It’s always Happy Hour somewhere

I’ve always thought that whoever invented Happy Hour was ingenious. Sure, Happy Hour has been an American institution since the sixties, and there are still plenty of Happy Hours around with reduced prices for drinks and appetizers, even Starbucks has one! But the Happy Hour I am thinking about dates back a few years, when most of my friends and I lived from paycheck to paycheck, and drinks were really cheap. A few dollars took care of a pleasant little buzz and dinner. 

Once a week or so, when slipping out of work around 5 o'clock, I could always count on a handful of friends and coworkers who were in for Happy Hour. I loved the really dark bars, where I needed to give my eyes some time to adjust before I could even see a barstool. They felt cozy yet a little bold at the same time. Fancy sweet cocktails were just what we itched for with peculiar names like Fuzzy Navel, B52 or Sex on the Beach.

Cheap drinks were one thing, but the free food was just as important. I had a knack for snooping out the best places, and we often snacked on little meatballs speared with toothpicks, taquitos, chips and salsa, vegetables and dip, spicy chicken wings, and always lots of dangerously delicious fried food.

Surely one of my all-time favorite bites at these Happy Hours were jalapeño poppers: bright green and slightly spicy jalapeño peppers filled with mild, velvety cream cheese, breaded with fine crumbs and deep-fried to a golden brown. They were served piping hot with ranch dressing. I loved how the flavors exploded in my mouth: spicy, cheesy, crunchy and hot all at the same time, that was one yummy food rush! 

Peach Schnapps and Bailey's Irish Cream are not high on my list anymore, but for poppers, I still have a hankering. 

Skinny Poppers
Inspired by Rachael Ray

8-10 large jalapeno peppers, cut in half lengthwise, stems and seeds removed 

Filled with a mixture of:

4 oz each of softened cream cheese and finely grated Manchego cheese

½ shallot, finely chopped

1 cup cilantro, very finely chopped

Salt and freshly ground pepper to taste










Roast in 425 degree oven for 12 - 15 min until peppers are slightly charred and filling is tinged golden brown.

Great as a side to all kinds of grilled meats or chicken.

Grandma Elsa's Elderberries

My maternal grandmother Elsa was a tough cookie with a frosty disposition. She was clearly not your typical doting granny; I don't think she ever gave me a hug or even a gift, except some money on birthdays.

From what I've been told, Grandma Elsa was born when there was still a Kaiser in Germany and was brought up in a virtuous household. She went to a strict Catholic school and experienced both world wars: the first one as a child, the second one as a married woman with children. She was a widow as long as I can remember, lived in a wonderfully airy apartment overlooking our small town, smoked like a chimney and had huge bunions, which were always of great fascination to us kids.

Nevertheless, she showed her affection for my sisters and me in other ways, and one of my better memories of her is feeding us delicate elderberry blossom fritters. Elderberry bushes are prolific in the foothills of the Alps where we grew up. Although we were told to stay away from the actual berries because of the freaky fact that they are slightly poisonous, the blooms are a different story altogether. In spring, Grandma Elsa picked their delicate clusters of ivory blossoms with their heady and uniquely fresh and fruity scent. She brushed them carefully to remove small insects and debris and dipped them into a silky and eggy pancake batter. She quickly fried them to fritters light as air and dusted them with powdered sugar. We girls loved munching on them, giggling about the powdered sugar that stuck to our noses.

It's a good thing that the French liqueur St-Germain has brought the subtle fragrance of elderberry blossoms to America. There are tons of cocktails mixed with St-Germain, but I prefer the simple concoction of an elegantly pale gimlet. Sweet-tart lime juice is a great accent to aromatic gin perfumed with a splash of elderberry blossom cordial. It’s very tasty, pleasantly boozy, and makes me instantly think of Grandma Elsa and of springtime in Germany, a grown-up reminder of a childhood memory.

French Gimlet
(I like to call it the Elsa Gimlet)

Adapted from the St-Germain website

2 parts Gin

1 part St-Germain and maybe an extra splash for a sweeter version

½ part freshly squeezed lime juice

Pour into ice-filled cocktail shaker and shake well. Strain into a small martini glass and garnish with a lime twist.

“She got a bottle of tequila, a bottle of gin, and if I bring a little music I could fit right in.”

- Counting Crows

Sweet Vespa

Ever since I caught my first glimpse of a real Vespa, I have been in love. To this day, the pleasing muttering of their engines and their happy sounding horns make me think of a warm summer evening in Italy, of licking a gelato in a piazza, my hair blowing in the wind, not a worry in the world.

The closest I ever came to a Vespa was a little automatic Zündapp motorbike, which was the German version of the beloved Italian scooter. I worked on my mother for an entire year, until she finally broke down, and I rolled my very own shimmery purple beauty right out of our family's motorcycle business-showroom. It drove all of 15 miles per hour, no driver's license or helmet were needed, and the only requirement was being 15 years old. It was pure joy.

Unfortunately, I find that neither a little motorbike nor a Vespa are very practical for me these days. But I still like all things Vespa, not only for the great memories of my little motorbike, but also for the Italian tie-in. It's amazing how many Vespa accoutrements are out there, and they all keep my love alive. My latest is the cutest little scooter cookie cutter that my sister Sophie sent from Italy. I have baked Vespa cookies ever since.

My cousin Carol, who always comes up with a new Vespa accessory, has given me the most perfect cookie recipe. I don't typically go crazy over cookies, and I am not too fond of ones with frosting, but these are an exception and just too yummy to pass up. They are rich and sweet, crumbly and tender, and the icing melts in your mouth. A hint of spicy-fragrant nutmeg gives the cookie character and sprightly lemon zest in the buttery frosting is just the ticket. They are happy little cookies and any shape works: hearts, stars, you name it. I just happen to love Vespas!

Cousin Carol's Sour Cream Cookies

1/2 cup butter

1 cup sugar

1 egg

1 teaspoon vanilla

2 2/3 cups unbleached flour

1 teaspoon baking powder

½ teaspoon soda

¼ teaspoon salt

½ teaspoon freshly ground nutmeg

Lemon zest of 1 lemon

½ cup sour cream (not low fat)

Heat oven to 425 degrees.  Mix butter, sugar, egg and vanilla in a bowl using electric mixer until well combined.  Mix dry ingredients together with lemon zest and nutmeg in separate bowl. Add to creamed mixture alternately with sour cream and blend on low speed until ingredients start to come together. Finish kneading dough by hand until smooth. Wrap in clear plastic wrap and let rest in refrigerator for ½ hour. Roll to 1/8 inch thickness on well floured surface.  Cut with your favorite cookie cutter and place on parchment paper-covered baking sheet. Bake 8 to 10 minutes until fragrant and golden brown.

Lemon Butter Cream Icing

4 tablespoons unsalted butter, softened

2 tablespoons lemon juice

2 tablespoons milk

Zest of 1 lemon

2 cups powdered sugar

Mix all ingredients, using additional milk if needed to get the desired consistency. Spread on cooled cookies and enjoy.

Der Wienerschnitzel

Years ago, when America was still new to me, it cracked me up when people told me with conviction that Wiener Schnitzel is a hot dog. While I was longing for a crispy breaded pork chop when driving by one of the tall Wienerschnitzel restaurants with their steeply pitched roofs, folks where happily chomping down on a hot dog.

The name is very tongue-in-cheek funny and a clever example of America 's ingenious way of playing with words. A “Wiener” is indeed the slangy name for a hot dog in Germany, coming from “Wiener Wuerstchen,” but that is where the similarities end.

A true Wiener Schnitzel is made of a thinly pounded piece of veal, breaded and quickly deep-fried. In its hometown of Vienna, Austria I've seen them larger than dinner plates, the meat thin as a sheet of paper, served with lemon wedges and sometimes with a little mound of local cranberry preserves. 

On the other hand, in Germany, I know Wiener Schnitzel as a boneless pork chop: tenderized, breaded and quickly pan-fried in butter. It's slightly chewier than veal with a pleasantly meaty taste. I have devoured Cotoletta alla Milanese in Italy where lean bone-in breaded veal is cooked in olive oil. And in Argentina, my beef-loving friend of same origin, Carola, tells me, a Milanesa is typically prepared with a flattened piece of filet (beef or pork).

In the end, it's always a lean cut of meat, pounded very thin, and dipped first in flour, then in a salt-and-pepper-seasoned egg wash, and lastly in fine breadcrumbs. It's quickly pan-fried to crispy deliciousness, served hot with a flavorful interior while mouthwatering scents hang around the kitchen. I pile a salad of spicy arugula and a few sweet cherry tomatoes tossed in a lemony vinaigrette on top. A perfect juxtaposition of hot and crunchy with cool and fresh. Nothing against hot dogs, but when it comes to Wienerschnitzel, this is what I'm talking about.

Wiener Schnitzel with Lemony Arugula

Serves 4

8 Pork loin chops, boneless and wafer thin, 2 ½ oz each

1 cup all-purpose flour

1-1 1/2 cups fine, unseasoned breadcrumbs

2 eggs, whisked and generously seasoned with salt and pepper

Trim any excess fat from chops and with a meat tenderizer, pound to about 1/4 inch thickness. Distribute flour, eggs and bread crumbs into three different soup plates and dredge one pork chop at a time first in flour, shaking off any excess, then into the egg mixture until coated evenly and finally in the fine bread crumbs. Sauté in plenty of olive oil approximately 3 minutes per side until cooked through and golden brown.

Lemony Vinaigrette

2 tablespoons freshly squeezed Meyer Lemon juice

3 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil

1 teaspoon mayonnaise

1/4 teaspoon sugar

salt and pepper to taste

Whisk all ingredients vigorously until creamy and brightly yellow. Mix a few handfuls of Arugula and a couple of halved cherry tomatoes and toss with dressing. Pile high on hot Schnitzel and serve immediately.

Greek Allure

When my aunt wanted to marry Dr. Evangelos M., my stiff and stern maternal grandmother was not very pleased that her daughter had fallen in love with a foreigner, a Greek. So they eloped to Athens instead. But my grandmother came around, and Evan, as everyone calls him, visited her often, trudging around her apartment in her slippers (he has very small feet).

I had no such reservations about him, as Evan was the coolest uncle anyone could want. He drove up in his Renault R4 wearing dark glasses, greeting us with his melodic accent. He was young, energetic, different, and best of all, he genuinely liked hanging out with his new German family. We'd go sledding in winter and he'd scream with delight when some snow got into his pants, yet he would never wear long underwear like my father or other uncles. We went on many fun outings, did handicrafts together and one day, he even brought a 33 record with popular Greek music and taught us enthusiastically how to dance to the Zorba-the-Greek tune.

Evan also introduced us to Greek food, which at that time was still an anomaly in Germany. His snowy-white Tzatziki with pale green flecks was undoubtedly geared towards our weak and inexperienced taste buds. It's slightly but pleasantly tangy since the recipe mixes mild and creamy quark, a German-style Fromage frais with just enough yoghurt. It explodes with the flavors of sweet and melon-y tasting cucumbers and a little pungent, freshly crushed garlic. Stirring in fruity Greek olive oil and a dash of mildly acidic white wine vinegar gives it the needed complexity.

Evan is now retired and lives with my aunt in a small German town close to the Czech border. He has always been a Wagner buff and when we Skype, he fills me in on all the operas he has recently attended. He is still a very cool uncle.

Tzaitsiki

Serves 6–8

8 oz cottage cheese

4–6 oz plain Greek yoghurt

3–4 Persian cucumbers
or 3/4–1 English cucumber, peeled

2–3 small garlic cloves, crushed

1 tablespoon extra virgin olive oil

1 tablespoon white wine vinegar

Sea salt to taste

Cottage cheese is a perfectly acceptable substitute for Quark, but should be whirled in a food processor until smooth. Stir in the Greek yoghurt until well combined and creamy. Grate the peeled cucumbers in a separate bowl and squeeze them hard to get out all the excess liquid. Fold grated cucumber into the cottage cheese/yogurt mixture and add the crushed garlic. Mix in olive oil and vinegar and season to taste with sea salt.

Tzaitsiki is a worthy accompaniment to all sorts of grilled meats or chicken and best enjoyed sopping up with crusty French bread or soft chewy pita bread.

There's something about Nutella

Nutella arrived in Germany when I was young and it made me a very happy little girl. Many a morning I gleefully skipped to a nearby bakery to pick up fresh bread for my Nutella breakfast. I loved being the first one to poke a hole in the tightly-stretched gold foil of a new jar; it made a most wonderful popping sound. I lathered the mocha brown spread on a crusty roll, and it felt pleasantly smooth on my tongue and tasted headily of cocoa and hazelnuts.

I've been thinking about Nutella lately and started reading on how it was invented in Italy in the 1940s by confectioner Pietro Ferraro. The catchy name was made up, from the English word nut and ~ella, the Italian form of indicating smallness, so it's a little nutty, but cute! All the browsing confirmed that Nutella has not yet gone out of stye.

Nutella to us kids was (and is) what peanut butter means to our American counterparts. It traveled with us in form of sandwiches on summer outings, where it melted and dripped onto our arms and we had to lick it off. We enjoyed paper-thin rolled up pancakes with Nutella filling; it was, in truth, a legitimate excuse to have chocolate. Not too long ago, I tasted a tweaked “Velvet Elvis” which is basically a toasted peanut butter and banana sandwich with an added thin layer of Nutella. Sort of a culinary meet-cute. I was sold!

On the home front, I reworked an OK-tasting almond tart into a Hazelnut Nutella tart that makes me happy in so many ways. A quick buttery pâte sablée (a fancy word for sweet pastry dough) is filled with toasted hazelnuts and a glob of Nutella, which brings out the exquisitely and uniquely deep hazelnut flavor. After it's baked, I spread on a thin layer of sweet-tart raspberry jam and finish it with a spirited drizzle of a lemony powdered sugar glaze. It does Nutella proud.

Hazelnut Nutella Tart

Serves 12

Bake at 350 degrees

Tart:

1 1/3 cup flour

1 tsp baking powder

1/3 cup sugar

½ cup butter, chilled and cut into cubes

1 egg, lightly beaten

Filling:

½ cup butter at room temperature

½ cup sugar

4-6 oz toasted hazelnuts, finely ground

2 tbs Nutella

2 eggs

Finishing touch:

½ cup raspberry jam

½ cup powdered sugar, mixed with 2-3 tsp freshly squeezed lemon juice

In a large bowl, sift together flour, baking powder and sugar. Using a couple of pastry blenders or table knives, quickly work in the butter and the egg just until combined and press into tart pan one inch up on sides. Chill.

Toast whole hazelnuts in 400 degree oven until fragrant, 8 - 10 minutes. Using a clean kitchen towel, rub nuts until all the loose skin flakes off, it doesn't have to be perfect. Finely ground nuts in food processor. Beat butter and sugar, add nuts, Nutella and eggs, one at a time.

Spoon filling in prepared tart shell and bake 35 – 45 minutes until filling is set. Cool. To serve, spread with a thin layer of raspberry jam and drizzle with glaze.

Serve with a dollop of barely sweetened, stiffly whipped cream.

Goddess and others

America, without a doubt, must have the largest variety of salad dressings in the world. Many are not just simple salad dressings--they also have their own unique history. You almost need to take something like Salad Dressing 101 for the full picture.

The Green Goddess Dressing for instance was created in 1923 in San Francisco 's Palace Hotel for a famous actor who was in a popular stage play of the same name. The Caesar Dressing was dreamt up in 1924 by an Italian immigrant who lived in San Diego but opened a restaurant just across the border in Tijuana, Mexico to escape the dreaded prohibition. The Louis Dressing was most likely created in Seattle’s Olympic Club circa 1900 to dress Dungeness Crab, a favorite of Italian tenor Enrico Caruso, who was performing at the opera at that time. Thousand Island Dressing also dates back to 1900 and was named after the 1000 Island area between the US and Canada by a fishing guide's wife who dazzled her husband's clients with her salads.

Classic American dressings are as a whole robust and rich, flavored with garlic, herbs and spices, sometimes chili sauce, and made creamy by the addition of mayonnaise or buttermilk. They work exceptionally well with a salad of crisp iceberg lettuce, sweet and juicy cherry tomatoes, julienned carrots and a few buttery, crunchy croutons.

For my homemade dressings, I prefer them a tad less creamy but with a few splashes of mild vinegar and grassy olive oil. Lately, I’ve been using deep and complex sherry vinegar, tiny dice of mild shallots, a dollop of smooth Dijon and a few sugar crystals, sorry Charlotte. My dressing is inspired by Mark Bittman, who knows how to cook everything.

So then here is yet another one to add to the assortment.

Santa Barbara-Salad Dressing

2 tablespoons sherry vinegar

1 teaspoon mayonnaise

1 teaspoon Dijon mustard

½ shallot, minced

1/3 cup extra-virgin olive oil

1/4 teaspoon sugar

Salt and freshly ground pepper, to taste

Whisk the vinegar with the mayonnaise and mustard vigorously until smooth. Add the olive oil slowly until the dressing emulsifies. Add shallot and sugar, whisk some more and season with salt and pepper.

This dressing is more than enough for a salad for 4 people. Any leftover dressing can be refrigerated for another day. I use assorted greens mixed with Arugula, 3 tablespoons of toasted pepitas or pistachios, 1 small avocado, cubed and a handful of tiny pearl tomatoes, cut in half. Toss the whole salad with enough dressing to lightly coat all the leaves. No dressing on the side!