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.