Truffle Vinaigrette

Renee is not the only resident in the Hotel Monroe who knows what to do with a bottle of truffle oil!

Consider investing in a small bottle of truffle oil. It’s not cheap but will transform a simple salad or a plain bowl of pasta into something truly elegant. Enjoy this versatile dressing tossed with your favorite green salad, or drizzle lightly over steamed asparagus. I like to mix and store this in a jar with a lid for easy shaking.
You can also use one tablespoon of walnut oil in place of one of the tablespoons truffle oil for a nice variation
INGREDIENTS:
¼ cup extra virgin olive oil
¼ cup dry white wine
3 tablespoons truffle oil
1 small clove garlic, peeled and lightly crushed
¼ teaspoon salt
Freshly ground black pepper
DIRECTIONS:
• Whisk or shake together olive oil, wine, truffle oil, garlic and salt.
• Season to taste.
• Toss immediately with your favorite salad, or refrigerate.

The First Annual White Truffle Dinner

Hosted by the lady in black

Living the expat life on and off for the past seven years, I am now Stateside at Thanksgiving for only the third time since 2002. Perhaps that’s why I’m finding myself especially mindful of the true meaning of the holiday. Today, I’m giving thanks for my good friends and neighbors, Renee, Laura and Jeff.

Renee lives the life of the princess that she truly is. Last night she made the three of us feel like royalty by hosting what I hope is the first of many White Truffle Dinners. After a whirlwind week sampling truffle dishes all over Manhattan (and that’s hard work!), Renee returned home carrying a haul of the rare fungus back to Kansas City to share with the lucky few.

Renee wears more black than Johnny Cash himself, and her gorgeous new black suede thigh high Butter boots (no kidding!) were the perfect way to kick off our ridiculously decadent meal. We popped a bottle of Veuve Clicquot Ponsardin to accompany mushrooms stuffed with leeks and mascarpone, and then liberally doused with truffle oil. Renee is all about presentation, and the mushrooms were regally lined up on a beautiful black serving tray that had been warmed so that when she poured the truffle oil over the stuffed caps, the oil hit the heat of the tray and the warm earthy smell filled the room. The crisp bubbles were the perfect pairing.

We moved from the black granite island in her kitchen to her table, elegantly decorated with small vases filled with parsley (her signature table decoration: fresh herbs) and white tulips, for our first course. Jeff contributed the wine and even though he’s an ABC (anything but Chardonnay) man, he knew Cakebread Chardonnay would be the way to go. How can you ever go wrong with Cakebread?! The richness of the oaky wine stood up to the butter and garlic in our individual shrimp scampi, presented uniquely in actual scallop shells. The Cakebread also managed to handle the notoriously difficult task of pairing wine with an artichoke crostini that Renee covered with another liberal drizzle of truffle oil and placed alongside the scampi. Can you say R-I-C-H? The entire course was lush as velvet. By this time I was beginning to feel like a princess myself.

Moving on to the main course, Jeff produced a wonderful French red, Domaine Du Mas Blanc Collioure. Again, a perfect match with the truffle butter tagliatelle Renee swirled with cream. As if we hadn’t already been spoiled enough, she shaved probably $50 worth of the white gold over each of our bowls. I ate every bite.

Laura brought dessert, and knowing Renee only eats homemade ice cream, she presented a handsome hand crafted pear tart in place of her usual sweet - Christopher Elbow artesian ice cream. Just as well as my lactose intolerant stomach was already on the edge. Renee just couldn’t help herself however, and added a dollop of whipped cream to each slice.

It was a meal worthy of any New York restaurant, presented with the care of someone who truly loves sharing her joy of cooking. How lucky are we? And if that all weren’t enough, Renee sent the two remaining truffles home with me in a jar, perched on a bed of rice.

Whether or not the 2nd Annual White Truffle Dinner ever takes place, I’ll remain grateful for the friendship of these three generous people. Now, today – SALAD for lunch!

My Last First Friday at Lidia’s

They got it all wrong but then did everything right.

Going out to dinner on a First Friday in the Crossroads district of downtown Kansas City is sort of like going out to dinner on Valentine’s Day. You just should know better. Case in point - November 4.

I had enjoyed an evening full of wonderful things: Moet with my pals Jennie and Laura, high art in galleries, street performances, startlingly intelligent conversation and the crisp November air. It was time for some dinner.

Seems I often find myself wandering First Fridays with these gals and wisely, we frequently head down the Boulevard to TM#1 (that’s Taqueria Mexico Numero Uno- duh) to escape the crowds. Well, we go there a lot and I had already been in the chips and guacamole that day so I suggested something different. Lidia’s sounded good. We could get our carbs in bread and pasta form instead of more tortilla chips.

8PM: The dining room was full as we expected it to be, but we quickly snagged some bar stools across from the big crackling fireplace. Nice and cozy. Forty-five minutes wouldn’t be so bad a wait when you’ve got good friends, good wine, briny olives and a Nancy Bounds sighting to keep you entertained.

9PM: I was voted to approach the hostess. “Um, we couldn’t find you when your table came up.” Really? We were sitting opposite the hostess stand the entire time. Like Jennie said, it’s not like we all three hid in the ladies room, sat on the toilets and lifted our feet up off the floor!” Someone, who appeared to be the dining room manager, overheard my patient yet firm protestation. “We’ll seat you immediately– I’m very sorry.” Ok. I’ll accept that. Goof number #1, recovery well done.

Seated in the middle of the bustling dining room we continued our brilliant conversation, ordered more wine, and our server Peter introduced himself to us by announcing the appetizers were on the house. Excellent. Things had improved.

We tucked into the Caesar salad Laura and I ordered to share (I think possibly the best Caesar in town) and an additional complimentary arugula salad arrived for our vegan friend Jennie. Tasty salads. Plates were cleared. The couple to my left paid their bill and left. Another couple arrived. The table over my right shoulder turned and piles of hot pasta were scooped onto the plates of the new diners. A big plate of lasagna went to our new neighbors to my left. We waited. No sign of Peter.

9:45PM: Peter appears. “Would you like more drinks?” “WHERE’S OUR FOOD?!” Wow Jennie. Good for you. “I’m so sorry, it’s being plated.” Really? Jennie and Laura both ordered pasta that would be served tableside and I ordered a bowl of mussels. I guess that’s what Peter meant, the plating of the mussels. ??

10:00PM: Once again, I’m nominated. I flag Peter down. More sincere apologies and a frustrated “First Friday always ends like this….” muttered somewhat under his breath. By now we were seriously tempted to just ditch it. We’d had our fill of bread, salads and wine. Laura was eyeing the door when the hot pasta finally arrived, Jennie’s vegan penne first, than Laura’s trio. I continued to wait for my mussels. I guess they were still being plated. I hear it’s a very tricky presentation throwing that garlic toast on top.

Finally, the mussels show up swimming in what was a very tasty, garlicky, tomato wine sauce. It seems the vegan always gets screwed though and Jennie’s pasta was so al dente it was like chewing a pig’s ear. Or so we guessed. Laura’s butternut squash ravioli was ridiculously decadent and absolutely delicious. Her veggie penne was also crunchy but she swears the Bolognese (which she kept trying to get me to taste – Vixen!) was la piece de la resistance. My mussels were just ok once you got past the sauce. The first one I scooped out was like sushi (mussel sushi?) and I had to spit it into my napkin rather ungraciously, but the others were thoroughly cooked.

Mr. Restaurant Manager returned and acknowledged that things just didn’t seem to be going our way. He offered to buy dessert - we politely declined. Hell, we’d been there nearly three hours already! We were nice and polite and accepted his and Peter’s continuous apologies without whining. We weren’t too impressed but we were enjoying the company.

This just should not happen in a seasoned kitchen run by Dan Swinney and Cody Hogan. First Friday comes around every month. Staff up gentlemen. Who was running the show back there anyway? I’m willing to overlook the hostess gaff but the performance of the kitchen was pretty lame. We didn’t order a whole hog.

But once again, someone stepped up. Our check arrived and we were charged only for our booze. I’ve always found the servers at Lidia’s to be extremely professional, and in this case Peter and Mr. Manager really took care of us…which is why I’ll go back again. But maybe not on a First Friday.

Tomato Garlic Green Beans (or okra)

My Kuwaiti-born, US-educated, Palestinian and fun-loving Cyprus girl friend Rana shared these addictive beans with our multi-cultural Dubai book club one night. Everyone loved them. Okra can be used instead of green beans for a tasty variation.
I suggest using frozen veggies because they are convenient, and often fresher than the wimpy things you find in the market. Of course you can use fresh veggies, especially during growing season. If you do, increase the cooking time accordingly. Serve any leftovers as a cold salad with a few black olives and some plain yogurt on the side.

TIME: 30 MINUTES
SERVES: 4
INGREDIENTS:

2 tablespoons olive oil
1 large onion, chopped, about 2 cups
4 cloves garlic, chopped, about 1 tablespoon
1 pound frozen green beans
2 medium tomatoes, chopped (approximately 1 ½ cups) or 1-14 ounce can plum tomatoes, with juice
1 tablespoon tomato paste
½ teaspoon sugar
1 teaspoon salt
Freshly ground black pepper to taste
Crushed red chili flakes to taste

• Heat oil in large skillet over medium-high heat.
• Add onion and garlic to skillet. Cook, stirring, 4-5 minutes to soften. Do not brown.
• Add green beans, cook and stir another 4-5 minutes, until crisp tender. If using okra, toss gently in pan to avoid breaking up pods.
• Stir in tomatoes. Lower heat and add tomato paste, 2 tablespoons of water, sugar, salt, black pepper and crushed red chili flakes to taste.
• Partially cover and cook, stirring occasionally, another 3-4 minutes until vegetables are cooked. Okra will take a bit longer than green beans. You may need to add more water if pan becomes dry.
• Serve hot or at room temperature.

Pineapple Fried Rice with Tofu

A fabulous take on the Thai favorite, the inspiration for this recipe was a yoga retreat in Hawaii, where pineapple is king. To make this dish, as with all stir-fries, prepare the ingredients before you begin cooking. Regular long grain rice is fine, but jasmine is nice and fragrant and often used in Thai dishes. Brown Jasmine is a little tricky to find, but it’s my first choice. Your rice must be COLD to fry properly. If you are feeling inspired yourself, serve in a hollowed out pineapple shell! If you are a bit wimpy about tofu, shrimp are an excellent substitution.


TIME: 25 MINUTES
SERVES: 2 hungry people as a main, or 4 as part of a Thai banquet
INGREDIENTS:
3 cups cooked cold rice (one cup dry rice yields three cups cooked)
3 tablespoons peanut oil, separated
8 oz firm Chinese style tofu (not the Japanese silken tofu), cut into 1” cubes - you can always use the pre-fried
1 large shallot, diced, about ¼ cup
1 medium carrot, diced
1 tablespoon minced ginger
1 clove garlic, minced
½ cup frozen peas
1 cup fresh pineapple chunks
2 tablespoons tamari
Freshly ground black pepper, to taste
OPTIONAL GARNISHES: lime wedges, chopped green onions, red chili sauce

• Heat 2 tablespoons oil in wok or large skillet on high.
• Stir-fry tofu for 4-5 minutes, using tongs to turn and brown on all sides. Remove tofu from wok.
• Add eggs to wok. Scramble until cooked. Remove from wok.
• Add remaining tablespoon oil to pan along with shallot, carrot, ginger and garlic. Stir-fry veggies for 2 minutes. Keep heat high and veggies moving around the wok.
• Add rice to veggies and stir-fry another 2-3 minutes, pressing the rice into the sides of the wok to brown.
• Return tofu and eggs to wok, along with the pineapple and peas. Stir-fry another minute and drizzle with tamari.
• Remove fried rice onto one large serving platter. Garnish with your choice of garnishes.

Breakfast with Harry

We’d been warned about the baboons. In Pringle Bay, South Africa, the charming village where we shared a vacation villa with our good friends David and Della, there are signs on the road declaring, “Do Not Feed the Baboons!” At the Harold Porter Botanical Gardens in nearby Betty’s Bay, where we had a lovely hike, there were more specific instructions, “If approached by a baboon do not stare or smile at them!” Ok. No smiling, no staring. No problem.

I didn’t imagine I’d need to put these directives into practice. Stan and I had finished a walk on the rugged coastline when he dropped me at Simply Coffee for a cappuccino. I was sitting in their quaint courtyard enjoying my coffee over a copy of Cape Wine. Surprisingly, I looked up to see a very large baboon sauntering towards me. Panic. No, don’t panic, simply no staring, no smiling and the baboon will bugger off. I looked down pretending not to notice the hairy primate getting closer. It wasn’t working. I could see him out of the corner of my eye galloping at me on all fours. He had his eye on my coffee!

I jumped up, ran into the coffee shop and squealed. The owner (a tall South African male nearly as hairy as the baboon) ran out into the courtyard, yelling at the creature. I followed and could see the baboon sitting on top of the table where I had been relaxing, pawing the foam in my cappuccino! Then, gasp; I noticed I had left my camera sitting right next to the coffee he was pawing! “My camera!” I peeped.

The coffee shop owner continued to bellow and stomp and ran rather bravely right at the scary baboon. I’ll call him Harry, since we’ve now shared a coffee. Apparently the South African didn’t buy into the “no staring” rule. Looking only slightly annoyed, Harry, using his opposable thumbs, grabbed the container holding all of the little sugar packets, jumped onto the courtyard wall, then onto the corrugated tin roof. The angry owner (guess he buys a lot of sugar), still screaming and staring, but definitely not smiling was pounding the roof, Harry was jumping and quite a racket ensued. I was just happy my camera and my life had been spared!

This ruckus carried on for what seemed like forever. The coffee guy chased the baboon around like something out of a Three Stooges film. Finally (whew) Harry scampered onto the roof of an adjacent building and ran off to OD on sugar. The irritated coffee guy grabbed his ladder and climbed up onto the roof to retrieve his empty sugar container. My God. That was definitely a bit more excitement than I required first thing in the morning.

Apparently I had met the “Mayor of Pringle Bay,” a male baboon who travels alone. He knows women are afraid of him; therefore he is not afraid of women. People women that is. I was told he would have jumped right up on my table, stared me in the face, and swiped the sugar even if I had bravely sat there and smiled at him. Theoretically, he wouldn’t have attacked me but who’s gonna wait around to test that theory?

I politely thanked the brave coffee guy for saving me, asked for fresh cappuccino and resumed reading my wine magazine, feeling a bit more like Meryl Streep’s character in Out of Africa, then a little ole gal from Iowa.

Lynne's Dubai Indoctrination

My friend Lynne (we call her bad Lynne) came for a whirlwind visit to Dubai. She was on her way to Cairo, then bravely trudging into rural Egypt to volunteer on an international Habitat for Humanity project. Well, her do-gooder self needed to be tempered with at least a brief taste of decadence, so I did my best to show her the “true” Dubai.

It all started with a night in our majlis, which is our inner courtyard. Traditionally "majlis" is a term for a room in a private home used to entertain family and guests. Probably, there would have been a separate majlis for the men, and another for the women. Perhaps the men would gather and smoke shisa and the women would gather and talk about the men? If you come to visit Stan and I here in the desert, we will greet you in our majlis. You’ll likely be buzzing from the lights of the Dubai International Airport, so we’ll bring you down gently, allowing you to sleep off your jet lag. I always pick up some mezze (hummus, vine leaves, olives) from the local deli; we have some wine and enjoy a night under the stars.

Thankfully Lynne slept well, not sure what to credit that to (??) so we were off the next morning to check out the Dubai Mall – it is the world's biggest you know! But who knew Lynne has such a designer fetish? By a stroke of good luck (??) we found ourselves parked next to “Fashion Alley,” so when we emerged from the car park we were blinded by serious bling. Giorgio Armani, Chanel, Dolce & Gabbana, Manolo Blahnik (who we much preferred to Jimmy Cho) you name it and the fashion house is represented in the Dubai Mall. And we browsed nearly every one of them. Chanel won the Friendliest Staff Award (they must be SO BORED) with Tom Ford following a close second. We came out of T. Ford narrowly escaping the purchase of a salmon-colored silk blazer for Stan and smelling like musty leather. The French-Canadian waiting on us was tres généreux with spritzes of Tom’s fragrance line.

Day three lead us to the only mosque in Dubai officially open to non-Muslims. Four days a week at 10:00AM, the Jumeriah Mosque opens it's doors for the Open Minds Open Mosque program. This is where we listened to a British volunteer (pictured above modeling one local style of dress) from the Sheikh Mohammed Center for Cultural Understanding, which sponsors the Open Minds program give her take on Islam in the UAE. She intimated that she is married to an Emirati, and since she had an Arabic name (but an accent reminiscent of Eliza Doolittle pre Henry Higgins) and was white, we assumed she had converted to Islam when she married. That's a lot of assuming on our part, I know. Here's a taste of what she shared with us:

• Adam and Eve turned up in Saudi Arabia 40 years after being ousted from the Garden of Eden. The Kaaba, at the center of Mecca, marks this spot today.
• The women here actually like to wear the black covering (called an abaya in the UAE) over a full set of clothing, often jeans and a long sleeve shirt for modesty, even in the summer heat, because it actually makes them feel cooler. Yep. It’s true. They like the little shadow they make for themselves.
• Women in the UAE cover their faces because it is a throw back to the Bedouin days when they did so to protect themselves from the sun and the sand. You see, it’s really about beauty.
• We all have an angel sitting on our left shoulder recording our bad deeds. And another on our right shoulder keeping track of our good deeds.
• If you die on a Friday, or during the holy month of Ramadan, you get the express train to heaven.
• Islam recognizes all the other “religions of The Book,” however Islam is the most recent edition because Mohammed declared himself the last prophet of God.
• Non-Muslims aren’t allowed to enter other mosques in Dubai simply as a matter of practicality. We might not know the rules. For example, I might walk in with my shoes on followed by someone who would then have to say their prayers, nose to carpet, where I had walked.
• Women aren’t required to go to the mosque to pray because they have more duties than men. It is a convenience for us gals. We are the lucky ones, we can pray in the prayer rooms in the malls, which are rumored to be larger than the entire women’s section of the UAE’s largest mosques!
• Women are expected to pray in a separate room at the rear of the mosque, or behind the men if they DO venture to the mosque at prayer time. This is simply because if I were to stand next to a man saying his prayers, my stunning beauty might shine out from under my abaya and the poor devotee would never be able to concentrate on God.

Lynne commented, with Left-Shoulder Angel taking note, “That woman sure drank the Kool-Aid.”