Pork Milanese

Anything "Milanese" really just means breaded, and possibly pounded out flat.

So this time it's pork loin chops, not pounded out, because I prefer there to be more meat than breading in each bite.

But to each their own.

Standard lineup of flour, beaten egg, and then a combination of panko bread crumbs with a bit of grated parmigiano reggiano mixed in.

Room temperature one inch thick pork loin chops, which I season with salt and a bit of dried ground sage before going through the breading process.

In a skillet on medium high with a tablespoon or two of olive oil in it, cook in batches, making sure not to crowd the pan so the chops get crispy rather than steamed, about 3-4 minutes per side.

You may have to add more oil to the pan when you flip, as the breadcrumbs will absorb some of it as they cook.

Hideous photo, but tasty food.

Finish with a spritz of lemon juice and a side of vegetables, and dinner is done.

Stay tuned for my clever use of the leftover breading assembly line!

Gelato = Happiness In A Cup

I hope you all had a lovely labor day weekend. The hubs and I spent ours mostly chilling on our roof deck or on the couch catching up on recorded TV, with nary a BBQ rib in sight. (How totally Un-American of us. Watch out! Some Tea Party Twit is going to find this and launch an attack on all foodies for their Un-American appreciation of other cultures, ergo they must all be Socialists! Oh no!)


Where was I?
Oh, right, the couch.
But also wandering around the city, running errands, and cleaning the apartment and moving furniture so some stranger can spray poison around my apartment to prevent bed bugs moving down here from the upstairs neighbors, who apparently have them. Ick.
(I have to remove my cats for 4 hrs so they don't breathe the poison... and I don't have a car in which to go somewhere... and I don't have a friend living within 90 blocks of me to hang out with... so I'm going to have to haul them on foot to the park and be A Crazy Lady in the park w/ two cat carriers and a book (right side up, so you know I'm a sane/safe one) and try not to be bored out of my skull sitting on a bench for four hours...FUN!)


Did I have a point or was this just a post full of tangents?
No wait, I DID have a point!
While wandering the city, the hubs and I decided to walk the 40-odd blocks home from Columbus Circle because it was actually a lovely day in the mid-70's. On our way uptown I finally stopped in at a legitimate gelateria (legitimate = totally sourced from Italy and done right. You WILL notice the difference!) called Grom that opened about two years ago and that I have been really wanting to go to.

Hubs: Do you want to stop for gelato?
Me: Of course! Yay!
(pause)
Me: So why did it take until the first day below 96º for me to finally go out for gelato?
Hubs: Because you don't leave the house when it's 96º out.
Me: Touché

From NYU mag of all places

Not like this place needs more publicity, because there is almost always a line outside the door, but it is really, really, really good stuff. At first you look at the prices and say, "$5 for a small?!?! Are you nuts?!" but then you get over that when you take your first bite of rich creamy goodness. A small is two scoops, so I got one of the Bacio (basically nutella in gelato form. swoon.) and one of Torroncino ("nougat" flavor, made from hazelnuts and honey) and I was in heaven. Totally blissed out. The hubs picked Cioccolato Fondente (super rich!) and Crema di Grom, which is like an egg cream flavor w/ chocolate chips. He just barely shared a bite of each with me.


I shall be treating myself more often in the future, no matter the temperature out. I'd say that you should too... but only if you're in line behind me ;)

End Of Days

So I was passed the End Of Days award by a loyal reader (who frequently leaves very nice comments on my blog, so I thought I should make sure I was quick about following through with this post) and I must say this is going to be a simple one for me to answer.

I believe the basic question is: If you knew the Mayans were right about the end of the world happening in 2012, What Would You Do?

My answer is simple and entirely predictable if you know me at all.
I would move to Italy and spend the rest of my days eating and drinking fabulous things, and staring at all the beauty that country has to offer, both natural and man made.

Along those lines, I'll treat you w/ a few pics from my honeymoon in 2006...

Doge's Palace, Venice

A street corner, Murano

Ponte Vecchio, Florence

San Gimignano 

Doorway, San Gimignano

Pantheon, Rome

Path in Capri

Faraglioni, Capri

Our balcony, Positano

Sigh... the hubs practically had to drag me onto the plane home...

The issue of passing this along is a bit of a hitch because it seems most of my regular commenters do not have a link to a blog... at least not a link to a blog that our Apocalypse Creator did not already pass this along to.
So if you'd like to answer this, give me a shout in the comments and I can send it along to you.

Yes YOU!

Sunday Food Porn

Some of you out there may have gone to your usual establishments of worship on this warm and advancingly muggy day. (Come on thunderstorms!)
 I am lucky in that I do not need to wake up and shower, dress, or even leave the house in order to worship, because my place of worship is my kitchen.
And when the weather is this warm, actually turning on the stove is not on the top of my to-do list.
Instead, I worship the following:

That, my friends, is fresh burrata. 

Really good fresh burrata.

No thick casing here with a few sloppy curds inside. Only the thinnest skin of fresh mozzarella restrains the gooey guts of this brilliant concoction. Served best, in my opinion, with just a light drizzle of your best fruity olive oil, and a small pinch of salt. 

And a fork, because sometimes the cheese doesn't make it as far as the bread before hitting my taste buds.

Flown in directly from Italy, arriving at 6AM, and going straight to the purveyor of deliciousness on W 74th Street, where I happily hand over money in exchange for cheesy goodness.

I also take home some of their freshly made focaccia, as I believe it is some of the best in NYC, full of olive oil and salt so that you must lick your fingers repeatedly so as not to waste the goodness.

Now for the money shot.

Beautiful.

If I do say so myself.

And I do.

And then I eat the whole thing.

When Irish Eyes Are Smiling...

... you know they're probably up to something.

Happy Saint Patrick's Day!

I probably should have done something a bit more Irish-themed, since I've got Irish coming at me not only from both sides of my family, but also my husband (tho his is only on his dad's side. Insert "scoff" here.) But really... what? I wore a green cotton sweater (which proved too much for walking to and from my voice lesson outside today. Glorious sunny day for a walk along the park, though. Keep it up, Mother Nature!) and I wore my little golden shamrock necklace, which I got when my family took a trip to Ireland when I was about 5. The chain just barely fits around my neck now.

See?

Umm... I put broccoli in my omelette this morning. That's green...




St. Patrick's Day is one of those days that when I was a child, I'd wake up and find a little card, or a pin or something next to my cereal at breakfast, but that was the extent of it. My mother did not subject us to corned beef and cabbage, or any of the other stereotypical Irish foods, thankfully. And my husband barely even acknowledges the day (tho he did wear a green sweater vest to school today).  But as with all holidays, made-up or otherwise, I always feel the need to do something in recognition. Hence, the necklace that comes out once every year.

While the rest of NYC is full of drunken as-er-revelers, celebrating the fact that they know someone who is 1/16th Irish, we will be dining on a veal ragú that I plan to make later this evening. Not even a potato to be found in my kitchen at the moment! You might say we are very bad O'Gradys.
My friends know that I love Italy, Italian food, and that I'd like to live there while I still have many good years left to me. If I could have stayed there after our honeymoon, I would have. (I'm sure I'll pick up the language eventually...) But I am also proud of my Irish heritage. My mother has spent years and years tracing our ancestry back to the 1800's (and possibly farther in some branches) because most people do have some innate desire to know where they came from. And these days we're all so inter-married and living it bustling metropolises that there is very little old-world tradition, and even fewer stories.

There is a definite part of me that wishes that I'd grown up in a small town (in Italy) and learned how to cook at my grandmother's side, or that the extended family got together for harvests and the subsequent dinners.  To know a local butcher and know that his father, and his father before him, were all butchers and passing down the trade.
I know I romanticize this in the extreme, because I would NOT SURVIVE without things like Amazon's free 2-Day delivery and UPS... but I hold it in my heart to some day find that world.

So go forth and celebrate your heritage, Irish or otherwise. I hope you find the happy-medium between stubborn old ways and modern liberation, and count yourself lucky to do so.
I'll leave you with two Irish Blessings... of a sort.

“May you always have
Walls for the winds,
A roof for the rain,
Tea beside the fire,
Laughter to cheer you,
Those you love near you,
And all your heart might desire!”

“May those who love us, love us
And those who don’t love us,
May God turn their hearts
And if he can’t turn their hearts,
May he turn their ankles
So we will know them by their limping!’