Personal touchstones of taste. On Tania, our own little nutritionist.

I’m drinking hot water with a splash of milk and thinking of my grandmother, who used to drink this every evening, after dinner. When I would offer coffee and tea, she would insist on just boiled water with a splash of milk. I’d think, how silly, how could that possibly taste good?

I now understand that she drank this because there was no decaffeinated tea back then. It was something hot, digestive and comforting after the evening meal. Even though I have decaf teabags in the house, I’m still sipping boiled water with a splash of milk. I feel a connection to her when I sip this drink.

And it is only now I realize that my grandmother Tatiana was our little nutritionist. Only back then, we thought she was quaint. She was ahead of her time, before people had chic nutritionists or the food pages of the New York Times to dictate the latest health trends.

Now that I’m battling my weight in middle age, I have a new appreciation of her discipline and her nutritional habits. She always ate lightly at night and kept her gorgeous figure her entire life.
I used to giggle that she would eat prunes for breakfast, followed by toast spread with cottage cheese and a drizzle of honey. But now, because I’ve read that prunes are one of nature’s perfect foods, high in antioxidants, iron and fiber, I make sure to eat a few each day too. One of my favorite breakfasts is cottage cheese on toast, drizzled with honey.

My father was an aficionado of oatmeal. My Mother loved the classic grilled cheese sandwich. Nette’s Merema taught me about the cool hot bite of crystallized ginger on the tongue and gingersnaps with tea. Now, I eat oatmeal, grilled cheese sandwiches and ginger whenever I can find it.

This is about the comfort of family tastes. You never know what your personal touchstones will be until later in life. And it is a grace and gift when one day they reappear. Tastes are a palpable way of feeling close to these departed people who at one time, loved you with all their heart, and whose love warms you still.

The power of the grocery store

We spend our lives at the grocery store. It seems we’re always saying, in exhausted tones, “I’m dashing to the grocery store,” and “I’ve got to do the grocery shopping.” It becomes a bore and a chore.

But with my “children” aged 16 and 18, on the cusp of leaving home for college, i.e. forever, I have come to understand that “going to the super” for me, means LIFE. It means: I have a family to take care of, people who are relying on me, I am loved and needed. These days, I cherish going to the grocery, because I understand my days as a Mothering Mom are numbered.

I will soon be entering years of shopping just for me, with no particular urgency, because it will not be a tragedy if I dine on a cup of tea and a tomato sandwich. (One of my favorite things to eat.)

After years of the forced march of grocery shopping, I now recognize that some of my happiest moments have been spent in supermarkets, thinking of what dish to delight my children with, or what I can get away with tonight for dinner that's easy. My kids have always loved it whenI pull into the driveway after my grocery shop. They cheerfully dash out to bring in the groceries, appraising what I’ve bought. "She got cookies!" Nina yells. Pablo is thrilled to discover a favorite hunk of cheese and some great cold cuts that they will eat, Tony Soprano style, standing in front of the fridge, slice by slice.

I love to watch people in the grocery store. I see the rhythm of daily life: exhausted Mothers wondering what to cook, power Mothers with their meticulously planned lists. A young woman studys a can of lentil soup. The white haired couple puts a box of Social Tea biscuits in their cart. A father buys potato chips and charcoal, and two young men at the deli, buy fried chicken, ready to eat.

I think of the stages of my grocery life. First there were the years of mountains of formula, baby food and diapers. Then I shopped first with one child and then the second, sitting in the cart’s seat, kissing and talking to them as I put things into the cart, delighting them with a piece of cheese from the deli lady. I recall the years of heavy entertaining which required “the big shops.” Then, when my Father was old and frail, I roamed the aisles, looking for soft foods to tempt him: donuts, puddings and jellos, baby food (again), and diapers (adult size this time).

My mother’s last trip outside her home was to the grocery store. She wanted to get out of the house and drive somewhere close. So she went to Kings. She told me how she enjoyed the air conditioning, and how nice everything looked, so colorful and bright. She was dying, but she smelled life in the grocery store.

Celestial Cheesecake

Since I just spent two days talking about gifts...I thought I'd give you one.

Everyone needs at least one WOW dessert recipe in their repertoire. This is mine. I cherish this cheesecake recipe so much, I want to share it with you.

Many years ago, I asked my Mother's grand friend, Betty Kass, to send me a few of her signature recipes. Betty, who raised her kids in Huntington Woods, Michigan, was a masterful cook, and having some of her favorite recipes would be my way of having her spirit with me always.

My Mother passed away almost two years ago, but Betty Kass continues on as I write this, in an Alzheimer's home in Colorado.

This is a masterful recipe because it is foolproof, easy to make, exquisitely delicate and impressive. It is my idea of a perfect cheesecake: light but creamy. Great to serve at any dinner party, no matter how humble the first course. Make it early and forget about it. And if you bring it to a friend, they will know they are cherished.

But mostly, it is a great dessert to welcome kids, friends and family back home.

Betty Kass' Huntington Woods Cheesecake

Graham cracker crust in a 10" springform pan.

5 eggs, divided into whites and yolks
1 tsp vanilla
1 tsp cream of tartar
1 cup sugar
2 tablespoons cornstarch
3 3-ounce packages of cream cheese
1/2 pint sour cream
1 cup milk

Preheat oven to 350 degrees.

1. Make a graham cracker crust in a 10" springform pan.

2. Beat to stiff and set aside: 5 egg whites,1 tsp vanilla, 1 tsp cream of tartar.
3. In another bowl, beat 5 egg yolks to pale.
4. Add 1 cup sugar, 2 tablespoons cornstarch. BEAT well.
5. Add 3 3-ounce packages of cream cheese. BEAT well.
6. Add 1/2 pint sour cream. BEAT well.
7. Add 1 cup milk. BEAT 5 minutes.
8. Fold in the egg whites (from #2 above). Don't beat. Just fold in delicately!
9. Turn entire mixture into graham cracker crust.
10. Bake in 350 degree oven for one hour.
11. Here's the secret! TURN OFF OVEN AND LET SET FOR SEVERAL HOURS. DO NOT OPEN THE OVEN DOOR. DO NOT PEEK!
12. Can be served as is, or top with fresh strawberries and glaze if you like.

Share the magic with someone you love.

Sunshine Eggs

When my kids were little, I learned that if I named a dish, they enjoyed it all the more.

Sunshine Eggs is not so much a recipe, but an assemblage of common ingredients which, when combined in a certain way...creates a breakfast moment!

Just this morning as I drove Pablo to school (May of his senior year in high school, so you can imagine his mood...) I told him I would post the recipe for Sunshine Eggs. He smiled. I said, "Someday, you will cook this for your girlfriend in the morning, and she will love you even more." And of course, someday, he will cook this for his children and they will think he's the most amazing dad in the world. But let's not get ahead of ourselves here!

I discovered this dish in the film, "Moonstruck" when Cher had it for breakfast. It seems to be of Italian origin? Well, now it is Sunshine Eggs. To start your day with a burst of sunshine.

Sunshine Eggs

1 slice of bread. (Little children like the softness of regular bread. But a more elegant version for the more adventurous is to cut a diagonal slice of French or Italian bread.)

1 egg.

Butter, salt & pepper.

1. Cut out a small hole in the middle of the bread. What size hole? About the size of an egg yolk. What do you do with the hole? Eat it or give it to your dachsund!
2. Heat a nonstick skillet. When nicely heated up, plop in a pat of butter.
3. When the butter is sizzling, put the bread into the middle of the skillet.
4. Let the bread crisp for about 20 seconds.
5. Break the egg into the hole of the bread. The yolk should go into the hole. The egg white will go where it wants to. It might stay on the stop, it might seep around to the bottom. It's all good.
6. When you feel the egg yolk has set a bit, with a spatula, pick up the bread and the egg and gently flip it over. You want the egg yolk to stay whole.
7. When you feel the egg white has cooked and the bread is crispy, slide it onto a plate and serve immediately.
8. Sprinkle with salt and pepper.
9. Place dish in front of you and NOW you can pop the egg yolk with your fork. The yellow spreads all over the toasty bread, like sunshine, making it all eggy and delicious.

The lifelong comfort of a French Potage

One of the nicest things you can do for yourself, or a friend, is make a pot of soup. Soup has the magical power of being able to comfort and inspire.

I first met potage (pronounced poh-tahj) in Paris during my Sweet Briar Junior Year in France. I was thrilled to be living on Gertrude Stein’s street, at 16 rue de Fleurus in the 6th arrondissement, right off the Jardin de Luxembourg. My hostess, an extremely religious spinster, Mademoiselle Ley, served potage to Mary, Chris and me every evening as our first course. We never tired of it. It warmed us and settled our tummies for the meal to come.

The French have been making potage since time began. The beauty of potage is that you make it with whatever vegetables you have around. In lean times, the potage is thin; in good times, it's thick.

Potage will be the “little black dress” of your cooking repertoire. It is elegant and easy. It is sexily delicious and good for you too. It is perfect when you think you have nothing in the house to eat…or when you want to start an elegant dinner party with soup. Girlfriends and boyfriends will look at you with longing eyes. Even children love potage. The flavor is accessible to little palates and the texture is velvet.

Whenever I’m feeling blue, I fill a pot with water and throw in a few vegetables, and suddenly, the world is not such a scary place anymore.

I’ll start you off with quantities and vegetable suggestions, and then just make it with whatever you have in the house, using whatever quantity of water you want. Start tasting and adjusting until you have something you like.


French Potage

8 cups of water
2 potatoes
4 carrots
1 large onion
1 large squash – either a few zucchini or whatever you have (1/2 a butternut; one red pepper…you get the idea!)


Put the water in a large pot to bring to a boil.

Peel whatever veggies need peeling. Chop everything into large chunks. Toss into the pot.

Cover the pot and bring to a low boil. Let simmer until the veggies are really soft. Maybe 30-40 minutes.

When you can stick a fork into the veggies and they are extremely soft, turn off the flame and let everything cool down.

Scoop out some of the veggies and put them in a blender with a little bit of the water and blend to a puree.

Return the puree to the pot. Continue blending until all the veggies are pureed. You want a uniform, smooth soup.

Stir your potage. If the potage is too watery, boil it down a bit. If it is too thick, add some water.

Simmer your lovely potage as you add the seasonings. Again, whatever you have on hand: A tablespoon or two of powdered chicken broth is rather important. Taste and then add salt. A few grinds of pepper. I like to snip some fresh dill and parsley. (But if your kids hate little green stuff floating, then don’t.) You might add a pinch of thyme. A splash of balsamic vinegar to make the flavors sing.

In France, potage is served in a shallow soup bowl. You can serve it alone as a first course. For heartier fare, toss some croutons in or grate some cheese over it. It’s nice served with crusty bread and thinly sliced ham, but my favorite is to accompany potage with a grilled cheese sandwich.


Refinements:

As always, if you sauté the onion in a frying pan before you add it to the water, you will get a deeper flavor.

My daughter Nina likes me to go the extra step and sieve the soup after I puree it to give it an even finer texture.

For a different slant, you can break up a little spaghetti or toss some alphabets into the soup. But then it’s not really potage anymore.

Pass the butter please. On table manners.

“Tell me what you eat and I will tell you what you are,” said Jean-Anthelme Brillat–Savarin, author of The Physiology of Taste, always on my bookshelf.

I say: “ Show me how you eat and I will tell you who you are.”

Table manners are a microcosm of your life in society. Your behavior at table speaks of your past, of your future, of who you are or wish to be, of where you’ve been, of where you're going. Not to mention that eating with people who have bad table manners can make you lose your appetite.

I work with college students. I always meet my students for the first time at a casual dinner.
After the meal, I know everything I need to know about them. From their table manners.

I see who their parents are and how they have been brought up. I know if they have traveled, whether they are intelligent and sensitive, or vague and without a clue. It begins even with the way the students approach the empty table and how they choose where they want to sit and with whom. Volumes speak to me in how they converse for the first time with new fellow students and with me. I can see much in the way they handle their napkins and their relationship to the objects on the table. I can see their lives in the way they read the menu and address the waiter. I can learn things in the way they look at the food when the plate is placed before them, and how they manipulate their knives, forks, spoons. And finally, how they arrange everything at the end to signal they are finished. And sadly, there are those who, after I have paid the bill, leave without a "thank you."

I learn if they are perceptive, neurotic, demanding impossible. I see if they are wasteful, shy, adventuresome, rude, fearful, picky, gluttonous, happy, sloppy, whatever. It is all there at the table.

One student licks her knife and picks up every crumb off her plate with a wet finger. Another drinks coffee and pokes his eye out with the spoon he insists on leaving in the cup. Yet another student grills the waiter, “Does this dish have cheese? What kind of cheese is it? Is it white or yellow cheese? Is it melted or cold? It is grated or sliced? Is there a lot or a little? Is it high fat or low fat?” Then, upon receiving this diligently queried dish, she inspects it, poking this corner and that with her knife, proclaiming, “I can’t possibly eat this,” and moving the plate aside.

Another student asks, “How much can I eat?” and worse, if there could be such a thing, “How many dollars' worth can I order?”

“Do you ask that when you are out on a date?” I say.

Like it or not, table manners are a barometer of civilization, they are the lubrication of a life in society. We are not cavemen grunting and pointing. Sharing a meal with someone is a daily ritual of social interaction. The ease and delight with which you choose, order, converse, eat, drink and finish can open doors for you, and shut them. Table manners can lose you a date or get you a job.

Many years ago I interviewed in the public affairs department of Exxon Corporation. My appointment began at 11:00 a.m. and after an hour and a half of conversation the Senior Vice President pulled back his chair and said, “Okay then. Let’s go to lunch.”

He took me to an elegant and very expensive Indian restaurant in midtown. I declined a cocktail and spoke to the waiter in quiet, respectful manner. (Never drink on a job interview no matter how confident or relaxed or nervous you are feeling.) I studied the menu with interest and decided to try something new that I had never eaten before. When it arrived, I ate it with delicacy and delight. I was able to make conversation and eat at the same time.

It wasn't because he didn’t want to eat alone that day that he invited me. Our lunch was the final testing ground. Why? Because the job required dealing with high ranking executives and he would not hire someone who could not function smoothly at the table. I passed lunch and I got the job.

Table manners do have to be learned. It is hard work for parents. When I think of the tiresome mealtimes I have had with my children: “Sit up straight. Watch out, your sleeve is in the soup. Move your glass a little further from the edge of the table. Lift the fork up to you, not your head down to the food. Don’t chew with your mouth open. This is how you hold your knife. This is how you put your fork and knife to signal when you are finished. Wipe your mouth before taking a drink. Take sips not glugs. Don’t burp. Don’t stretch at the table. Wait until everyone is finished before asking if you can leave. This is how you cut your meat. Don’t talk to the waiter like that.”

If you think these are all obvious do's and don'ts, believe me, they are not.

Table manners should be as natural as breathing, and not something you have to think about. If you need to freshen up, get yourself one of the many excellent etiquette books out there.

Because if you are at ease at the table, you are at ease in life.

P.S. One of the nicest things Jean Cappello ever said to me was, "Your children have such beautiful table manners."