Hey all! Here’s my latest installment of “Food 101,” which was published in The Orange County Register today.
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Now that the Superbowl is right around the corner, how about treating your friends and family to a super appetizer along with those obligatory chips, dip and wings?

Crab-stuffed mushrooms only look difficult to make. A large tray with an army of mini sized appetizers, each little soldier with a browned, bubbling cheese crust only suggests that you’ve painstakingly slaved over them for days. Really, the most work you’ve done is chop up some vegetables and spoon filling into some mushroom caps.

Don’t let the ingredient list intimidate you, either. The bulk of it is just vegetables and cheeses that you will cook and mix together in a large bowl. All of these ingredients can be found in your neighborhood supermarket, even the jarred crab meat (check the fresh seafood display).

And if you really want to impress your friends, make sure to grab some lemons while at the store. Ever wonder why lemon wedges are served alongside fish? It’s because their tartness brightens the subtle, sweet flavors in seafood. You can experiment for yourself: Once the stuffed mushrooms have cooled slightly, pop one in your mouth and observe the taste: it’s good, right? Now sprinkle some lemon juice on a second stuffed mushroom and munch on that. Pow! Flavors are instantly enhanced, and you can really taste that crab.

For this recipe, you will need a large bowl, large frying or sauté pan, and a baking pan – maybe two. You can also prepare the filling a day ahead of time. Just make sure to refrigerate and cover with plastic wrap. (Click on “Read the rest of this entry” for recipe.)

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If you ever need to find me in a crowd, just follow the string of heavy silences I leave in my wake. It goes like this: I’ll say something, you’ll nod your head and smile, and then you’ll stand frozen while holding your mojito, wishing desperately that someone will come along and save you from me. Eerie silence ensues.

It happened recently when I met Michael Chiarello at a “Top Chef Masters” preview event. There were fans looking over my shoulder, PR reps flanking Chiarello and all kinds of activity in between. In an attempt to ask him something for a follow-up story I wanted to write, I managed to winnow that boisterous man down to a nodding and smiling animatronic. (Cue the crickets.) I’m not quite sure how I do it, but it may have something to do with nervously ramming three questions together in a single, incoherent sentence.

It’s kind of weird being a journalist who gets panicky around selective sources.

The Symposium for Professional Food Writers was yet another event that had me exponentially intimidated. The sheer number of attendees who’ve published cookbooks, the James Beard awards won and the fact that most of them could grow flourishing gardens with both hands tied behind their backs made me feel like a fraud. I’ve written some stories here and there, but did I really know anything about food? I can barely keep a potted thyme alive for longer than a month.

But my nerves subsided slightly when I met cookbook author Tara Mataraza Desmond. Her friendly nature put me at ease, foreshadowing what the week-long conference would be like: welcoming and encouraging. It was exactly what I needed. I had my awkward moments for sure, but I wasn’t a basket case (well, not the whole time). Had I not met Tara in the elevator minutes before the symposium began, I wonder if my experience would have been a little more anxiety-ridden.

So when Tara sent an e-mail to SPFW attendees about a blogger potluck being held in conjunction with her new cookbook “Almost Meatless: Recipes That Are Better for Your Health and the Planet,” I jumped at the chance to join in. The book is co-written by Joy Manning, with recipes that emphasize grains and veggies rather than meat (that’s the “Almost” part). I took on the shrimp and slow-roasted tomato risotto.

As a journalist, I think it may be difficult for me to write an unbiased review of this recipe because I’ve met Tara and think her a genuine and thoughtful person. So I’ll just leave you with this: The recipe reflects the person. And I’ll replace my own further thoughts with letting the recipe and photos speak for themselves. Or better yet, what do you think of them? (Click on “Read the rest of this entry” for recipe.)

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I have a ridiculous confession to make. I hesitate to tell you because it’s a trivial thing that I’m blowing out of proportion, and I can just imagine the puzzled looks on your faces as you read my admission. What? Really? Huh.

Here goes: I have a fierce aversion to buying fish on sale. That’s it. I know.

I have this notion that buying fish on sale is like ordering seafood in a restaurant on Mondays: it’s just not a good idea. If it’s been knocked down a few bucks, it’s likely been sitting there for days, developing all kinds of fishy odors and rancid flavor notes. I believe prices are slashed only when the fish is hanging on dearly to its last thread of edibility.

Now that I’m doing my fair share of penny-pinching in these rough financial times, I can’t justify paying $10 a pound for swordfish over $2 a pound for chicken, turkey or beef. Pair that with an actual physical reaction when buying fish that’s advertised in a weekly supermarket mailer and you’ll understand why I haven’t had a good piece of fish in longer than I care to admit. I know. I’m slapping my forehead for you.

I’ve not a clue where this aversion originated from. It’ll miff until I have an epiphany of some sort, after years of weekly therapy or when something random triggers a distant memory. But I do know that it’s a silly fear that needs to be conquered – because I miss eating fish.

OK. So let’s do it. Let’s buy some fish on sale.

A local market was having a special on Dover sole: $4.99 a pound, reduced from $10.99. I took home two pounds, about 8 fillets, all snuggled in a brown butcher-paper bundle. I would make poached sole with a blood orange beurre blanc and try not to think of how little I had paid for it.

Like clockwork, my bodily reactions began as I peeled back the paper from the fillets. The backs of my knees started weakening – the same feeling I get when I’m watching surgery on TV or some graphic action flick where everyone has to exaggeratedly spew blood from their wounds (hello, Quentin Tarantino). I held my breath before my stomach could follow with its own unpleasantness.

It all feels like my body is betraying my brain: I knew there was nothing wrong with the Dover sole. It was actually quite beautiful – a bright, pinky white with an even surface. Not even a whisper of an off-smell. My body just couldn’t seem to get the message. It was fine.

I plowed on despite all the weird feelings, trying to ignore my weak knees and queasy stomach. When I finished plating the dish, I served it to my boyfriend first (I admit I did it because I was scared to have the first bite). He declared it delicious, but I observed him for a few minutes to make sure he wasn’t having any delayed adverse reactions. Satisfied that he was OK, I had a bite of my own – and it really was delicious. It was flaky and tender in all the right places, with a citrus kick to brighten it up even more. My body relaxed. I ate the whole thing, but couldn’t help but wonder if it would have tasted better had I paid full price. (Click “Read the rest of this entry” for recipe)

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