Spicy Carrot Juice with Apples, Ginger, and Cayenne

It seems like every year we put out stomachs to a serious test on Thanksgiving. At K's parent's house, scratch the turkey. Instead, it's roasted pork with gravy, a locally-made chicken roll, and tons of delectable sides, including the prized Polish dumpling of her maternal grandparents' upbringing - kluski.

We have the (sometimes ignominious) charge of making the kluski every year. Some years, they turn out light and airy and are lauded by all. Other years, they are so dense that they hit your tummy like a hod of cement funnelled down your pile hole. It is two days after Thanksgiving and we are still recovering from the overeating.

Banal though it may be, the observation of post-holiday over indulgence merits some discussion. If ever there were a reason to own a juicer, this is it. Detox time. It seems as if we spent much of the three-hour drive back home conversing about what kind of juice to make upon our return. In the end, we opted on our standard.

Spicy Carrot Juice with Apples and Ginger

• 6 large juicing carrots
• 1-2 apples, preferably a sweet, juicy variety like honey crisp
• 1-2 Tbsp fresh ginger
• Juice of one lemon
• Pinch of cayenne pepper
• Optional - one clove garlic

I swear by my Breville juice machine. It is kind of a pain to clean, but has a powerful 700-watt motor and a wide, three-inch-diameter mouth that facilitates a quick and painless juicing process. This recipe cries out for a beet, if you have one. It adds another dimension to the flavor, as well as a lovely deep red color.

The Ultimate Italian Cookie

Si Signore. This is the stuff. My favorite Italian cookie. Hands down. Sure, I love a good biscotto... especially with a nice long espresso or some vin santo, the digestivo of choice in K's old neighborhood, the "Altra Arno," in Firenze. She still knows how to make real-deal biscotti, with a nice lemon anise flavoring and twice-baked so that they will break your teeth if you are not careful. Just the way they should be. The point, after all, is to dip 'em.

My preference, pignoli, are of a spongier, springy sort of sweet. They couldn't be simpler to make. The only hang up, really, is the skyrocketing price of pine nuts these days. Trader Joe's is the best place to find them at the cheapest price. But "cheap" is no longer a word that belongs in the same sentence as "pine nuts." One must also be wary of the country of origin when purchasing pine nuts. Those of a substantially lesser quality come from China. Go figure.

Lidia Matticchio Bastianich's Pignoli (Almond Cookies with Pine Nuts)

• Butter, softened for the pans, if using
• 1 pound canned almond paste
• 1 1/2 cups sugar
• 3 large egg whites
• 1 1/2 cups pine nuts

Preheat the oven to 350F. Line two cookie sheets with parchment paper, or grease them lightly. Crumble the almond paste into a mixing bowl of an electric mixer. Beat until crumbled fine. Sprinkle the sugar over the almond paste while continuing to beat, until the sugar is incorporated. Beat in the egg whites, one at a time, and continue beating until the dough is smooth. 

Roll 1 tablespoon of the dough into a ball between your palms. Drop the dough ball onto the plate of pine nuts. When you have formed several dough balls, roll them in the pine nuts to coat lightly on all sides. Transfer them to the prepared baking sheets, and press them lightly to slightly flatten them and help the pine nuts adhere to the cookies. Repeat with the remaining batter and pine nuts. 

Bake the cookies until lightly browned and soft and springy, about 15 minutes. Remove and cool completely on wire racks before serving. The cookies can be stored in a covered container at room temperature for up to a week.  

Note: If you don't want to pay the premium for pine nuts, another type of nut is an option. As the photo indicates, I ran out and had to used chopped almonds to finish the batch. 

Review: A Not So Fond Farewell to Pat's King of Steaks

Although I'm not a fan of the restaurant where he made his bones, I do appreciate the rambling musings of Mr. Anthony Bourdain. Indeed, I wholeheartedly applaud one of the observations that he makes in his recent book, Medium Raw: A Bloody Valentine to the World of Food and the People Who Cook. The Food Network is pure evil.

Bourdain dislikes them because they turned the fine art of food into a reality TV circus with inane shows like Throw Down with Bobby Flay, Iron Chef America, and The Next Food Network Star, while sacrificing, in the process, the earlier and far more educational programs like Molto Mario and Essence of Emeril.

Another unsavory repercussion of the growth of the Food Network, as I see it, is that their many "road food" shows have come to impart mythical status on local spots that many of us know and love, thereby resulting in those very places jacking up their prices to cash in on McMansion-dwelling, Food Network-worshipping couch potatoes flocking in from the suburbs by the hundreds.

On a recent conference in Philadelphia, I took a nice autumn walk from Center City down through the 9th Street Italian Market in order to visit an old friend - Pat's King of Steaks. I almost never eat cheese steaks these days, but Pat and I have a history dating back to the days when my friends went to grad school in Philly. To my astonishment, my order of a "Wit Whiz" was met with a brusk response of "That will be $9.50."

$9.50 for a wit whiz? You have got to be @#$%ing kidding me.

Sure, there is a thing called inflation. Yes, gas costs of delivery vehicles are greater now than in years past. But none of that explains the audacity of charging $9.50 for sliced steak with onions topped with processed cheese spread.

As I looked around, I realized that the locals - once a familiar sight at Pat's - were noticeably absent. Everyone was an out-of-town tourist. You can call Philly folks what you will, but stupid they are not. The local folks have already moved on to the hundreds of other cheese steak peddlers located around the city that charge a more reasonable price for the EXACT same product.

Forever more, I will do the same.