"Overdone and Undercooked" Newspaper Columns©

“I forgot my lid.”
Lid?
Dave Senestraro of Brier confessed his faux pas. He broke into a hardy laugh. Minutes earlier, he had been sandwiched between co-hosts Chef Kathy Casey and Channel 9 KCTS ON-AIR personality George Ray.

Senestraro buoyant after appearing on live KCTS TV, cooked his now-famous grilled veal tenderloin, with roasted garlic mashed potatoes, in a brown sauce.

Senestraro was among the lucky few (of more than 200 entries) chosen to appear on the station’s 11th viewer cooking special,” KCTS Cooks: On the Grill.”

“I would do it again,” the 44-year-old said. “I love the cooking shows and never miss them.”

His children, Aja and Ian, had pleaded with him to enter his recipe, which Senestraro said he discovered while trying to find a match for a Bolla Italian red wine. His recipe will now be compiled into the latest KCTS viewer’s cookbook.

Wearing a navy-blue shirt and gray shorts, Senestraro looked calm and relaxed during the taping. Minutes before going on air, Ray practiced saying Senestraro’s Italian name, and Casey revealed that they would have potatoes mashed before airtime.

Once the show started, Senestraro began to prepare the veal. Casey observed that the dish was well-seasoned and that most home cooks are shy of the salt and pepper.

Program host Chef Brian Poor, who also hosts a radio program called “The Poor Man’s Kitchen,” finished brushing the grill down with a stiff wire brush. He then wiped the grill down with an oiled cloth to keep the grill clean and well-seasoned.

He placed Senestraro’s tenderloins on the grill. Poor had his handy squirt bottle of water ready do to double duty by dousing any unwanted flames and keeping the grilling meat moist. The meal was now ready for presentation. Senestraro placed his grilled asparagus, artfully arranged, next to the potatoes and veal.

Kathy and George eagerly awaited a bite. George remarked on the rich colors and the wonderful presentation.
Senestraro said he learned the joys of cooking from watching his Italian grandmother. He also learned from studying cookbooks and watching cooking shows where he soaked up all the experience he could.

Animated and expansive, Senestraro looks like a man who finds life very good indeed. His personal passion is one day buttoning himself into a chef’s jacket and opening a restaurant in Bothell where he would serve his own creations, such as grilled filet of salmon presented on a bed of fresh, pure raspberries, with cracked black peppers and topped with pistachio pesto-made with sheep cheese-instead of parmesan.

And that lid that he forgot? The lid is actually a 2-inch metal cooking ring that, in the presentation, he uses to fill with the roasted garlic mashed potatoes. He then smoothes the surface with a knife removing the ring. It leaves a perfect circle of flattened potatoes, which he tops with the veal and morel gravy.

Fortunately, many mistakes are correctable, and Casey oiled a ramekin dish to substitute for his lid, and no one would have been wiser.

Dave Senestraro’s Grilled Veal Tenderloin
Serves 4
1 -1/2 veal tenderloin
4 to 6 thin slices prosciutto (the Italian word for ham sold in transparently thin slices)
2 to 3 tablespoons extra virgin oil
3 to 4 grinds of fresh black pepper
2 to 3 tablespoons of balsamic vinegar
2 to 3 pinches of sea salt
Slice veal tenderloin into four medallions 1 to 1- ½ inches thick. Wrap with enough prosciutto to go entirely around the medallion. Tie with cotton string.

Place on a plate and sprinkle oil, balsamic vinegar, sea salt, and pepper on both sides.

Cover with plastic wrap and let it marinate for at least an hour—grill over medium to high heat for 2 to 3 minutes per side or until medium-rare to medium.

I’ve been on a diet for two weeks now, and all I’ve lost is 14 days!

At last, help is here, the sweet cherry, that short but the oh-so-sweet season has arrived.
Northwest cherry season begins in mid-June and is completed in Mid-August.

There’s something truly special about cherries from the Northwest. They are bigger, plumper, juicer, and sweeter. It’s no coincidence that Northwest cherries are the best cherries in the world.

The microclimatic sensitive fruit thrives on the ideal mix of warm sunny days, cool crisp nights, and nutrient-rich soil plentiful in the Northwest cherry-growing regions.

Here, cherries are grown against hillsides in the shadows of the mountains and in the valleys of desert terrain, irrigated with fresh mountain water.

It amazingly takes a tree ten years to reach full production. Many factors affect production. Mostly weather. Rain at harvest is the nightmare of growers, shippers, retailers, and consumers. Rain at the wrong time can split the delicate fruit. Nearly mature cherries will absorb the water and literally POP open.

When the rain does come, growers hurry to turn on the large overhead orchard fans to blow the water off the fruit before it can be absorbed. Many growers even hire helicopters to hover over their trees. Modern cherry growing in the Northwest began in 1847; when Henderson Lewelling transported nursery stock by ox cart from Iowa to Western Oregon and established orchards.

The Lambert is a dark red with a heart shape with a slightly smaller cherry than the Bing, with a sweet, rich flavor. The Lambert cherry started as a cross on the same farm.

The Bing variety was developed on the Lewelling farm in 1875 from seeds and was named for one of his Chinese workmen. The Bing cherry has mahogany skin, and the flesh has a large, firm texture and a sweet, rich flavor.

The Rainier originated from the crossing of the Bing and the Van cherries; by Dr. Harold W. Fogle at the Washington State University Research Station in Prosser, Wa. The Rainier cherry is golden with pink/red blush, a texture with clear-colored flesh, and a delicate flavor that is very sweet and expensive. A Northwest specialty. It is an elite cherry among cherries. It is sweeter, juicier, plumper, and absolutely the most irresistible
Intense sweetness is really the trademark of the Rainier. The taste is second to none.

Juicier than most sweet cherries, the Rainer variety has a delicate, buttery textured clear flesh encased in a thin, delicate skin. While it bruises more easily, the Rainer is generally larger and firmer than most dark sweet cherries.

It is a common misconception that the Rainier cherry is a relative of the Royal Anne (also known as Napoleon) variety, an old-time light, sweet cherry now used almost exclusively in maraschino cherry processing. It was first released to the Northwest cherry industry in 1960.

Twenty-one cherries are 90 calories! Together these three varieties now account for more than 95 percent of the Northwest cherry production.

In yogurt or ice cream used for baking or in jam, always select plump, shiny, well-colored fruit with green stems and refrigerate until consumed.

Freezing cherries requires only washing them and placing them in a freezer bag. Then, put them in the freezer, where they can be stored for 6-12 months. Remove cherries from the freezer 30 minutes prior to use.

To can cherries, wash and stem all cherries, pit them if you so desire—pack cherries into clean, sterilized jars. Pour a sugar syrup over fruit (one cup sugar to three cups water heated until sugar is dissolved). Apply the proper lid. Process in a boiling water bath for 20 minutes for pints and 20 for quarts. Processing time may vary with altitude.

To use your dehydrator, wash and stem cherries. Cut in half and remove pits. Place the fruit skin side down or on dryer trays. The fruit will be leathery and stick when dried sufficiently. Store in plastic bags in a cool, dry area. To plump back up, add cherries to a small saucepan. Cover with water stock or liqueur. Bring to a boil, cover, then remove the pan from heat. Allow standing for 20 minutes or until fruit is plumped.

If I had to summarize adventure in one sentence, that sentence would be: After a day of sightseeing in Rome, we found a table in the corner and dug into our fabulous Italian cuisine, filling our wine glasses with Chianti.
Do you love the Italian people and their culture? Are you Italian? Sons of Italy hold monthly meetings for those who are Italian or who love the Italian people and culture. Bothell’s chapter had a special guest chef last month, Helen Noce.

“Now I have a question for you,” I said to Noce. I have never seen such great big glasses. They look wonderful with your sparkling white hair.” I saw a sudden and spirited glint of fun in her 83-year-old eyes that lay behind her enormous royal blue tinted frames. She laughed and quickly replied that she only needed a matching motorcycle outfit.

Noce shifted her weight in the rickety metal chair as we sat in the kitchen of the American Legion Hall in Bothell. She reached over the counter to hand me the recipe she was cooking for the Sons of Italy meeting that night.
Noce asked if I remembered the movie “Moonstruck,” where Dean Martin sings of Pasta e Fagioli and love. Noce said, “Pasta e Fagioli” (pronounced pasta fazool)is a good Lenten recipe. She remembers her Catholic family fasting from meat on Fridays and her mother serving this delicious soup.”

Italy fascinates me and listening to Helen, I was suddenly back in time. My husband and I just happened to be in the right place at the right time in Rome. Six days to savor the flavor of the la dolce vita-the sweet life.

Masterpieces of art abound in every direction. Toss a coin into the Trevi fountain. For dinner, choose a trattoria.
But not today. Tomorrow we will see the covered ceiling of the Sistine Chapel with immortal frescoes by Michelangelo.
Today we were going to witness history—Pope John Paul II – the first non-Italian Pope in over four centuries- was inaugurated.

Very early that morning, we race down the Hotel stairs to the concierge’s desk and ask, “How do we get to Vatican City?” “Why that is easy. Go outside and follow the nuns!” “Really?” I said, moving toward the front door of the hotel. “Go! Go!” He said, as he waved us out the door.

I had thought there would be a few Nuns, but as we stepped out onto the sidewalk, the Italian streets were littered with nuns everywhere. Like black and white dominoes, they were scurrying every which way.

You could feel the electricity of excitement in the air. No one was walking; everyone was at a trot or almost running. We looked at each other and hoofed it across the foreign streets, trying to catch up.

The hurrying nuns, who had now clustered into a colossal group, led us down narrow cobbled streets. Shuttered windows with flower pots on balconies held Sophia Loren’s waving and smiling at us. We crossed the street after street empty of cars until the nuns literally jumped into a bus. No room to sit we all stand. The bus grinds and bumps, passing sights and smells exotic and intoxicating. Finally, it stops abruptly, and I jerk forward. Everyone gets off the bus.

We continue to follow the nuns who now lead us directly into Vatican City. At the entrance stand the Pope’s Swiss guards in their brilliant uniforms. We are now standing inside St. Peter’s Square.

There are rows and rows of police in snappy uniforms, wearing gloves and sashes across their chests. I hear a honk behind me. Looking over my shoulder is a line of dark limousines starting just inches from my legs. A police officer takes my arm and motions me to stand back. I peer into the half-tinted windows and see big men with many medals across their chests. Car after car of dignitaries go by.

St. Peters Square becomes swollen with more than a quarter million kneeling Romans paying homage to the new Pope.
I stand next to the Egyptian Obelisk in the middle of St Peter’s Square and realize that I am in the middle of history in the making and feel as though I must take all things in like a great giant sponge…

“My relatives come from Calbre, Italy. Most of the group tonight come from Naples,” Helen’s voice dissipated my memories as my eyes wandered back to the present.

Noce’s son-in-law, Gary, helps her bring in her large pots and prepare the oven. “The Olive Garden does not know what real Pasta e Fagioli should be!” he exclaims.

Of her three daughters, two, Maire Dunn and Judy Hunter, live here in Bothell. They introduced their mother to the Sons of Italy and asked her to cook tonight.

Noce spent ten fulfilling years as a cook for 650 children at St. Barbara’s school in Los Angeles. Now retired, she keeps herself challenged with crocheting and volunteering work. In addition, she enjoys sharing her Italian heritage.

Have you been to Italy and want to have kindred souls listen to your stories? Are you planning to make the first trip? Then, remember to throw a coin in the Trevi fountain so you will be guaranteed a return trip.

Call Tom Falcone of the Sons of Italy at 488-9811 and find new friends to share your memories with.

From the Kitchen of Helen Noce
PASTA E FAGIOLI
1 cup white navy beans
4 cups water
1 cup salad macaroni
2 tablespoons oil
1 onion, diced
2 cloves garlic
1 8-oz can of tomato sauce
2 tablespoons fresh basil
2 tablespoons fresh parsley
Salt-pepper to taste
Presoak beans overnight for 4 to 6 hours. Boil beans in four cups water. Cook until tender, about four hours. Sauté onions, garlic, basil, and parsley in oil. Add tomato sauce. Add cooked beans. Cook pasta in boiling water for 5-10 minutes but DON’T overcook. Drain water from pasta and add pasta to beans.
(Shanna Celeste is a Bothell resident who enjoys sharing her stories and recipe ideas with readers. Her column appears in the Northshore Citizen regularly.)

He is as fluctuating as light. Animate and solemn, he accelerates around the room like a beacon; he is high energy yet focused. Tapan Bose is a man who found the American dream.

Bose, 45, originally from Calcutta, India, is the new owner of the India House Restaurant on Roosevelt. Newly remolded with a new chef and new and updated menus, India House is one of Washington’s oldest Indian restaurants.
Bose’s love of good food comes from years in the industry, where he started in India, literally at the bottom in a five-star hotel.

“I was a dishwasher,” Bose said, grinning, “at the famous Taj Mahal hotel in Bombay, India. It has 1,500 rooms and famous people come there to vacation.

Promoted to waiter, he attended the hotel’s course on hotel administration and food technology which led to a position as bartender of the Holiday Inn in downtown Bombay.

To full fill his dream of coming to America, he spent his off hours in an Indian-American library, soaking up information on American culture and learning the language. His time and effort paid off. When he was 29, Holiday Inn promoted Bose. He was sent to White Plans, New York, U.S.A.

“My goal was to own a restaurant,” Bose reflected, “where I could serve Indian food that was fresh and savory with India’s wonderful spices like Garam Masala, a blend of cardamom, cinnamon, cumin, and cloves. Good wine, like a Paul Thomas pear wine, complements the fire of Indian food.

Bose moved to Seattle in 1990 to help a friend run Ragu India Restaurant in Bellevue. He found employment with the Olive Garden and the Space Needle, where his talent for food and wine pairing grew.

Confident and experienced, Bose knew he was ready for his greatest challenge, to own the restaurant of his dreams. His first step at India House – was to create an exhibition Tandoor kitchen.

The Tandoor kitchen used throughout India is a rounded-top oven made of clay. “Our oven is always at 850 degrees, and it is enclosed in glass for people to enjoy as they walk by,” said Bose as he instructed one of his chefs to prepare “Papadam” (Indian crispy bread). The Chef took the dough, slapped it directly onto the inside oven’s walls, and left it to bake; in seconds, it began to bubble and brown.

The Chef expertly peeled it off in one piece and then sliced it neatly into quarters. Meat is usually skewered and thrust into the oven’s intense heat. “A chicken half can cook in less than five minutes,” Bose beamed proudly.

The house specialty “Barah Kabab” (rack of lamb) is first marinated for 24 hours in olive oil, lemon, and fresh garlic. Then it is covered in a paste of tomatoes, onions, and yogurt. After roasting, it is brushed with ginger, cumin, coriander, and dry mango powder.
Delicious!

I know, I know. But, school has almost started, and like parents throughout the country, we can now look back and calmly recall our worst or best summer vacation.
My vacation? Or like Tim Hunter said in last week’s Nosin’ Around the Northshore.’ What was the highlight of your summer?

Well, mine was a toss-up between going dozing in a beach chair and enjoying the warm sweet days of a carefree summer or putting in a new lawn. My spouse has a reputation for practicality, and that is where we’ve come to the heart of the matter. Because – Oh, all right – let’s face it, physical labor, and I have an understanding. We hate each other.

I can kill spiders in the bathtub and scrape hardened cereal out of the bowl, but do not make me rake.

And that is where a new lawn begins–with a lot of raking. But your professional (NOT!)lawn landscaper husband, on the other hand, does not even think about raking until he has conducted a complete study of the site. Then, checking it out from every possible angle, squinting and squatting, laying face down in the dirt to decide precisely the mathematical count of each pebble that HAS to be removed.

And suppose your raking is like mine–no offense intended–and the off chance one rock happens to fall out of those rake claws and this expert starts to constantly badger you with tips on rake management, carrying of the rake, and other trivia.

I knew I was in trouble right off when he came up off the ground for air. He looked me straight in the eye to see if I was going to violate the marriage code: Thou shall not look away when free labor is right in your yard.

There was a respectful silence, and then I popped a piece of spearmint gum in my mouth and set to work.
Dim now are the memories of the long, humid, tedious hours of hard labor. The flying dirt and dust that settled on top of cars, pets, and me.

The seven days of waiting, hoping that one blade of green grass would rise up in that ROCKLESS soil. The endless hours holding the hose gently spraying each seed. The nods to each other as we passed the hose and took turns on the morning shift, the afternoon shift, and the evening shift. Flagging the area to keep out all dogs and one obnoxious neighborhood kid.

Bright are the memories of that special morning. We cheered, sang, and jumped for joy. We grabbed the video camera, the camera, and the neighbors because in the middle of that familiar dirt was a blade of waving grass, even though it took only two seconds for the obnoxious neighborhood kid to step on it.

No matter because now summer is almost over and there is lots of grass. In fact, we even need to mow (hint). So I have decided on one last picnic before we bid summer adieu. So enjoy your lawn and this fun, easy yet elegant, and a special recipe for your outdoor soiree.

BLUEBERRY CHEESECAKE PARFAITS
1/2 cup ricotta cheese
1/2 cup cream cheese
4 tablespoons sugar
2 cups fresh blueberries (Frozen/thawed, OK)
4 tablespoon blueberry jelly or apple jelly
3/4 graham cracker crumbs
4 tablespoon whipped cream topping
Blend the first three ingredients with an electric mixer until smooth; set aside.
Combine blueberries and jelly and stir gently. Evenly divide the blueberry mixture into four parfait glasses or other decorative cups.) Layer with two tablespoons ricotta mixture, two tablespoons graham cracker crumbs, followed by two more tablespoons of ricotta mixture. Refrigerate for 1 – 1/2 hours.
Let’s see. If school starts now and ends in June…”What–“Nuh-uh it can’t be. But it is time again to come up with over 200 school lunches! Please share your recipes by e-mail to OUCook@aol.com

One of the most overzealous groups of people I know are ex-fatty’s. They have gone from plump to pumped. No longer does a hot fudge sundae rule their life. They have learned the secret to controlling their weight by getting control of themselves.

I hate ’em. They no longer go blindly through their day with their mouths open, chewing and swallowing whatever comes through their path. Instead, they walk by the refrigerator and don’t open it. A treat is not candy but bottled water. They would never think of putting an M&M found under the couch into their mouth.

Don’t misunderstand me. I have nothing but respect for these truly unpleasant self-disciplined people. I was once one, but then something happened. No one told me I was getting older, and without informing me, my body took it upon itself to re-adjust my metabolism from hamburgers and shakes to don’t eat a pickle, you’ll blow up.

Because I am basically a strong person, I was able to resist a lifestyle change. But, unfortunately, my husband’s addiction to exercise grew steadily worse. And to make matters worse, he is also a black belt in Karate. So naturally, for the last several years, I have tried to ignore this.

The keyword was ignored, but he has become right-out obnoxious about the benefits of sweat. Very frankly, I don’t feel the problem of chubbiness will be worked out in my lifetime. This seemed to be my answer until recently when I had to admit my cases of convenient excuses were growing thin while I ……

On my first day in Karate class, I was devastated. First off, this outfit has no shoulder pads, and hiding your waistline is impossible–they make you wear a belt!

Forget combing your hair. In less than 15 minutes, you have an entirely different hairdo–the wet look.

Of course, getting in shape doesn’t happen in a day. Instead, you have to build up to it through a series of self-inflicted and crippling body movements that immediately cause pain.

Normally articulate and well-spoken, after a one-hour class, exhaustion sets in, loss of appetite, and all direction.

Unfortunately, by 8 p.m. that evening, I’m ready to eat a horse, and that one hour is long forgotten until morning, when everything, including things you never think of like wrists, shriek and creak.

My friend says, “Have a tummy tuck; it’s less painful.” I say as long as I stay a white belt, my waistline won’t be as accentuated. I’m trying to be a good sport, but you see, that is one of the problems, it’s a sport, and I have always been a spectator. They say that studying martial arts is a lifetime experience.

I will need that time to get a black belt.

QUICK DINNER WHEN EXTRA TIRED

4 Bratwurst

One large apple cored and sliced.

Six small Yukon gold potatoes

1/2 medium size cabbage cut into small wedges.

sour cream

Bring water to boil and add potatoes. Last 10 minutes, cook the Bratwurst in the same water as the potatoes. Drain and set potatoes and Bratwurst on a warm platter.

Bring hot water to boil in a large pot. Place steamer inside and add apple and cabbage over low heat until apple is soft—season all with salt and pepper. Serve warm on a platter with the Bratwurst and a dollop of sour cream.

Here’s a question: You are a published mystery writer. But for 50 years, you lived an unsolved mystery.

What do you do?

Like an old-fashioned homily, you turn a lemon into lemonade.

Bette Hagman had to grab the bull by the horns and be tenacious. This is a solemn testament to her adaptability because Hagman suffers from a Celiac Sprue disease, which is only cured by diet.

At 75 and looking smart in a white turtleneck sweater, blue jeans wrapped with a silver-buckled belt. And a June Allyson haircut. Hagman is in demand as a speaker and adds more traveling to her already hectic schedule.

She is a member of “Sisters in Crime,” an organization of mystery readers and writers. However, it is her famous cookbooks that have unlocked a mystery for thousands of people. As a Celiac, Hagman cannot eat wheat, rye, barley, and oats because they contain gluten. This is because the immune system thinks of gluten as a foreign substance and attacks the intestines.

“This is my 25th anniversary of great living,” she says.

She pauses.

“Actually, I was a lousy cook, and it was embarrassment that was my final motivator,” recalls Hagman.

When she discovered that grocery stores didn’t sell any bread, pasta, pizza, cake, or cookies without wheat, she tried to survive on rice cakes.

Hagman says with a sharp twinkle in her eye. “That there were times when she doubted she’d pull through if not for the love of her husband and daughter. She wanted to eat like a ‘real person and, in doing that, discovered that she would have to make up her own recipes.

Her first book took nine years to write. But now, just hand her a bag of gluten-free flour—no several different kinds—and she can create anything from crackers to bread to cake or pizza.

Her sunny expression turns grim. She recalls the years of mystery and misery that reached back to the early 1970s when she had withered away to 81 pounds.

Doctor after doctor had told her it was all in her head. But never mind all that. Putting the risks and worries aside, Hagman was already instilled with the feeling of complete helplessness.

She was always a ‘sickly child,’ she spent many days in bed, close to the bathroom. Her immune system was turning against her own body.

She had never mentioned the frequent bowel movements that led her to malnutrition and fatigue to the doctors. (She had lived with this for so long that she thought it was normal.)

Already in her early 50s and after a lifetime of not knowing what was happening to her, Hagman finds out that her mysterious illness has a name: Celiac Sprue.

Always hungry and never satisfied is one of the signs. As a Celiac, you can eat mountains of food and still be literally starving to death because your body cannot get the nutrients out of the foods that you have eaten.

Nonetheless, she says, these were the beginning times she had to learn to rise to the challenge.

“You can be completely overwhelmed by the restrictions in this diet,” Hagman says matter of factly. ‘Yet you feel so lucky. Finally, you know what is wrong, and you don’t need surgery, not even medication. All you need is to avoid eating gluten.

Finding food that did not contain wheat was like going after ants with dynamite.

Hagman wonders aloud what life would have been if she had not met Elaine Hartsook. Dr. Hartsook, a research dietitian at the University of Washington. She was the original founder of The Gluten Intolerance Group of North America.

The group, still going strong after 23 years, meets on the third Thursday of each month at Bellevue’s Overlake Hospital Medical Center.

With the help of the University of Washington’s diet kitchens, Dr. Hartsook created yeast-rising bread from rice flour and xanthan gum. The late Dr. Hartsook spent her life study on people with gluten intolerance.

Hagman, at the time, was a writing teacher at Lake Washington Technical College, and it just happened that six students in her classes had also discovered they were Celiacs.

All in the same boat, they started to exchange recipes. Hagman had nothing to contribute. Instead, she turned out inedible mess after mess and fed her omnivorous garbage disposal.

Considering herself a writer first, kitchen duty a necessary evil, she continued exchanging baking disaster stories with her students. As to why she wrote a cookbook, Hagman has a heartfelt answer.

“I was forced to cook if I wanted to enjoy eating, and in so doing got hooked on experimenting.”

Hagman quickly runs her fingers down over her chin and neck. Her movements are fast, her energy unflagging. Her first cookbook is; The Gluten-Free Gourmet: Living Well Without Wheat.”

It is more than just a collection of recipes, for in all of her books are short chapters on using the difficult flours of rice, tapioca, potato, bean, and sorghum.

There are hints on how to eat out, travel, and even try to explain to friends why you can’t even taste, let alone eat that wheat-filled cake or cookie, even if it was baked with love.

In a more serious tone, she lists “hidden” dangers that lurk in things like potato chips-which are dusted with wheat flour to “make them taste better.” The modified food starch (wheat flour) is added to things like split pea soup to thicken it and reduce cooking time, and confectioners sugar in Canada, which contains wheat flour.
flour.

So, a word of warning – don’t even eat the cake icing in Canada.

Hagman’s books, ‘Gluten-Free Gourmet: Delicious Dining Without Wheat” and “The Gluten-Free Gourmet Cooks Fast and Healthy” have sold more than 112,000 copies.

But she does admit there is one thing missing: the time to write the great American murder mystery novel.

Flat on my belly on the cold linoleum and shoved against the mop head, the pantry shelves above me, I had not been able to move a muscle for three and 1/2 minutes.

Listening intently, I was awaiting the thieves who entered my kitchen. You know the ones: Husband, alias utensil robber of spatulas, cooking pots, butter knives all snuck out of the kitchen drawers and led directly into …The Garage.

And here’s the clincher. Once in the garage, these precious kitchen utensils instantly become grease scoopers and oil drip pans. And, worse of all, leather rippers. As a result, I have self-described him as a “kitchen utensil junkie.”

The other thieves? Children. From toddlers to teenagers, they are pilfering the kitchen scissors, twine, and spoons. Anything their little mugs can get a hold of and sneak upstairs to their rooms.

I had confronted, accused, and questioned to NO avail. All I ever received was denial. “I didn’t do it.” “I did NOT take it.” “What would I want with that…duh?”

This week, I made my biggest, most rewarding discovery in a time-honored way: watching and waiting, waiting and watching.

A couple of days before, I hunted in the teenager’s room. It was blatantly lying on the floor—number one: Evidence: of my kitchen scissors. I took a Polaroid shot. I continued the hunt with new appreciation, having now seen the competition.

Another Polaroid snapped in the garage under the car-my stock pot-with car oil dripping in it.

I waited until Saturday’s chores were completed. I’ am ready now for the confrontation. I dropped the ax on this one-time-only opportunity.

The tribe sat in a circle as I slowly revealed the pictures behind my back as evidence. They all sat there silently contemplating their destiny.

“This is proof of what I have been saying that you are thieves and have conspired to deplete me of any kitchen utensils.” I shouted.

“I know your trick, you think you have learned to be crafty by putting the dishes away in mysterious places. Well, you cannot throw me off the trail any longer I am on to you! Several behavior studies (I threw this in as their attention began to lag) says that…”

If you want to know the truth, I glimpsed around the room they were captured, pinned down, stunned. It was great.

“The closest you will come to life on this planet (home) I continued, is to admit to fault and I will go easy on you.” No one quarreled, no one disagreed. Call me cautious, but I’m always suspicious when everyone is so agreeable all at the same time. All at once.

I thought the case was closed until today, when I went to the cabinet to pull out my Jell-O mold…it was missing. I looked out the kitchen window and there it was full of dirt…with a spoon in it.

For obvious reasons, I’m resigned to the fact that my pantry is too small for stakeouts and I have learned to cook with…

NO UTENSILS NEEDED RECIPES

CHICKEN -HAM PINWHEELS

2 chicken breasts

1/8 teaspoon salt

1/8 teaspoon dried basil leaves, crushed

dash pepper and dash of garlic salt

3 slices ham

2 teaspoons lemon juice

Paprika

Pound chicken breasts to 1/4 inch thickness. Mix salt, basil, pepper, and garlic salt; sprinkle on chicken. Cover each chicken breast with 1-1/2 slices ham; roll up length- wise. Place, seam side down, in 10×6 inch baking dish. Drizzle with lemon juice; sprinkle with paprika. Bake at 350 for 35 minutes. Cover; chill thoroughly. Before serving; cut chicken rolls into 1/4 inch slices. If desired, serve with bite size rye bread spread with softened butter and mustard. Makes 24 slices.

MEATBALL NUGGETS

2 cups soft bread crumbs

1/3 cup milk

1 tablespoon soy sauce

1/2 teaspoon garlic salt

1/4 teaspoon onion powder

1/2 pound ground beef

1/2 pound bulk pork sausage

1 5-ounce can water chestnuts, drained and finely chopped

Combine first 5 ingredients; add remaining ingredients and mix well. Form into 1-inch balls. Place on cookie sheet and freeze firm; wrap in foil or plastic bag and return to freezer. Before serving, place frozen meatballs on sheet baking pan. Bake at 250 for 35 minutes. Keep warm in chafing dish. Makes about 5 dozen. Serve with toothpicks.

APPETIZER CHEESECAKE

2 cups dairy sour cream

1/2 cup finely chopped green pepper

1/2 cup finely chopped celery

1/4 cup finely chopped pimiento-stuffed green olives

1/4 cup finely chopped onion

2 teaspoons lemon juice

1 teaspoons Worcestershire sauce

Dash paprika

5 drops hot pepper sauce

1 -1/3 cup rich round cracker crumbs

Combine all ingredients except crumbs. Line 4-cup bowl with clear plastic wrap. Spread 1/2 cup of the sour cream mixture in bottom of bowl. Layer with 1/2 cup of the crumbs; then 1 cup sour cream mixture, 1/2 cup crumbs, and remaining sour cream mixture. Cover; chill for 24 hours. Store remaining cracker crumbs. Before serving: Unmold onto serving plate; remove wrap. Top with remaining crumbs. Serve with assorted crackers.

“You promised when summer was here!”

“Look outside.” I pointed to the window as I glared at my child, “You call that summer… it’s raining!”

My child’s bottom lip quivered, and her head hung on her chest.

What modern-day mother has never been intimidated when she realizes she is trapped; trapped by the promises of, “Yes, you can have a pet–BUT, not till summer comes.”

Summer’s here.

Wearing a grin and holding a large sandwich bag with a zip lock top, my 3-year-old proudly brought home her first pet. Not just one but two goldfish gleamed at me through the plastic.

“I promise to feed them and love them every single day,” exclaimed my child. Somehow I knew it would be a long, hot summer. So we plopped Salt and Pepper (the fish, not the spice) into their brand new fishbowl.

How can something the size of my thumb make so much trouble? By morning they were swimming gaily in fresh, clear water. By afternoon they were in LA smog. Every other day they had to have a major overhaul. My daughter’s eagerness to feed them left them, well…dead.

Every day during the entire third grade, every note to Santa Clause, the Easter Bunny, and birthday wish list all said one thing, “P-L-E-A-S-E when summer comes, may I have a hamster?”

I am as crazy about animals as the next guy but face it; you really know when a child is serious about a request because they become relentless. They keep their room neat, don’t slouch, stop snapping their gum and send you “Love You” notes.

That summer, we picked up the hamster for $1.50 and his bedroom set for $69.95. We let it run up and down our arms. In our sleeves and up and down our pant legs for about a week. He was cute. He was all furry with a twitchy nose: he had to have clean shavings and water—a little more complicated than the goldfish. But then our daughter was now older and more responsible. Right?

The darn thing about the hamster, though, was that it had this annoying habit of sleeping all day; as soon as the lights were out, he would hop into the driver’s seat of his exercise wheel and, like an army marching through potato chips, go around and around all night long.

Then one night, it happened. I was alone in the house, quietly sitting in my chair, when something scurried across the room out of the corner of my eye. My heart stopped. Yuck! A mouse in the house.

I heard it behind the fridge. I must have clipped it right with the broom because it lay in the broom straw, looking up at me. How could (Marshmallow) the hamster have escaped his cage of steel?

After the funeral, we were all too sick to think of getting another. So we took his deluxe condo, covered it with a towel, and put it in the garage on top of the fishbowl. We missed the sound of the wheel at night.

Thanks to a relative (you know who you are), our daughter got her first gift certificate…for a bird. Two birds, in fact, they were supposed to mate. Their cage was decked with all the latest amenities: nest fluff, egg and fruit sticks (to maintain strength), a nesting bowl, and plant foliage. They lasted for years and sang beautifully. Though they never did reproduce. We changed their names from Fred and Wilma to Goldie and Tina.

As your children grow strong and independent, you would like the summer pet urge to cease. This summer? Say hello to Chocolate (the brown kitty) and Peanut Butter (the orange calico kitty).

Here we go again!

A summer treat for Mom (AAT short for Alias Animal Trainer)

ESPRESSO ICE CREAM

2 – 1/2 cups sugar

2 tablespoons flour

1/4 teaspoon salt

2 – 1/2 cups hot espresso coffee

2 – 1/2 cups half and half

6 egg yolks

5 cups heavy cream

one vanilla bean, split in half

Mix together the sugar, flour, salt and espresso, half and half, and vanilla bean until well mixed with a wire whisk.

Add egg yolks and creme. Mix well. Freeze in the ice cream freezer. Before serving, remove the vanilla bean.

(Shanna Celeste is a Bothell resident who enjoys sharing her recipe ideas and stories with readers. Her column appears regularly in the Citizen.)

Marriage is fattening…

Back in my unwed days, I would hop to the grocery store and merrily pick up a box of gourmet lobster tails, grab a can of imported artichoke hearts, and splurge on a $3.95 chocolate pound cake. And best yet…I would walk right out of that store with not one pound of guilt under my arm because that is all I would eat all day!

Suddenly, when you find someone else in your life and begin to discover the joys of cooking, you also find that you have a captive audience! And if you are one of the lucky ones, he is very receptive, and that is all it takes to acquire great inspiration.

I discovered exotic dishes. If it wasn’t oozing in creamy butter, I would smother it in wine.
Breakfasts were fit for a King (and more). But, oh-the Piece De Resistance was dinner.
If it wasn’t flaming, it was on ice. Puffed or stuffed, it was delectable, delightful, and terribly fattening.

Unconsciously, as I stirred my Bernaise sauce, stuffed game hens, and dolloped cream on my meringue pies, I was popping crumbs and testing sauces until I was more stuffed than the game hens.

It is a good thing time cools everything. I’ve learned that it takes more than just good cooking to keep mystery and romance in a good relationship, and even delicious dishes don’t have to be rich and gooey to prove you’re a good cook.
A little variety now and then, plus one very special dinner a month, makes marriage a little less fattening on both of you.

And what a better occasion than St. Patrick’s Day!
Leafy vegetables are the best buys in March. Spinach is at the height of its season. Why not combine the two?
Spinach for the green of St. Patrick’s Day and Irish Pasta for a fun and special dinner!
Enjoy.

Have a Happy St. Patrick’s Day!

IRISH PASTA
Manicotti are pasta tubes about four inches long and one inch in diameter. They are filled with savory stuffing and served with tomato sauce.

8 Manicotti
1 pound fresh spinach
1 Tbsp. butter
1 cup milk
1/4 cup flour
2 cups finely diced cooked chicken
2 1/2 cups tomato sauce
1 cup Parmesan cheese
Salt and Black Pepper
Wash the spinach thoroughly and put it in a large saucepan. Add two tablespoons of water and cover with lid—Cook over low heat for about 10 minutes. Drain the spinach through a colander, squeeze firmly with a wooden spoon, and remove all the moisture. Chop the spinach and set it aside.

In a medium saucepan, melt the butter and stir in the flour. Cook gently for one minute, then gradually blend in the milk, stirring continuously to get a smooth sauce. Bring to a boil, then simmer gently for two to three minutes, or until the sauce has thickened—season to taste with salt and pepper.

Take the saucepan off the heat and stir the chicken and spinach into the sauce. Put the manicotti in a pan of boiling salted water and boil until the pasta is just tender. Drain and cool for a few minutes.

Using a large pastry bag with a plain tube, pipe the stuffing into the manicotti. Arrange the manicotti in a buttered baking dish, pour the tomato sauce over them and sprinkle with half of the grated Parmesan cheese. Place the casserole on the upper half of a pre-heated oven and cook at 400 degrees for 20 minutes or until bubbling hot and brown.
Serve with the remaining cheese, and I suggest a good wine for this dish would be a red Bordeaux or a well-aged Cabernet or a real good Irish Beer!