Road Trip Destination: Pretzels!

I love hand-twisted hard pretzels. I like the pretzels that you can buy at Giant or Shop Rite or Acme that come from the big chains, but I LOOOOOOOVE the pretzels that are made in small batches, packaged in cellophane bags, and sold at Reading Terminal Market or Highland Orchards or in specialty shops in Lancaster County. When I'm desperate for a pretzel fix, I've been known to spend $5 for a bag of 6 of these special pretzels.
When a postcard arrived in the mail with a special offer from Uncle Albert's (not the real name) Pretzels, I had a brainstorm. Why not go to the factory? That way, I could meet the people who make my favorite pretzels and save the shipping to boot.
So last Friday, we decided to go on a road trip for my pretzels. Armed with the address, the telephone number, printed instructions from Google Maps, a Garmin, and two GPS apps on my smart phone, we made reservations for the pretzel tour and set off.
According to the directions, the pretzel factory was a mere 10 minutes from the Morgantown Turnpike Exit. Easy peasy, as my son is want to say. "We should be there in under an hour," I whispered. I sounded not unlike our kids when we hit the road for Hershey Park.
It was a beautiful day. The sun was shining, the sky was blue, the radio was tuned to our favorite jazz station. We listened to the Garmin lady, and pretty soon, I could see the yellow flag on the Garmin screen marking our destination coming up on the left. Strangely enough, we were in front of the Maple Grove Raceway. There was no pretzel factory in sight.
We had come this far, though, and we were not giving up. We continued down the road, passing a farm stand where two boys with bowl-cut blond hair waved to us. We were not stopping, though. I dialed the 800 number and a very nice woman answered the phone. She had never heard of Maple Grove Raceway. Then I noticed that the name of the town on the postcard was different from the name of the town on my directions. "Are you in Bowmansville or Mohnton?" I asked. She said she would have to check.
At this point, my husband observed that if these were authentic Pennsylvania Dutch pretzels, I might have reached someone who didn't have much experience away from the farm. And after his observation, my cell phone lost its signal. Yes, we were in Pennsylvania Dutch country.
We turned around, past the boys at the farm stand, back to the raceway to retrace our steps. Both the GPS apps and the Garmin seemed to think we were again at our destination. I called the pretzel factory again, and the same person answered. "Are you the lady who cut off? I found direction on my computer." Hmm. They might not be living in the 1800's after all. It turns out we headed in the right direction but had not gone far enough. "You won't be able to see the factory from the road," she warned.
Once again we passed the boys at the produce stand. As we followed the new directions and the winding road, I kept cautioning my husband to slow down so we wouldn't miss this invisible-from-the-road factory. Soon we saw a tiny sign posted next to a mailbox. "Turn left here!" I squealed.
"Really? Here?" My husband was naturally confused. It was a dilapidated house surrounded by even more dilapidated farm equipment, but he made the turn. Again, we had come this far. There was no point arguing with a lady on a mission for pretzels.
We pulled around the house onto a gravel lane and parked off the main drag. There was an "Open" sign tacked on the left of the twin wooden screen doors, so we headed in that direction. When we opened the door, we almost ran into a pair girls working at the end of a conveyer belt, putting whole pretzels into bags and allowing the broken pieces to fall into boxes at the end of the line.
They were wearing organdy hair coverings and modest plaid dresses, typical of the clothing that Mennonite women have worn for over a century. I felt as if we were intruding, but we were quickly greeted and taken to the small sales area. They had a dozen or so different snacks, from sesame sticks to peanut-butter filled pretzels to chocolate-covered pretzels to sesame pretzels, but then I spied the Holy Grail: broken, dark, hand-twisted pretzels in three-pound bags.
"That'll be $5 for one bag or $7 for two," the sales woman informed me.
"I'll take two," I told her with a grin. "I think I must have talked to you on the phone," I said, but my husband shook his head. "Thanks for helping me with directions." Gary said she looked confused, but I didn't notice.
It turned out that we didn't get a tour of the factory, but we did get to see the assembly line. Maybe this was the exhibit area, a Williamsburg for pretzel enthusiasts, with the real, modern factory miles away, but I don't think so.
With our pretzels in hand, we headed back to the car. Next time we'll be able to find my favorite pretzels more easily, and I can leave my technology at home.

To gild the lily, you might want to try this dip that I've adapted from a recipe from The Food Network's magazine:

Pretzel Dip
15 minutes, plus overnight chilling
12 ounces of cream cheese, room temperature (I prefer Philadelphia)
1 cup heavy cream
2 tablespoons chopped scallions
1 tablespoon chopped chives
1 large garlic clove, chopped fine
2 tablespoons chopped fresh dill
1 tablespoon chopped fresh parsley
grated zest from one lemon
1 tablespoon lemon juice
salt to taste (I used 1/2 teaspoon kosher-style flaked salt)
1/2 teaspoon freshly-ground black pepper

Put the cream cheese into a mixing bowl and cream until light. Gradually add whipped cream and fully incorporate. Mix for another minute until it starts to thicken. Add remaining ingredients and mix well. Put a layer of cheesecloth into a 6-inch strainer. Place the cheese mixture into the strainer, cover with the ends of the cheesecloth, and suspend the strainer over a deep bowl (do not allow the strainer to sit on the bottom of the bowl because the liquid will not be able to drain). Cover. Refrigerate overnight. When you are ready to serve, remove the strainer, discard the liquid in the bowl. Turn the cheese onto a platter and serve with pretzels. This also is a great spread for crackers.
Note: Feel free to substitute your favorite chopped fresh herbs, but try to keep the quantity the same so the dip if flecked with green. If you don't like garlic, you don't have to add it, but in this quantity, it adds a subtle layer of flavor.

Birthday Dinners

When we were growing up, birthdays were family days, and the birthday child was the prince or princess. We could get away with pretty much anything on our birthdays. We got to choose what shows we watched on the television (and it was THE television, as in the one television in the whole house), what games we played (would it be "Mother May I" or "Red Light/Green Light"?), what kind of jelly went into the PBJ's we had for lunch. But most important of all the decisions we made for our day was the dinner menu. 

Mom was (and is) an amazing cook, and she would cater to our birthday whims. One brother wanted a ham dinner, another preferred ravioli, other brothers switched it up as their tastes changed. My request never changed. I loved Beef Stroganoff. I'm not sure where I first tasted it, or even how I even knew about it. I mean, where would a kid from Coatesville learn about a faux Russian entrée? However I discovered it, Beef Stroganoff it was. 

Time flies. I got married, had kids, saw the kids go off on their own. Now my husband and I go out for birthday dinners since he doesn't think it's fair for me to cook on my special day. We have had spectacular meals on these occasions, but the most important part of birthdays are not the specific food, or the chance to boss around my brothers, but the people who share the day with me, at the table, on the phone, in our shared thoughts. 

Oh, I forgot to mention that last week (after my birthday), I made Beef Stroganoff for dinner. It was easier than I remembered to make and just as delicious.

Beef Stroganoff

Serves 2 (easily doubled)

Total cooking time: 30 minutes

1 sirloin steak, about an inch thick

2 tablespoons flour, seasoned with salt and pepper, if desired

1 tablespoon butter or olive oil

1 yellow onion, finely sliced

1/2 pound crimini mushrooms, sliced

1/2 cup sour cream, room temperature

Put steak into the freezer for about 20 minutes to make it easier to slice. Slice thinly, on the diagonal. Put flour in a medium zip-lock bag, and shake. Add steak and shake to coat. Remove steak from bag, leaving behind extra flour. 

Heat butter or oil in a skillet. Add steak slices in a single layer. If necessary, do this in two batches. Let brown on both sides. Remove steak from pan. In the same pan (without washing), add the onions and saute gently over medium heat until translucent. Remove onions from pan. Add mushrooms to pan and increase heat to medium high. If necessary, add more butter or oil. Saute until the mushrooms are golden. Return the steak and onions to the pan, lower the temperature to heat through, and add sour cream. Heat until the sour cream is hot but not boiling (it will curdle if you let it boil). Serve over buttered noodles tossed with poppy seeds.

Cantaloupe

Melons are tricky fellows. By nature, they are secretive, hiding their true nature under thick skins. I've all but given up on honeydew melons that rarely deliver on the sultry promise of their musky scent, but I still have hope for cantaloupes. Mind you, I did not have any expectations for this particular melon. It was the second of a pair, the two for $5 melons sold at the grocery, not a local guy from the growers market or even from a roadside stand.
A few days ago, I had sliced open his twin, and it was oh-so average. Sweet enough, toothsome enough, but nothing special. It worked in cantaloupe soup, providing the right color and texture, but the other ingredients had to make up for what that particular cantaloupe lacked.
I had almost forgotten the second melon, and I certainly wasn't drooling in anticipation. In fact, I was pretty much resigned to encountering an inferior melon, and I figured that if it wasn't very good, there was plenty of time to chill a bowl of cantaloupe soup for dinner.
However, when my knife bisected the fruit, out wafted the unmistakable aroma of the perfect cantaloupe. As I trimmed off the rind, I could feel the perfect amount of resistance, not too crisp, not too mushy. I had to sit down and savor the moment.
When I had eaten my fill, I put the rest in the refrigerator for my spouse who prefers his fruit cold. After all, it was the perfect size for the two of us.
If you encounter a less-than-spectacular melon, though, there is hope. When life gives you mediocre cantaloupe, make cantaloupe soup.

Cantaloupe Soup
1 ripe cantaloupe, seeded, peeled, and cut into 1-inch chunks
1 cup fresh orange juice
1 cup plain Greek yogurt (full-fat, low-fat, or non-fat)
Agave nectar, to taste (If the melon is very sweet, you'll only need a tablespoon or so, but the beauty of using agave nectar is that it can be stirred in easily even after the soup has chilled.)
1/4 cup Midori (melon liquor), optional
a pinch of sea salt (trust me, it will make the flavors pop)
a pinch of Mishmish N.33 (an amazing spice blend that includes crystalized honey, lemon, and saffron--it is expensive, but it goes a looong way), optional--but if you don't have it, consider adding a bit of finely grated lemon rind

All the ingredients will not fit into a blender, so you have two options. Put everything in a bowl, mix together, and add 1/3 to the blender at a time. Blend at high speed until the cantaloupe is completely liquified. Pour the blended ingredients into a clean bowl or pitcher. Stir to make sure everything is well combined.
OR Put all ingredients into a large bowl and use an immersion blender to liquify the cantaloupe and blend all ingredients.
Taste and adjust seasonings if necessary. If you are unsure if it is sweet enough, wait until it is chilled and taste again.
Note that the quantities are general guidelines for a medium cantaloupe. If your melon is larger or smaller, adjust the amount of orange juice and yogurt appropriately.

Refrigerate for up to two days.

You can serve as a smoothie (don't add the Midori if you plan to serve to children!) or as a soup. I like to serve it in a shallow soup bowl, topped with a swirl of marscapone cheese that I've loosened by stirring and adding maple syrup to taste. A few blueberries sprinkled around the edges elevates this to party-worthy fare.

An apple for the teacher: Gilmore's of West Chester

On Saturday evening, four of us celebrated Gary's retirement and my separation from T/E at Gilmore's, the eponymous restaurant on Gay Street's restaurant row. In the space that formerly housed Clemente's, Peter Gilmore hosts two seatings a night in an intimate setting.

It was our first visit to Gilmore's, although it has been on our list of restaurants to try for years. Its reputation for fine dining is only surpassed by its reputation for impossible-to-get reservations. If the second has been holding you back, think again. While reservations are certainly required, even on a June Saturday when many West Chester residents have already migrated to the Jersey shore, they were able to accommodate us with a phone call the week before.

From opening the heavy green door to sipping the last drop of coffee, patrons are treated to an elegant but never stuffy experience. The entryway is lined with art for sale, and the art is complemented by a fresh-flower arrangement on a Victorian hall table. The hostess is immediately attentive, but it is obvious that if you don't have a reservation, you will not get past her into the dining room.

There are ten tables in the main dining area, and another three in the second space. Here, too, the walls are covered in art, selected by Susan Gilmore and offered for sale. The walls are a warm terra cotta with gold stippling, the carpet a burgundy with gold design. The tables are set with white linens, crystal and cobalt glasses, white china, and heavy flatware. We had a table at the front of the house, which allowed us to use the window sill for extra space. The small dimensions made it easy to hear (good for us older folks!), but we wouldn't be able to accommodate all the glassware and our plates if we didn't have our own personal sideboard space.

Our waiter politely suggested that to get the full Gilmore experience, we should sample something from each of three courses, and I'm glad we followed his recommendation. I had the lobster special (tempura battered lobster claw and half tail over four asparagus spears sitting in a shallow pool of lobster gravy), panko-dusted fried goat cheese on diced fresh beets nested on baby arugula, and the hanger steak with their version of potatoes Anna and (again) asparagus, dressed in the silkiest Hollandaise sauce I've ever tasted. Gary had a salad, escargot and edamame with a wedge of puff pastry, and duck. We were pleasantly tempted by the dessert menu, including the apple-ask-work-of-art encased mousse, a perfect selection for retiring teachers.

Since Gilmore's is a BYOB, our friends brought along a bottle of Veuve Cliquot champagne to toast our milestone and a wonderful bordeaux to accompany the meal. Even without knowing what we would order, their wine selections paired perfectly with our choices.

The service was old-world, with courses arriving at a pace that allowed us to share and enjoy each one. Dishes were presented with well-deserved flourish, with two or three waiters delivering them so no one had to wait.  Plates were only cleared after all of us had finished eating, unlike some restaurants where dishes are whisked away, sometimes even before the patron finished the last bite. This precise orchestration is imperative when patrons will be arriving for a second seating, but I never felt rushed. My only complaint was the tea service (yeah, I know, you've heard my gripes about tea service in the past). The waiter offered us a very nice selection of teas, and the hot water arrived in beautiful, individual cobalt-blue and white pots, but the water wasn't all that hot, and it was exactly one cup, and despite my friend asking for a second pot of water, it never arrived. On the other hand, my husband raved about the coffee, which was a rich deep roast served appropriately hot.

Clemente's was my father's favorite restaurant in West Chester, and I thought of my dad all through the meal. While Gilmore's has a French accent rather than Italian, Dad would have enjoyed the setting, the food, and the service. If you have a special occasion coming up, I would by all means suggest that you get on the phone (or on Open Table) and make reservations. You will have a memorable meal in a comfortably elegant setting.

 

Going Bananas

Bananas are easy to take for granted. They are available year-round, easy to digest, nutritious, and oh-so sweet. That's why it's very scary to hear that although there are over 1200 varieties of bananas, the two types most familiar in the US are under attack from two fungal diseases. According to some scientists, these bananas may be extinct in under ten years.

I don't want to sound greedy, but since hearing that news, I've been eating a banana every day. For breakfast, I love sliced bananas covered in milk, with or without cereal. For lunch, I love a banana halved lengthwise and tucked into a hotdog roll spread generously with Nutella. For dinner, I love banana bread instead of more traditional starches. Of course, banana bread is equally delicious for breakfast or a snack.

The easiest and most nutritious version of banana bread comes from The Fannie Farmer Cookbook. I've adapted it for my family's tastes, substituting chocolate chips for nuts. If you have a fork, a bowl, and a loaf pan, you can make this recipe. With no butter and little sugar, it's almost a health food!

Chocolate Banana Bread
3 ripe bananas, well mashed
2 eggs, well beaten
2 cups flour
3/4 cup sugar
1/2 teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon baking soda
1/2 cup mini chocolate chips

Preheat oven to 350 degrees and butter a loaf pan. Mix the bananas and eggs together in a large bowl. Stir in the flour, sugar, salt, and baking powder until just blended. Stir in the chocolate chips. Pour batter into the pan and bake for 1 hour or until a toothpick inserted in the center comes out with just a few moist crumbs. Let sit for 10 minutes before removing from pan and placing on a rack to cool. Of course, you may eat it warm if you can't resist.

Bland, low-fiber diet

I need advice and I need it soon.
Do I sound desperate? That's probably because I am. I'll spare you the gory details, but after spending most of yesterday in the emergency room, my diet has been restricted for the first time in my life. And the restrictions are pretty brutal: avoid whole grain food, whole fruits and vegetables, meats, seeds and nuts, fried and fatty foods, dairy, alcohol, and spicy foods until my symptoms go away. Are they serious? What is left? Oh, yeah. Here's that list: white rice, fruit and vegetable juices without pulp, tender meats.
I implore my foodie friends. What can I do to make these foods interesting? I am hoping that I can ditch the diet in less than a week (after all, our fig tree is still producing amazing fruit that is FULL of seeds), but in the meantime, what suggestions do you have?
Thanks for any recipes you can offer!

A Change of Seasons

On the way home from work yesterday, I noticed gold in the trees and sniffed autumn in the breeze. The page on the calendar magically turned to September 23. I might be holding on to summer for dear life, but fall is officially here.
At 6:30, the sky was almost dark, and not just from the rain. Instead of corn and melons at the market, there were root crops and apples. Pork tenderloin in the oven sounds better than salmon on the grill. Butternut squash puree was a welcome addition to the dinner table.
I'm lucky to live in Pennsylvania. Just as one season starts to weary my senses, the next brings change. Local strawberries taste all the more sweet because I know they only last for a few weeks, but they give way to the next crop and the next. And when the heat and the humidity get unbearable, I relish the laziness because I know fall will soon bring not just cooler air, but also falling leaves, macintosh apples, and giant pumpkins. Of course, the big family holidays, Thanksgiving and Christmas, are only a blink of an eye away. Then we get to share food and cheer with everyone we love.
So, I'm looking behind at summer, wishing for just one more watermelon, and looking ahead to Christmas, anticipating cookie baking, but in the meantime, I will enjoy the early fall and its bounty. I hope you will, too!

Here's a recipe for a great fall side dish. The most difficult part is peeling the squash, and if that task is too daunting, most markets sell already cleaned and cut squash (but at a premium!)

Pureed Butternut Squash

1 butternut squash, peeled, seeded, and cut into about 2 inch cubes*
maple syrup, to taste
butter, to taste
cinnamon and nutmeg, optional
Put squash in a covered, microwave-safe dish and cook for 5 to 8 minutes, depending on the size of the squash. Make sure the squash is very soft. Do NOT add water to the dish; the squash will produce its own steaming liquid.
When the squash is soft, drain well and transfer it to the body of a food processor fitted with the stainless-steel blade. Process until smooth. Add 1/4 to 1/2 cup maple syrup, total, and about a teaspoon of butter for every cup of puree. Blend just to combine. Serve.
Don't worry if this recipe makes more than your family can eat in one setting. Leftovers are delicious!

*To peel this stubborn vegetable, use a chef's knife to remove both ends. Use a sharp potato peeler (I love the OXY peelers) to remove the skin. Cut in half between the bulbous bottom and the more slender top, then place flat side on the cutting board and slice into 2-inch slabs. Put the slabs on their sides to cut again, and then cut crosswise. With practice, you can peel and slice a squash in under five minutes.