Eggs Poached in Spicy Tomato Sauce (or Shakshuka)

It was rainy today in Boston, so I decided to make something comforting and a little warming that still manages to feel light (being spring and all). Perhaps the only reason it feels light to me is because it is meatless. The past week feels like it's been all about meat, as I've cooked steak, pork chops, and several (pasta) dishes that contain bacon.

I made this dish only once, about a year ago. I couldn't remember much about the recipe, besides that it was delicious and ridiculously easy. Shakshuka is a dish that has roots in Tunisia, Israel, and Morocco (no big surprise that I like it so much), but I could easily see it adapted to reflect Spanish, or even Italian flavors. After combining a few recipes that sounded best to me, this is what I came up with:

Eggs Poached in Spicy Tomato Sauce: The No-Recipe Recipe

Sautee onions and spicy peppers in olive oil. I used jalapenos because Chris and I both like heat. Add garlic and spices. Continue cooking.

Add tomatoes and a little water, let simmer. Add salt to taste, but go easy. The feta we sprinkle on at the end adds saltiness, too.

Carefully drop in eggs, and then cover to steam them till they're done to your preference. I like a nice, runny yolk. I covered the eggs with foil because I don't have a lid that fits this pan.

Uncover and spoon some of the tomato sauce on top of each egg. Sprinkle with feta cheese and/or herbs. Serve with bread. I warmed up some store-bought whole wheat Naan in the oven, but chewy pita bread is also a delicious option.

I made homemade chimichurri sauce to spoon over the steaks we had on Sunday, and since then, the leftovers have become our favorite go-to condiment. Chris, especially, has been putting it on everything from veggies to couscous. Since I didn't have any fresh herbs, I drizzled some chimichurri over the eggs. It was divine. Fresh parsley seems to be the standard herb for this dish, but I also think mint (or a combination of parsley and mint) would be nice.

Eggs Poached in Spicy Tomato Sauce: The Real Recipe
A couple tablespoons olive oil
3 jalapeños, seeded and finely chopped
1/2 large onion, chopped
5 cloves garlic, smashed then sliced
1 teaspoon ground cumin
1 tablespoon paprika
1 28-ounce can whole peeled tomatoes
Salt, to taste
5 eggs
Feta cheese crumbles
Fresh herbs (optional)
Warm Naan bread or pitas for scooping

Heat oil in a skillet over medium-high heat. Add jalapenos and onions and cook, stirring occasionally, until soft. Add garlic, cumin, and paprika, and cook, stirring, about 2 more minutes. Either pour the tomatoes (and their liquid) into a bowl and crush with your hands before adding to the skillet or pour the whole can into the skillet and break up the tomatoes with a potato masher. Fill the emptied tomato can about a quarter of the way full with water and add to the skillet. Reduce heat to medium, and simmer, stirring occasionally, until thickened and slightly reduced, about 10 minutes. Season sauce with salt. Crack eggs over sauce so that eggs are evenly nestled across sauce. Cover skillet and cook until yolks are just set, about 4-5 minutes. Using a spoon, baste the whites of the eggs with tomato mixture, being careful not to disturb the yolk. Sprinkle with feta and herbs and serve with bread, for dipping.

Catie's Chimichurri
1 bunch cilantro, finely chopped
1/2 bunch of parsley, finely chopped or a couple good squeezes of parsley paste
1 cup of olive oil
1/3 cup red wine vinegar or combination of red wine vinegar and fresh lime juice
6 cloves of garlic, minced
2-3 shakes of red pepper flakes
1 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon black pepper

Whisk all ingredients to combine. Serve over grilled meats or seafood or use as a dressing, marinade, or condiment. Store in the fridge.

The Move

 (photo by Chris)

I apologize for the break in posting. I had this thing come up--The Move. The photo above is what my life looked like less than three weeks ago. Note the expert packing job, thanks to my dad. My loveseat made it to Morris but unfortunately didn't make it to Boston. Besides that, everything arrived to our destination--and unharmed, to boot. Despite being an emotional wreck during the weeks leading up to The Move, as soon as Chris flew in, all my anxiety melted. 

Of course, there were tearful goodbyes. First, to my Des Moines family, the Conways. Then, to Kaelin. She's half of the wonderful couple that brought Chris and I together and my best friend. We stopped by their house late the night before The Move. Dave asked if I wanted a glass of wine and I started to weep. "I just want to cuddle with Kaelin," I said, sinking to the couch. How pathetic.

After we began to settle into our new home, it was wonderful being able to spend a few days with my parents, showing them Boston. My dad had never been to the city, and my mom last visited when she was just twelve. Despite uncooperative weather, we managed to do a lot of exploring. The highlight was eating in the North End. One night, Chris and I treated them to dinner at Trattoria Il Panino. Maria seemed to be convinced my dad was an undercover celebrity, and kept trying to cajole him into adding his photo next to Sofia Loren's, Tom Brady's, or Matt Damon's on their walls. Cappuccinos were the perfect ending to the evening. The next night we split a couple pizzas at Pizzeria Regina. It was the absolute best pizza I've had in a long time, with crust so thin and crispy, it rivals our favorite Chicago joints. I wish I would've taken photos of our dishes at these restaurants. Mental note taken. 

Since my parents returned home, it's just been Chris and I figuring things out together. I've been working from home in our guest bedroom/office. My desk sits in front of a bay window, so I have a pretty (and sometimes interesting) view of the neighborhood all day long. I try to venture out as often as possible, and our weekends have been filled with lots of walks, or adventures, as we like to call them. Last Sunday's walk included a 4.5 mile trek along the Charles River. Again, I need to remember to be more of a photographer. It would help if I had a decent camera.

Thoughts on Ash Wednesday

photo credit: http://renewcommunity.org

The summer after I graduated college was a defining period of time for me. I had just landed a job in my field and was subletting an apartment from some pharmacy school friends who were back home for the summer. For the first time, I wasn't home for the summer either. I was in Des Moines, alone. I was reeling from two emotionally draining breakups, was feeling rather crushed and a bit indignant. I decided the cure was to do only things that made me happy. And my goodness, did I stick to that prescription.

I worked hard during the week, which was wonderful, because I positively loved it. My weekend routine became waking up  early and going for a nice long walk before it got too hot out. Then, I'd cool down, soaking in the bathtub, reading a book. In the afternoons, I'd choose a recipe I'd never tried before, buy all the ingredients, and spend the rest of the day cooking up a storm. I'd often rent a movie or two to watch at night. I also began going to the theatre to watch movies alone (still one of my favorite habits). I spent a lot of time at Mars Cafe, my favorite coffee place, where they came to know that I always ordered a medium iced mocha--a sign that I was surely spending too much money there. The key was, though, never feeling guilty about a bit of it. Smoked salmon and Haagen Dazs for dinner? Why not, I wasn't cooking for anyone else. Reading a stack of magazines under a tree at Gray's Lake when I should be doing laundry? Who cares, the laundry will be there waiting for me.

By the end of that totally indulgent summer, I was feeling fresh, fabulous, and healed.

The reason I like Lent so much is that it's sort of the opposite of the summer. I spend most of the year feeling pretty good about myself, and then comes Lent--a time to remember what sacrifice is all about. Not that I spend the whole year spoiling myself, but to be honest, I don't give myself too hard of a time. I know that I'm a good person, and that I work hard. I try to be compassionate and kind. I'm a loving and supportive daughter, friend, and partner. And when it comes to "guilty pleasures," well, I don't really have any. I figure if something makes me happy, and it's not hurting anyone, then how bad can it really be? But Lent sort of is that time where I force myself to hold back. Self-imposed restrictions can be a challenge because you have no one to answer to but yourself (and, well, God). But I thrive on all of it. I love giving up meat on Friday, because, frankly, it's the closest I'll ever get to being vegetarian. And I love making myself go to things like Stations of the Cross, and Confession, and Rosary, because the rest of the year, I figure myself to be a pretty damn good Catholic for going to Mass (almost) every Sunday and on Holy Days of Obligation. On Ash Wednesday, I sing the songs that are my favorite because we only sing them once a year, and faithfully receive the little black cross on my forehead. "Remember you are dust, and to dust you shall return."

And like the end of that one summer, when Easter rolls around, I feel fresh, fabulous, and healed.

The Old Ladies Who Keep Me Sane

For the past, oh, year-and-a-half, I've been spending my Wednesday evenings at a nearby assisted living center, volunteering in what's called "Gather and Gab"--a coffee/ice cream/gift shop. And I swear that it keeps me sane. This week, especially, was a challenging one at work. Nothing bad happened, it just seemed like every day, I couldn't make any progress on my to-do list. Everything that came across my desk was Hot!, and back-to-back-to-back meetings were more common that usual. Anyway, by the time Wednesday rolled around (which felt like it should have been Friday), I was so ready for what's become my Wednesday Night Normal. The experience has become so standard, it feels like therapy. Here's the breakdown:

1) Come home from work, eat some leftovers (or a bowl of cereal) for dinner, and watch 22 minutes of Rachel Ray making waffles with bacon inside. Or macaroni with barbecue sauce. Or burgers made of ground-up ham.

2) Decide I really don't want to leave the couch and contemplate calling a substitute to fill in for me.

3) Remember what a pain it was to find a sub the one and only time I called in sick.

4) Drag my butt off the couch. Change into jeans. Drive the two blocks Wesley Acres. (What?! It's dark outside! And cold.)

5) Wait 20 minutes for my first customer. There's a stuffed toy duck that dances and quacks when you squeeze its foot. She plays it three times and leaves.

6) Two or three people pop their heads in to say hello and comment how slow business is.

7) Organize the greeting cards. Contemplate buying my future mother-in-law a pair of clip-on earrings. Rearrange the sassy magnets. ("Today I will master the art of doing nothing.")

8) A group of women arrives and I make them free ice cream cones. Dorothy remarks on my superior scooping skills and comments that I'm very strong. I agree with her.

9) Hazel and I have the same exact conversation we have had for the past year. It begins with me describing where my hometown, Morris, IL is and ends with her asking me if I know her slender, dark-haired daughter-in-law Dana. Unfortunately, I don't.

10) Charlotte tells a joke about lemmings. We all laugh because it actually is a very funny joke.

11) Meanwhile, an elderly, power-walking man passes our shop 12 times.

12) The clock strikes 8:00. We clean-up and say our goodbyes.

Of course, there are minor variations to the routine. Sometimes Hazel comes alone. Sometimes a couple will stop by after going out to eat to take some ice cream back to their apartment. Sometimes a daughter comes in with her mother, and they try on necklaces. Sometimes the stories are much much better than others. For instance, Hazel and her husband lived in Saint Louis during the time the arch was being constructed. She was a secretary for an advertising agency that worked with some big-name clients. Like Coca Cola. Very Mad Men. Other times, their stories are heartbreaking. Charlotte lost a young daughter to breast cancer.

No matter what, though, I always end up leaving Gather and Gab feeling fantastic. I still can't pinpoint what it is. To be honest, some nights are super boring, but there's always someone that does or says something that just makes me feel good inside and so glad that I decided to come. It's one of the biggest things I'm going to miss when I move to Boston.

*I'd also like to note that everyone I encounter is overwhelmingly grateful and appreciative. Of me, of the staff, of each other. It's inspiring.

The First Blog Post

The ever-important first blog post. It's gotta be good. It sets the tone. Or does it? I could feign ignorance: "I figured it was about time I started one of those bloggy-things. Hope I can figure it out!" (Which, admittedly, is essentially how my brief foray into Twitter began.) I could try to be witty and begin my blog with a tongue-in-cheek haiku about, say, UGG boots or country music or typography. I could capitalize on the fact that today's February 14th, and Valentine's Day is, like, sooo overrated.

Instead, I'll just try my best to be honest. Fact is, I have some stuff I'd like to say, and I think maybe some people would like to hear my thoughts. Or laugh at my thoughts. Or see if I'm going to mention them and the one time you-know-what happened. They say the key to building a loyal blog audience is to really focus your content around a niche topic. You know, like One Million Ways to Eat a Banana or True Stories of Ghosts That Haunt Middle Schools or Decorating in Shades of Eggplant. My apologies if any of those ideas have been taken.

My blog, at least for now, is going to be slightly less focused. Expect to read about my upcoming move to Boston, my passion for cooking, and my poor sense of direction. I might even throw in some wedding details here and there. Sounds thrilling, right? Right?! Anyway, thanks for giving me a shot, and we'll just see how it goes. Cheers!