December's Greatest Hits

There's been a lot of cooking this month. I hosted a party for 25 people, then helped friends stock the freezer for their mom who is sick. We cooked an obscene amount of food -- ribs, mac & cheese, turkey a la king, spaghetti sauce -- and packaged it all up in ziplocs.

Then the Brit and I went skiing for a week, but we cooked all of our own meals. Of course then it was Christmas! A smoked salmon champagne breakfast

Mr roast beef

A few mince tarts

And then best of all, in the sleepy, hazy days after the big day, a table laden with leftovers, pickles and a hearty soup:

 

Merry Christmas!

More ham tales

Friends, I once again need to commend ROAST HAM as the little black dress of entertaining. Last week I followed through on my threat to host a Christmas Mixer - Tree-trimming soirée. And yes, as always I made chicken liver paté along with Jenny's Famous Spiced Nuts and a round of gingerbread chocolate cookies.

But that's not enough food for a party that begins at 5pm and goes on for an indeterminate time period. And so ROAST HAM. I had it all carved and plattered, alongside sliced bread, pickles and Dijon mustard. The crowd went wild. And they stayed for 9 HOURS (and would have stayed longer if I hadn't begged them to let me go to bed).

ROAST HAM!!

A New Weeknight Pasta

Against all precedents (set by months and months of lazy weeknight meals), we made hand-rolled pasta last Tuesday night. It took 2 and a .5 hours. On a Tuesday, after work. Not recommended, well not unless there was some kind of post-work peanut butter-on-toast snack to tide you over.

You see, the Brit had braised some short ribs on the weekend and while I loves me some short ribs, really there is nothing better than short rib LEFTOVERS (all broken up with their juices) poured over homemade pasta. It's just the business, and I crave it mightily.

And so it begins, the humble dough ball of 2 eggs and 1 cup flour, which you then knead for 10 minutes, separate into 6 portions and then send through the magic roller thusly:

There's a zen-ness to it, roll, roll, roll your dough..... until you have 6 lovely sheets of pasta:

Which take up all of your counter space, but you don't care because SHORT RIB TIME IS GETTING CLOSER. You slice the sheets into ribbons, boil them ever so briefly and toss with melted butter:

And then add the motley mess of braised beef, melted collagen, carrot and onion bits. Grrrmmmmmh.

Tea paraphenalia

It's been a slow process over a number of years, but I've become a Tea Person. I must have a cup within 30 minutes of waking up and I find it restorative at other times of the day in a way that even liquor is not (!!).

However, I fear the worst about what this might mean for my current disregard for cats and the art of macramé. If I'm ever given the gift of a teapot-shaped brooch or a fridge magnet that says "friends are like a pot of tea blah blah blah" I shall surely faint. For the time being, I want it hot, strong and milky. The end.

Or is it? Killing time before a flight at Heathrow this fall I wandered through the Harrods boutique, quietly laughing at the various teapot-shaped cookie tins, oven mitts and Christmas balls. And then I saw a cheesy little collection of tea mugs bearing the *humourously* combined names of London streets like "Faith St" + "Hope Lane" on one or "Milk Street" + "Sugar Quay" on another. And, well, um.... so, yes. This one had to come home with me.

It is the perfect size, the perfect weight, has the perfect handle and goes safely into the dishwasher. And I love it irrationally.

Carrot slaw

Winter approaches and we are once again staring down the barrel of a season without much in the way of locally grown fruits and veg. What we get are the contents of the root cellar -- rutabagas, onions, cabbages and carrots -- and much as I love and cherish these over-winterers, one gets tired of one's usual ways to cook them. And a 3-lb bag of carrots does seem to last an eternity.

Enter the Mediterranean Carrot Slaw: grate or mandoline some carrots, add a good amount of fresh lemon juice and a very hearty dose of salt (using lots of lemon and salt seems to be the key). Stir and let sit about 10 minutes while achieving other goals (I like doing some stretches or calling a relative whom I can only stand to speak to for 10 minutes or less). Stir well, drizzle with olive oil and enjoy. Chopped parsley, that other hardy fridge standard, is welcome here too.

We've had this with leftover meatloaf, chick pea curry, roasted chicken, and even salmon with couscous. It's crunchy, zippy, easy, cheap and delicious.

Ham and Mushroom crepes, oh my

Although I've now determined that ROAST HAM is the easiest party meal in the world, there's really just one reason to roast a ham: the leftovers are truly excellent. There are very good ham-Cheddar-Branston sandwiches, even better ham omelettes and even just plain cold ham eaten out of the tin foil. And then there are ham and mushroom crepes.

Imagine a warm, creamy mushroom sauce full of matchsticks of ham with parsley, pepper and lots of fresh lemon juice. Then imagine wrapping this lovable sauce with tender whole wheat crepes. It's an old recipe that Mom always used to make in the post-ham week and I'm delighted to report that the recipe has stood the test of 30 years time.

So so sosososo good.

Kitty, curious

There's a window at eye level in my near-basement kitchen and it's rather a convenient spot to stow dishes that are in transition between the oven and the fridge. I've taken to leaving a rack in the window ledge for cooling cookies and pies and such too.

This particular casserole (penne, 3-cheese sauce, bacon, peas) (oh yeah) was awaiting a delivery of breadcrumbs and I was pottering about in the kitchen when one of the countless neighbourhood meowzers came by for a sniff. I did let out a bit of a shriek (it's surprising to see anyone -- human or feline -- making an attempt on your supper) but she turned out to be pretty cute.

She then stood guard for a while.

Orphans' Thanksgiving

In university days I was too far from home to make the 22-hour train ride just for little old Thanksgiving. Instead I'd host a potluck for all the other "orphans" who were from far away.

The menu was typical university frugal-hippie carbo-mix up: tofu lasagna, and someone would bring either that broccoli salad with dried cranberries or the spinach salad with candied walnuts that was making the potluck rounds at the time, store-bought bread or coleslaw or pasta salad. There was little in the way of traditional Thanksgiving fare -- a turkey would have been too big an expense. But Dave insisted on making a pumpkin pie from scratch...starting with a whole pumpkin and no recipe. His first attempt was a wet, fibrous, eggy disaster but by the end of our undergrad degrees, he was making decent pies.

Thanksgiving still feels more like a friends holiday than a family one. Happily, I've got a few more pennies than I did in those days, so this year we roasted a naturally-raised ham. The guests are still "orphans" (though I hesitate to call them such). The Brit of course, and our charming LadyBrit friend, as well as my second cousin who is too much fun to be family.

But may I recommend ROAST HAM as the easiest, most bang-for-buck, affordable and effortless roast of them all. It's ready whenever you are and goes well with anything  you can throw at it -- from cheese to nuts to eggs the next morning. I would challenge anyone to name a vegetable that didn't work brilliantly as ROAST HAM's wing-man.

Roast ham, whipped carrot & rutabaga, boiled new potatoes with dill butter, roasted cauliflower with cumin seeds, spicy cranberry chutney, tomato chutney, lots of wine, then pumpkin pie (tinned pumpkin: I'm not as ambitious as Dave was), whipped cream and brandies.

Table for 1

Judith Jones's new book, The Pleasures of Cooking for One, came across my desk last week. She never thought she could cook "well" for herself after her husband died, but proved herself wrong (as the book sweetly elucidates). She now routinely whips up hollandaise for one, fries up a single serving of pommes Anna in a tiny pan, and keeps a big batch of béchamel in the freezer so she can dole it out by the spoonful. Smartypants.

After reading that,  I couldn't well make yet another plate of Pasta for One. A small roast chicken then, with roasted golden beets, garlic-sautéed beet greens and Marcella Hazan's brilliant if plainly-named "roasted mixed vegetables".

Add one (very large) glass of wine and one tv movie (Master and Commander, swoon) for a perfect Saturday evening in.

One red onion quartered, 2 tomatoes quartered, 1 red pepper in wedges and 4 small potatoes in wedges. Drizzle with much olive oil and lots of salt and roast at 400 F for about 35 minutes. The result is magically so much more than the simple sum of its parts.

A dozen food hits from England

1. Ginster's mini pork pies, purchased at a gas station on the M3, eaten cold
2. A giant hot Cornish pasty: crumbly, flaky pastry, hunks of tender beef, turnips and carrots and lots and lots of pepper
3. Cheese and onion sandwich with salad cream on whole grain bread from a chain called EAT
4. grilled sausages from the Blandford butcher
5. fish and chips in Swanage: moist and flaky cod in great batter
6. "jumbo" sausage roll in High Wycombe
7. unpasturized Stilton on plain crackers with a pork pie and a wonderful British apple
8. a bacon sandwich in Dorchester
9. clotted cream on a raisin scone
10. chicken tikka curry
11. proper pappadams loaded with lime pickle, mango chutney and raw onions
12. oven-poached plaice fresh from the ocean, simple and perfect in Weymouth

Fergus vs Heston, an Epic Battle

The tired old cliché about the blandness of British cuisine is just so tired, old and clichéd. Even the sandwiches sold at gas station tuck shops are amazing. More on that in another post. But I had 2 of the Best Meals Of My Life last week in England and unintentionally created a show-down between 2 super-lauded chefs, Fergus Henderson (St John restaurant in London) and Heston Blumenthal (The Hind's Head in Bray). Heston won, but just by a hair.


At St John, the room is whitewashed and without decor, and servers wear short white coats reminiscent of butcher's aprons. Coincindence? Unlikely, since the restaurant is known for serving the entire nose-to-tail beast. The famous bone marrow starter is ordinary except for the lemony, sharp parsley salad that takes it into the stratosphere of "oh help me, that's delicious"-ness. Then there's the braised half rabbit with hunks of soft bacon and a creamy mustard-cider sauce, and the whole grouse served with bread sauce (sounds weird, tastes amazing) and its yummy livers spread on toast. Oh my.


(I know, I broke my own rule about not taking snaps in restaurants)
And the Savoy cabbage, and the simple boiled potatoes. And the Eccles cake (heritage desserts are huge in the UK right now) served with a wedge of Lancashire cheese, an extraordinary, head-scratching wonder of tangy-cheddary, crumbly-ness.

So when we get to Heston's pub (walking by the Fat Duck, his other, famouser, way more expensiver and posher restaurant) the stakes are already very very high. But oh, look how inviting the pub is:


It's the essence of cozy, welcoming and lovely and we immediately fall in love with it (even though they do not have the equipment to make us a martini). The pea and ham soup is a dream come true of fresh pea purée, ham stock and a tiny drizzle of mint oil; the chicken-ham-leek pie is a perfect incarnation of savoury pie; the oxtail and kidney pudding is rich enough to cause gallbladder failure on the spot. Even the bread and butter are so good that we can only just look each other, speechless, before devouring more of it. And then there's the broccoli with anchovies and almonds and the ...help me...triple-cooked chips.

There's more? Yes, treacle tart for dessert...gaspingly good, and then a "quaking pudding" (another heritage sweet), a wobbly warm gob of milk, eggs, nutmeg and cinnamon which could cure anyone of any hardship, plague, hangover or bad mood in an instant.


It may be worth mentioning that neither meal broke the bank in any way, and that we are already planning return visits to both, asap.

Fish bargains

There's a high-end fish shop in town, and though their fishies are pristine they're also very expensive. So it's a treat. Until we figured out the Rainbow Trout Matrix.

It goes like this: buy 1 or 2 small whole rainbow trout (the least expensive fish in the shop), then ask the very expert fishmonger to fillet the little darlings (which they'll do for free) and take home nothing but the exquisite boneless flesh. I have neither the expertise nor the laser-sharp knives to fillet the little fish without wrecking the delicate flesh.


Then crank the bbq to holy-moses-high, oil the skin of the fish, season all over with salt and pepper, and grill it skin-side down -- lid closed, no flipping -- til the flesh is just about cooked through. The skin gets crispy and lifts right off the bbq and the fish is a dream, at only about $11 for 2 portions.

Simple food

Sometimes life gets complicated. You wake up from a restless sleep wondering how exactly you might make it through til the cocktail hour.
A chopped egg on toast and a cup of hot tea sets things to right pretty quickly.


And then it turns out that the day isn't nearly as >blergh< as anticipated.

Summer of the Chicken

I've been barbeque-ing the hell out of this summer. Between recipe development for work and feeding myself, the Brit and friends, my restored and rejuvenated bbq has been givin'er most nights of the week. And so?

I have learned how to grill chicken. Finally.

It's the slow + low method. Use bone-in, skin-on pieces or joints. Crank the heat to tippity-top high. Add the chicken skin-side-down, reduce to the lowest possible heat, close the lid and drink an entire adult-sized martini before event thinking about it again. Then flip the pieces, shut the lid, drink another martini, maybe share a cigar, or just stare out into space for a good, long while. The chicken will be tender and juicy and cooked and the skin deeply golden and irresistible. A marinade helps too.

Why did it take me this long to figure this out? ...meh, who cares, this chicken is delicious.

Hurricane food

A tornado touched down in these parts last week. It got me to make jerk chicken for the first time in my life. Why? Well the Brit narrowly escaped the wrath of Hurricane Ivan in 2004 and at the time he was living in Cayman, eating a fair amount of jerk chicken. So you can see how I put the two together.

I've never been into jerk because it's full of allspice, a characteristic that does nothing to endear it to me. Allspice comes into my life once a year, as a 1/2 tsp measure in a family-sized batch of large fruitcakes. But what the hell, right? You only live once, and you never know when the next drastic weather event could change things.


Success! Something about mixing the allspice all up with chilies, lime juice, garlic, etc etc etc seems to make it palatable. Even tasty.

Tuna, humph

I had a little revelation about tuna steaks: they're bland. And for $32/lb, bland is not acceptable. It's not a bad bland, it's just a plain, if-I-was-blindfolded-I-couldn't-identify-it nothingness. The texture is interesting, sure, but there's a reason why restaurants soak them in soy or miso or wasabi -- they're trying to amp up the flavour.


Nevertheless, the Brit did an admirable job of these two little numbers (with soy and sesame seeds and a very quick visit to the screaming hot surface of the bbq) and we certainly enjoyed them, but we both craved...more flavour. We agreed that we might well prefer sardines.


But as far as summer salads go, this everything but the kitchen sink coleslaw was pretty decent. Carrots, napa cabbage, celery, onion, fennel, apple and parsley in a mayo-Dijon-lemon juice dressing, mmm.

Just...wow...

Oh my stars, there aren't words to describe the over-the-moon deliciousness of these little fish fillets. Panko-breaded, olive-oil fried (on the bbq so my apartment isn't too whiffy), served soaked with lemon juice and Maldon salt, with British "mushy chip shop peas" (a revelation, so tasty!) on the side.

Pizza ...on the barbeque

Being lazy, I make pizza dough in the food processor. But this always turns out a very thick dough which twists and squirms and generally resists being rolled out. So I used my other favourite Helper Monkey (the stand mixer) and adapted a recipe from infamous pizza master Chris Bianco.

VICTORY. The dough rolled out beautifully, and when I flung it on the screaming hot grill it sort of stuck to itself for a moment but I was able to adjust it with tongs.


The bbq pizza method is simple but requires some balls. You fling the dough onto the grill and blast one side of it over very high heat, then flip it off the grill and onto a baking sheet (cooked side up).


Top with very little, just raw onions, sliced cheese and tomatoes for example, return to the grill (now the uncooked side is facing the fire), turn the heat down to nearly nothing, close the lid and let cook til the cheese melts. Upon removal, you can add a bunch more toppings, like prosciutto and rocket tossed with lemon and oil. Mmm mm mmm.

Tossing the raw dough directly onto the grill is one of those acts you have to convince yourself is going to work. It does -- beautifully -- but like bungee jumping, it's hard to believe before you just do it.

NYC must-eats

New York City is my idol. Before visiting, I spend weeks poring over New York magazine, the NYT, Serious Eats NY, all in search of the latest and greatest in food. But no matter what, I need to have these 4 things:

1. quiche at Bouchon Bakery
As a friend once memorably put it, "if I could be reincarnated as a chicken so I could lay an egg that would be a part of this quiche, I'd be happy." The texture of the custard is indescribably wonderful, closer to gently jellied heavy cream than to an eggy quiche mixture. You take a bite and it seems to both melt into your tongue and evaporate off of it. Amazing.

2. pizza
People criss-cross Manhattan and beyond seeking out The One, but my tastes here are more simple. Any NY pizza. This trip it was from nondescript "Ben's Pizza" next to the hotel and it cost $3.65 which seemed plenty to pay for an ordinary-sized slice. But it's so so so good. Crust neither thick nor thin, sauce in moderation (and it has a gentle sweetness to it, and not much herb or garlic taste) and tons of grated mozzarella -- the stretchy, tangy, salty kind.

3. something ridiculous
Last trip it was a $900 meal at Le Bernardin (totally worth it). This trip it was 2 suppers in one night. First at Buddakan, second at Momofuku. Both, curiously, involved pork belly steamed buns.

4. Fage yogurt, full fat
What is it, like 12% fat? Mmm.

Hot Buns

Before anyone accuses anyone else of "going too far" being too "foodie elitist" or having "too much time on her hands" let me just say that these homemade burger buns KNOCKED MY LITTLE COTTON SOCKS OFF.

The relatively lazy effort of making them is so so very worth it. I thought I loved burgers before; now, well, this has changed the water on the beans.

But enough talk. This recipe makes exceptional, perfect hamburger buns.

A few notes: the dough is very very sticky, and (luckily) advice from smitten kitchen forced me not to add extra flour. If you're up for the task -- and I couldn't recommend this recipe more highly -- use the stand mixer. Oh, and Canadian flour has a similar protein level as American "bread" flour, so no probs using all a-p flour here.


!!!!!

Out of respect for the buns, we had minced steak burgers (start with a sirloin and mince it) and excellent condiments. The combination was out of this world.




** by the way, the bbq is back in business thanks to a new set of knobs courtesy of the excellent lifetime warranty on my broilmate q.

Fool Pie

I was hit by the unstoppable desire to bake something, and after reading raves and raves about a certain raspberry brown butter tart on the interweb, I gave it a go. Only to discover that it is not really a great recipe. The crust is amazing but the filling is only just so-so. Ok, kinda gooey, but overall barely worth the calories. But the crust! Crispy and buttery and --best of all-- so so so easy to make. You melt some butter, add some flour and sugar and press into a tart pan.

So I made the crust again on Saturday, baked it through (empty) and filled it with rhubarb fool. It's pretty well curtains on the rhubarb season, and this seemed a fitting finale. Three of us killed the whole pie in one sitting.

The Epic Breakfast

All the stars were aligned. We had British-style bacon from the Mennonites, black pudding from the British shop, leftover roast potatoes, eggs, toast.

The Brit's plate:

And mine:

Do not be fooled by my "restrained" plate. That is not just toast, it is in fact one hell of a fried egg sandwich. The Signature Classic, with mayo and thinly sliced kosher full sours. (For my mother's nerves: yes, we went for a run beforehand at the very least).

This was just about the best breakfast I've ever eaten.

Pasta is back

Where did it go you ask? Not sure. Time was, pasta and I were in a very serious relationship, the kind where a day doesn't go by without a nice intimate rendezvous. But over the past many months, there just hasn't been a heck of a lot of pasta in my life.

So when I was stumped for dinner by a national stat holiday this week (no grocery stores open, nothing at the corner store, nothing much in the pantry) I fell back on my old friend, Basic Tomato Sauce. The devil is (as always) in the details, but if you SLOWLY cook LOTS of SLICED garlic over LOW heat then add one tin of good Italian chopped tomatoes and cook it out for a while, then drizzle in a bit of cream and finish with a TON of Parmesan, well then Bob is your uncle.

Back in the groove, last night I was still without groceries, but there was a head of kale leftover from a photo shoot. Survey says? Fusilli with garlicky kale. Again, slowly cook LOTS of SLICED garlic in PLENTY of olive oil over LOW heat, add a spoonful of magic Oggi brand spicy anchovy-caper melange, cooked chopped kale, a GENEROUS SPOONFUL of salt, and finish with LOTS of Parmesan, and you'll just never go hungry again.

Pasties

After an extraordinary, fun and yet long week involving raging backache, work stress, not living at home, visiting with my sister and more, the Brit consoled me with homemade Cornish pasties.



And Heinz beans, or I should say "beanz" which are the "proper" British import (more tomatoey than ours and still yummy).

Flaky pastry, very tasty beef, diced rutabega and potatoes all very hot and utterly gorgeous.

More pantry clean-out meals

Sigh. It continues.

Filed under "yum":

Mix 1 tin tuna with 1 small tin white beans, some chopped sundried tomatoes, chives, a glob of mayo and a smaller glob of Dijon. Mix. Take to work for lunch, with or without salad greens.

Grate 3 carrots. Ponder the fact that eternity is defined as a single girl and a 3-lb bag of carrots. Mix into carrots a small handful of chopped roasted cashews, some raisins, chopped chives, a generous pinch of curry powder, a glob of mayo and the juice of half a lime.

Boil some fettuccine. Meanwhile, pour a good glug of olive oil into your favourite pasta bowl, add a ton of grated Parmesan, a ton of ground pepper, some chopped chives (will they never go away??) a pinch of chili flakes and a double pinch of salt. Add the hot fettucini and toss with a fork while walking towards the couch.

Happy Anniversary

This blog began as a creative refuge from the drudgery of my daily job. I was in a dead-end chef's job where the people I worked for cared less and less about food and more and more about the bottom line. I spent far more time at my desk than at the stoves. On top of that, I was living alone in a very hot apartment with a strange kitchen. I was a professional chef who didn't cook -- either at home or at work. Making chicken liver paté for a party was the highlight of my month.

Ok, quit it with the miniature violin. All this is simply to say hurray. It's been a year. A wonderful, full-of-changes year. The food has been extraordinary, heart-melting, boring, simple, fancy and perfect.

Thank you for reading.

When a red pepper is more than a red pepper

It struck me as I was riding home that there was a red pepper in the fridge. Elation. Glee. Oh the possibilities. And here I was thinking there was nothing vegetal left but onions and some softening potatoes. So a lovely Spanish tortilla for supper used the pepper, the remaining eggs and potatoes as well as some scratchings off a very very dry hunk of Parmesan from the depths of the fridge. Oh and 2 big spoonfuls of our endlessly-useful tomato chutney from last summer. (There are 2 open jars of chutney in the fridge. Oops.)


But there's a wrinkle in my Pantry Attack Regime: tomorrow I'm due to develop 5 recipes for the September issue, which means all sorts of new ingredients will be coming into the kitchen. Thus prolonging the assault.

And now for the lentils

I needed to make at least an attempt on the surfeit of legumes, so into the soup pot went 2 chopped onions, 1/2 cup of red lentils, all of the basmati rice and the remaining capon stock. While it burbled away, epicurious.com told me that if I only added some saffron and a squeeze of lemon, this mish mash of pantry excesses could be called harira, the traditional fast-breaking soup for Ramadan. Well if that isn't the prettiest sounding word. Talk about a silk purse out of a sow's ear. Ooh, and lunch for the next few days.


And if you're keeping track, there are just 3 types of rice left -- brown basmati, parboiled and sushi.

Pantry Attack Update

It's going very well so far. Of note:

Scallops with bacon and peas over egg pasta used half the available frozen bacon and most of the peas.

Celery risotto used up the last of the wilty vegetable, half of the capon stock and all of the arborio rice. I served it with roasted chicken thighs from the freezer. Now there are only 4 types of rice to use up.

We split the leftover Bolognese sauce for today's lunch.

So far I have only bought milk and a french stick, but I'll likely need green veg over the next day or two. I've also realised that it would be physically impossible to eat all of the jam in the fridge, and that eating all the available lentils and dried beans might be unwise.

Full scale pantry attack

I'm on a bit of a penny-pinching regime right now, and it struck me today that my house is full of food that I never eat. So I'm going to try to eat my way through the freezer, fridge and pantry. I'll allow a few fresh vegetables to supplement, but otherwise, I'm quite curious as to how I'll do.

Step 1: Inventory.
Freezer: 1 lbs scallops, 1 lb hamburger, 2 half-pounds bacon, a capon, 4 oz smoked salmon, 1 bag egg pasta, 2 thighs and a chicken breast, 1 bag suet (leftovers from the burger fest), 2 cups Bolognese sauce, 1 1/2 lbs wild blueberries, 1/2 bag peas, almonds, pinenuts, hazelnuts and 2 cups of frozen wine.



Pantry: 3 tins Heinz beans, 1 tin salmon, 1 tin turkey, 1 tin tuna, lots of various shapes of pasta, a bag of barley, a tin of lentils, chipotles in adobo, 3 tins tomato paste, 1 tin pumpkin, 1 pack lard, split peas, red lentils, cornmeal (2 containers), 5 types of rice (five?!), tinned tomatoes, quinoa, potatoes, onions.




Fridge: Oh lord, I can't even begin.


I'm already exhausted. But I threw the capon in a pot with some very wilty celery and gnarled up carrots, 2 soft onions and half a head of drying-out garlic. And now I'll make dinner....