A nice use for those over-ripe bananas

I am one of those weird people that like their bananas super under-ripe. Not completely green, but I definitely like hints of green on the banana and definitely no spots. It is just too sweet for me once the fruit gets to that point, and yet usually the last one or two bananas in the bunch is always past the point that I like to eat it by the time I get to them, especially if it has been warm in my kitchen, which has been everyday this week.

Luckily for me, however, I stumbled across this great and easy recipe for banana bread in Triathlete magazine that specifically asks for overly-ripe bananas, lots and lots of spots a plus, and is incredibly healthy to boot. As I near the date of the triathlon and marathon I have done a pretty scattered job training for, the new few weeks promises to be filled with lots of long runs and bikes to make up for all the mileage I failed to put in earlier this summer.

This recipe is a favorite of Australia pro-triathlete Kate Major:

Ingredients:

1/2 cup semisweet chocolate chips (I like Trader Joe’s organic, but there's also nothing like classic Nestle!)
2 cups whole wheat flour
1 teaspoon baking powder
1 teaspoon baking soda
3 very ripe bananas
1/2 cup sugar
2 large eggs

If you'd like, you can always add some walnuts or raisins for additional variety.

Directions:

Preheat oven to 400 degrees F.

Mix all ingredients together well.

Pour into a greased loaf pan.

Bake for 30 to 45 minutes. Let it cool before serving.

Perfect for breakfast or a pre-workout snack!

C is for Camp Food

I have just returned from my annual trip to "camp." And yes, I mean that I am an actual grown-up and I still go to summer camp. But this is not just any summer camp. It is this fabulous oasis on the shore of Lake Walloon in northern Michigan that is owned and run by the University of Michigan for alumni and their families. My parents (both Michigan grads) started taking me there when I was six years old, and twenty years later, I still love it. The funny thing is, I am far from the only one. Most people who "camp" there have also been going for 10+ summers, and everyone tries to camp the same "week" so that you can see your friends again year after year. I have become incredibly close with my "camp friends," to the point that one of them is a bridesmaid in my wedding.

Us camp friends think nothing of visiting each other cross country (duh, we're friends from camp is how we explain this to others who look at us like we are insane) and rehashing old memories is half the fun of every reunion (Paul, do you remember that time when I beat you in the "Teen Regatta" when we were 13? Oh yes.) And that's only half the fun. There's windsurfing and sailing and horses. Archery and rock polishing. Booze and campfires. Everything you could expect from a summer camp that caters to people of all ages, and that includes delicious, nostalgia-laden camp food.

What says camp more than s'mores? Whether you are 5 years old, making them for the first time, or trying to impress the boy next to you with your mad s'more making skillz at fourteen, eating the ingredients right out of the bag at 3am while trying not to fall in the fire when you're nineteen, and then back to eating them like a normal human when you're an adult, s'mores are delicious.

There's also crispy bacon and slightly soggy scrambled eggs in the morning. Yeah, they are probably egg beaters, but so what? They are fuel for the big day of activities ahead, and just squirt a little ketchup and sriracha sauce on those bad boys, serve with a side of corn flakes and some spotty banana and you are good to go!

And let's not forget baked beans and corn on the cob and slightly undercooked hotdogs. Nor should we forget burgers that are grilled to hockey pucks alongside veggie burger pucks, for any vegetarians that are missing their daily dose of carcinogens.

There's also the salad bar where the grandmas always take an hour to move through the line, picking out any and all cherry tomatoes, radishes, broccoli, cauliflower florets and lettuce pieces that are not bruised or browned as they go before you have a chance to get any.

And then there is "bug juice!" My dad always told me it was made of bug juices (duh) and for a while I believed him, although what it really means is that those drinks are so sugary that the bugs are drawn to it like a bright red (or yellow or purple) drug.

And of course, there is "Fun Dip" and Pix Stix, Ice Cream Sandwiches and freeze pops of course. Plus those bizarre little ice-cream cups you eat with that wooden stick that is your "spoon." Deserts so blissfully sugary and filled with food coloring, the highlight of the entire experience was not the taste, or even the sugar high, but the fact that it turned your tongue, lips, fingers and teeth a very unnatural color.

It is worth saying that camp food has improved from a gastronomical perspective over the past twenty years. We now have a frozen yogurt machine and taco night, an omelet station and even Mongolian barbecue. And yet I still look forward to "cook out" night, where I don't care if I get baked bean residue on my watermelon, and while I would never eat a burger that was black on the outside, still moo-ing on the inside, ANYWHERE else in the world, when it is on the shores of Lake Walloon, I can simply can't wait to bite in. A glass of over-sugared, sandy lemonade while catching the perfect breeze is just a bonus.

Phab Pho

I have been searching for a good place to eat pho (Vietnamese beef soup) for my entire four years in New York. I am positive that there are authentic, hole-in-the-wall Vietnamese places dotting the city that haven't discovered and quite frankly, don't have the balls to seek out, seeing as I speak zero Vietnamese and authentic in NYC, for almost any "ethnic" cuisine, usually presents some sort of a language barrier. Chinese food is a good example of this. Just go to a non-tourist trap place in Chinatown and you'll see what I mean. Luckily I know the names of all my favorite foods in Chinese, but as far as Vietnamese food goes, all I can articulate is "pho! pho!"

So, that being said, I've tried a few places in search of the perfect pho, but until last night I have been disappointed. In one place, the broth was actually chicken stock (probably right out of a Swanson box), not beef broth. In another place, the beef was over boiled and sinewy, dare I say, old. At yet another place, the noodles were not the delicate, hair-thin kind that slurp down so perfectly. Rather, they were udon noodles. Lovely in Japanese soup, but no for pho.

I grew quite discouraged. My good friend Mike, who is half Vietnamese, half Chinese, has been trying to organize a pho-hunting trip for quite some time, and I am happy to say that I think our search might finally be over.

Vronsky and I went to Nam last night, a chic but not trendy Vietnamese place down in Tribeca that is run by a trio of Vietnamese cooks. There is plenty of other delicious food on the menu, but I only had eyes for pho. It came out of the kitchen, nearly overflowing, hot and delicious, the beef lean and fresh and sliced thin, slightly pink in the middle, which is how pho should be served. You then bury it under your thin rice noodles and allow it to finish cooking, steeping in the broth, which also contains scallions, cilantro, a bit of lime juice, onions and an assortment of herbs and spices. Some people like to put mint leaves in, like my mom. Or dab the beef with a bit of plum sauce (me) or spicy sriracha (Vronsky). Some like to sprinkle it liberally with mung beans (my sister).

In Vietnamese cooking culture, every restaurant/chef/home cook prepares their own pho broth a bit different to have its own "signature" subtle flavors and so the pho I ate at Nam was different from the pho I grew up with at Pho 75, this tiny little place in northern Virginia that is so tiny, all they serve IS pho! You walk in and there are rows and rows of cafeteria-style tables filled with families diving into huge steaming bowls of pho. How my parents discovered it I have no idea, but we've been going there religiously for over ten years, and I am just pleased as punch that I have finally found a pho place of my own here in NYC.

Back when I was growing up, we had pho almost every Sunday night. We would all be too crazed with all the last minute things that pop Sunday night before the school/work week, and there would be nothing like a steaming hot, nourishing bowl of delicious pho to calm us down and give you a great warm and fuzzy food coma to stave off the Sunday night blues, or insomnia if you are me or my father. [It's truly a curse. We would both would go over all the things we had bearing down on us in the week ahead, be it a big deposition for him or, in my case, the inevitable torture of double swim practices on Monday, with the afternoon being "Monday night races," which still makes me cringe (any other Curl Burke-ers out there with me?).] My mom swears it gave her the life-force to deal with a full house of surly teen-agers, and I think it is a great pre-race/pre sporting event food. Protein and carbs galore in the beef and rice noodles. The broth hydrates you and helps settle your stomach. Viola. Pho truly cures all ills and for the blues, insomnia, a sore throat, or even an unusually long hangover, Nam might just be the right place to search for a cure.

A month! Stress and eating sure has a way of filling the days

A month since I last posted! Crazy! It is certainly a new record of which I am not proud, but lordy lizard, the last month has been crazy, krazy, crazeeeee....

I like to think that I am fairly good at managing my time, but boy, was I really put to the test these past few weeks. First, I had jury duty. WTF? Not only can you get NOTHING accomplished why you are in there, it of course comes right before sales conference and the arrival of the great Camilla Läckberg from Sweden for her NYC tour, of which there was endless prep for. You'd think the fact that I myself was involved in a lawsuit after getting hit by that damn car and that my father was a prosecutor for the Marine Corps would have disqualified me ASAP, but no.

So, while I am observing the fascinating sociological phenomenon of what happens when you throw a cross section of NYC into a big room for 8 hours, the phone is ringing off the hook back at the office, my interns are frantically trying to run things in my absence, and there are a zillion friendly emails asking why I haven't responded to the note they just sent me an alarming twenty minutes ago. What's a girl to do?

Besides scream SERENITY NOW at the top of my lungs, the only thing I could think of was eat. You see, at this time, my apartment was also 500 degrees since I don't have air conditioning in my room, so sleeping was neigh impossible, and working out was a pipe dream, since once I was released from the courthouse, I then began my workday, and it is hard to answer irate emails from the bike saddle. The only available to relive a modicum of stress was to eat as well and as much as I possibly could.

Thankfully, the Union Square farmer's market provided me with delicious fresh fruit (perfect peaches, some glorious blueberries, and even a mango or two), the vitamins in which helped stave off any pathogens I might have breathed in while a woman two rows away spent 4 hours hacking her lungs out.

The 24-hour Sushi Samba on Park Ave. was my go-to. Sushi is easy to eat while ticking away at the keyboard and miso soup will always make time stand still for at least a few minutes.

Girl Scout cookies straight out of the box (Thin Mints! Samoas!) are delicious, if not nutritious. But then, that's what the fruit is for, no?

There is also scotch. Which is not really a food but seemed to do the trick. Anything from the Oban distillery or Bowmore Islay is magic medicine.

But what really made the stress all melt away was a decadent dinner at Craft with Camilla upon her arrival. Not only is she excellent and hilarious company, she's a huge foodie and between the two of us and the rest of our publishing all-star team, with the help of the great Tom Colicchio I put the insanity of this whole crazy month behind me.

To wit, how could one be stressed when the most deliciously prepared short ribs, scallops, roast chicken, garlic risotto, hen-of-the-woods mushrooms, beets, turnips, spinach, and artichokes are laid out before you? It was one of the most excellent, decadent meals I have ever had, and if I had all the money in the world, I'd be eating there every night. Yes, I'd be 400lbs no matter how many triathlons or marathons I did, but it would be well worth it, if only for my own peace of mind...

Chocolate Chip & Walnut Cookies

Sorry the posting has been non-existent lately! Crazy times with the launch of The Ice Princess (check me out in the New York Times talking about Camilla Läckberg) and lots and lots of wedding-related balls to juggle. And since it is too hot for soup, my usual comfort food when there is too much going on, I have had to turn to something else: cookies!

I know, I know, I've said over and over again throughout this blog that I don't have much of a sweet tooth, but lately I've been craving cookies like nothing else. Perhaps it has been because I've really made an effort to amp up my training for this triathlon and the marathon I've signed up for. Plus, it has been good for me to take a second and slow down and bake for a bit, getting in my miles or publicity follow-up be damned.

My favorite cookie to make recently has been the chocolate chip and walnut cookies my Po-po makes. It is a bit of an odd thing for a Chinese grandma to bake such "Americana" cookies so well, but there is a funny back-story to this recipe. My mom was in high school in Puerto Rico (after the family had left China via the Philippines and were now splitting their time between Michigan and San Juan, where the new Parke-Davis facility had opened) and her friend gave her these delicious cookies. She loved them so much that she brought some home to share and Po-po loved them so much that she insisted that my mom go back and finagle the recipe out of her friend. She succeeded, and to this day Po-po still makes these cookies to the letter of the original recipe! When she showed it to me, it was THE original recipe my mom wrote down in pencil on the notebook paper more than forty years ago.

2/3 cup shortening
2/3 cup butter, softened
1 cup granulated sugar
1 cup packed brown sugar
2 eggs
2 tsp. vanilla
3 cups Gold Medal flour
1 tsp baking soda
1 tsp salt
1 cup chopped walnuts
2 6 oz. packages of semi-sweet chocolate chips

Heat the over to 375 degrees.
Thoroughly mix the shortening, butter, egg, sugars, and vanilla.
Blend in remaining ingredients (for a softer, rounder cookie, add 1/2 cup extra flour)
Drop dough by rounded teaspoonful, about 2 inches apart onto UNgreased baking sheet
Bake 8-18 minutes or until light brown
Cool slightly before removing from baking sheet

Makes about 7 dozen cookies, so go to town!!

Consider the bean. It's magical fruit.

And I don't just mean with regards to the sophomoric little rhyme, heh. Beans are magically delicious and nutritious and one of my favorite foods, especially in the summer, as they don't require as much cooking (if at all) and therefore relieve me from having to turn on the stove when it is already a billion degrees in my apartment. You see, beans in any form (canned, dried, frozen, or fresh) provide tons of health benefits and can be integrated into every meal or even made the center protein of your meal.

I already know that without hummus I would starve to death (see here for an avocado hummus recipe that's a personal favorite). I wolf through bags of baby carrots and celery so long as I have some fresh hummus, which, as you should already know, is made from chick peas, which are a delicious addition to salads and an integral part of any bean salad. I rinse canned kidney beans and add them to any red pasta sauce I am making, and a great chilly treat that can serve as the bulk of a meal is bean salad, which is easy to make in large batches and keeps for quite a while. I like to make it as follows:

One can each of chick peas, kidney beans, black beans. Rinse.

Slice up at least two stalks of celery (I am a big celery fan, so I might even do 3 stalks), and dice up half a red onion. Set aside.

This is lazy, but it's still good: Trader Joe's Frozen sweet white corn. Pour half a bag into a colander and rinse under hot water until defrosted and essentially cooked, and then blast with a cold shot of water (blanching for the lazy).

Tear up cilantro to taste.

Put beans, celery, onions, and corn into a big bowl and mix in some olive oil, red wine vinegar, cracked sea salt, and the cilantro. Set in fridge to chill for a bit and you're done!

I also love refried beans. Eat that with some of the guac and you'll have some nice Mexicali flavor goin' on. You could make your own vegitarian quesadillas with this quite easily (I like tomatoes, grilled onions and sweet peppers) or you could just be a freak and eat it straight out of the bowl with some chips.

I've known a few folks who make their refried beans in a pressure cooker, but I don't have one so I have to do it the old fashioned way. It takes a while but totally worth it. Plus, you can make a big batch and it doesn't require a lot of active cooking time, so go do your laundry or read a book.

Ingredients

• 2 1/2 cups of dry pinto beans (about 1 lb or 450gm) NOT canned
  
• 3 quarts of water
• 1/2 cup chopped onion (use the rest of that onion from the bean salad!)
  
• 2 Tbsp olive oil
• 1/4 cup water
• Salt to taste
• Cheddar cheese (optional)

Rinse the beans thoroughly.

Put beans into a pot and cover beans with at least 3 inches of water - about 3 quarts for 2 1/2 cups of dry beans. Bring to a boil and then lower heat to simmer, covered, for about 2 1/2 hours. The cooking time will vary a bit from pot to pot. The beans are done when they are soft and the skin is just beginning to break open.

Strain the beans.

Now, cook your onions in a frying pan with your olive oil until clear. Add the cooked beans to the pan along with about 1/4 cup of water. Careful now. Take a potato masher and mash the beans while still in the frying pan, along with all the onions, until it is a rough puree. Add more water if you need. Add a bit of salt to taste as you mash. Once it is to your preferred consistency, you're ready to go! Some people like to melt a bit of cheddar cheese on top along with some scallions, as seen in the photo above.


Learn more about the health benefits of beans here. It really does everything from build muscle to lower cholesterol. It is no wonder that "red beans and rice" is the traditional "peasant diet." It gives you everything the body needs! Plus, they are cheap as all hell...take the money you saved and buy a pressure cooker. Then, it will take you half the time to cook those pinto beans...

B is for Beer

I miss Princeton. It is not as if I sit at home alone, in the dark, gazing wistfully through old photos and sighing softly to myself as I reminisce on those blissful four years, now already four years gone. And yet, after reunions this year, I realize that there is always been a bit of a dull ache and reminder of my time there, and it isn't just the scars on my bum leg from getting run over in that damn crosswalk all those years ago.

What is it exactly that I miss so much? I am not unhappy in my career nor have I failed to find fulfillment in "the real world." In fact, I am happier at this moment deep down in my core than I ever thought I could be. Yet I think that, for me, Princeton (aka college in general), represents a time when literally anything was possible. I dodged death, if not a car, met people who were truly capable of changing the world, was at the peak of my physical prowress both in and out of the pool, and had the fantastic opportunity to learn for the sake of learning, from some of the most amazing minds of our time at that. I hold to this day that my thesis adviser is The Most Brilliant Woman Alive, and I still recall certain lectures and discussions and instances of profound intellectual fulfillment the minute my mind begins to wander.

So what's the point of it all, gastronomically speaking? Upon heavy reflection, the one single taste that embodies my college experience is....beer. That's right. Beer. Cheap beer. Bud Light Beast. Natty Light. Milwaukee's Best. You name it, I drank it religiously and without a second thought for four years and then some. The minute I left Princeton? HELL no. But the minute I set foot back on campus? Girl, it never tasted so good.

You would think that my gastronomical memory would be mooched late night pizza or a heart-stop from Hoagie Haven, or even my most beloved cheesy-eggs from my eating club, Cloister. Nope. It is beer all the way, much as it ever was.

You see, it was the incomparable (for better or worse) taste of beer that was there when I had my first love and my first heartbreak. It was there during my first real hangover and the day that I showed up at swim practice still wearing my Halloween costume (as a leprechaun, if you must know). Beer was in the background when I turned in my thesis, when I met the friends I would have for life, when we won conference championships, and when we lost them, too. There was always a six-pack or two during late night movies or spring-time bands, and when the "Old Guard" marches each year during the "P-Rade," some of whom are back for their 70th reunion, they clutch an ice-cold brew in their hand, a brew no doubt handed to them by someone young enough to be their great-grandchild. And that can was pulled from a class beer jacket. It may be sentimental, but that is what beer means for me.

It doesn't taste very good, and lord knows there is no nutritional value, but in its own nasty, smelly, calorie-riddled way, it sure does a body good.