Jerry Jay's Classic Alfredo

My dad deserves credit for my love of food and my desire to be creative in the kitchen, and not simply because he made me try whatever was on my plate or because he solicited my help with dinner. If my dad got to eat and enjoy something at a restaurant when dining for business, he would often try to create an at-home version for our family to try as well. This brought a lot of excitement to weekend meals when we got to try things such as veal with volcano potatoes, shrimp scampi, or my favorite, fettuccine alfredo.

I was 8 or 9 when my dad introduced me to alfredo sauce. For a girl who thought spaghetti and meatballs was the definition of Italian food, the idea of a white sauce and green noodles was pretty outlandish. But I was game to try it (especially because it was my job to stir, stir, stir and keep the sauce from scalding in the pan), and it was glorious.

Here's what you need to recreate my first foodie experience:

1/2 package plain fettuccine pasta

1/2 package spinach fettuccine pasta

2/3 cup butter

1 1/2 cups grated Parmesan

1 1/2 cups heavy whipping cream

2-3 tbsps chopped fresh parsley (flatleaf or Italian)

Cook fettuccine according to package directions and drain. Meanwhile, in a small saucepan, melt butter over medium heat. Gradually stir in parmesan, then cream until well-blended. Continue heating sauce, stirring constantly (sauce should be on the verge of boiling, without ever actually boiling; if it starts to cross the line, remove from the burner until it settles back down, then reintroduce the heat). Remove saucepan from heat, and stir in parsley. Toss with fettuccine and serve.

Expect about 6 servings if you're using this recipe as a co-main dish. It goes great with hearty steaks from the grill, shrimp, or Italian grilled chicken (as pictured here).

Little Mama's Deluxe Mac & Cheese

I grew up on Kraft macaroni and cheese. Not because my mom didn't know how to make the good stuff, but because my brother and I apparently preferred unnaturally yellow, made from a powder cheese on our little-bitty noodles. She tried more than once to introduce us to homemade macaroni, and to her disappointment we were such food snobs that we still asked for the blue box.

All that changed when my mom cooked up what she calls Deluxe Mac & Cheese. It's creamy without being runny and the finished product is a perfectly normal cheddar cheese color. I haven't wanted blue box mac & cheese since.

Here's what you need:

2 cups cottage cheese

1 cup (8oz) sour cream

1 egg, lightly beath

1 tsp salt

Garlic salt (a few shakes will get the job done)

Freshly ground black pepper (a few twists -- don't overdo it)

2 cups (8oz) shredded sharp cheddar

2 cups dry macaroni noodles

Cook macaroni according to package directions. Drain and set aside.

In a large bowl, combine cottage cheese, sour cream, egg, salt, garlic salt, and pepper. Add shredded cheddar and mix well. Add cooked macaroni and stir until coated. Transfer to a greased 2 1/2 quart baking dish, and bake until bubbly (uncovered at 350 degrees for 25-30 minutes).

This is a great make ahead dish -- assemble everything the day before, then refrigerate overnight. Set the baking dish out about 30 minutes before you're ready to put it in the oven, and allow an extra 10 minutes of bake time to compensate for the time in the refrigerator.

My Not-So Greek Tzatziki Sauce

Mike and I started hosting Fight Nights at our house about five years ago. What started out as a spartan gathering of a few close friends and some beer has now become a monthly feast that happens to follow the UFC calendar. We've had a lot of delicious meals, but my personal favorite was Greek Night 2009: we indulged in grilled beef gyros, Greek salad, hummus, and my homemade tzatziki sauce.

While I'm sure the fancy stuff they serve in restaurants (or in Greek homes!) is much more sophisticated, this homage to tzatziki is tasty enough to earn approval from my non-Greek, Pita Jungle loving friends. And it's super eas

Here's what you need:

16 oz greek yogurt

1/3 lb feta (buy the block and crumble it yourself. It's got more moisture so it creams into the sauce better, plus it's way less expensive.)

Juice from 1 lemon

2 cloves garlic

1 tsp thyme

1 tsp oregano

A few twists of freshly ground black pepper

Dump all of your ingredients in the food processor, and press go. Let it blend for about 30 seconds. Scrape down the sides, and run it for another 15 or 20 seconds. Serve with gyros or as a pita chip and veggie dip. Embarrassingly simple, but so delicious!

If you wish to be a writer, write.

Recently I asked a friend how she consistently finds time to write for her blog. I asked simply because as much as I want to write regularly, I don't. It's not that my life is so impossibly full that I can't possibly find time in my day... although that is usually what I tell myself. I was an avid journal-er until my early twenties, and after I filled the last page of the last one, I quit. My life didn't stop happening, I just never picked up another blank book. Although I browse for one occasionally, I have more or less written off writing as a way to keep life interesting before it actually became interesting.

But I miss it. If I'm being honest, I've missed it for a long time. I quit writing because I thought I didn't need it anymore. I had an English degree in hand, a grown-up job, a husband, and a sense of self-confidence I hadn't possessed all those years I had made regular entries in my journal. Quite simply, I know who I am, I know where I'm going, so I no long need to write as in order to discover those things. I came to see writing as another childish artifact of my youth, and truly believed I had outgrown it.

I now realize that it's more than that though. Writing is a way to record how life's moments make you feel, make you think. How do you work through those things without a pen and paper? I've managed as much for the last seven years, but while I have memories of how I felt on my wedding day or when my mom was diagnosed with cancer, I can never go back and read exactly what I thought about those events as they happened because I neglected to write about them.

Somewhere along the way I got the idea that I had run out of interesting things to say. Even as I write this, I'm questioning whether it's worth anyone's time to read it. And at the same time, I know that I didn't always write worrying if anyone else found my words interesting. I wrote to sort things out and generate new ideas -- it didn't matter that it was only for me. At some point I stopped treating writing as personal, and felt like it wasn't necessary if an audience wasn't involved. So I've strung together some small food writing pieces and a couple of humorous posts about mountain biking, but I've refrained from even attempting to tackle anything of substance. Writer's block? Maybe. But if anything, it's self -imposed. I stood in my own way, convinced I knew best about what's blog-worthy and refused to write anything that didn't fit my definition. A lot of good that did; not only did I fail to write anything blog-worthy, I failed to write anything at all.

Those who know me best know I'm capable of turning a good phrase, and remember when I used to make time for journaling or how excited I became when the spark of an exciting idea came to life. Then those same people ask why I haven't written anything lately, and I'm too embarrassed to admit I don't know where to start. I stopped practicing and what once came easily now seems so daunting that I talk myself out of trying before I even start.

My friend's answer to how she manages to find time to write? She says you have to be a little bit crazy, and now that I think about it, when you write regularly, the urge to write can become so intense that it feels like if you can't get to it immediately, you might go a little bit crazy with the waiting. And I've ignored that itch for so long that I didn't even realize what was causing it. It's harder than it used to be, finding the words, arranging them in the proper order, and getting them out of my head and onto paper, but I'm willing to make the effort so long as the words are still willing to come.

Moonshined Bailey's Irish Cream

Growing up in more than one neighborhood meant I had the opportunity to eat a variety of family meals that were vastly different from the Midwestern food served at home. I've enjoyed Sedar dinner at the Mirandas, tamales at the Lunas, and Tandoori at the Raos. One of the most memorable foods that ever came from a neighbor's kitchen, and has essentially become a tradition within my own family, is Moonshined Bailey's Irish Cream.

I've been fascinated by homemade Bailey's since I first saw it served during the only Christmas I spent in the Chicago suburbs. The Matthews lived two houses down, and were a large, fun Irish-Catholic family. Mrs. Matthews was true White Sox-loving Chicago stock, and as a little girl, I admired Mrs. Matthews not just because she was tall, blonde, and beautiful, but also because her house had air conditioning in the summer, and I thought only rich people had AC! Just before Christmas that year, while the other neighbors swapped cookies like I'd seen in my other Illinois neighborhood, Mrs. Matthews showed up with a Mason jar of Bailey's. To my five year-old eyes, it looked like the creamiest chocolate milk I'd ever seen, and I was devastated when I learned that bottle was only for grown-ups.

Each year since we left Chicago, my mom has made at least one batch of Bailey's for Christmas parties or family gatherings, and each year I couldn't wait to finally receive a glass of the beverage the adults so looked forward to each year. I wasn't allowed my own glass until the eve of my 21st birthday, but it was everything I had hoped it would be: a little chocolately, very creamy, and full of down-home sophistication.

Here's what you need to make a couple pints of your own:

3 eggs
1 14 oz can Eagle brand milk
1/4 tsp coconut extract
1 16 oz carton Coffee Rich, thawed (sold frozen, and really hard to find in my experience. In years where I couldn't get my hands on any, I've subbed in another non-dairy creamer such as Mocha Mix with good results.)
1 cup blended whiskey or bourbon (I like Jim Beam)
3 tbsps Hershey's syrup

Dump all ingredients into a blender, and blend until creamy. You'll get about 2 1/2 pints, and you can keep it in your fridge up to 3 weeks. Shake well, and serve over ice.

Ginger Ale Bread

My mom and I periodically share a good laugh about our fundamental differences in the kitchen. We actually just had this conversation on Thanksgiving when I said, "who actually measures out a half teaspoon?" And she said, "well, if the recipe says so, I do!" Which is so true.

Honestly, I can see her logic -- if you follow the exact same steps with precision each time, the food should always taste the same. But I can't bring myself to cook that way -- I experiment because if I follow the exact same steps with precision each time, how will I ever discover anything new?

I'm not sure where my mom came across this recipe, but it's crazy-easy. Fortunately, it's also delicious, especially this time of year as a go-with for soups, stews, and casseroles. Since we're talking about bread, this recipe should be made with precision. I'm no where near as capricious when it comes to baking, so I follow my mom's recipe just as it's written.

Slightly unconventional, but here's what you need:

12 oz can of ginger ale (brand doesn't matter here)

2 tbsps of sugar

3 cups self-rising flour

Preheat your oven to 375 degrees. In a large bowl, combine sugar and ginger ale. Slowly pour in flour, stirring just enough to moisten. It's really important not to over-stir the dough, so really just stir it enough to get it damp. Pour into a 10x6 bread pan, and bake for 40-45 minutes, until browned.

Country Bumpkin Latkes

Although I don't have any Jewish heritage to speak of, latkes have graced the dinner table for longer than anyone in my family can remember. Thanks to my grandfather's insatiable love of potatoes, my hog-farming, house-keeping grandmother literally cooked with potatoes morning, noon, and night. Baked, boiled, mashed, or fried, potatoes were an inexpensive way to keep Grandpa Ewing's hungry belly satisfied.

As any Great Depression survivor -- including my grandma -- will tell you, waste nothing and save everything. Instead of following the traditional latke recipe which involves ricing or shredding potatoes, these latkes are a delicious way to use up leftover mashed potatoes. Not being a struggling farmer's wife, I like to make extra large batch of mashed potatoes so I'm sure to have some leftovers on hand for latkes the next day.

To get started, you'll need only five ingredients:
about 2 cups of leftover mashed potatoes
about a 1/2 cup of flour
a generous pour of vegetable oil
salt & pepper

Set a large skillet on medium heat. Add a hearty pour of vegetable oil, enough to cover the bottom of the entire pan. Pour your 1/2 cup or so of flour into a shallow bowl. Next, scoop out about a handful of mashed potatoes, about the size of 1/4lb burger. Gently work your potato into a little cake, much like how you would shape a burger patty. Coat with flour, and salt and pepper each side to taste. With this amount of leftovers, you should end up with 4-5 latkes.

Once your oil is hot (to test, a droplet of water should skitter across the pan), ease each cake into the skillet. You must handle your cakes with extreme care, or you will end up with a big mushy pile of mashed potatoes in the bottom of you pan. Cook each side until golden brown, about 7 minutes per side. When you go to flip, use a spatula in your strong hand, and a slightly curved spoon in the other hand to guide the cake up and over. Once the second side is through cooking, remove latke from the oil and onto a plate lined with paper towels to drain before serving.

Serve latkes with applesauce, sour cream, or ketchup for dipping.