Travel Tumult: Cured with Chili

Today was one of those incredibly disasterous travel days.

I wake my tired self up at 5 something to catch an 8 something out of LaGuardia. We now need two stupid hours of line standing at the airport because Homeland Security can’t get it’s head out of it’s tucchus. They’re too busy wondering what kind of evil-doing dissolvables I’m smuggling onto plane in the 3 1/2 ounce container of hand cream they’ve just taken from me.

I hate this kind of stupidity. It’s why I run my own business. I can’t stand to be around policy wonks who stand as boulders in the great rivers of freedom, ingenuity and innovation.

But I have to live in society like the rest of folk sometimes and so I grudgingly rule play. I stand on line for one hour and 45 minutes because the kiosks that do auto check-in decide not to work on this morning of mornings, 2 days after the memorable Valentine’s Day Ice and Wind storm of 2007. How apropos.

So LGA is feeling a heck of a lot like Ellis Island, where we’re all huddling and massed and yearning to get on a damn flight. It’s hectic, it’s too early, I haven’t had coffee, and I’m working on a mere 4 hours of sleep. This ain’t me at my best.

When I get to the front of the line I find out that my flight is leaving from JFK. In 20 minutes. No human can get from airport to airport that fast this time of the morning.

“Oooooh. Yeah. There’s no way you can make this flight,” says my annoying Delta desk-guy.

I know this. We both know this. Only one of us is slightly close to the edge while the other likes to taunt like a 12-year old bully. Look, I didn’t book this flight. I didn’t arrange the car. I was taken here and I’m doing what I’m told. It’s not my fault.

“Why did you come to the wrong airport?”

Is there anything more annoying this moron can say?

“We can’t book you on anything today. Or tomorrow. Sunday is probably the best we can do.”

Apparently there is. I have had it with this Power Broker. “Look. I didn’t book my flight. It’s an honest mistake. Please do what you can to get me on the next flight, whenever it may be, but please don’t take tone with me.” I gave him a semi-psychotic look and he got nice, fast.

I made the requisite calls to my coworkers, who immediately jumped into action to right he wrong. Blessing of blessing! My flight was delayed! I had 2 hours to go and could possibly make it! And so to JFK I crawled.

I made it there with two hours to go, but those darn kiosks were a broken, still. So I waited on a line. It was 60 people long with 2 clerks at the end of the rainbow. It took exactly two hours, so that I could be sure to miss my flight.

I realized what was happening, and that I was SOL. So I decided to have some fun with all this. I befriended the very attractive producer standing in front of me. We became a couple for two hours, watching bags, getting snacks together…he even went to speak to the official people at the desk on my behalf at one point. Awesome airport boyfriend. There was the chick who tried to cut me on line (bad call, cutter chick), and the mothers and wives who were completely losing their shit.

Once I realized I was not going to get what I want, I kind of gave into it and watched the circus come to town. One serious PTA mom who clearly wasn’t carrying hand cream in HER purse, a law-abiding policy wonk COMPLETELY lost her mind when the flight was cancelled. That was fun to watch.

Another couple made it just a bit closer to divorce court, when, standing in the Delta terminal she presented her husband with her e-tickets that clearly stated Jet Blue (they had 12 minutes to make it, and weren’t going to). It’s amazing to watch loving couples laugh through the dramas, and quite sad to watch the less perfect among us disembowel each other over honest mistakes.

Kids were howling, but thankfully no parents were violent (they save that for the subways). Everyone was taking tone. One Delta staffer, who had the thankless job of managing the folks in line, when I asked her to honestly tell me if there was any way I could make it to the front of the line before my plane took off looked at me with absolute sincerity and said, “Yes Ma’am, Miracles Do Happen.” I had to ask her to repeat it, as I couldn’t believe. She said it again, with glittered eyelids, and Sunday-school earnestness. I gave her a big smile, and waited just for her. (Note to the earnest chick: Miracles may happen, but not in the Delta terminal on President's Day weekend.)

I stood in line today for a total of 5 1/2 hours, plus an additional 1/2 hour at the taxi stand. You konw, the one with the bitter whipping winds, no cabs, no people, and the black hole of helplessness. I called the dispatcher every five minutes to send me a cab. “Ts’onneessway, ma’am.” One did come, in fact, and screamed right by me.

Finally, feet and hands numb, lugging all my crapola, I made it upstairs to the area where no taxis are allowed (but at least there were people). Looking for help, I noticed that the police had arrived on the scene (crowd control). Police dogs were there. I kept asking for help and was passed by again, again, again and I couldn’t BEAR to stand on another line.

Finally, I walked right up to the K-9 cop car and knocked on the window. “Sir, can you tell me where I can find a cab?” He pointed me back to where I had been waiting. No more; I had reached the end. “I am sorry, but I have been waiting in the cold for 30 minutes. I have been here for 8 hours (so I exaggerate). I cannot wait on another line. I just need someone to tell me how I can get home and I need it to be the truth.” A tear formed. I am not proud of this, but I had used up my well of good nature and now it was time to find a warm bed and some comfort.

He saw the sad and said “Hop in.” He drove me about 1/2 a mile to taxi oasis. I was embarrassed by the earlier near tear, and he asked me where I was from. I told him New York, and he reminded me how lucky I was. Hating my fellow New Yorkers at this point, I asked him why, and he said, “'Cause at least you’re home. Think about the rest of the folks in there.”

Humbled again. My little silly self was losing it after 6 hours on line. People were here for days, stranded, and sad, and not as lucky as I, who could throw down $40, get in a cab and get home. Have some fortitude, girl.

Crockpot Chili
By Allison Fishman

I had been making recipes all week for the last few shows of Home Made Simple Season 2, and had the good fortune to come home to a freezer full of Chili. Soon enough I’d be able to warm my insides, so they could catch up with my blushing outsides.

2 pounds ground beef
1/4 cup chili powder
1 (28-ounce) cans diced tomatoes
1 (15-ounce) cans kidney beans, drained and rinsed
1 (15-ounce) can refried beans
1 whole jalapeno, sliced in half
1 bay leaf
1 tablespoon plus 1 teaspoon kosher salt
1 tablespoon dried minced onions
1 teaspoon garlic powder
1 teaspoon dried oregano
1 teaspoon ground cumin
2 tablespoons corn meal

Garnishes: finely chopped red onion, sour cream, grated cheddar cheese, cilantro, sliced pickled jalapeno, limes.

Combine all ingredients (but only 3 tablespoons of the chili powder and 1 tablespoon salt) in a slow cooker (4 1/2-quart size, minimum). Stir together, cover, and cook on HIGH for 6 to 8 hours or LOW for 8 to 10 hours. Season with an additional 1 teaspoon salt and tablespoon of chili powder just before serving.

Remove bay leaf, and jalapeno halves and serve over rice or pasta, with garnishes.

Valentine's Tradition: Triple Chocolate Pudding

Ach, Valentine's Day. For the men in couples, there's the pressure to dazzle. For the women, there's the kind of anticipation that can only be met with disappointment. I suppose that singles can relish the fact that we're neither of the above, but let's admit it: the day simply offers an opportunity to reflect on one's loneliness. I can handle that on my own, without a national freakin' holiday.

But ever eager to face the cold winter air with a warm, uncovered cheek, I began a tradition a few years ago, based on my own chronic tardiness, flying solo in February, and the autobiography of Julia Child.

You see, Ms. Child was a chronic tardy too, and we both find ourselves racked with guilt every Christmas when the cards pour in. We haven't sent. There's always next year, but somehow that's just a bit too late; you've already been crossed off other people's lists.

So Julia pulled an end run one year and started sending out Valentine's Day cards. Truth be told, do you really need to see another smiley happy picture of friends in front of the mantle with their adorable brood on December 20th? Or are you aching for the love of a friend during the dog days of winter? Julia and I saw far better bang for the buck with the latter, and the rest is history.

My handmade Valentine's Day card production facility goes into high gear at the end of January, and the cards are sent to arrive the Day of. Another benefit to the unconventional approach: the post office does not shut down on 2/14 as it does on 12/25. Cards arrive when needed most.

Some people like it; others think it's weird, but I can promise you this: in my circle of friends and colleagues, no one goes it alone on Valentine's Day. I have three widowed grandmothers (long story), single aunts and cousins, and not one of them goes without receiving a Valentine from someone who loves them with all they've got.

Happy Valentine's Day!

Decadent Triple Chocolate Pudding

Check out a video version of this recipe.

Makes 2 obnoxiously large portions (Makes 1 3/4 cups pudding)

This recipe won't fill you up, so you couples can enjoy then get on to your pre-planned Valentine's Day activities. Make it ahead and enjoyed it chilled, or enjoy it warm straight from the pot in front of the tube while watching last week's episode of Home Made Simple.

3 tablespoons sugar
2 tablespoons corn starch
Pinch salt
2 tablespoons cocoa
1 1/2 cups milk
2 egg yolks, lightly beaten
Generous 1/4 cup white chocolate chips
Generous 1/4 cup bittersweet chocolate chips
1/4 tablespoon vanilla extract
1 teaspoon freshly squeezed lemon juice
1/3 cup heavy cream
1 tablespoon Kahlua or Baileys to flavor cream (optional)

1. In a medium saucepan, add sugar, corn starch, salt and cocoa and whisk to combine. Slowly whisk in milk and bring to a simmer.

2. Slowly whisk 1/3 of milk mixture to egg yolks, return yolk mixture to pot over low heat. Whisk together and heat until you see the first bubble. Turn off heat and whisk in chips until smooth.
3. Add vanilla and lemon juice; remove from heat and pour into serving cups. Cover with plastic wrap (to avoid “skin”; or leave the wrap off if the skin makes you happy). Let refrigerate until cool, about 1 hour. Or eat warm. No rules!!

4. Meanwhile, in a medium bowl, combine cream and liquor, and whisk like mad until you’ve got whipped cream. Sweeten with sugar if you’d like; or not.

5. Top pudding with whipped cream and serve (or eat it all yourself). Yum.

Holiday Winner #4: Field Trip! and Southern-Style Corn Bread

For 30 years, my mother was a uniquely gifted elementary school classroom teacher and principal. I thought she was simply 'mom' until her retirement dinner, where over 500 PTA members, parents and teachers came out to bid her adieu. At least half took me aside to make sure I understood what an exceptional mother I had.

Her work life dribbled over to our family life on many occasions; like when she'd test reading comprehension exams on me after dinner, use her "teacher voice" to get me to do things like wake up in the morning (where do you get sent when mom's a principal?). And home would take the leap to school, like when she used the tabletop figurines from my bat mitzvah to decorate the halls of her school, and when she evacuated my entire childhood book collection to the school as library sign-outs.

The best part of mom-as-principal were family field trips; short journeys to spots that teachers seek out and turn into memorable day-trips for students. Visiting friends in Boston, we took a side trip to Sturbridge Village; driving out east, we'd hit The Game Farm and Sagamore Hill. These are among my favorite childhood memories.

And though you can take the teacher out of the school, you can't take the field trip out of the teacher. In retirement, my mom continues the Field Trip series for her most enthusiastic pupil. In her new home, outside of Wilmington, North Carolina, she's found coastal shrimpers, farmers, and builders for me to meet and learn from. But she really took the Johnnycake with our most recent field trip, to the grist mill.

A grist mill, built with American pride and ingenuity in 1948. Corn is added to the top, is crushed by two massive stones grinding against one another in the center, and comes out the shoot in front. The grist mill operator can control the size of the meal by tightening the space between the stones.
Before dried corn kernels are ready for the mill, they must be cleaned thoroughly, removing any stones or twigs. They are placed on this screen, which shakes back and forth, removing the impurities (basin in the center), and leaving the clean kernels (basin on the left).

Though the mill was not to be in operation on the day we visited (as a plan b, we were going to take out the shot guns and shoot mistletoe down from the trees...but we'll save that for the next trip). But the field trip gods smiled down on us, and presented us with a lovely local farmer who had just dried and cleaned 150 pounds of his very own corn, and was coming to the mill for his first grinding. So many grist virgins in one room.

The farmer had a warm smile, a kind way, a soft voice, and as my mom pointed out, ironed jeans. He shared stories of his father teaching him how to farm, and described how proud he is having an organic farm. But not in a Brooklyn co-op yuppie kind of way, it's much more basic, and reflecting the ethics of someone who lives off the land, including never touching produce that's been sprayed. As he sees it, "If the bugs aren't interested in it, than neither am I. I sure wouldn't eat a vegetable the bugs turn their noses up at."

This is Billy, the owner of the grist mill. He entertained my many questions, always pausing a beat as if to wonder why this Northern girl was so interested in a daggone grist mill. I tried to impress him with my tireless work ethic, but I think it will take lots of time, more visits, and some home made baked goods before we can start a real friendship. Billy's seen a thing or two, and appears to be related to half the county. When I mentioned I was from Brooklyn, he said, "So's my wife family. They're Kents. You familiar with the Kents?"

Because that's how it works in Coastal Carolina. You're a Holden. You're a Varnum. Whatever you are, you know it, and your kin knows it, and that's what makes you you.
After the corn was ground, Billy takes it through one final tammy (sieve), to remove some of the excess skin from the kernels. You know, the stuff that gets stuck in your teeth.

Brushing it through the final tammy. The good meal ends up in the bucket on the left, and the rest ends up in the orange bucket. But nothing is wasted; the discarded bits make fine feed for the animals.
Billy and me. He ain't seen the last of me, he just doesn't know it yet. I've got a freezer full of cornmeal and grist, and I haven't put a dent in it, though I feel that I've shared it with half of Brooklyn.

What I did do, though, is use the meal to create some wonderful cornbread, which is the fourth and final winner of our first Holiday Recipe Competition. The recipes were submitted by Mark Kelly, Marketing Director of Lodge Cookware (yeah, those guys that make the kick-ass cast iron skillets). Conveniently, he's supplied two recipes, depending on the size of your skillet. Keep in mind this is Southern-style cornbread, which is on the dry side. Serve it with soft butter and honey, fried chicken, collards and some attitude.

NOTE: Although self-rising cornmeal (and self-rising flour) is a staple in the South; not so much in the North. If you don't have access (or if you do have access to real good honest and true cornmeal), try substituting one cup cornmeal, one cup flour, one tablespoon baking powder, one teaspoon salt, and 1/4 cup butter or other fat.


Elizabeth’s Basic Cornbread
Using a 10-inch Lodge Skillet

Put the greased skillet into the oven and heat as oven preheats to 450 degrees.
Mix the following batter:
1 cup white self-rising cornmeal
1 egg
Enough Buttermilk to make batter very thin (about 1 cup)


Pour batter into hot skillet. Bake for 20 minutes or until nicely browned.


Judy’s Real Cornbread
Using a 9-inch Lodge Skillet

2 cups white self-rising cornmeal
½ teaspoon baking soda
2 eggs, beaten
2 cups buttermilk
2 tablespoons bacon grease (or vegetable oil)

1. Preheat oven to 450 degrees. Place both tablespoons of fat of choice in skillet (bacon grease taste best but vegetable oil or shortening works with a little added salt). Put skillet in the oven to preheat. Combine cornmeal, baking soda, eggs and buttermilk in bowl. Whisk together until well blended. Carefully remove hot skillet from oven and pour grease from skillet into batter,

2. Pour batter into skillet, which will sizzle and may splatter. Bake for 30-40 minutes until golden brown. Remove from oven and let cook about 5-10 minutes. Then turn out onto plate so the bread is upside down, revealing crispy brown crust. With very sharp knife, cut into 6 or 8 wedges, and serve hot with lots of butter. If you like a crunchier texture, sprinkle some cornmeal onto hot skillet before adding batter.