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.

J's Chicken Quesadillas

I know Jeremiah because I know his wife Cassidy. And I know first hand, Jeremiah loves good food. So much so, that he raided my fridge when he arrived late to a party, hopeful to find a few more pieces of cheesy garlic bread. Cassidy was horrified -- mostly because this was Jeremiah's first visit to my house, and generally a person doesn't pillage the hostess's fridge for snacks until he really gets to know her.

A while back (a long while back, if you ask Jeremiah), he came to me for a chicken quesadilla recipe. I make quesadillas for a quick lunch regularly, but I haven't ever given much thought to the process. I've done it so many times, I flip a quesadilla based on intuition, and I have no idea how long it takes or what the best combination of ingredients might be.

Tortillas are a blank canvas -- you can try any number of ingredients on them until you get the flavor profile you desire. Without having tasted the epic chicken quesadilla that prompted this specific recipe request, I am offering up my favorite combo of ingredients. Once you know the process, you can swap ingredients and invent all kinds of delicious meals.

Here's what you need to get started:

8 medium-sized flour tortillas (getting good tortillas is vital to making good quesadillas. Don't waste your money on a supermarket brand. If you're lucky enough enough to live near a Mexican market, get your tortillas there, especially if they make them in-house. While you're there, get yourself some freshly made pico unless you have intentions of chopping tomatoes, onions, and cilantro when you get home.)

1 cup shredded Colby Jack cheese (my favorite for it's melty factor, plus it isn't as overpowering as cheddar or pepper Jack. It blends nicely with the other flavors instead of trying to steal the show.)

2 scallions, sliced (optional -- I prefer my crunch to come from the pico, not the quesadilla itself)

1 cooked chicken breast, chopped into bite-sized pieces (I generally use leftovers. See below if you plan to cook chicken specifically for your quesadillas.)*

Pico de gallo, sour cream, guacamole, salsa, etc., for dipping

Set a large skillet on a stove with medium heat. Let it get hot. In the meantime, build your quesadillas. Lay out 4 tortillas, and top each with 1/4 cup cooked chicken, 1/4 cup cheese, and scallions if you like that extra crunch. Make sure to spread the ingredients evenly, creating a nice flat layer of chicken and cheese. Top each one with another flour tortilla.

Gently transfer the first quesadilla to the hot skillet, and allow it to brown until you can smell the tortilla. I make mine using scent as my timer, because the skillet gets progressively warmer with each quesadilla, so the cook time becomes progressively shorter. The first one can take as long as 3 or 4 minutes before it's ready to flip. Once you get a whiff of tortilla, flip the quesadilla to brown the other side. This requires a bit of grace, much like flipping an omelet or a pancake. Slide the spatula under the center of the quesadilla with your right hand (reverse this if you're a lefty), hold the skillet handle with your left hand, and gently turn the quesadilla upside-down, lifting and angling the skillet to catch the tortilla so you don't lose any chicken or cheese out the side.

Brown the other side, about 2 minutes (again you're really waiting for the smell to change). Gently lift the edge of the top tortilla -- if the cheese is melty and sticky, it's probably ready. Remove from skillet, and flip the quesadilla so the side you cooked last it facing up. If you put the hotter side down, the tortilla will sweat and create damp spots (and no one wants that). Repeat for the remaining quesadillas, remembering that each one will brown a little faster than the one before it.

Use a pizza slicer to cut the quesadilla into quarters, and serve with pico, sour cream, guacamole, and/or salsa for dipping. Pico is my favorite, but your really can't go wrong with any of these dippers.

*For the chicken:

3 uncooked chicken breasts (serve 2 for dinner today, use the remainder for your quesadillas tomorrow!)

2 cups orange juice

1 tbsp lemon pepper seasoning

Sprinkle chicken with lemon pepper, and place in a resealable plastic bag. Pour the orange juice over the chicken, and seal the bag. Allow chicken to marinate in the fridge for 2 hours before grilling. When you're through marinating, set the grill to medium heat, and grill chicken 7-10 minutes on each side (depending on their size). Beware of any hot spots on the grill, and move the chicken around as needed to prevent a burnt exterior. Cook until juices run clear. If you've grilled the chicken expressly to make quesadillas, allow it to stand for 5 minutes before you chop it into bite-sized pieces, so you don't lose all the juices to the cutting board.

Minnesota Chicken & Rice Casserole

When it's finally cold enough for comfort food in the great state of Arizona, I go on a soup, stew, and casserole diet. I first had this casserole at a friend's house about 15 years ago, and I still look forward to its stick-to-your-ribs deliciousness each year when the chilly autumn nights finally arrive. Even better, it's about as simple as it gets to assemble.

Here's what you need:

1 can of chicken (shoot for the 12-15oz size)
1 can cream of chicken soup (the standard issue soup can size)
1 can cream of celery soup
2 cups milk
1 cup rice

A word about the cream soups -- this is the original combo, but in a pinch, cream of mushroom, cream of onion, or a second can of cream of chicken will do just fine. I wouldn't recommend two cream of celery soups, but otherwise, you really can't mess this part up.

Preheat your oven to 325 degrees. Put the rice on the bottom of a 2qt casserole dish. Don't bother greasing it -- it doesn't help with the after dinner scrubbing. Ideally, someone else will do the dishes for you since you made dinner!

In a separate bowl, mix both cans of soup and the milk. Pour half of this on the rice. No need to get technical here. Just eyeball it.

Add the chicken and it's broth to the casserole, then pour the remainder of the soupy milk mixture over the top. If you really want to get fancy, you can sprinkle a small amount of Lipton's onion soup mix (the kind that comes in a little pouch) on top.

Cover and bake for 1 hour, 45 minutes. After one hour, check in on things, and give it a stir. In the meantime, watch a movie, read a book, or do anything else but slave over a hot meal. Remove the lid for the last 15 minutes, then serve with fresh crusty bread and homemade applesauce.

Sweet Katie Ray's Sweet Puh-Taters

This concoction was born out of frustration -- do you know how challenging it is to find a decent sweet potato recipe? No, I don't want them mashed. No, I don't want to reinvent a classic. Of course I want mini marshmallows on top! This doesn't seem like too much to ask, but apparently, it is. There isn't a sweet potato tradition in my family, so I turned to my dear sister-in-law, the woman responsible for my all-out sweet potato lust each November. A known chatter, I expected more information about sweet potatoes that I could possibly use; instead, I got "lots of butter and lots of brown sugar." Hmmm. I'm pretty clever in the kitchen, but really?

At this point, my unbridled desire for sweet potatoes took over. Not to mention, this was the year of my first ever solo Thanksgiving endeavor. In case you ever find yourself in a similar bind, here's how to make a super-traditional, extra gooey, melt-in-your-mouth sweet potatoes... Katie Ray style.

To serve 6 for dinner (and still have some leftovers for yourself the next day), you'll need:
2 1/2 lbs yams
1 cup packed brown sugar
5 tsp cornstarch
1/4 tsp salt
1/2 tsp ground cinnamon
1/4 tsp ground cloves
1/2 cup hot water
3 cups mini marshmallows (don't even bother wasting your money on marshmallows not made by Kraft. You'll be disappointed.)

Place the yams, whole and unpeeled, in a large stock pot and cover with water. Put a lid on it, and bring to a boil. Once boiling, cook for about 30 minutes, or until mostly cooked. Remove yams, and set aside to cool. Now would also be a good time to preheat your oven to 350 degrees.

Once the yams are almost cool, get a small saucepan. Before you ever set that saucepan on a burner, add the brown sugar, cornstarch, salt, cinnamon, and cloves. Add the hot water (it shouldn't be boiling, but hot enough to hurt a little when you touch it), and stir. Set the saucepan on the stove on low, and continue to stir occasionally. The heat should help this mix create a thick liquid, about the consistency of good maple syrup.

Your yams should be plenty cool by now. I won't lie, this is the most pain-in-the-you-know-what part of this dish. But it's so worth it. Anyhow, carefully, gently, peel those cooked yams. Then dice them in to nice little bite-sized chunks. Evenly spread your yams into a greased 9x13 glass baking dish. Remove your brown sugar sauce from the stove, and pour over the top of your yams. Top with mini marshmallows. Bake until bubbly, about 25-30 minutes. You'll know it's ready when your mini marshmallows are toasty.

Meatless Monday Penne with Roasted Zucchini

Meatless Monday caught my attention earlier this year; however, as skilled as I am in the kitchen, my experience with meatless menus is essentially non-existent. I'm married to a man who grew up on a dairy farm, and as the daughter of a hog farmer myself, vegetarianism isn't exactly on my radar. But the idea of dedicating one meal a week to food that doesn't involve meat seemed like an interesting challenge.

I've crafted a few meatless meals in the past year, mostly by modifying old standbys. Honestly, once the excitement ebbed after the first couple week, I've been a half-hearted participant in the movement. Some weeks it just seemed like too much trouble to think of something new, other times I just wanted to enjoy the original recipe, but one way or another, Meatless Monday became Meatless Monthly in the Ray household.

Slay Energy Vampires! has recently rekindled my interest in Meatless Monday. I've read posts about Baba Ganoush, Eggplant Parmesan, and an ad-libbed stir fry, all complete with enticing photos and detailed instructions. Justin inspired me to give it another chance, and remarkably, I actually enjoyed Meatless Monday this week. Instead of modifying one of my favorites, I invented my own vegetarian meal, which turned out to be a much better plan. And while I still can't promise I'll make it happen every week, I think I might have discovered my first standby for Meatless Mondays yet to come.

Here's what you need to enjoy a delicious meat-free meal:

2 healthy zucchinis (together they should weigh close to 2 lbs)

12 garlic cloves, peeled and smashed

3 shallots, halved and sliced

1 tbsp crushed red pepper flakes

1 lb uncooked penne pasta

1 cup chopped fresh basil

1 cup shredded parmesan cheese

Olive Oil

Salt and Pepper

Preheat the oven to 425 degrees, and bring a large stock pot filled with water to a boil (in preparation for your pasta). Trim the ends of the zucchini, then slice into thin rounds -- no more than 1/4 inch thick. Place zucchini, smashed garlic, shallots slice, crushed red pepper flakes and about 4 tbsps of olive oil into a large bowl and toss. Then pour everything onto a heavy rimmed baking sheet and roast for 10-12 minutes. Zucchini should be tender and literally fall off a fork when it's ready.

Hopefully your water is at a full boil at this point, and you can cook the penne (according to package directions) while the veggies roast. Just before you remove the penne from the stove to drain, reserve 1 ladle-full of pasta water in a separate dish.

If everything runs smoothly, your zucchini should be ready about the same time the penne comes off the stove. Return the penne to the stock pot (over low heat), then add the roasted zucchini, garlic, and shallots to the pot as well,, making sure to pour any remaining olive oil from the baking sheet into the pot. Add the reserved pasta water, fresh basil, and shredded parmesan. Season with salt and pepper to taste (as usual, I go easy with the salt and heavy-handed with the pepper, which is freshly ground, of course). Toss in the stock pot, then transfer to a large, warm dish. You should be able to serve 4-6, depending on their appetites. This dish tastes great with garlic bread and a Caesar salad (but skip the anchovies so you don't ruin Meatless Monday!).

Date Night Shrimp Scampi

The first time your significant other comes over for a dinner you're preparing, you want it to be culinarily sophisticated. Or at least super special. As a co-ed in my educational homestretch, struggling to finish an honor's thesis while working 40 hours a week, I typically survived on hot dogs and blue-box mac & cheese. But I definitely didn't want to serve Mike anything that resembled college food the first time he ate in my kitchen. So I created a menu so fancy, so beyond college food (or bachelor food, in his case), that I was sure to wow him. And I did.

I prepared a veritable feast that night: Strawberry Spinach Salad, Garlic Bread, Classic Alfredo, and Shrimp Scampi. What he didn't know at the time was how deceptively easy it is to pull off this meal. Shrimp Scampi looks and sounds like a restaurant-worthy indulgence, but it's reasonably easy to make on the cheap (buy the frozen shrimp -- it's actually fresher than the "fresh" stuff, unless you've got beachfront property). And it's only labor-intensive for a few minutes, so you can spend more time chatting up your date.

Six years later Mike knows this isn't the most challenging dish,but it's still one of his favorites.

Here's what you need:

1-1&1/2 lbs shelled and deveined shrimp (just buy it that way -- it's totally worth it)
4 large garlic cloves, smashed (don't worry about the garlic -- as long as you both eat it, neither of you has bad breath!)
1/2 cup butter (use the real stuff)
1 tbsp lemon juice
1/2 tsp salt
1/2 tsp dried oregano leaves
1/8 tsp pepper (or several vigorous cranks of the pepper grinder)
1/4 cup chopped fresh parsley
Lemon wedges

Melt the butter in a large skillet, then add the garlic, salt, oregano, and pepper. Add the shrimp and lemon juice. Cook 10-15 minutes, until the shrimp is opaque and the liquid is reduced. Serve on a warm platter (shrimp gets cold like a chihuahua in 70 degree weather, so this really makes a difference). Garnish with parsley and lemon wedges.

Red Wine Beef Stew

While the calendar asserts that fall arrived last month, it typically takes a little longer for it to feel like fall in Arizona. Which is probably why this is my favorite time of year; I love watching the temperature begin to drop after a long, hot summer, and I enjoy cooking more when it's chilly out and the oven keeps the house nice and roasty-toasty. We haven't quite reached chilly yet in Arizona, but with last day of hundred degree heat behind us, I can't help but get excited about all of my fall favorites, especially beef stew.

I grew up eating this midwestern staple on cold winter nights, and honestly, it wasn't one of my favorites back then. My family's stew has all the classic ingredients: meat, potatoes, carrots, celery, onions... you get the idea. But I could never get excited about it. Like a lot of other folks, I got caught up in Julia Child mania and only recently discovered Bouef Bourguignon. Now, I don't want to prepare a dish that labor intensive most days, but Mrs. Child did inspire me to try a reworking of my family's beef stew that included red wine. Turns out, I love beef stew! I just needed a little wine (okay, a lot of wine) to transform this ho-hum classic into a meal I crave on chilly (or at least not so hot) evenings.

If you think I'm being a little over-the-top about stew, just ask my cousin Jason about this meal. I debuted this recipe on him, after he sat down at my kitchen table and announced, "I'm not really a stew kind of guy." Jason has since learned that the moment your hostess pulls a bubbly Dutch of deliciousness out of her oven is not the appropriate time to make such assertions. And we both learned that Jason is a stew kind of guy -- it just took the right stuff to turn him around.

Here's what you need to get started:

1 1/2 lbs beef roast, cut into 1 inch cubes

1/2 cup flour (in a large ziploc bag)

6 carrots, chopped into 1 inch chunks

4 stalks of celery, cut into 1 inch chunks

3 medium potatoes, peeled and cut into 1 inch chunks

2 onions, sliced into 1 inch pieces

5 cloves of garlic, peeled and smashed

2 tbsps fresh thyme leaves, plus 6-8 whole springs

2 cups red wine (try a Cab -- that's my favorite for this dish)

1 cup beef broth

1 small can tomato paste

3 tbsps olive oil

Salt and Pepper to taste

Preheat your oven to 300 degrees, and start chopping. I almost always cut up the beef first, but then get overly excited to get it cooking and toss it into the pot. Unfortunately, this means I end up speed chopping of everything else in a panic to have it all ready for the next step. Do yourself a favor, and just chop everything all at once before you even turn on the stovetop.

Once everything is sliced and diced, heat a large Dutch oven with 2 tbsps olive oil over medium heat. Place the chunks of beef and the flour into a ziploc bag, and shake to coat the meat. Add the meat to pot, and cook until brown on all sides. Remove the meat to a plate, then add the remaining tbsp of olive oil, as well as your veggies and thyme leaves to the Dutch oven. Cook about 10 minutes, or until they have softened up a bit. Return the beef to the pot, then add wine, broth, tomato paste, salt, and pepper. Don't go crazy with the salt, but be generous with the pepper. Top with fresh sprigs of thyme.

Put the lid on, and slide the whole thing into to oven. Cook for two hours, removing the lid for the last 20 minutes so it can thicken up a bit. Serve with some kind of crusty bread. This supper is most satisfying when there is a chill in the air, but it still tastes pretty darn good if you simply turn the AC down an extra couple degrees.

Scottsdale-Style Spinach Dip

I've wanted to share this recipe for a while, but couldn't quite seem to put my finger on the back story. I finally realized that one of my favorite recipes came from one of the not-so favorite parts of my life.

My first encounter with spinach dip came at Houston's restaurant in Scottsdale. For those who know me best, Scottsdale isn't exactly home to my kind of people; that being said, once upon a time I foolishly dated a guy who was Scottsdale through and through. That's right, a Corvette driving, James Bond wannabe, with champagne taste and a credit card with a large enough limit to accommodate his preferred lifestyle. While the relationship itself was a total bust, I did get plenty of opportunities to enjoy some truly delicious food at restaurants that wouldn't have otherwise been on my radar.

One of my favorites was Houston's, home of the overpriced cheeseburger and some seriously tasty spinach dip. After the break-up, I never missed the showy manual transmission Corvette, the fighting, the Hugo Boss wardrobe, the jealousy, or the company of those snobby folks enjoying fine dining just a few miles north of me. But there was a hole in my heart where our Friday night trip to Houston's used to be. I longed for spinach dip, pining away for a bit of that warm cheesy goodness on piece of freshly baked french bread. Sadly, my single girl's budget couldn't handle a night out to Houston's, and ten years ago spinach had yet to reach the immensely popular, easy-to-come-by status it enjoys today. So after a few disappointing attempts at recipes that simply couldn't compete with my memories of Houston's, I crafted my own dip.

Here's what you need to make a batch yourself:

8 oz. package of cream cheese (softened, to make your life easier)

1 cup shredded mozzarella cheese

1 cup sour cream

1/2 cup grated parmesan cheese, plus a little more for sprinkling on top (the stuff in the green container is fine for this dish)

1 tbsp Dijon mustard

Dash freshly ground black pepper

Dash garlic salt

2 cups finely chopped fresh spinach

1 loaf french bread, cubed (pita chips, tortilla chips, or some other bread will taste good too, but french is my favorite)

This is a great make and take recipe, but if you're going to indulge now, preheat your oven to 350 degrees. If your going to take it to a get together, keep covered and refrigerated until about 20 minutes before you want to put it in the oven.

Open the cream cheese, and pinch off one inch sized chunks into a large bowl. This speeds up the mixing process since cream cheese tends to get stuck in the beaters. Add mozzarella, sour cream, parmesan, mustard, pepper, and garlic salt. Using a hand mixer, beat until all ingredients are combined. Dip should be a bit lumpy.

Add the spinach, and stir in with a spoon (do not use the mixer). Once combined, pour your dip into a 9-inch glass pie plate coated with cooking spray. Make sure the dip is spread evenly across the bottom of the dish, but don't press it down flat or it won't have the desired fluffy texture after baking. Top with a dusting of parmesan cheese before baking, uncovered, for 20-25 minutes. You'll know it's ready when a golden crust forms across the top and the cheese is bubbling gently.

To enjoy the complete Houston's experience, serve hot from the oven with cubes of french bread.

Initiation

When I say that I'm attempting to ride and maintain my very first mountain bike, I mean that I'm an amateur in every sense of the word. Because one man's trash is another woman's treasure, I recently acquired a gently used, project mountain bike. Tonight, after my husband laughed when he realized I wasn't being funny when I said didn't know how to do it myself, I learned how to adjust the seat. Now this new set of wheels is just my size.

My fascination with bicycles started a couple months ago, after a cruiser-style pub crawl with some bike loving friends. Still high from all the honking cars and the onlookers' jealous stares as we pedaled along Gilbert Road, I chatted with one of the baristas at my local coffee shop about our epic ride. Stefano isn't just an avid mountain biker, he's a skilled mountain biker. Naturally, he steered the conversation that direction, eventually asking if I'd ever tried it. I answered that I hadn't, then wondered aloud how a person might ever get to try mountain biking without investing in a bike. How would I know I'd like it if I never tried it? While I might not know a lot about bicycles, I'm not completely dense and recognize that taking my cruiser on anything other than a paved surface would be like trying to take a Ford Taurus romper-tonking.

"I've got a spare bike. I'll take you sometime," Stefano offered. This moment would serve as my introduction to the unrestrained passion mountain bikers have for their sport. Stefano and I weren't exactly friends; in fact, we'd only recently managed to find a way to coexist in our respective barista and customer roles. But since we were talking about bikes, specifically mountain bikes, none of that mattered. In fact, he was quick to overlook our previous less than friendly exchanges, and invited me to experience his sport.

So eager to introduce a newbie to the thrill of MTB, the next time I saw Stefano he had already researched trails appropriate for a beginner. He showed me how to read the trail guides in Cosmic Ray's Fat Tire Tales & Trails, and we set a date. I left the final decision up to him, with a clear warning that I truly had never ridden a bicycle on any unpaved surface. Stefano waved off my concern, saying only, "You need to get a helmet by Monday."

Let's be clear, summertime in Arizona isn't for the faint of heart; the high on any given day in mid-July can hit 110 degrees easily, but I didn't want to miss my opportunity to try this adventure. When we reached South Mountain at about 10am, the day was well on its way scorcher status. That nonsense about it being a "dry heat" is simply that: nonsense. Hot is hot, and I was a sweaty mess before we even left the parking lot. Stefano kindly lowered the bike seat on my loaner ride, and instructed me to stretch my uninitiated muscles. Once he'd completed the necessary adjustments to his own bike, we slid on our CamelBaks (also supplied by Stefano), and strapped on our helmets. To any seasoned bicyclist's embarrassment, I did not own a proper bicycle helmet, and was not interested owning one until I knew there would be a second trek. However, I managed to get my hands on a loaner helmet without much trouble. I just did what any self-respecting 28 year old woman would do: I borrowed a skateboard style helmet from my 11 year old cousin. It fit (barely), but it would get the job done in the event I fell and knocked my noggin.

On the drive over, Stefano explained how the gears worked and which way to lean as I navigated the ups and downs. Not being the most mechanically inclined person, I really didn't understand most of what Stefano said about when to shift. He even tried to liken it to driving a stick shift, which I've done successfully since I was 16, but I'm pretty sure he could tell I didn't have the slightest idea what he was talking about.

As we reached the beginning of the National trail at South Mountain, Stefano took off down the first little hill. I followed behind, attempting to go as slowly as I could manage. This turned out to be more difficult than I expected. Stefano had advised that I go easy on the brakes, squeezin gently and infrequently. Besides, he said, "you need to go down the hills fast so that you can build momentum to make it up the next hill."

I gave the brakes an experimental tap as I careened down this first small hill, and instantly released my grip when I felt a sharp pull from the back tire and heard the beginning of a skid. I not only survived, but I was miraculously upright on the bicycle. I carefully navigated the desert dirt, the rocks on the trail, and suddenly realized that it was time to climb. With virtually no momentum, I recalled Stefano's advise about hill climbing: "Lean forward, and keep your ass in the saddle."

Leaning forward, I pedaled as hard as I could manage, and I made it. Only to be met by another treacherous slope, which was not only downhill, but also had a curve. Unsure how to maintain control and steer at the same time, down I went, feet flying from the pedals as I banked off a large rock. My ass stayed in the saddle, but I forgot all about proper leaning and I certainly wasn't in control. As a mountain bike virgin, I had fully expected to get beat up by the climbs; what I hadn't foreseen was the sheer terror that accompanied the downside of each of those hills.

The National was clearly an easy trail for Stefano, so he would ride ahead for a bit, and then wait for me to catch up to him. He'd verify my safety, and give me a quick knowledge check: "If you're falling and have to choose between a rock and a cactus, which do you choose?" Ever the eager student, I proudly answered, "the rock. Actually, I just ran into one back there." Then he'd nod, pop in his earbuds, and away he'd go.

By now the unrelenting sun beat down on my shoulders with such force that I couldn't seem to make it all the way the hills without needing to get off and push the bike the rest of the way. The next time I caught up with Stefano, I tapped out, panting "I can't go farther than I can make it back. I'm turning around." Undaunted by my self-proclaimed defeat, like any good coach, Stefano tried to keep from quitting, urging me further along the trail. Despite his words of inspiration, I knew this was the end of the trail for me. Any farther, and I might really embarrass myself.

I convinced Stefano he should continue on as long as he liked, and I'd wait at the car. I've hiked, and it's a trail, so it's not like I would get lost. Torn between the need to ensure I made it back safely and the lure of the trail, Stefano's exuberance for the ride won out. He blazed further into the desert, and I tucked tail and made for the parking lot. Exhausted from the ride, the heat, and the fear, I slowly pedaled back to the car, frequently dismounting when I couldn't find the strength to make it up another hill or the nerve to fly down the other side. There is literally no shade around the base of South Mountain, so stopping to rest clearly wasn't a wise choice. I did take a quick potty break on the side of the trail, and while squatting cautiously to avoid the cacti, I resolved to pedal the rest of the way without giving up on the inclines or chickening out on the declines.

As I came over the last rise and caught sight of the parking lot, I had never felt so relieved. I cruised over to the shaded picnic tables and immediately sprawled on the cool metal bench. As I lay there slurping my CamelBak and finally catching my breath, I knew I looked ridiculous, but I felt accomplished. I hadn't made it the whole way, but I'd done it -- I'd mountain biked. I suddenly understood where mountain bikers' get their unrestrained passion for the sport, and I wanted in on that. It's difficult and strenuous and exhausting, but back in the shade, I realized it's also exciting and challenging and rewarding. By the time Stefano returned, despite my fatigue, I knew I wanted to do it again. Maybe not this minute (and maybe never again on a day so hot!), but I felt my first silent urge to attempt to navigate two wheels across rough terrain.

I still have a lot to learn, but I'm excited to get back out there. More importantly, I'm grateful that someone took a chance on a girl who certainly hadn't earned a warm welcome, but initiated me into the secret thrill of MTB anyway.

Butch's Strawberry Spinach Salad

When you marry into a family as large as the Ray clan, it can be a little overwhelming. A simple gathering of the immediate family outnumbers even the largest event my Midwestern relatives can muster. My first meeting with the Rays occurred at Thanksgiving 2004, and when we arrived at Butch and Linda's, there were more Rays present than I could count.

On this particular Thanksgiving, the Ray family had planned a family photo with Grandma Ray and her children, many grandchildren, and even the great-grandchildren. As the only Ewing present, I sat this one out. Unfortunately, I sat it out on the trampoline and accidentally ended up in the background of the photograph.

It's a great picture of a big, happy family, and if a picture's worth a thousand words, it pretty clearly sums up my transition in to such a large family. I'm there, but kind of in the background. Not because I didn't want to love my in-laws, but because there were just so darn many of them that I wasn't sure where to begin.

So I started with Butch. I'd heard stories of this hardworking dairy farmer with a passion for pulling tractors and a fierce love for his family. Not to mention that a name like Butch is effortlessly intimidating; coupled with Mike's stories, I'll admit I was a little scared of Butch before I even met him.

In an effort to bring in an interesting dish and make a favorable impression, I showed up with my strawberry spinach salad. Turns out Mike forgot to mentioned that he got his sweet-tooth from his dad. Once I had this figured out, I quickly discovered the way to your father-in-law's heart is through his stomach.

Six years later, my recipe remains the same but it seems Butch deserves some credit as well. A little bit for making this my most requested recipe, but mostly for helping me step out of the background and truly become one of the Rays.

Always start with the candied walnuts, since they take the longest. Pre-heat your oven 200 degrees and gather:
1 cup walnuts (pecans will do in a pinch)
1 egg white
1 tsp vanilla
1 cup sugar
1 tbsp water

Beat the egg white until very frothy, but not stiff. Mix in the vanilla, sugar, and water, then stir in walnuts to coat. Spread walnuts into a single layer onto a rimmed baking sheet. Bake for 45 minutes, turning every 15 minutes. Once you remove the walnuts from the oven, let them cool for 5-10 minutes, but don't wait too long or they will be a beast to separate. Remove the walnuts from the baking sheet, and let them finish cooling in another dish while you prep the dressing and the salad.

For the vinaigrette:
1 cup olive oil
1/3 cup apple cider vinegar
1/4 cup sugar
1 tbsp poppy seeds
1 tsp salt
2 tbsps Karo syrup

Pour all ingredients into a lidded dish, and shake until blended.

For the salad:
6 cups fresh spinach, washed and dried
2 cups strawberries, sliced

Add the candied walnuts to the spinach and strawberries, then toss with the vinaigrette and serve.

Cinque Terra Pesto

When I was 19, I did a study abroad program in Paris. The schedule was arranged so that we attended class Monday through Thursday, which left us free to explore other places from Friday through Sunday. One weekend I went to Germany, another to Switzerland, and once, on something of a last minute lark, I headed to Italy with some girlfriends.

Back in 2001, Cinque Terra had yet to receive the coveted rating as one of the world's top five best vacation spots. So while the Europeans were familiar with its rocky cliffs, pebble beaches, and sea green Mediterranean waters, this American had to check a map. I can't believe I actually debated whether or not to spend the extra $200 to go to Italy that weekend...

Cinque Terra is a series of five coastal towns, and the primary industry appears to be hospitality. Lots of hotels, cafes, restaurants, and little shops, all owned and operated by some of the kindest, friendliest people I met in all of Europe. It was at one of these little restaurants where I first tasted pesto with gnocchi. I'd seen spinach noodles before, which are green, but I'd never seen pasta served with a green sauce, so I was definitely intrigued. Needless to say, it was my favorite dish of the entire summer. I continued to order it at Parisian cafes and London bistros until I returned home.

Back in Arizona, I was surprised when I started to look for pesto with gnocchi on menus, and came up short. Feeling like I had to have that delicious dish again, I learned to make pesto. Gnocchi, little potato pasta dumplings, are another story. Given the amount of labor these little guys require, I go with store-bought.

To make this pesto, you will need:

2 oz block parmesan cheese

2 cloves garlic

2 tbsps toasted pine nuts*

2 cups packed fresh basil

olive oil to taste

Cut the parmesan into smaller chunks, drop it into the food processor, and pulse until you have little bits of parmesan. This is much more cost effective than buying the pre-grated stuff, especially because the food processor necessary for this dish. Reserve in another dish for use in bit. Next, peel your garlic, and drop it whole into the food processor. Pulse a few more time, and you should have a nice smattering of little garlics. Take a moment to scrape down the sides of the bowl, then add the basil and pulse to combine. You should have a green paste now. With the machine running, drop in your toasted pine nuts, parmesan, and begin to add your olive oil in a steady stream. How much depends on the texture you crave. I like my pesto on the thicker side, so I go for a little less. If you like yours thinner, just add a bit more oil.

You'll get about a cup of pesto, which doesn't sound like a lot, but in the world of pesto, it's actually quite a bit. Save any unused in a glass jar in the fridge for up to a week. You can do a variety of things with pesto, but of course, my favorite way to enjoy it is over gnocchi.

*If you've seen that a pound of pine nuts costs $15-20, rest assured that I do not spend that kind of money to make this recipe, and neither should you. Next time you're at Sprouts, you can buy just what you need in the bulk nut section. Two tablespoons of pine nuts costs about 50 cents. To toast the nuts, simply pre-heat your oven to 300, spread the nuts on a rimmed baking sheet, and bake for about 5 minutes, or until you can smell the nuts.

Roasted Red Pepper Spread

In college, I lived with another Katie. You can imagine the confusion two girls living in the same house with the same name caused, especially at a time when landlines were still a primary means of communication. Friends and salesmen alike would call and ask for Katie, and our purposely impish response, “Which one?” was generally answered with a long, contemplative pause. Most friends could tell the difference, but both of us learned to pass the phone quickly when a friend TMI-ed the wrong Katie!

I owe my undying love of all things Mediterranean to Katie's influence. She introduced me to Pita Jungle in Tempe, and I couldn't believe I had lived 19 years of my life without experiencing red pepper hummus. Completely enamored with their menu of previously untasted flavors, I would sneak off for hummus, shawarma, or a gyro under the guise of needing a quiet place to study between my afternoon and evening classes.

Six years after graduation, and several failed attempts at making my own red pepper hummus later, I finally put down the chick peas and crafted this tasty spread which works well on a pita sandwich or as a dip for veggies and pita chips. While I still get Pita Jungle cravings, this takes the edge of on the days I can't make it to Tempe for lunch.

Get out your food processor and gather these ingredients:

1 8 oz package cream cheese (get it to room temperature, it will be much easier to work with)

1/3 lb feta cheese (if possible, buy a block and crumble it yourself)

2 garlic cloves

Juice from 1 lemon

1 tsp oregano

1/2 tsp thyme

1 tsp cayenne pepper

A few twists of freshly ground black pepper

6-8 slices jarred roasted red peppers

Less than ¼ cup Olive Oil

Start with just the peeled garlic cloves in the food processor, and hit pulse a few times to mince it up. Next add the cream cheese. Don't just drop the whole block it; pinch off pieces of cream cheese and drop them into the processor bowl. Crumble the feta into smallish pieces, then run the processor for about 60 seconds to blend the cream cheese and feta. Scrape down the sides, then add the lemon juice, oregano, thyme, cayenne, and black pepper. Run the processor again for another 60 seconds. Scrape down the sides again, then add your roasted red pepper slices. The more slices you add, the more heat your spread will have (personally I err on the side of a little extra heat). Blend one last time for about 60 seconds, drizzling olive oil down the hatch to give it a more spreadable texture. After the final blend, give it a stir to ensure you've achieved the desired texture.

While it makes a great dip, my favorite way to enjoy this spread is on a pita sammie. To make this sammie, just layer a generous amount of Roasted Red Pepper Spread onto two pitas. Top with spinach or another leafy green and sliced deli-style gyro meat.