This post doesn’t really need words…
….does it?
Category Archives: Family Kels
Pasta Cravings and Kitchen Rules
I love spaghetti.
This is not an understatement. I would eat spaghetti six times a week. Maybe seven if Brad didn’t feel like cooking. And even without switching up the sauce or anything. Just spaghetti and red sauce out of the jar.
I studied in Florence, Italy in the summer of 2004 and I was surrounded by amazing Italian food. I took a class that was called “Italian Cooking” every Wednesday night where we would make these INCREDIBLE italian dishes with this large Italian man named Stefano. I loved Stefano. I also took his “Italian Wines” class, so he kind of wined and dined me – true Italian style. AND he could pronounce Bylsma. That is a major in with me. I remember I told him I was impressed he got it right ont he first try and he said:
“What, Bylsma? That’s Dutch. Everyone knows Bylsma.”
That was one of the reasons that I fell in love with Italy, I think. No one knows what Bylsma is, where its from, or even close to how to say it. Gosh, America, keep up. Everyone in Italy knows Bylsma. Duh.
But anyway, back to spaghetti. I might have had that one fantastic meal with Stefano every Wednesday night while I studied in Florence, but the other six nights a week, I went to my favorite little market and made myself pasta with red sauce out of the jar. Of course it tasted amazing because I was in Italy. And I was a poor college student. And especially because the Euro/Dollar conversion was not exactly in my favor. Best spaghetti I’ll ever have.
But nowI have this (sort of) problem. I crave spaghetti. I leave work at midnight and just want spaghetti. And spaghetti is not the best thing for a girl’s figure at midnight.
I sent this picture to a girl I work with at 11:42 pm after we had closed down the bar together and I told her about my spaghetti obsession.
So last night I was home alone, doing some work and playing with my new iPad (!!!!) when I realized I was starving. Of course, I had some spaghetti and red sauce on hand, but I decided to spice it up a little bit. I cut up some chicken into strips and made me some “chicken parmesan” if you will. And everytime I bread and fry something I am reminded of one of Brad’s kitchen rules.
Just to bring you up to speed if you have never been in our kitchen while Brad is cooking, there are what I like to call “Brad’s Kitchen Rules”. I sometimes have to remind him that we are not in a professional kitchen and the health inspector is not coming by our apartment. (Which, actually one time she did for a completely un-kitchen related problem. He likes to bring that up.) Working in a kitchen 50-60 hours a week, the rules of the kitchen have been engrained in his head.
I also like to remind him that when we first met, I didn’t do dishes for a week. They would sit “soaking” in my sink until they didn’t fit anymore and then maybe I’d throw them in the dishwasher. Brad does not allow that to happen anymore.
The first rule that I will teach you is one of the least important in Brad’s mind, but it’s one of my favorites because if I screw it up I just have to wash my hands and start over. And its probably the rule I’m best at. So it’s a good place to start.
I present the first in an ongoing series of “Brad’s Kitchen Rules”.
Wet Hand/Dry Hand
So when I was making my chicken parmesan last night, I got my whole breading station set up. I mixed together bread crumbs, garlic salt, italian herbs, lots of parmesan cheese, and chili pepper. Then I beat an egg in a bowl.
The point of wet hand dry hand is to get all that chicken battered and not have your hand completely battered by the end of the process. It can get very messy. So I assigned my right hand to be the wet hand – the one that touches the chicken and dips it into the egg…
And my left hand was the dry hand that covered the chicken with the bread crumb mixture. Since it never gets wet, it doesnt have big clumps of breadcrumbs sticking to it. See? (the thumbs up means I actually did a good job. Minimal bread crumb stickage. Brad would be proud.)
Basically, I melted a whole lot of butter (I mean, if you’re eating pasta at 11pm its already bad enough, you might as well add a lot of butter) and fried that chicken up.
Brad must have liked it because the pots are still in the sink. That’s when you know you made something good – he forgot his own rule! And that almost NEVER happens. Even Stefano would be proud I think.
And Me, the Leftover Queen
Yea, so you saw that Brad cooked another amazing meal while I Skyped with the folks last week. But we have a bad habit of cooking like we are feeding a small army (you are always welcome for dinner, we invite our neighbors all the time), and with it usually just being the two of us we have some extreme leftover food.
Good thing I rock at leftovers.
Here was my late lunch/early dinner today. Wild Arugula salad with Roasted Corn, Cherry Tomato, Homemade Balsamic Vinaigrette and Chilled Skirt Steak.
Beats a PB&J anyday. Yum.
My Husband, the Chef
Have I mentioned I am married to a chef?
Seriously, ladies – If you are not already in a serious relationship, find yourself a chef to marry. It makes life delicious. And it helps if he’s really hot and a pretty amazing guy, too. That makes life delicious, attractive and awesome.
This is my delicious, attractive and awesome chef husband Brad.
When Brad and I are not working in a restaurant, we are eating amazing food or planning the next amazing food that we have to put in our mouths. For us, life pretty much revolves around meals. What we are eating now, what we will eat next, and where we have to eat soon.
We get two nights a week off together (if we’re lucky) and we usually have planned out early in the week what we are cooking one of those nights and where we are eating the other night. When you live in LA, there are a million amazing hole in the wall restaurants just waiting to serve you up your most amazing meal ever. We are seldom disappointed.
This weekend (our weekend is Thursday/Friday. It’s kind of awesome.), we finally got to try out Son of a Gun, which is an AMAZING restaurant on 3rd in Hollywood right by the Farmer’s Market. The chef/owners used to work with Brad’s boss, Ben Ford, and then branched out to write a cookbook, a catering business and eventually started their own place. Their first restaurant was Animal, a meat based concept that is also down in Hollywood and also amazing. Brad loves the amount of bacon, pork belly, and foie gras that is on this menu. I wish there were more vegetables. But last time we were there we ate across from Drew Barrymore and Justin Long, so I don’t complain too much.
One day I will give Son of a Gun a proper review, but for now I’m just going to tell you it was amazeballs. Reminded me of a classed up East Coast seafood shack… Felt like home.
So this brings me to tonight. I felt like steak. We decided we would grill. We went a little crazy at Whole Foods and thought we were having more people eating, so we got a ridiculous amount of food. This is usually the way our nights go when we decide to stay in instead of go out for dinner.
I skyped with my mom and dad while Brad chopped, diced, mixed and tenderized, so I cannot take credit for hardly anything on the table. I did , however, make the horseradish cream sauce, and I did do a lot of the dishes afterward. And Gibson helped out whenever she was needed to clean the floor, so we all contributed in some way.
The final menu?
Heirloom tomato salad with burrata. Grilled potatoes and corn on the cob. Olive oil bread (Brad called it “Mario Bread” because he totaly stole the recipe from Mario Batali’s restaurant). And last but certainly not least – Skirt steak with chimmichurri and my horseradish cream sauce.
Just a typical Friday night meal.
I die.
To those who we thought were coming over for dinner, you totally missed out. But don’t worry, we have lots of leftovers. And we will probably do it again next Friday night, so clear your schedules.
3 oz Liquids
I consider myself a professional traveler. I gained this title in my college years, being a Rapid Rewards member with Southwest and flying back and forth between Orlando and BWI for every break. I know to wear shoes that are easy to slip out of at security, I can get my laptop out and in its own bin in 30 seconds flat, I check in before I get to the airport and I usually take all sharp objects out of my carry on bags. Get behind me in a security line and I promise you will not be disappointed.
Even the new metal detector virtual strip search doesn’t really bother me. I do feel like I have to do it an unusually high percentage of the time, but whatever. Maybe one time I will write something really great on my butt in xray proof pen (does that exist?) or draw a smily face on my stomach so they can be entertained in that back room of faceless naked people xrays. It really can’t be the most interesting job in the world.
But until I get that creative, I just like to get through and get to my gate. And on the way to Miami this weekend, the guy in front of me looked pretty normal so I wasn’t too concerned. I went through the xray thingy, raised my hands over my head, stood still, and then waited for my bag to get through. My heart dropped a little when security came around to get a bag, but they ask that guy in front of me if they can look through his carry on. Of course I’m nosy while I’m putting my flip flops back on because I have to get a look at what he got caught for.
No lie, there was a giant, unopened bottle of water in his suitcase. Like a 2 liter bottle of water. Packed perfectly. And his come back to the security guard was “its just water”.
Duh, its just water. Where have you been the past ten years?? And where were you the last ten minutes when we waited in line next to ten BILLION signs that say no liquids over 3 ounces? Did you see all the pictures of water bottles then? With the big red circle with a slash through it? No?
Anyway, I’m sure I rolled my eyes, because that’s just what I do, and then I told everyone I was with in Miami about how this stupid guy thought he would get away with all that water. So dumb.
So now I’m back at Miami International and I used my awesome boarding pass that was just a QR code on my phone and I’m going through security, feeling all cocky, when they bring out MY bag and ask if they can go through it.
I had a freaking water bottle.
The only excuse I can give is that I have a super Miami hangover and I must be out of practice. It really isn’t like me. Really.
I’d also like to personally apologize to the guy in LAX who I made so much fun of. What karma.
See you in L.A….
West Coast
Last night I took this picture before getting dinner at Brads old restaurant, Bar Pintxo…
THE KEY OF KELS 