Happy Easter

Ah, Easter at my parents'. One of the only feasts that could possibly follow a Peking duck pilgrimage with any real success.

The troops fell in -- Margy and me, my three sisters plus entourage, and my folks -- and Mom kicked things off, and nearly ruined my appetite for anything else, with her beloved meat pie. Its literal name is pizza piena, or stuffed pizza, but the glories of dialect and Italian-American bastardization have basically rendered it "pizza keen" (or "pizza gain"; pick your fave). Eggs, cheeses, meats and sausages, and brown, flaky crust: It's pretty much the perfect food. I swore I'd only have two slices. I had four.

Mom ran the show, as is everyone's preference (including Mom's). She made the gorgeous ham, the roasted potatoes, the artichokes, the broccolini. But the rest of us pitched in. Sister #2, who brought along a vegetarian friend (he's a great guy so we forgive him), made quinoa and black bean cakes with chipotle mayo, which I nominate as an Easter staple from now on. I made Indian tamarind sauce to go with the ham, at my mom's request. The sauce was a little spicy for certain more timid tastes, but at least I could count on my brother-in-law to slurp it up, hot peppers being his drug of choice. Kudos to my mother -- she was right that the sweet-tangy-spicy condiment would work well with ham. And sister #1 joined the dessert fray with a great-looking chocolate cream pie that sat beside my mom's Italian cheesecake.

Phew!

Wait a second. I'm counting here and coming up short. Sister #3, didn't you bring anything to the Easter table? No, leftover Peking duck doesn't count! And neither does a hearty appetite! You're a baker for heaven's sake! Next year you're making me a chocolate lamb.

Mom's Midas Touch

I was saddled with the important duty of picking up my father at the airport, and in exchange for my efforts Margy and I were invited to my parents' place for dinner.

Or, more accurately, I invited us over for dinner. But there's no need to split hairs here. I delivered said father into the waiting arms of said mother, and she in turn delivered a big bowl of spaghetti with squid to the table.

There's very little Mom can't cook. (Duck comes to mind, but even there I'm not convinced. Every time she made it when I lived with my folks, I'd be eating happily only to hear constant complaints from both of them. Mom: "I don't know why I try to make duck -- this is terrible." Dad: "I told you that you can't cook duck, but you never listen!" My protests always fell on deaf ears.) That said, she has a special rapport with squid and achieves hands-down excellence every time. Those little guys get mouthwateringly tender for her on command.

This sauce was wonderful as usual and tasted vibrantly of squid. Somehow Mom knows how to avoid buying flavorless cephalopods. I don't know her secret, but if she could apply her deft touch to shopping for and cooking a duck, my dad would be most impressed indeed.

It's Not a Party Without Pork

Last night, for dinner #1 of our Vermont family bash, we had hot dogs and hamburgers, with potato salad, spaghetti salad with brie and tomatoes, Those Things, and a bunch of other goodies. My sister ran the show, ran being the operative term -- she never stopped moving. She'd dart into the house for some stuff, then scurry back out to the grill, then cruise over to the buffet, then...

When she was asked to stop cooking the burgers and dogs that she had so efficiently set up on two grills, because the throng was still grazing on appetizers, she nearly lost it.

And sadly, we had to eat inside, because the weather was not cooperating and some late showers foiled the plan for al fresco dining.

But despite all that, dinner was lovely. For dessert, sis made a fruit crisp that harnessed her considerable pastry-chef skills and had everyone oohing and aahing. Adirondack bear paw ice cream didn't hurt. On the "dessert of the people" end of the spectrum, she gamely stood by the grill for a few more sizzling minutes to lead the kids among us in a round of s'mores. She can do it all, that one.

Tonight we had a few more people for dinner (around 30, up from around 22 last night), but the atmosphere was more relaxed and we were able to eat outside. Two primo eight-pound pork tenderloins were eased into the oven along with a big dish of my mom's famous sausage stuffing and a tray of roasted vegetables brought by my dad's cousin. When everything was ready, the pork was sliced and a buffet was set up, and we dug in. The pork was amazing -- tender, juicy, full of flavor -- but the stuffing was the first thing to vanish.

With all the great food that was flying around, it's hard to say what was my favorite (hint: Those Things), but I must say that some of the most memorable items of the weekend were the utensils my mom found at Costco. See that silverware? It's plastic!

One for the Cook (and for Mom)

While Margy was basking in lobster bliss, I still had to eat.

Tonight I joined my parents for a meal to celebrate Mom's birthday. We went to a place called Pierre's, and everything was delicious. Well, almost everything -- the profiteroles were lazy and uninspired. But all the savory stuff was great. We started with an eggplant and goat cheese tart that was flaky and tasty. And my dad and I both ordered sautéed soft shell crabs for our entree.

I knew I wanted the crabs immediately, and I announced my intentions. This, according to my father's unofficial rule, meant he couldn't order them and had to get something else, so he could taste my crabs and I could taste whatever he got. But I could tell he was bummed. After a few more minutes of scrutinizing the menu, he said, "The halibut sounds good."

"I'm going to have that," my mom said without hesitation. Dad let out a little rush of air through his nose. After a while he said, most unconvincingly, "Maybe I'll get the chicken."

"The chicken?" my mother asked, as she and I then pleaded, in unison, "Get the crabs." He considered it once more.

Seconds later you could feel the weight lift off his shoulders as he finally committed to ordering the thing he truly wanted, even if it meant we were selfishly and hedonistically doubling up.

I have to say, it was a wise decision. This might have been the best soft shell crab dish I've ever had in a restaurant. The legs and claws were beautifully crisp, the crab plump and juicy. And the herbs, garlic, and garlic scapes on top were a bright, fresh touch. I ate slowly and quickly at the same time, finally easing almost to a halt for those last few wonderful bites.

Happy birthday, Mama! And, Dad -- nice work.

A Sleepy Son on Father's Day

I really tried my best.

It's hard to be properly prepared to celebrate Father's Day when you've eaten pounds of meat and gotten very little sleep the night before. But you make it happen for Pops. Margy and I had a nice time over at my parents' place, even if I was about to fall asleep in my bowl of seafood stew. I definitely didn't have my regular hearty appetite, that's for sure, and I barely touched my mom's lovely fruit crisp. Not cool. Still, we enjoyed each other's company, and then it was off to bed.

Care Package for Margy

Lucky me, I got to go over to my parents' new place for dinner, while poor Margy was stuck at work. But she didn't miss out. My mother, who tends to overestimate the amount of food she needs to make, had plenty of leftovers and packed up a nice dinner for Margy.

This is one of Mom's classics, simply called chicken and sausage. She takes a big pan and fills it with cut-up sausages and chicken pieces (this time it was drumsticks only), plus garlic cloves, artichoke hearts, and mushrooms, and then tops it with canned tomato, bread crumbs, herbs, and olive oil. After a spell in the oven, it's browned and crisp on top, but everything below the surface stays moist and juicy.

'Twas the Lobster Before Christmas

This is how my mother does things.

My family looks forward to Christmas Eve all year, because we know Mom's going to make some serious seafood. She doesn't force herself to use seven fishes, but she always has some tricks up her sleeve. This year the main dish was spaghetti with lobster -- white sauce, not red -- and despite her tendencies toward making twice as much food as is required, it all went. Fast. I got a succulent claw and will be forever grateful to my sister for hooking me up at serving time.

There were also broiled smelts and, of course, baccalà salad. Plus crusty rolls, greens, and a dessert spread to rival papal banquets of the Roman Empire. My sisters, my bro-in-law, my niece, my folks, and Margy, we had a hard time getting up afterward. But there was a crown roast of pork counting on us for the next day, so we had to keep our game face on.

Only one year to go till Christmas Eve '06.