I have in my kitchen what one local chef tells me is “the kiss of death.”

“An electric range?” she asks. “How do you ever get anything done with one of those contraptions?”

Well, I told her, it’s getting easier. But it’s still an uphill battle.

Moving from my previous apartment meant leaving the luxury and reliable power of gas, where everything cooked evenly and the oven temperature was always spot-on. What a dream that was.

Now I’ve got this shifty nightmare with hardened coils in place of those glowing rings of blue flames.

Simple tasks, like using the broiler to brown things like garlic bread and Croque Monsieur, are super tricky. This broiler gets points for reaching temperature at the drop of a hat, yet it’s one hell of an overachiever, blackening everything in its path within a matter of seconds. How odd that the familiar scent of garlic, butter and bread turns to that other familiar odor of char and carbon the minute you turn your back to the stove. Kiss of death, indeed.

This is why I say thank goodness for blowtorches.

Though one can toast garlic bread without a broiler under normal oven settings, the drama of literally taking matters into your own hands is kind of therapeutic when your counter is lined with pans of blackened oblong shadows of the meal accompaniments they once were.

A blowtorch means angry flames shooting out of your fingertips to match the anger in your heart every time you pull a charred one from the broiler. It means victory.

So maybe I’m not skilled enough for the technology of an electric range yet, and maybe I have a bit of an inner pyro. But despite the kiss of death, I do have my garlic bread. (Click on “Read the rest of this entry” for recipe.) (more…)

Simple is just the way to go sometimes.

Like when you’ve spent the last few weeks in meetings with loan officers and real estate agents and all those other folks who are helping you realize a dream of buying a home. It’s too bad we can’t do all of this over dinner, which I’m sure would be better received than the hollow white lights of an office we should have left hours ago. Yes, we would all be happier if we met over dinner.

But because we can’t, I’ll have to compromise with simple dinners that can be made between meetings and work. Spring and summer are the best seasons for these types of speedy dishes mainly because of all the produce at your fingertips. And because everything tastes better in the summer, you can have bruschetta three nights in a row without risking taste-bud fatigue – which is one of the worst kinds of fatigue, in my opinion.

This magic bruschetta, as I’ve been calling it lately, seemed to pave the way for other areas of my life to behave with simplicity. The meetings waned; the paperwork finally done. I found a home. We completed the first day of Escrow yesterday, just in time for my 28th birthday today (this getting older part still hasn’t hit met yet). We get a three day weekend next week, and then I take off for Hawaii. I’ll knock on wood to be safe, but I don’t think that things can get any simpler (and more exciting!) than that.

And aside from being thisclose to owning a slice of the world, the forces at work gave me the best gift of all: my sanity has returned.

Or maybe that’s the result of all the really, really good wine I’ve been drinking lately.

In any case, both reds and whites pair well with this simple bruschetta – one so laden with garlic that it seems to set your mouth on fire. It’s a simple dinner, but that doesn’t mean it’s a simplistic one. (Click on “Read the rest of this entry” for recipe.)

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There’s this story of a famous journalist who started his career at a daily paper in a town so tiny, that there was no real news to write about. I mean, we’re talking daily AP photos of squirrels on skis and a whole lotta bake sale stories.

But he refused to settle for those ho-hum tales. Instead, this guy would throw a dart at a city map that was hanging on his wall, and wherever the dart landed was where he was going to find his next story. It didn’t matter if the dart pierced the middle of an intersection or the corner of an open corn field. He would find a story.

Using that method, he met all kinds of interesting people, and equally interesting stories ensued. Now, he’s a big-deal reporter in a metropolitan city. Bake sales be damned.

I never learned the name of this guy – and that detail alone makes the tale scream fiction over fact. But real or not, it reminds me to think creatively when developing recipes: Pick an ingredient and develop the flavors around it, just as he picked a place and developed a story around it.

The tale also helps when choosing one recipe over another to try. But instead of using the dart method, I close my eyes and mix up all the cookbooks on my office floor, then point a finger at a page. There. Done.

It was a similar situation when I made this Gorgonzola and leek crème brulee. It was one in a handful of recipes that we testers at Leite’s Culinaria had to choose from in order to fulfill our monthly testing duties. I closed my eyes, and with finger poised at the computer screen, I made a selection.

Only, as luck would have it, my fat, sausage-of-a-finger landed on three recipes instead of one. Of course, I thought. Just when this dart method of choosing was proving to be foolproof, this happens.

But fat finger be damned. I made them all.

(Click on “Read the rest of this entry” for more)

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