"Elvis" for Lunch: Peanut Butter, Banana and Bacon

I knew that Elvis had a penchant for peanut butter. And I knew Elvis's tastes ran more to the gourmand than gourmet. But I never knew about his favorite sandwich: a grilled peanut butter and banana sandwich with bacon. (Did I just hear you say “Wow!”?)

It’s been rumored that Elvis could eat up to 15 of these at a time, and the sandwich was grilled in bacon fat, but even in the interest of science, I couldn’t bring myself to do that.

I learned about “The Elvis” from reading my review copy of Susan Russo’s new book The Encyclopedia of Sandwiches (Quirk Books, 2011). It is a simply charming book that alphabetically details well over a hundred different sandwiches: their origins, history, trivia, variations and, of course, the recipes, where need be.


It has everything from the familiar – hot dogs and sloppy joes – to the funky – spaghetti sandwiches and the potato chip sandwich. And all kinds of regional faves, like po’ boys and lobster rolls. Even dessert-like sandwiches, like the pound cake sandwich and the fluffernutter.

I was hard pressed to choose just one to post about here, so you may be seeing more, and soon. And the photographs, by Matt Armendariz, are magnificent, nearly edible. Susan’s writing is, as usual, just delightful to read.

Sandwiches are ubiquitous and can be as everyday normal as the Isaly’s chipped chopped ham sandwich on white bread I took with me in my school lunch bag to the sumptuous sophistication of a Monte Cristo.

Growing up, we had a family favorite that I think it was my brother Bob who christened as “The PeaLeTom”: A peanut butter, lettuce and tomato sandwich on toast. We thought it was the poor man’s version of the BLT and it’s still a favorite of mine. Elvis had nothing on us!

When I was making this for lunch the other day, Mr. Rosemary walked by:

“Who’s that for?”

“Me.”

“Looks better than mine. What’s in it?”

After I told him, he said, “Never mind.”

The Elvis
from Susan Russo’s Encyclopedia of Sandwiches

2 tablespoons peanut butter
2 slices white bread (I used rye)
1 ripe banana, mashed (I just sliced mine)
2 slices bacon (just 1 for me)
2 tablespoons butter

Spread peanut butter on one slice of bread, banana on the other. Add bacon slices and close sandwich.

Melt butter in skillet over medium heat. Cook sandwich two minutes per side, or until golden. Eat it while it’s hot. Keep all the ingredients close at hand – you’ll likely be making another.

A Non-Easter Easter Ham and Broccoli Quiche

It doesn’t look like Easter. It doesn’t feel like Easter. It’s gray, rainy, and 40 degrees, and I'm crabby about it.  I just got back from a Florida vacation where it was sunny and in the 80’s all the time and my daughter gave me a cold down there. So, yes, I’m more than a little crabby, not to mention un-ambitious, and in no mood to cook up a festive, spring meal.

When it gets to really be rug-cutting time, I know I’ll pull my socks up and get on with it, and this is what I’ll whip up for an Easter brunch – a ham and broccoli quiche. It’s traditional, it’s classic and it just might be the ticket to put me in a spring-like mood.

I love quiche. It’s a lot like a pizza to me. It can easily handle a lot of variations, lots of different combinations. And if you take the cheater’s way out (as I often do) and use refrigerated pie dough, it’s a snap to make. (Although I have gotten much better at making pastry, I’m proud to say.) And since you can serve it warm or at room temperature, it’s a perfect company dish.

Once I hosted a baby shower for a friend and the menu was quiche, fruit salad and cheesecake. My daughter (the same one who gave me the $^#&*# cold) helped me with the quiche assembly line. We made eight quiches, four different kinds: Ham and broccoli, bacon and onion, spinach and shrimp, asparagus and ham, all with a healthy helping of cheese. First we placed a layer of shredded cheese in the pastry–lined pans, then the meat and vegetable filling, then more cheese, then poured the custard up to the edge of the pie. (Baking eight pies at once was something I’d never done before and convinced me that catering was not for me.) Everything went off without a hitch and everyone wanted to sample every quiche. Only crumbs left in the pans.

I follow the basic formula for quiche I started using years ago from a cookbook I bought from a New Hampshire restaurant called Peter Christian’s that is now defunct. I liked it because it was just a formula rather than a follow-by-the-letter recipe. I also liked the addition of sherry to the custard. The only things that are constant are the eggs, half-and-half, cheese and onions. And even those are variable to a degree. You can enrich the quiche with cream or using a variety of cheeses.

So this as Easter-y as I’m getting this year. I really had the best intentions of making an Easter Pie. If the spirit moves me later this evening, maybe . . . just maybe . . . . .

In the meantime, I hope you're in a sunnier place -- or at least a sunnier mood -- and have a blessed Easter with family and friends.

Basic Recipe for a Quiche
Serves 8

Pastry for one-crust pie
4 eggs
1 ½ cups half and half
½ cup sherry
Dashes each of freshly ground black pepper and freshly grated nutmeg and dash of cayenne pepper
4 cups grated cheese, any variety
½ cup chopped scallions
1 cup cooked and cooled vegetable of choice
1 cup cooked and cooled meat of choice
(or use 2 cups of a veggie variety)

• Preheat oven to 425 degrees Fahrenheit.

• Place pastry in pie pan and flute edges any pretty way you like.

• Sprinkle 1 cup of cheese and the scallions in the bottom of the crust. Cover the cheese and onions evenly with the veggies and/or meat of your choice. Then sprinkle the rest of the cheese over the veggie-meat mixture.

• To make custard, combine the eggs, half-and-half, sherry and seasonings in a bowl with a whisk and blend well.

• Pour the custard over the cheese-veggie-meat mixture to within ¼ inch of the top of the crust.

• Bake at 425 for ten minutes, then reduce the heat to 325 degrees and bake another 45 to 50 minutes until the top is golden brown and is slightly puffed.

• Let cool at least 15 minutes before cutting. Serve either warm or at room temperature; refrigerate any leftovers if you have them.

Lemon Pasta with Shrimp – No Lenten Dissent

Growing up Catholic, we were subjected to a rather meager menu of Friday Lenten meals. There was tuna fish salad, my mom’s tomato-ed version of mac 'n cheese, grilled cheese sandwiches, and fish fry at the local Knights of Columbus Hall. Very little variety. I never really knew that real fish was ever cooked at home. That wasn’t my mother’s fault: That was just growing up in a small town in the sixties, where there just wasn’t much variety available. (Of course, sacrifice is supposed to be the name of the game, isn’t it.)

Occasionally we did have blocks of frozen some-kind-of-fish but that did little to stir any craving in me. But when I got to out (aside from the K of C) I immediately gravitated towards shrimp, Lent or not, and that’s one childhood love I’ve held onto to tightly. Shrimp in any form.

I made this lemon sauced pasta last week and it was so darn lip-smacking good, I think I’ll make it again this Friday. (So much for variety, huh?) I was inspired by Indigo’s Sugar Spectrum, who was inspired by Smitten Kitchen. I adapted the recipe, though. I used half and half instead of cream, fresh spinach instead of basil or arugula or chives and I added shrimp. The pasta was delectable on its own, but the addition of shrimp was a perfect complement. The lemony sauce is nicely tart but sweetened by the half-and-half.

I just steamed the shrimp but next time (that will be this Friday) I’m going to roast the shrimp first. Can’t believe that as much as I love roasted vegetables I didn’t think of this myself.

Before taking a look at the recipe, a very simple one, read this delightful little poem. I found this a couple weeks ago on my daily newsletter The Writers Almanac and the author was kind enough to give me permission to use it here. Get a chuckle.

Lenten Dissent

by Cherie Lashway

There once was a logger, named Paddy O'Connell,
Who at lunch during Lent, found himself at McDonalds,
And had just settled down to his Big Mac and fries,
When along came his priest, much to both their surprise.

The priest said to Paddy, "Just what are you eating?
In this season of Lent, I sure hope you're not cheating."
Paddy said to the Father, "I'll tell you no lies.
I'm enjoying a Big Mac, along with some fries."

The priest said to Paddy, "I see no repentance.
Because of this sin, you will have to do penance.

"By Friday or sooner, I say that you should,
For our fireplace, deliver a cord of chopped wood."

Now our timberman, Paddy, an overworked man,
Did think to himself, "I don't think that I can."

But early on Friday, our priest, he heard shoveling,
And looked out the window at Paddy not groveling.
And saw with confusion, dismay and disgust,
That the wood bin was now almost filled with saw dust.

He called down below, barely hiding his ire:
"Hey Paddy, your penance was wood for the fire!"

To which Paddy said, rising up from his work,
While wiping his brow and concealing a smirk:

"I've brought you a cord, like you said that I should,
But if burger be meat, well then sawdust be wood!"

"Lenten Dissent" by Cherie Lashway, used with permission of the author

Now for the recipe . . .

Lemon and Spinach Pasta with Shrimp
Adapted from Indigo’s Sugar Spectrum and Smitten Kitchen

1 pound spaghetti or linguine
3 lemons
1/4 cup extra virgin olive oil
1/4 cup half and half
½ cup of Parmesan, plus more for serving
4 cups baby spinach
1 pound steamed shrimp

Zest and juice the lemons – you’ll need a good tablespoon of zest and 1/2 cup of juice. Cook and drain pasta, reserving 1-1/2 cups of pasta cooking water. Dry out your pot, then boil the olive oil, half and half, zest and 1 cup of the reserved pasta water together for two minutes over high heat. Return pasta to pot and stir until coated. Add the cheese and 1/4 cup lemon juice and toss everything together. Add more pasta water, 1/4 cup at a time, until the noodles are nice and loose. Add remaining lemon juice, then toss in spinach leaves until wilted.  Add the shrimp and toss again.

Have more cheese on hand to sprinkle on the served plates.

One Sexy Vegetable: Broccoli Rabe

Maybe “sexy” is too strong to describe any vegetable, but I loved the way Aida Mollenkamp described broccoli rabe: “ . . . think of it as a sexier alternative to broccoli – darker and a little bitter.” Really, though, all that broccoli and broccoli rabe have in common is the name.

Broccoli is a crucifer and broccoli rabe is one of those leafy greens that we get so many healthy brownie points for eating. And the rabe has a lot of different names; the most common nom de plum is rapini. Call it what you like, it’s great. It does take a bit of minor effort to prepare well: It is bitter, like most greens, and a quick blanching is all it needs to take that pungency away.

I was introduced to broccoli rabe by my sister who cooked it for my daughter and me one girls’ night in at my daughter’s home in Florida. Lynn also taught me how to make ravioli using won- ton wrappers. I love ravioli but don’t have a pasta maker (hint-hint) and this shortcut worked just fine. Our filling was butternut squash. A quick sauté in herbed browned butter and we were done.

I have to admit, though, that when she picked up the last of what looked like a pretty wilted bunch of rabe at the supermarket, I was suspicious. But after a dunk in ice water, it was brought back to life.

So when the same thing happened to me, I didn’t panic and grabbed the all-too-rare appearance of rabe at my local market. I made a quick apology to my usual broccoli, said I’d be back next week, and took my prize home. (It was on sale, too!)

I tossed my blanched and sautéed broccoli rabe with feta cheese, chickpeas and a little bit of leftover angel hair pasta, but the adornments are endless. Next time, I think I’ll use crushed red pepper and fontina.

Simple Broccoli Rabe

1 pound broccoli rabe
2 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil
1 clove garlic, minced

Place broccoli rabe in large pot of boiling water 2-3 minutes. Be careful not to over cook; it should be slightly hard. Drain the broccoli rabe then place it in a bowl with ice and water. Let it stand in the ice water while you heat the oil.

In a large skillet, heat the oil and garlic for 1 minute. Drain broccoli rabe really well and add to pan. Sauté for approximately about five minutes or until it’s as soft as you’d like it.

Then dress it up as you’d like, too: red pepper flakes, Parmesan cheese, chickpeas, feta, cooked pasta.

Winter Vegetables and Bulgur: The Last Soup of Winter (I hope, I hope, I hope!)

Punxsutawney Phil has come and gone, March 21st has been crossed off the calendar, my daffodils are desperately trying to poke through, the geese have come to the pond. Spring is teasing us all over the place. But we woke up to snow-covered ground this morning! What’s wrong with this picture? Even the robins look confused. Calls for another day of soup!

I want spring to come as badly as anyone. It’s been a long, gray, cold winter. Again. And the only thing I’ll miss about winter is that I won’t feel like making wonderful soups like this. I’m itching to get outside, wash the windows (!), clean up the perennial flower bed, getting the vegetable garden ready. (Although, I have to be admit, if there’s a kinda cool, little rainy, pretty gray summer day, I can be found making soup.)

In the meantime, I’m enjoying this hearty, warming and filling soup. My sister recommended this soup after another guest brought it to her new condo group’s monthly potluck. She loved it and I was anxious to try it, too. I had more than enough bulgur in the pantry and plenty of vegetables on hand. I even had the herbs de Provence the recipe called for; didn’t have to substitute my own mixture.

But I decided to make it the day I also decided it was high time I saw my three-week old new nephew. I called his mother and announced I was bringing lunch, too. She told me her husband had the day off and would be extra delighted that Mr. Rosemary might be along, too. Hmmm, I got to thinking, two big men just might not think this vegetarian soup would be hearty enough. So, without making a trip to the store, what could I do?

Since this isn’t my first rodeo, I have gotten in the habit of stashing a few freezer packets for just such moments. I decide to add about ¼ cup of chopped bacon and abut ½ cup of cooked chicken. That was all the soup needed to make it “manly.” Pretty quick to make and easy to tote.

In the end, Mr. Rosemary couldn’t make it, but the proud new daddy did – and I’m pretty sure the little bit of bacon did it.

Winter Vegetables and Bulgur
adapted from Bon Appetit 2006

2 tablespoons olive oil
4 cups ¾ inch pieces of root vegetables, peeled and chopped  (like carrots, turnips, celery root, parsnips – I  used carrots, parsnips, and turnips; wish I could have found golden beets)
2 cups chopped onions
4 cups vegetable broth
1 rounded teaspoon herbes de Provence
1 ½ cup bulgur (about 8 ounces)
1 6-ounce package baby spinach leaves
¼ cup cooked bacon pieces
½ cup cooked and chopped chicken pieces

Heat oil in a heavy large pot over high heat. Add root vegetables and onions. Sauté until beginning to brown, about 10 minutes. Add vegetable broth and herbes de Provence’ bring to boil. Add bulgur, bacon and chicken pieces; cover pot and reduce heat to low. Simmer until bulgur is almost tender, stirring occasionally, about 15 minutes. Add spinach; stir until wilted, about 1 minute. Taste and add salt and/or pepper if you want.

Let's Hear It for St. Joseph! And Zeppole!

Poor St. Joseph! His feast day gets totally eclipsed by St. Patrick. Two days after green beer and corned beef and people still must need to recover!

St. Joseph’s feast day is March 19 and I have such fond childhood memories of commemorating the day that this year I was inspired to make the traditionally symbolic treat that marks the Italian Feast of San Guiseppe – zeppole, the St. Joseph Day doughnut. The way my family made them they’re not really doughnuts, more like doughnut holes. They look like deep fried fritters -- pretty much dough balls! -- coated with confectioner’s sugar and served warm.

What are called zeppoles seems to differ depending on what part of Italy your version originates. In certain parts of Italy, more southern regions, the doughnuts are pretty fancy pastries, piped circles of dough, deep fried filled with cream and decorated with candied fruits and jimmies. Some are more like what I remember but they’re rolled in cinnamon sugar or take a quick dip in honey. It seems the only common denominator in the recipes I explored was deep frying!

I just remember the way my father made them.

But try as I might, I couldn’t find the original recipe and my internet search provided too many options. Some recipes called for ricotta, some included lemon or orange zest, and none of my sisters remembered those ingredients. We all do remember the final step of zeppole-making: shaking the warm little dough balls in paper bags of confectioner’s sugar. And we all remember how my mother would wince when my father announced he was going to make something in the kitchen. She would mildly complain that he knew how to dirty every *%^($# dish and utensil in the kitchen when he wanted to cook! It was quite the event!

The first recipe I tried was cooked on the stove for a little bit and had ricotta in the zeppole. The dough was like thick pancake batter. They tasted pretty good, but they weren’t too pretty. Picture gnarled ginger root rolled in powdered sugar.

The second recipe didn’t have ricotta but had lemon zest and juice. Its pastry was more like pie dough and I needed to use my hands to form balls of dough to fry. They looked good, but instead of being light and fluffy as I imagined – and recalled – they should be, they were pretty dense and too lemony.

And Goldilocks pronounced the third batch just right. The last recipe I tried came from Giada De Laurnetiis. And they were pretty good. The dough was batter-like, like my first batch. but I smartened up (actually, it was Mr. Rosemary’s suggestion) and this time used my small ice-cream scoop I use for cookies to form the dough balls and drop them into the hot oil. These zeppole were just right, although one of my sisters said that she remembered they were bigger.

I first found this recipe from Giada but then I found a blogger who also used it and described great success, so I followed Spoonful’s as well, but included the confectioner's sugar dusting after frying instead of cinnamon sugar.
There was one more reason I liked St. Joseph Day when I was a child: Since we had St. Joseph nuns as teachers, we had the day off from school!

Zeppole
adapted from Giada De Laurentiis and Spoonful
(yield: 4-6 servings)

1 stick butter
1/4 teaspoon salt
3 tablespoons sugar
1 cup water
1 cup all-purpose flour
4 eggs
Optional: 3/4 tablespoon vanilla extract
Optional: 1/2+ teaspoon grated lemon zest
Confectioner’s sugar, for dusting
Olive oil, for frying
In a medium saucepan combine the butter, salt, 3 tablespoons of sugar, and water over medium heat. Bring to a boil. Take pan off the heat and stir in the flour. Return pan to the heat and stir continuously until mixture forms a ball, about 3 to 5 minutes. Transfer the flour mixture to a medium bowl. Add vanilla extract and / or lemon zest if using. Using an electric hand mixer on low speed, add eggs, 1 at a time, incorporating each egg completely before adding the next. Beat until smooth. If not frying immediately, cover with plastic wrap and reserve in the refrigerator.

Meanwhile, pour enough oil into a large frying pan to reach a depth of two inches. (I used my cast iron Dutch oven.) Heat the oil over medium heat until a deep-fry thermometer registers 375 degrees Fahrenheit. (Watch the temperature as you fry and adjust heat accordingly to maintain 375 degrees Fahrenheit).

Using a small ice-cream scooper or 2 small spoons, carefully drop about a tablespoon of the dough into the hot olive oil, frying in batches.  Be careful not to make the zepploe too big or the insides will be doughy. The zeppole will immediately float to the top and puff up. Turn the zeppole once or twice with the side of a slotted spoon, cooking until golden and puffed up, about 5 minutes. (Watch carefully as cooking time might also be quite a bit shorter). Drain on paper towels or paper bags. Then transfer a few at a time while still warm to paper bags with about ½ confectioner’s sugar. Replenish the sugar once in a while.  Eat them while they’re warm – and they don’t keep well!

Is It Real Irish Soda Bread?

Here’s a myth buster for you: The Irish didn’t invent Irish soda bread. They pretty much own it now, but it was more than likely created by native Americans and made its way across the Atlantic. It appealed to the Irish because it was inexpensive to make and didn’t require a stove; it could be cooked in a kettle over a fire. Hence the usually round shape.

I learned all this from a website devoted to the Preservation of Irish Soda Bread. (Can you believe it?) The site includes information that authentic Irish soda bread uses wheat flour, not white, and never has anything like raisins, currants or caraway seeds added. Me? I didn’t know that Irish soda bread didn’t have raisins in it! If the bread has raisins in it, it's a treat, and called "spotted dog."

I did wonder, though, about the typical cross. Epicurious.com interviewed Rory O’Connell, an Irish chef and cooking school teacher and asked him about the cross. He said that the cross has a scientific basis, because it allows the heat to penetrate into the thickest part of the bread, aiding even cooking.

And since the cross resembles a crucifix, in a Catholic country, it has a symbolic meaning of crossing the breads and giving thanks. There was also the expression "to let the devil out of the bread," so it was slightly superstitious. Another benefit is that the cross shape makes the bread easy to break when it comes out of the oven. So there’s the blessing of the bread by putting the cross on it and then the symbolic breaking of the bread.

I just love that kind of food lore. Whatever the origin and whatever the “traditional” way to make it is, it’s a hearty, tasty bread.

My sister Lynn made soda bread over the weekend and gave me a loaf. Although she made this batch with white bread, she prefers the brown bread, using whole wheat flour. “And it’s just great toasted,” she added. “And spread with orange marmalade.” And lucky me, I just happen to have some in the pantry.

Happy St. Patrick’s Day!

Irish Soda Bread
From Taste of Home, submitted by Gloria Warczak

2 cups all purpose flour
2 tablespoons brown sugar
1 teaspoon baking powder
1 teaspoon baking soda
½ teaspoon salt
3 tablespoons butter
2 eggs
2/4 cup buttermilk
1/3 cup raisins

In a large bowl, combine flour, brown sugar, baking powder, baking soda and salt. Cut in butter until crumbly. In a small bowl, whisk 1 egg and buttermilk. Stir in flour mixture just until moistened. Fold in raisins.

Knead on a floured surface for one minute. Shape into a round loaf; place on a greased baking sheet. Cut a ¼ inch cross in the top of the loaf. Beat remaining egg and brush over loaf.

Bake at 375 degrees or until golden brown. Yield: 6-8 servings