Tuesday (33 on 3/3)!!

P.S. I really want to read her new book. Oh, non-arrogant foodies unite!