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 (don't give pets alcohol!) I saw an article in today’s paper that proclaimed that dogs are preferred by pet owners 2-to-1. The article went on to give the reasons why people tend to prefer dogs (unconditional acceptance) while cat owners defended their preference for felines. The good news is that sixty-two percent of people like BOTH cats and dogs.
I’m one of the sixty-two percenters, which is probably why I’m also one of those people who like both beer and wine. I may not drink beer as often, but recently I was reminded that beer is just darn good at times.
As we all know, I’m an All Recipes.com junkie, and the other day I tried out a recipe that was called, “My Kid’s Favorite Pork Chops.” Let me tell you, folks—until you’ve had loin chops simmered in barbeque sauce, beer, and onions, you haven’t had down-home, fork-tender, lip-smacking pork chops. My family inhaled them in less than five minutes.
The bonus of the recipe is that since it called for a bottle or can of beer, I had reason to buy a six-pack. I usually don’t keep beer around—it’s far too user-friendly, and I’m always counting calories like most middle-aged moms. However, since I needed it for a family meal, well, there was justification for bringing home some ZiegenBock, which looked to be the best price-quality combination for cooking.
I was getting the chops ready, and I poured most of the beer into the skillet as directed, but I saved a few sips. As I drank that rare beer, I thought, “This is really good stuff. I should do this more often.” Therein lies the problem, you see.
I’ll never forget my first beer. I was under-age, watching speed boat races on the Brazos River, and my foolish male cousins went off and left me and my best girlfriend in possession of the beer cooler. In it was Miller, “the champagne of beers.” Kelly and I cracked the cooler, and at that moment in time, beer was absolutely the best beverage I’d ever had because it was hot as hell outside, and the beer was ice-cold and immensely delicious. A fan was born.
What does beer have to do with cats and dogs? Well, beer is sort of more like a dog while wine is more like a cat. Beer is always there for you, it’s approachable, and it goes well with moving day or a backyard party. Wine is mysterious, unpredictable, and somewhat snooty. Beer people tend to look askance at wine people and vice versa.
I do generally prefer wine, and I do have three cats and no dog, but I used to have one. Sometimes, I miss having that furry, slobbery, overly-enthusiastic bundle of canine love barreling toward me at the end of a long day. Our family’s much divided time and energy just doesn’t lend itself to the demands of dog ownership right now. Maybe someday.
Meanwhile, I’ll content myself with Chardonnay and a cat or two. Nothing against beer or dogs. Everything just has its own place and time.
(And, dear friends, remember this is all just a lot of foolish blathering. Let’s not start the great dog-beer-cat-wine conflict. However, lively discussion is fine.)
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 I’m pleased to announce that I took the online wine quiz from Local Wine Events, and I scored a 70.
According to them, that qualifies me as a “Smart Wino.”
(Yes I know that’s not an A. The image is just for impact.)
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 Many of us make New Year’s resolutions, but the concept is so clichéd as to be almost meaningless. New Year’s resolutions can easily become a passing joke, a promise you make to yourself and then later forgive yourself for breaking. So, even though I have some big-time resolutions for 2010, I hesitate to write about them for fear that doing so may somehow mysteriously place them in the category of, “Things I May Not Do.”
I suppose I’ve put off my first post of the New Year because ideally, it should relate to my resolve to seriously get cracking on my certification as a sommelier. For me, 2010 is meant to be a pivotal year.
I had a head start in December when I first documented, “I want to become a Master Sommelier!” If you put such ambitions in writing and then take the additional step of making those statements public, it’s as if you have issued a “double-dog dare” to yourself. Even if nobody else takes you very seriously, you still end up feeling sheepish if you made a big fuss and then fizzled.
To give myself some credit, as of yesterday, I actually took steps beyond mere contemplation. I researched the difference between certification through the Court of Master Sommeliers and the International Sommelier’s Guild. To me, it seems that the Court of Masters is more for folks currently working in the wine/hospitality industry, while the ISG is for those who want to learn enough to possibly launch their career. Since I don’t have a lot of industry experiencce, it seems I’m better off going to the ISG classes (Parts 1 and 2).
Here is the catch: it will cost $3000, and I will have to surrender 9 weeks of Sundays to all-day classes. When I say that now, neither the cost nor the time involved seem like huge obstacles. Still, it’s going to take some adjustment and discipline to see it through. I don’t look forward to spending my scanty free time away from my family.
There are always a dozen good reasons not to pursue your dream. I can’t assume failure before I even really get started—I’ll just have to do my best and hope that the right combination of capability and luck will happen. So, onward and upward!
(There, I did it. I wrote my first post for 2010. That gets me off the hook for writing anything about my other resolution, which is to cut back on the rich food and wine so I can get back to my “fighting” weight. To resolve to eat healthier and lose weight in the New Year is most definitely a cliché.)
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 Although I have a Hebrew name—Rebecca—I’m about as Jewish as the Blarney stone. In fact, most of my ancestors hailed from Ireland/Scotland, with a sprinkling of French and Native American. However, in spite of that ethnic mélange, or maybe because of it, I pursue culinary traditions from a multitude of cultures, including that of the Ashkenazi Jews who eat the golden brown potato pancakes known as “latkes” during the Hanukkah festival.
As a newcomer to latkes last year, I went online to research the process, and when I did, I came across an article by Aaron B. Cohen in the Dec. 22, 2008 issue of The Jewish Star called, “A Latke by Any Other Name.” It was so wonderfully descriptive and hilarious that I immediately adopted it as my sacred text for latke-making.
I hope Mr. Cohen will forgive my plagiarism, but I want to share some of his remarks with you (you may find the full article at this link). It is only by following his detailed notes and rich ethnic humor that I can evoke the true spirit of Hanukkah to properly guide my shiksa hands through the process.
Mr. Cohen begins by whetting your appetite for a taste of the perfect latke:
A great latke never hides behind applesauce or sour cream; it invites them over for dinner. It tangos with brisket, plays footsie with green beans. It has your guests beg for more. A really great latke has enough oil to consecrate the Temple, produces enough heartburn to last only one day, but leaves a taste in your mouth for eight. A divine latke is a nes gadol, a great miracle, and has the face of Moses fried on.
Isn’t that great? He goes on to list ingredients and measures, but there are some specific things he wants you to closely observe, such as the use of olive oil:
Olive oil. Not butter, not canola oil, not peanut oil. Where do you think Jews come from, Alaska? Do not cook with Pam (unless you’re married), this is Chanukah!
His notes concerning the heat, the length of cooking time, the texture, and the color of the batter are as helpful as they are humorous. Here he talks about the amount of liquid to leave in the grated potatoes:
Take this mixture from the food processor and put it in the colander. Get out the excess liquid. Put your hands in (wash them first) and squeeze. Make it cry uncle. Make it say the Shema. Liquid is the enemy up to a point. And then it’s your friend. Your latke needs a little, but only a little.
A light touch is frequently necessary, such as when you are patting down the batter in the hot oil:
Dipping the big metal serving spoon into your batter, drop a big spoonful of batter into the oil. Like you’re patting the head of an infant, pat the top of the batter with the spoon so that it spreads out evenly.
You know are you are almost done when you reach this stage:
Wait two minutes, then flip one. You know you want to. It won’t hurt anyone. No one needs to know. Just do it. Is it golden brown? Do you see the face of Moses? Can you sell it on eBay?
I find that by following Mr. Cohen’s instructions, I am able to produce latkes that are so dense, delicious, and fragrantly spiced that even my Biblical counterpart would be proud. I even feel confident enough to add a biselleh of nutmeg and parsley, according to our own tastes. We especially like them with a sweet-tart spoonful of my delicious homemade cranberry sauce.
Last year was the first year that we made latkes during the holiday season, and we liked them so much that they are now officially on the menu for years to come. It’s also a way of paying homage to one of the world’s great faiths and cultures and remembering the hardships they have suffered while preserving their traditions and famous humor.
Wine pairing: Kendall Jackson Sauvignon Blanc 2008
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 Whoever you are,
Whomever you love,
Whatever your faith,
Whether black, white, red, brown, or yellow…
Blessings to you and yours this holiday season. May 2010 bring peace and prosperity to everyone!
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 Once again, the Dallas Morning News spurred me into action, and this time the food section prompted me to embark on bark.
I’m not talking about dog bark or tree bark but rather the sheets of hardened candy so sugary that a couple of pieces can knock out the most aggressive sweet tooth.
If you read some of my earlier blog entries, you know that I had a peanut brittle disaster the last time my family attempted candy making. However, looking at the recipes in the DMN (which can be found here), they seemed simple enough—mostly a lot of melting and sprinkling.
So, Jacy, Genny, and I decided we would make some white chocolate bark, Hello Dollies, and ready-to-bake sugar cookies that they could put into little festive containers and give to their friends. Teenagers are typically cashed-strapped (their allowance disappears like early morning fog), and the concept of making gifts has strong appeal.
As you probably know, white chocolate really isn’t chocolate at all but rather sugar, cocoa butter and milk. I confess that I’d never worked with melted white chocolate before, but I’d worked with melted semi-sweet chocolate hundreds of times. So, no big whoops, right?
I put Jacy in charge of melting the chips while I made a quick run to the store for a missing ingredient. When I got back, she’d succeeded in getting the morsels to melt, but the stuff in the pan had the body and texture of newly mixed concrete. It was like the giant Stay Puff Marshmallow man in Ghost Busters because it seemed to just be getting bigger and thicker!
The recipe suggested using a microwave, but that didn’t seem like a good way to go, so we were using a heavy pot on the stove at a medium temperature. We probably should have used a double boiler, but I’d always melted chocolate in a pot before with a good result, as long as I stirred it constantly and added a bit of butter.
We wrestled with that stuff! We didn’t defeat it—it finally defeated us, and we resolved to just lay it out in the pan as instructed, using a big spatula and lots of elbow grease. We patted and smoothed until it was uniform, added the sprinkles, and then put it in the refrigerator and crossed our fingers.
Two hours later—and ta-da! Behold, delicious and gorgeous-looking bark! Whew! The bark went into the little containers along with the sugar cookies and Hello Dollies. It made a nice treat for their friends.
Just goes to show you: bark can definitely be worse than its bite.
P.S. Jacy continued the experiment as she made cake balls at a friend’s house. She said the microwave works well, as long as you only heat the white chocolate enough to where a few morsels are still showing. Then mix it together, and it melts itself. Too much heat cooks the white chocolate. So, there you are!
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 Tradition—it’s what separates the holidays from the rest of the year. There are traditions that groups of people share, like putting up a tree or lighting a menorah, and then there are those traditions that individual families develop and repeat year after year. I think it is those unique rituals that provide the greatest sense of “comfort and joy,” and form the basis of our most treasured memories.
Our family is relatively new because it is a blended family, and we have only begun to build traditions these last four years. In that short time, it’s interesting how quickly some traditions have taken root in the Marmaduke family.
One example is our annual sojourn to the Bishop Arts District just southwest of Downtown Dallas. I used to live near there, but I moved away as my life circumstances and job situation changed. However, it remains one of my favorite neighborhoods, and staring about 3 years ago, our family began going there for the annual “Jingle Bells on Bishop” celebration.
This year the event took place the first weekend of December, and unfortunately we had other things going on and missed it. It’s too bad because it really is great fun, with special activities for children, live music, and free cookies and treats in all the shops. Hundreds of people come and mill around, enjoying the festivities.
Although we didn’t make it to “Jingle Bells,” last Saturday evening we made the trek anyway to prowl the unique shops and have a bite to eat, just so we could maintain our family tradition. The aspect that was familiar and satisfying was the unusual and interesting items to be found in the Bishop Arts stores. What was different and disappointing was that I was recovering from a nasty head cold, and our usual dinner at Vitto’s Italian Café was incredibly average (at best). I don’t know if the food has gone into decline in the last year, or if I’ve just eaten so much extraordinary food that I’ve become spoiled. Either way, I don’t know that we’ll be going back there—there are other restaurants in Bishop Arts that are much more exceptional, albeit pricier.
Another departure from our usual routine this year was that when the tweenagers (twin teenagers) hit the vintage clothing store hot and heavy, Ben and I opted to go around the corner to Tillman’s for a glass of vino. We settled into the long sectional sofa in the bar and sipped a delightful Chilean Syrah while Jacy and Genny shopped ‘til they dropped (or ‘til we dropped—they could have shopped all night, no doubt).
There’s nothing like a new spin on an old tradition to make room for more warm memories. While we missed out on some of the old activities that we had known and enjoyed, we discovered some new twists that added fresh value.
Traditions are something people create together—it’s that shared experience that makes you want to do it again and again. There are many things I enjoy doing on my own, but around the holidays, it’s the special traditions shared with my family and friends that make me feel “merry and bright.”
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 Hey, if you live in the Dallas/Fort Worth area and are into wine/food, you won’t want to miss Cotes du Coeur. It’s going to be the foodie event of the year. And yours truly is an embedded correspondent  .
Get the first scoop here and watch for more details:
Escape Hatch Dallas
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 Mmmmmy Scallops “I certainly am,” I replied enthusiastically, although the question had me astonished as well.
We had just finished our meeting in the other room, and I was strolling purposefully toward the hostess stand at Pappas Bros Steakhouse.
I guess there was a time long ago when I would have felt strange walking into a four-star restaurant and asking for a table for one. That was before I went on extended business trips alone and before I had a family and other responsibilities that consume much of my free time. The dinner was my special treat. I was going to milk it for all it was worth. In fact, I was going to practice “meditative mindfulness.”
Meditative mindfulness is a Buddhist practice where teachers instruct students how to calm their minds by simply becoming aware of everything that passes through their attention. It’s pretty easy to do that at a beautiful restaurant, where the sights, sounds, smells, and tastes are sensory nirvana. Practicing mindfulness as you eat is also a good way to get as much bang for your buck as possible. (It’s probably not very good Buddhism, though, since Buddhist philosophy considers greed to be a “poison.” I can be kind of greedy, I suppose.)
Anyway, I sat down at the long, gleaming counter that was only a few feet away from the impeccably clean kitchen, settling into meditative mindfulness. It was still early, and my server was particularly attentive and conversational. We talked about wines, tossed around ideas about what I should drink, and finally settled on a glass of my favorite Roederer champagne. Later, I ordered my meal, and then I was free to revel in the ballet before me.
Everyone buzzed about in their clean, white uniforms, focusing their attention on dozens of small tasks, such as dusting an appetizer with fresh parmesan or folding a napkin into a perfect rectangle. Although they were busy, you could also see a certain level of camaraderie between them, making me think of them as high-performing team where everyone works together for the best outcome. The way they crank out all those scrumptious steaks, appetizers, sides, and desserts every night is no accident.
My appetizer arrived—fat scallops perched on a buttery slice of French bread, embraced by a blanket of crisp bacon. I doubt anyone in the history of humankind has ever relished scallops more. I chewed them slowly, experiencing each succulent morsel as a revelation. I took my sweet time with those scallops, and I was sorry when they were gone.
Fortunately, my luscious, beefy, fork-tender filet mignon arrived to replace my devoured scallops, along with some blanched asparagus spears the size of small trees. It goes without saying that the steak was magnificent—the brush of crusty-seared pepper on the outside, the moist, pink center melting in my mouth. But the mint-green asparagus stood on its own because it was super fresh and cooked to a perfect crisp-tenderness. The texture of everything was remarkable, and I was paying close attention.
When servers and other staff asked me how I was doing, I told them that they should only allow people who appreciate good food at least as much as I do to eat at their restaurant. They laughed.
As if the fabulous food weren’t enough, I had the amazing good fortune to be treated to a behind-the-scenes look by the general manager. To me, a foodie in training, that was the equivalent of a Beatles fan going backstage at a Paul McCartney concert. I was delirious with delight. (Seriously, I had trouble falling asleep that night after all the excitement.) I also got a taste of each of their fabulous sides, and all of them are a tour de force in their own right. The crab meat macaroni and cheese is pure pasta bliss.
So I ask you: would you mind going for an hour-long massage alone, or sitting alone in a hot, bubbly bath of lavender water with the lights turned down and soft music playing? Probably not. I’m suggesting that you can have just as much relaxation and enjoyment from going to a great restaurant alone and totally surrendering to the experience.
Make a pledge now to join the “Eat Mindfully and Alone” club. Actually, that sounds like a fine New Year’s Resolution.
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As a hostess, I work just as hard for a small party as I do for a big one, but my focus is different. For a big party, the challenge is serving a lot of good food on a budget, and so that means little sausages in barbeque sauce, cheese dip, and perhaps some pre-made hors d’oeuvres from Costco (my favorite fallback—don’t knock it until you’ve tried it). Unless it’s a extraordinarily special affair, I’m not going to hire a caterer or spend days in the kitchen, and so I make lots of things that are tasty but simple.
However, when I host a small party, I focus on a few special things. We had a small “Holiday Happy Hour” last night at our house for just four of our friends, and the food and wine really had a chance to shine.
 For me personally, Christmas is all about COOKIES! So I wanted to put some fabulous, freshly-made cookies on the agenda. As I’ve mentioned before, the Dallas Morning News is one of my favorite sources for all things food/wine related, and last Thursday they published the results of their annual cookie contest. The fancy decorated ones are always eye-popping, but let’s not forget their homelier but equally tasty counterparts. From the DMN, I selected two recipes to try: Chocolate Peanut Butter Praline Bars and an old and nearly forgotten personal favorite, Pistachio Nut Mexican Wedding Cookies.
Both cookies turned out FABULOUS. The chocolate bars are decadently rich, while the wedding cookies are deceptively simple but unfold in waves of delicate texture and flavor. (Notice I say, “are” instead of “were.” We ate more than a few at the party, but I made enough cookies to serve a small army. My family isn’t complaining about the leftovers—and I had two wedding cookies for a mid-morning snack.)
So, what beverage becomes a legendary cookie most? We suspected and confirmed that a semi-sweet German Riesling (Monchhof Mosel-Saar-Ruwer Estate Riesling 2007) would do the cookies justice, and our hypothesis proved correct. Cookies and milk are a pretty good combination, but a German Riesling with homemade cookies will give you “tidings of comfort and joy,” to be sure. (Ben had been trying to sell me on Riesling for sometime—I had bad Riesling memories going back a ways. I’m now thoroughly converted.)
 In addition to the other goodies, Carolyn brought over her savory prosciutto-wrapped asparagus. She gave away the secret—she coats the prosciutto with Boursin cheese and then wraps it around sautéed asparagus. It looks elegant and tastes wonderful, but it’s easy to make. Another of my easy favorites from All Recipes is Mediterranean Pinwheels, and those were on hand as well.
We had a respectable Cotes du Rhone ready for the first wine course, but when Bruce walked in with a bottle of Silver Oak Cabernet Sauvignon 2005, I was all over it like a monkey on banana bread. It played well with the mini roast-beef sandwiches and gouda-red pepper spread on toasts.
 Finally, after a couple of hours of Sunday evening chatting and snacking, it was time to wind up the evening and get ready for the work week. We finished up the evening by walking around the corner to the legendary, “Carrollton Christmas House,” before everyone headed home.
I’ve inserted a link to the video Ben took (click here) so you, too, may enjoy the wonderment. Merry Chrismahanukwanzakah!
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