Last night we celebrated my brother’s 50th birthday. I brought mini cup cakes – 50 of them - Death by Chocolate with Cream Cheese Frosting and of course I had to say a few words…
I met John before any of you. I remember the morning he was born. My sister Brenda woke me up at about 6 a.m. to tell me we had a new baby brother. She was obviously very excited. I think she asked me if I was too. I told her no, rolled over and went back to sleep.
We met him a few days later when he came home from Newton-Wellesley Hospital. That’s the day I became a middle child. That’s also the day he stole my bedroom.
But back to John. We called him Johnny then but he was often referred to as the god loved angel. In spite of my indifference he was a cute baby, a little skinny with long arms and legs, white gold curls and a charming disposition. My mother was putty in his hands.
We are all grateful that John was born because without him our family history would be vague at best.
For example … we are hard put to answer the question – When did you move to Jackson Road? Only answer we are able to come up with … well, it was before John was born so it was before 1962.
But ask … when did you build the house in New Hampshire? That one is easy. John was 4 so it must have been 1966. All major purchases, life changes and vacations can be dated by John’s age at the time.
When did you ski Aspen? Well it was February vacation. John broke his leg. He was 8. It was 1971.
When did Susan move to Switzerland? John was in his last year at BU so it must have been 1984.
When did my dad retire? Well, John graduated from BU the year before, so it must have been 1985.
How many years have my parents been married? Well the weekend John married Jen was their 40th anniversary. So John’s been married 21 years which makes it 61 for Mom and Dad.
Oh … and by the way we moved to Jackson Road in 1959. I had just turned 4.
When I was little we always took our summer vacation in August. I was just a toddler the first summer we rented Mrs. Bergenheim’s ramshackle old cottage. My feet were tiny then and they’re not terribly large to this day. Anyway, I was none too steady on my little feet and prone to tip over at the smallest provocation. One rainy afternoon, I was doing the toddler dash around the cottage. I’m guessing my sister Brenda was chasing me or I was running in hopes that she’d take up the chase. Running through the kitchen, I fell over, banged into Mrs. Bergenheim’s old cast-iron stove and lost a tooth.
I don’t remember much but I’m sure it was pretty scary at the time. That said, it’s not really clear who was more frightened, my mother, my sister, our baby sitter Ellie or me. What with all the blood, shrieks and tears, it must have been both loud and messy. Mom talked about it for years.
Although I steered clear of the stove for the rest of the summer and every summer thereafter, the event did not do any major damage to my fragile, little psyche. At least, I don’t think it did. I suppose if I was one of those people who hated to cook, I could blame it on Mrs. Bergenheim and her cast iron stove.
I soon recovered and by some dental miracle a new baby tooth grew in to replace the old one. Which is a very good thing since in all the confusion, fuss and bother, no one remembered to put the tooth under my pillow for the tooth fairy. I don’t know if she tried to visit or not but if she did, she went back to her tree hollow empty-handed. Well, not completely empty, she still had my quarter.
The little replacement tooth stayed put until I reached the second, or maybe it was third grade. That was the year that I lost most of my baby teeth to make way for permanent choppers. I spent a good portion of the year looking adorable with a toothless grin.
In spite of my dental miracle, my luck didn’t hold. As they are apt to do, those permanent choppers grew in crooked and overcrowded. First, the dentist yanked four of them out by the roots. Then the orthodontist encased them in steel bands and wires. Every month for three years I visited the orthodontist’s torture chamber. He was constantly stringing more wires and tightening them to the breaking point. To add insult to injury, he added rubber bands which periodically broke free and sprung across the dinner table or classroom. My once charming grin was a blinding flash of metal.
Braces couldn’t have come at a worse time. I was thirteen and at my most vulnerable. My nose was already too big and beaky. Or at least, I thought it was. My very curly hair had a mind of its own. Like an overanxious teenager, it refused to calm down, preferring to jump out in a million different directions, especially on a hot, humid summer days. What’s more, I was about five pounds heavier than my glamorous older sister. Yes, the very same older sister whose perfectly straight teeth didn’t need braces. And yes again, the very same sister whose perfectly straight hair could have been featured in a shampoo ad in Seventeen magazine. Or so I thought.
Somehow I managed to survive it all, the teenage traumas and dramas. The braces came off. Either my nose shrunk or my face grew into it. Or maybe it was never all that big in the first place, just a charming little beak. I’d like to say that my hair was transformed from a frizzy mess to gorgeous waves. I’d like to say it but it wouldn’t be true. (After all these years, is it possible that a few of those teenage traumas or dramas are still hanging around!?!)
Stay safe and enjoy the backside of summer. Bon appétit!
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Artichoke Leaves with Shrimp
. A few easy steps and definitely worth the effort. These artichoke leaves are one of my favorite appetizers. Enjoy!
1-2 large artichokes, trimmed
Sun-dried Tomato Dip
Small shrimp, peeled and cooked
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Put the artichokes in a steamer basket set over just enough water to touch the bottom of the basket. Bring the water to boil. Reduce the heat to medium, cover, and steam for 45 minutes or until you can pull the leaves off easily and the flesh is tender. (You may need to add more water to the pot before the artichokes are cooked through.)
Remove the artichokes from the pot. When the artichokes are cool enough to handle, gently pull off the sturdy outer leaves. Reserve the floppy inner leaves and choke for another use.
Dab a little Sun-dried Tomato Dip at the base of each artichoke leaf and top with a small shrimp. Arrange the leaves on a platter and pass.
Sun-dried Tomato Dip
Makes about 1 cup
4 halves oil packed sun-dried tomatoes, drained and diced
2 cloves garlic
1 tablespoon red wine vinegar
2 tablespoons chopped fresh tarragon or basil
1 tablespoon chopped fresh parsley
Dash hot pepper sauce
About 1/3 cup mayonnaise
About 1/3 cup sour cream
Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper to taste
Combine the sun-dried tomatoes, garlic, vinegar, herbs and hot sauce in a small food processor and process until smooth. Add the mayonnaise and sour cream and process to combine.
Cover and refrigerate extra dip and serve it with raw veggies or serve it with cocktail shrimp.
Did you suffer through braces in middle school and high school? I’d love to hear from you! Let’s get a conversation going. To make a comment, just click on Comments below.
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It is always a tough time, the end of the school year. Classrooms become hot and stuffy. Shades are drawn in the halfhearted hope that the room will stay cooler. Both teachers and students start to feel more than a bit lethargic. As we slide into June, everyone is feeling like they are long overdue for a vacation.
It wasn’t so bad when we were in elementary school. Maybe it’s changed, but if memory serves me the month of June was sprinkled liberally with field trips, performances and class parties. There were trips to Benson’s Wild Animal Farm and the Franklin Park Zoo. There were pilgrimages to Sturbridge Village and Plimoth Plantation. In sixth grade we got to go to Fenway Park and watch the Red Sox from the bleachers. It was a magic day with Yaz, Tony C., Ken Harrelson, Jim Lonborg and Rico Petrocelli.
When we weren’t gallivanting around the greater Boston area we were kept busy with special projects and performances. We decorated our classrooms and school hallways with our artwork. We were hustled outside for field days. Ostensibly designed to show off our athletic prowess, I suspect these events were purely an excuse to get us outdoors.
Every year there was recital or show of some sort. Mostly we sang a few songs although one year we did a square dance. In third or fourth grade, we learned to play the recorder and showed off our tooting talent at the yearend recital. I use the terms “we” and “our” loosely. I was absolutely hopeless at reading music. Pulling even one decent note out of my little plastic flute was impossible and melodies were certainly beyond me. I stood there quietly twiddling my fingers, pretending to play and hoping that no one noticed.
It was all bearable, or at least almost bearable, until we got to junior high. And it only got worst from there. Suddenly, the month of June was not for ticking off the final days but for writing papers and taking exams. The older we got the worse it got. Gone were the days of simple book reports and dioramas made from old shoe boxes. Yes, there was an assembly with musical performances but the preparations didn’t take any time away from our science, math or English classes. There were no trips to the aquarium to swim with the fishes or strolls along the Freedom Trail. And there were certainly no cupcakes during homeroom.
Only the seniors escaped. Some official, in his or her infinite wisdom, realized that seniors checked out as soon the first college acceptance letter hit the mail slot. Senior-itis was rampant; especially on hot days. To avoid a lot of hassle, fuss and fight, seniors finished classes a month early and did not take final exams. By late May, they were free to play, start summer jobs or pester their parents.
When I was a freshman, my sister Brenda was a senior. It was my first year of high school and my first real final exams so I was particularly jealous of her good fortune. To make matters worse, that particular June was warm and wonderful, picture perfect. (Or at least that’s how I remember it.) Every morning I reluctantly hauled myself out of bed while she lollygagged around until noon. Brenda spent the afternoons working on her tan while I slaved over biology and algebra. Every evening after dinner, I reluctantly dragged myself to my room to study. Meanwhile, my sister was outside enjoying the fresh air or out and about with her friends.
Justice was not served for three long years. Finally, it was my senior year and I too got a few extra weeks to play! Enjoy the first days of summer and bon appétit!
Not Your Ordinary Burger No need to settle for the same old-same old. Liven up your next burger with a little goat cheese and a delicious Sun-dried Tomato Aioli. Enjoy!
Serves 4
4 good quality hamburger buns
1 pound ground beef
4-6 ounces fresh goat cheese
Kosher salt and freshly ground pepper to taste
Garnish:
Arugula
Sun-dried Tomato Aioli (recipe follows)
Feel free to pile on additional topping to your heart’s content!
Preheat the grill to medium high.
Divide the ground beef into 8 pieces. Gently form thin patties and season with salt and pepper. Crumble goat cheese in the center of 4 patties. Top each with one of the remaining patties and seal the edges. Cook the burgers flipping once to desired doneness, 3-5 minutes per side for medium rare.
Meanwhile, toast the buns or wrap in foil and warm on the grill.
Serve the burgers on buns, garnished with arugula and topped with Sun-dried Tomato Aioli.
Sun-dried Tomato Aioli Makes about 1 cup.
1/2 cup olive oil
1/4 cup mayonnaise
2 tablespoons red wine vinegar
6 halves oil packed sun-dried tomatoes, drained
1 small chunk red onion, about 1-inch square
2 cloves garlic
2 tablespoons chopped fresh tarragon or basil leaves
1 tablespoon chopped fresh parsley leaves
Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper to taste
Put all of the ingredients into the bowl of a small food processor. Process until smooth and creamy.
Transfer to a serving dish, cover and refrigerate for 4 hours or overnight to combine the flavors. Whisk before serving.
Do you have a question? An idea, a few thoughts or an opinion you’d like to share? I’d love to hear from you! Let’s get a conversation going. To make a comment, just click on Comments below.
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Spring has sprung. I can tell because the cyclists are out. Dressed from head-to-toe in body-hugging, brightly colored miracle fibers, they are hard to miss. Some ride solo while others travel in packs. Or perhaps the proper term is horde or herd or gaggle.
I still remember the first time I rode a bike without training wheels. It was a glorious spring day and I wandered down the street looking for my little gang of friends. I hit the jackpot because I found more than my three best pals. There was a whole bunch of kids hanging out behind the Dosdall’s house. I hadn’t been on training wheels all that long but for whatever reason, one of the older girls decided it was time for me to get down to two wheels.
I was an agreeable sort so I hopped on a little two wheeler and just started riding. No drama, no fears, no tumbles or tears. I surprised myself at how easy it was, nothing like my older sister’s trials and tribulations. I still remember watching my Dad and our neighbor Mr. Caruso patiently (at least Mr. Caruso was patient) teaching Brenda to ride a two wheeler. It took an entire afternoon, maybe more. It certainly took long enough for me to get bored and wander off before she got the hang of it.
Perhaps my most exciting bicycling adventure occurred a year or two later. That’s when I flew into a five-way intersection at death-defying speed. My mother and sister happened to be in the front yard. They watched in terrified, jaw-dropped horror as I roared down Jefferson Road, flew across Oakland Street and Comeau and then careened into our driveway.
I was grounded for two weeks.
I complained loudly and blamed my high speed antics on faulty brakes. My bikes were hand-me-downs and had a tendency to rattle, shimmy and shake. They were passed down from my sister and weren’t always new when she got them. But my mother would hear none of it and I was on foot for fourteen, long days.
I finally got my first new bike when I was eleven. After years of rattley old second-, third- and fourth-hand bikes, a shiny new, 3-speed Schwinn appeared under the Christmas tree. I was just entering that icky stage. You know it. That time in a girl’s life when being cool goes beyond important or critical; it’s a categorical imperative. Bikes were not cool in my sixth grade class. Neglected and rejected, my beautiful, blue Schwinn was relegated to a corner of the garage.
At some point in high school, bikes became hip again and I rescued mine from the dust and cobwebs. I rode it everywhere, especially to school. My bus picked up an ungodly hour. By bicycling to school, I could grab an extra hour of shuteye and still slip into homeroom before the last bell.
I rode that bike through high school and college and a few years more. It took me up hill, down dale and all over town. It eventually developed a few rattles but it was always reliable and virtually indestructible. We finally parted ways when I upgraded to a 10-speed model. But bicycles never die, they just move to someone else’s garage. I don’t remember who took over my no-longer-shiny Schwinn. After hundreds, maybe thousands, of miles it was a little worse for wear. Hopefully it went some agreeable sort who didn’t worry too much about being cool.
Bon appétit!
Tequila Shrimp with Jicama Slaw Celebrate Cinqo de Mayo with some spicy shrimp and a refreshing slaw. Watch me cook up this dish on Cook’s Corner with Sean McDonald on NH’s ABC affiliate WMUR. Enjoy! Serves 6
Olive oil
1-2 tablespoons (or to taste) finely chopped jalapeño pepper
2 cloves garlic, finely chopped
1/2 shallot, finely chopped
1 teaspoon cumin
Kosher salt and freshly ground pepper to taste
1/4 cup tequila
Juice of 1 lime
About 2 1/2 pounds large shrimp, peeled and de-veined
Garnish: fresh chopped cilantro
Heat a little olive oil in a large sauté pan. Add the jalapeño, garlic and shallots; season with cumin, salt and pepper and sauté 2-3 minutes. Add the tequila and lime juice; raise heat to medium high and simmer for 2 or 3 minutes, until the liquid is reduced at least by half.
Add the shrimp and toss to coat. Cook the shrimp for 2-3 minutes or until pink, do not overcook. Sprinkle with cilantro and serve warm or at room temperature with Jicama slaw.
These shrimp are also a great alternative to that same-old-same-old shrimp cocktail with the red cocktail sauce. Put the shrimp on a large platter, sprinkle with cilantro and pass – don’t forget the toothpicks. Serve warm or at room temperature.
Jicama Slaw Not just for shrimp, Jicama Slaw is also delicious with chicken and pork.
Juice of 1/2 lime
1 tablespoon apple cider vinegar
1 tablespoon honey
1 clove garlic, minced
1 teaspoon (or to taste) minced jalapeño
1 teaspoon ground cumin
Kosher salt and freshly ground pepper to taste
1/2 cup olive oil
1 jicama, peeled and cut in julienne or shredded
1 European cucumber, chopped
1 red or yellow bell pepper, cut in julienne
2 carrots, shredded
4-6 radishes, cut in julienne
2 tablespoons chopped cilantro leaves
In a small bowl, whisk together the lime juice, vinegar, honey, garlic, jalapeño, cumin, salt and pepper. Slowly whisk in the olive oil. Let the vinaigrette sit at room temperature to combine the flavors while you chop the veggies.
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Place the jicama, cucumber, peppers, carrots, radish and cilantro in a large bowl; toss to combine. Lightly coat with vinaigrette and toss. Let sit for 15 minutes at room temperature (or longer in the refrigerator) before serving.
Wonderful with seafood, this slaw is also great side dish with grilled chicken or steak.
Do you have a question? An idea, a few thoughts or an opinion you’d like to share? I’d love to hear from you! Let’s get a conversation going. To make a comment, just click on Comments below.
I’d be delighted to add you to the growing list of blog subscribers. To subscribe: just scroll back up, fill in your email address and click on the Sign Me Up button. You’ll get an email asking you to confirm your subscription … confirm and you will automatically receive a new story and recipe every week.
The long Columbus Day Weekend is coming up. With any luck we will enjoy a glorious three days. The sun will shine in a bright blue sky and the autumn leaves will astound us with a gorgeous display of red and gold. Anticipating the ice, sleet and snow to come, family and friends will gather for one last hike in the mountains or a final picnic on the beach.
When we were little, Columbus Day was not celebrated on the second Monday in October, but on the 12th. It commemorated the day Columbus first spotted land after his perilous voyage across the Atlantic. My sister’s birthday is October 12th. Every year Brenda tortured me by claiming that all of America took the day off to celebrate her birthday. And even though I did not really believe her, I was green with envy.
Yes, indeedy, throughout my childhood sibling rivalry was alive and well at our house. Or at least it was alive and well in my heart. I was sandwiched between my older sister and little brother. I was and still am the poor, pitiful middle child. Everything they tell you about middle children is true. Check our empty baby books; we’re lucky if our name and birthday are scribbled on the first page. Go through the family photo albums and just try and find a picture of us. Throughout our childhood, we wear hand-me-downs, ride our sister’s old bike and never, ever get to ride shot-gun. Yes, we are a pitiful lot.
About the time she became a teenager I decided my sister was perfect. Brenda, with her long, straight locks, never had a bad hair day. My curly mop was always out of control. She showed off her perfect gams with brightly colored mini-skirts. She wore black eye liner and pale pink lip gloss with cool confidence. She was in control. Heck, she had hurricanes named after her. They called off school every year on account of her birthday. She had a driver’s license. It seemed to me that if my teenage sister wasn’t perfect, she came pretty close. And it drove me nuts.
And then there was my brother. After seven years of basking in the glory of being the youngest, the baby, suddenly I had a brother. Well I guess not so suddenly, we were given about nine months warning. My brother was nowhere near as perfect as my sister, BUT, and it’s a big but, he was a boy. John was the charming, fair-haired son that every mother and father dream of having. Even when he was a tiny baby he was gregarious and funny and made everyone laugh. He was the God-loved-angel.
It took some time but I eventually forgave them their sins of perfection and of charm. I don’t just love my sister and brother, I really like them. Oh sure there are still times when I might want to throttle one or both of them. Heck, I’m sure there are lots of times when one or both of them want to throttle me. But I know that I can always count on them, as they can count on me.
I am looking forward to the long holiday weekend. If I’m lucky I’ll get to spend some time with my sister and brother and their families. We’ll take a walk through the woods or around the lake, share a meal and, with the elections less than a month away, maybe enter into a lively political debate.
However you spend the long holiday weekend, enjoy the autumn sunshine, foliage and the time you spend with family and friends.
Bon appétit!
Braised Beef Bourguignon This delicious braised beef recipe removes many of the steps in a classic French Boeuf Bourguignon. It is still delicious; warm and comforting on a crisp fall evening. Try it out at your next family get-together and enjoy!
Serves 6-8
3 pounds thick-cut London broil
4 ounces thick-cut bacon, roughly chopped
1 large onion, peeled and chopped
3-4 carrots, peeled and chopped
4-5 stalks of celery, chopped
2 teaspoons herbs de Provence
1/4 teaspoon chili pepper flakes, or to taste
3 garlic cloves, minced
1 cup tomato puree
3-4 cups dry red wine
3-4 cups beef broth
1 bay leaf
1 pound mushrooms, sliced
1 pound frozen pearl onions
1/2 cup sour cream
Kosher salt and freshly ground pepper
Garnish: fresh chopped parsley
1. Preheat oven to 350 degrees.
2. Cook the bacon in a heavy casserole over medium-low heat until crisp and brown. Remove the bacon and reserve. Pour off all but 1-2 tablespoons of bacon fat and reserve.
3. Brown the beef over medium-high heat 3-5 minutes per side. Remove the beef and add to the reserved bacon.
4. Reduce heat to medium. Add 1-2 tablespoons of bacon fat to the pot (if you run out of bacon fat, substitute with a little olive oil); add the onion, carrot and celery; sprinkle with herbs de Provence and chili pepper flakes and sauté until the onion is translucent. Add the garlic and sauté 1-2 minutes more.
5. Put the beef and bacon back into the stew pot. Add the tomatoes, wine, beef stock and bay leaf. Cover the pot; transfer to oven. Cook at 350 degrees for 1 hour.
6. Sauté the mushrooms in a little olive oil over medium heat until lightly browned. Add the mushrooms, pearl onions and sour cream to the stew pot and stir gently to combine. Check for seasoning; add salt and pepper to taste.
7. Return the pot to the oven and continue cooking, covered, until beef is very tender about 1 hour. If the stew gets too dry, add more wine and/or stock. Remove the meat from the casserole and cut across the grain in thick slices. Garnish with parsley, serve with the vegetables and a little sauce.
This dish can be made 2 or 3 days ahead. Bring to a simmer on top of the stove and then transfer to a 350 degree oven and cook for about 30 minutes or until the meat is warmed through.
Do you have a question? An idea, a few thoughts or an opinion you’d like to share? I’d love to hear from you! Let’s get a conversation going. To make a comment, just click on Comments below.
I’d be delighted to add you to the growing list of blog subscribers. To subscribe: just scroll back up, fill in your email address and click on the Sign Me Up button. You’ll get an email asking you to confirm your subscription … confirm and you will automatically receive a new story and recipe every week.
It is hurricane season again. Up and down the southern Atlantic seaboard and the Gulf Coast red flags give storm warnings, windows are boarded up with plywood, sand bags are filled, neighborhoods are evacuated and lots prayers are said. Although Gustav was not the storm of the century, it was hardly a gentle summer shower. Now Hanna, Ike and Josephine are coming fast on his heels.
New England has a long history of severe weather. Luckily, our brushes with hurricanes are few and far between. The first hurricane recorded in New England was the Great Colonial Hurricane. It brought death and destruction in August 1635. The Great Hurricane of 1938 blew through with 140 miles per hour wind gusts. Every state in New England was affected. Seven hundred people were lost, 2,000 were injured and damages totaled more than $400 million. More recently, Carol, Diane and Donna hit us hard in the 1950’s and 60’s, Gloria unleashed her fury in 1985 and Bob struck in 1991.
While we can be thankful that most hurricanes blow themselves out by the time they reach us, we have our own weather trials and tribulations. We battle heavy snow in winter, flooding in spring and fall and powerful thunderstorms in summer. These mighty storms are generally followed by brilliant sunshine and bright blue skies. As Mark Twain once said “If you don’t like the weather in New England wait a minute and it will change.”
Maybe it is because they are so horrific, so newsworthy and, at least locally, so few and far between but hurricanes have long been a curiosity to me. My fascination started when I was five or six. We were on the Cape, spending the summer close to grandparents, aunts, uncles and cousins and enjoying time in the ocean and on beach. Tropical storm Brenda came roaring up the coast.
I was green with envy. How could my sister be so important to have a hurricane named after her? It was just not fair. First, there was her birthday. My sister, Brenda, was born on October 12th. In those days we celebrated Columbus Day on the 12th not the second Monday in October. Brenda always claimed that her birthday was the reason for the holiday. In fact she bragged that the entire nation took a day off from school and work to celebrate her birth. Now suddenly a big massive storm was named for her. Forget that it was only a tropical storm, she declared it a hurricane.
By the time Hurricane Brenda reached our little beach front neighborhood, the wind and rain had subsided. Knowing that their two little girls would not be blown across the canal, we were allowed to go out and play in the rain. We donned our bathing suits and flip-flops, grabbed our umbrellas and headed out with our dad. He took us down to the beach to watch the dark water and crashing waves. Even if the storm had more or less blown itself out, our trip to the beach was a grand adventure and I was thrilled to be out and about in a hurricane. I remember gaily dancing down the rainy street, wondering when Hurricane Susan would come roaring up the coast.
Luckily, she never did.
At least for now New Orleans and the Gulf have been more or less spared. Let’s hope for the best as hurricane season continues. I wish you a warm and wonderful September. May your days be filled with warm sunshine and your nights bright with clear moonlight,
Sort’a Like Jambalaya
Celebrate the courage of the people of New Orleans and the Gulf Coast with this flavorful stew. It may be a pretty far cry from traditional Louisiana jambalaya, but it is great party fare and gets rave reviews.
Serves 8-10
1 yellow pepper, chopped
1 medium onion, chopped
4 cloves garlic, minced
1 tablespoon hot pepper sauce or to taste
1 tablespoon minced jalapeño pepper or to taste
1 teaspoon dried thyme
1 teaspoon dried sage
1 teaspoon cumin
1 pound mushrooms, sliced
1/2 – 1 pound hot Italian sausage
1 1/2 pounds skinless, boneless chicken breast
1-2 cups chicken stock
2 zucchinis, chopped
1 bay leaf
1 cup canned crushed tomatoes
1/2 cup dry white wine
1 1/2 pounds uncooked medium or large shrimp, shelled and de-veined
Kosher salt and freshly ground pepper to taste
Olive oil
Garnish: fresh, flat leaf parsley, chopped
Heat a little olive oil in a large heavy flame-proof Dutch oven or casserole over medium high heat. Add the pepper, onion, garlic, pepper sauce, jalapeño pepper, thyme, sage, cumin, salt and pepper; sauté for 5-10 minutes, stirring frequently, until the vegetables are tender-crisp. Remove from the casserole and reserve.
With the heat still on medium high, add a little more olive oil to the casserole, add the mushrooms and sauté until lightly browned; remove and reserve with the other vegetables.
Remove the sausage casings. With the heat still on medium high, add the sausage to the casserole. Sauté the sausage until lightly browned, breaking the meat up into bite size pieces. Remove from the casserole and reserve.
Season the chicken with salt and pepper. Add a little more olive oil to the casserole and keep the heat at medium high. Add the chicken and brown for 1-2 minutes per side. Add a cup of chicken stock and bring to a boil. Reduce the heat to low and simmer the chicken breasts until cooked through, about 7 minutes. Remove and reserve the chicken and the stock. Let the chicken cool; cut or shred the chicken into bite size pieces.
Return the vegetables, sausage, chicken and stock to the casserole; add the zucchini, bay leaf, tomatoes and white wine. If the stew seems dry add a little more chicken stock. Let the casserole sit overnight in the refrigerator.
Bring the casserole to a simmer over medium-high heat. Reduce the heat to low and cook for 10 minutes. Bring the heat up to high; add the shrimp and return to a simmer. Lower the heat to medium and simmer until the shrimp are cooked through, 2 to 3 minutes. Serve immediately with a sprinkle of fresh chopped parsley and crusty bread, creamy polenta or rice.
I met John before any of you. I remember the morning he was born. My sister Brenda woke me up at about 6 a.m. to tell me we had a new baby brother. She was obviously very excited. I think she asked me if I was too. I told her no, rolled over and went back to sleep.
