Journey: Bimini and its backyard baker

In addition to being about sparklers, picnics, grilling and those ever-so-pesky mosquitoes, the Fourth of July conjures images of time off and laughing with family and friends. Normally, my body craves a day of swimming in my pool, soaking up the sun and sinking my teeth into a buttery, open-flame-cooked corn-on-the-cob. The muggy Florida heat can’t hamper my excitement for the “snap-crackle-pop” fireworks that I like to believe are Rice Crispys for the sky’s midnight snack. 

But for this year’s Fourth, one of my best friends, Rachel, and her family invited me to Bimini, an island in the Bahamas that celebrates America’s independence just because its heavy hand in tourism forces it to. I joined Rach and her family on a private boat to the island for a four-day getaway full of snorkeling, scuba diving and racing around in golf carts on the “wrong” side of the road. The two-hour boat ride from Miami made Bimini a quick, laid-back escape from the hustle and bustle of South Florida city life. And I didn’t even forget my passport.

Since the only way to get to the island is by boat or seaplane, Bimini is as close as I’ll probably ever come to being stranded on tiny island. And there is not much to do other than stay within the pastel-colored houses that make up the Bimini Bay Resort (which is evocative of Desperate Housewives and Pleasantville) or venture out to the small town in a golf cart to see a handful of run-down shops and some corroded houses. I am a stickler for getting a local feel of wherever I am, so I knew I needed to explore all that was beyond the Atlantis-like arc announcing the entrance to our resort.

My favorite way to get a local feel is to try the local flavor. If Guy Fieri has his Diners, Drive-Ins & Dives, then I’d like to have my Homey Hole-in-the-Walls worthy of Homage. It’s a passion of mine to try a city’s most well known cuisine. In Marseille, I feasted on bouillabaisse. In Paris, I munched on Nutella-filled crepes. In Barcelona, I ate Iberian ham and Spanish tortilla. In Amsterdam, I devoured poffertjes. In Jamaica, I tasted festival bread and Ting. And in Ireland, I had stews and Guinness.

Another family on Bimini spoke highly of authentic Bimini bread. Needless to say, I was gung-ho about tasting some. So Rach, her parents and I piled into the golf cart and head out in search of Charlie’s Fresh Bread.

We found the hand-painted sign on the outside of a house and cracked concrete steps, which signified we had found just the spot. We parked our cart and walked in. It was like entering someone’s home. We walked by the couches and photos hanging on the wall as we made our way to the kitchen, which lacked air conditioning. It seemed we were trespassing instead of entering a Bimini bakery. 

A sweet and coconuty smell filled the house while easing the damp heat. A man was removing loaves of bread from a single, normal-sized oven in the kitchen. And on what looked like a kitchen table, the man’s wife had more loaves of bread sitting out and cooling. The woman informed us that the regular loaves of Bimini bread are $4 each and the coconut Bimini bread loaves are $5 each. Of course, I had to try both.

Since the loaves aren’t sliced, Rach and I reached in the plastic bags and a broke off hunks of the light and fluffy (almost spongy) white bread. The regular Bimini bread had just a hint of sweetness, but the coconut – my personal favorite, even though I normally hate coconut – was even sweeter.  We bought quite a few loaves of both types of bread to bring home for our friends and ourselves.

Though I wouldn’t suggest going to Bimini if you desire lots of action and tons to do, I would say that it is a great beach-town for a weekend getaway. If you do make it to the island, then trying the coconut Bimini bread is a must.  Be sure to bring some back because they make excellent gifts. And don’t forget to pick up an extra loaf for yourself so you can make some tasty French toast for a breakfast reminiscent of Bimini.    

Tattoo

I don’t believe in tattoos. But that all changed this weekend when my best friend turned 21. 

Perhaps I should backtrack for a moment.

The best way to dine, in my opinion, is tapas style -  getting lots of dishes and just trying a bite or two of each. Some may guess it’s because I spent so long in Spain, but I am certain it’s because I can never get enough. I want to taste and see everything. Normally I can’t afford (literally or figuratively) the opportunity to do this on my own, and typically the portion size in the United States is too large for me to order more than one dish. To make matters worse, the majority of my friends are simply not that adventurous or that hungry to be able to keep up with me.

But for Rachel’s 21^st birthday, she invited 12 of us to Tatu at the Hard Rock Hotel and Casino in Hollywood. Tatu specializes in Asian dishes with Cantonese, Mandarin, Szechwan, Vietnamese and Thai influence, and it provided the ideal occasion to share a whole bunch of different dishes.   

Upon entrance, it’s obvious that Tatu is a dining destination – a mix between a Disney dining experience and that that’s found at upscale South Beach locales. Though the two-story restaurant might seem large, the blue tint and warm lights give it a more intimate feeling and don’t make the sardine-packed tables appear to be on top of one another. Though a bit too noisy from a romantic dinner, Tatu is truly conducive to large groups and special celebrations, with silver beading hanging to section off some tables.

The hostesses were ready to seat our party at 8:30 p.m. (our reservation time) promptly.

To begin with, and in celebrating Rachel’s 21^st, I ordered a lychee-tini made with peach vodka, white cranberry juice and fresh lychee fruit. Rachel ordered a super-sour pomegranate martini with sugar on the outside. And some other friends ordered a scorpion bowl for two, which mixed sweet fruit juices, rum and amaretto served with a flaming Bacardi 151 float in a large pitcher.

Our attentive waiter warned us ahead of time that at Tatu dishes are served when they are ready, not when all the plates are. Normally, I find this disgusting. If I am going to dinner with friends, then I want to eat with my friends, not watch them or have them watch me. As such, I was pleasantly surprised when all our food arrived within 5 minutes of each other.  

For appetizers, our table of 12 ordered firecracker spring rolls with crispy chiken and peanuts, butter lettuce-leaf cups with minced chicken, shitake mushrooms and pine nuts, and tender greens with a miso ginger dressing. All were flavorful and large enough for everyone to have a taste of everything. The best starter, however, and undoubtedly the most fattening, was the crispy crab rangoon. I have always been a fan of crab rangoon, but these were exceptionally wonderful. These cream-cheese-crab-and-scallion-stuffed wontons were small enough to pop into your mouth in one bite. And the warm cream cheese under the fried wontons made the rangoon crunchy, yet soft and surprisingly filling.          

The main dishes ordered included sesame chicken tossed with sesame caramel and chili peppers, charred rare tuna with a vanilla teriyaki glaze and wasabi mashed potatoes, a grilled NY strip steak served with crunchy shoe-string chips and an assortment of fresh sushi. My most favorite dish of all was the one I selected, the Mongolian barbequed duck – perfectly tender and succulent in a tangy sweet plum sauce served to taste (not to drench) with pieces of grilled eggplant and scallion. All the main courses were as large as their price tags and taste did not yield to beautiful presentation. Forks flew as everyone tasted everything.  

The guys and girls alike were stuffed after our eating extravaganza, but I wouldn’t be satisfied until the waiter brought Rach (the Queen!) a piece of dessert with candles and tons of spoons. I secretly selected the chocolate propaganda – with chocolate almond mousse, fudge brownies, chocolate ice cream and fudge sauce – from the dessert menu cleverly entitled “Happy Endings.” The girls gobbled it up.

In keeping with the theme of the restaurant, with the check came gimmicky, yet tasteful press-on tattoos – an adorable concept for children of all ages, not only to remind patrons about the restaurant they just ate at, but also a fun, after-dinner activity. My friends and I took turns using the damp washcloths Tatu provided to wet the Asian-symbol tattoos to our wrists. 

Additionally with the check, our waiter brought over two helium-balloon-sized, sour-apple-flavored cotton candy hunks to complete our feast.

Rachel’s birthday crew then head over to the dueling pianos bar also at the Hard Rock Village to enjoy more drinks and feel-good, sing-along music until the wee hours of the morning.   

All I can say is the yummy food, lively atmosphere and proximity to great nightlife will keep Tatu tattooed on my mind forever. And that’s one tattoo I can handle.  

The NEW Pinkberry: Lutz

In an exceedingly modern world, fro-yo joints and ice cream shops are adapting. Of course there’s nothing quite like homemade, creamy ice cream or twisty soft serve; however, there are innovative, frozen concepts opening the door to novel indulgences. Pinkberry, a frozen yogurt chain in California, New York and Texas, has been tantalizing taste buds for years now with tart yogurt in shops just as modern as the treat it serves.  

My first experience with it was when I was in NYC. It’s all the rage there. Unlike typical frozen yogurt, Pinkberry’s yogurt is not super sweet or overly rich. People eat it for breakfast with cereal on top; people consume it in place of lunch with fresh fruit; others savor it for a healthier dessert. Though my dad says it tastes like a cross between shaving cream and chalk, I would say it’s more of an acquired taste. I’d be bluffing if I said I loved it at first bite. It actually wasn’t until my third cup or so that I really started to appreciate its refreshing, tasty and utterly addicting qualities.

The problem is that just as soon as I began to love Pinkberry, I headed back to Florida only to be robbed of my newfound enjoyment because my home state had nothing like it. Well, not anymore, baby! South Florida is finally - I repeat finally – jumping on the bandwagon and living up to its “exclave of NYC,” “most-northern-part-of-the-South” status.

Pinkberry has arrived in the form of Lutz.

Yesterday night (after much begging), I went to Lutz following dinner. The ultra-modern, colorful plastic tables and chairs, the neoteric gadgets lined up along the wall as decoration and the modish neon lights transported me back to my NYC days.

Lutz boasts the health qualities of yogurt and is proud of the fact that a half-cup is only 80 calories. It offers only two staple flavors – Original and Green Tea – and an assortment of toppings including fresh, bite-sized fruit, cereal, chocolate and mochi. Special for the summer, Lutz also offers pomegranate, blueberry and acai flavors.  

Last night, the line to order (practically out the door) reaffirmed my notion that such a place would do a killing in SoFla. I ordered a small Original with chopped strawberries and bananas. Though normally I’d skimp on the bananas and go for chocolate chips (especially at dessert-time), Lutz was all out. They were also out of fresh raspberries. Nonetheless, and despite the almost $5 price tag for a small, which is practically criminal in these times, my order tasted just like my favorite Pinkberry and made me very happy. 

Copycat or not, Lutz certainly filled my void for a quick, relatively healthy swirled treat. And I’ll certainly be taking a trip back soon. 

Kitchen Blitz

Take back the dim lights, the coordinated table settings, the big and little forks. Skip the cloth napkins, the white tablecloths, the detailed plate placement, the perfectly selected wine lists. Forget about getting dolled up because the likelihood of you running into someone you haven’t seen in awhile and might want to look great for probably won’t show up. Heck, you can show up in your PJs if you really want.

As nice as dining out is, there’s nothing quite like a homemade meal. If your family is anything like mine, eating in is a treat in and of itself. The rich smells of a heavy red and mushrooms simmering and filling the kitchen, the clank of glasses taking ice from the freezer ice dispenser, the gentle (or not so gentle) bickering of loved ones scrambling to finish up. Sure, there are no waiters or extensive menus, but a dimmer solves mood lighting, background music is replaced by satellite radio from the TV and an every-so-often tablecloth will dress up the kitchen table. What’s best is, seconds are readily available and gratis.

While some families see holidays as the apropos time to seek a special meal out, mine takes it upon itself to cook in. Where better to celebrate family than the heart of it all – the home?

But good food is a sport.  It requires patience, practice, the ability to read plays in the form of recipes and an inkling to know when to change up the action when runs aren’t going your way.

Just ask my not-so-little little brother, Mike, who tackles the kitchen in addition to his high school football field. Instead of watching tapes, Mike watches Alton Brown. Warm-ups include going to one or two or even three grocery stores. Two-a-days are the days of preparation it takes to craft the main dish. And practice comes in the form of making multiple side dishes.  

For Father’s Day, Mike, who's just as big a fan of the Food Network as I am, decided he wanted to barbecue in honor of my pops (very manly!). Being a high school football player/soon-to-be U.S Coast Guard student and athlete, “too fattening” isn’t a concept brother bear needs to dote on. When he cooks, you know you are in for something delicious, but just as he does on the field, Mike likes hearty. He’s a real man’s man. A “gimme-steak, skip-the-veggies” kinda guy. So his menu for Father’s Day – a day to celebrate being a man – my brother decided to do a double play on an all-American favorite: the burger.

Gorgonzola and sun-dried tomato burgers (1/2 lb. each), served with a sautéed onion and mushroom topper on lightly grilled, pesto-painted French bread rolls

Honey Dijon broccoli slaw with chopped celery, crispy bacon bits, sweet raisins and almond slivers

Iced Tea

Mike's burgers, made from ground chuck, chopped onions, crumbled Gorgonzola and thinly sliced sun-dried tomatoes, are hand-packed and grilled to a medium-rare perfection on a charcoal grill. The cheese crumbles inside the burger make for a mouth-wateringly interesting take on the cheeseburger. It is so good, in fact, that it has to be served not on a regular hamburger roll, but on a spongy French roll.

In place of ketchup, Mike makes a homemade pesto, which he spreads on both sides of the bun, from fresh, blanched basil and toasted pine nuts. For the onion and mushroom toppings, he sautés the fresh veggies in red wine and the oil left over from the bacon that was used to make the broccoli slaw.  Talk about one football-field-sized burger!    

The caveat is you have to have it his way. No ifs, ands or buts…buns and pesto and all. Usually, I prefer my burgers without buns because I’d rather savor the meat, but with the fluffy French bread rolls and the garlicky pesto, there was no way I could resist. (Sir, yes, sir I will eat everything you prepare and take one for the team!).

The summery slaw, with its tangy, yet sweet Dijon dressing has just the right amount of crunch from the raw broccoli, the almond pieces and the fresh bacon bits.  It compliments the heavy, barbecued burger, but stands on its own as a cold, refreshing side that need not remain in the sidelines.

I'd be hard-pressed to find a restaurant that could provide the food and fabulous company we had this Father’s Day. No upset here. Mike’s well-thought-out meal was a touchdown if I ever tasted one. 

Alta Cocina lives up to its namesake

Miami-style dining means skinny white jeans, flowy blouses and large hoop earrings are nightly staples, and eating dinner is more of an event rather than an existence ritual. South Florida, known for its beautiful people and beaches, is also home to world-renowned chefs and modish restaurants. Whether it’s delicious food, exquisite presentation or a trendy atmosphere, most Miami restaurants promise a unique dining experience, hyped by word-of-mouth buzz and buttressed by a hefty price tag. More often than not, however, most places succeed in only one of these characteristics – be it charming atmosphere, stellar food or great service – but rarely will I find a place that can thrive in every aspect.

Alta Cocina – meaning haute cooking in Spanish, or high-class cooking in layman’s terms – was a pleasant surprise. On Sunset Strip, the rather subdued entrance would make the restaurant easy to pass, but it would be a shame to skip a meal here. The owners, a husband-and-wife pair originally from Trinidad and Guatemala, serve “global fusion” cuisine with a Latin flair. The crisp, white tables under the low-key lighting contrast eloquently with the black pillars supporting the restaurant and the abstract, ruddy artwork on the walls. The silverware is heavy; the wine glasses vary in size based on which fine wine you select; and the tweed-like menu is adorned with simple, yet bold metalwork.  The modernesque bottle display, featuring horizontal wine bottles behind the bar, serves as the restaurant’s focal point upon entrance. On a Saturday night, the low murmur of voices does not soil the intimate atmosphere, making Alta Cocina equally ideal for an evening with friends or family or a special someone.

The wait staff is well-versed in the extensive wine list and is eager to help make pairing suggestions based on meal selection. Because every option on the menu sounded tantalizing, Andrew and I asked our waiter, Noah, for some help. (Who else better to ask than someone who knows all the food from personal experience?)    

To begin, we selected the pulled short-ribs served atop seared, melt-in-your-mouth scallops sitting on a dollop of leek confit. Andrew and I split the petit portion, knowing that we each had our own meals coming. Though a bit small, the taste was big, yet not overly creamy and wet our palates for the rest of the meal. I’d return to Alta Cocina for this dish only, but I’d be sure to order the full portion next time and eat it all myself.   

For my main course, I chose the Thai sea bass served with flash fried bok choy in a zippy coconut broth with long-grain white rice on the side, but only under the premise that Andrew would give me a bite of his. He ordered the grilled rack of lamb with wild mushroom risotto and lamb jus for his entrée.

Unlike the appetizer, the meals were filling portions (Andrew even had to take some of his meal home!). My sea bass had a crispy top layer, yet was flaky on the inside and easy to eat. My only complaint was that is was practically drowning in the almost overly empowering spicy, soupy broth. Though the rice helped to cut the zing, I did not want to lose the tasty fish in a mouthful of plain white rice. The bok choy, however, was a light vegetable that complimented the fish without stealing its thunder.

Andrew’s lamb was tender and nearly slid off the bone. Likewise, his risotto was delicious and lived up to our waiter’s proclamation that this entrée is heavy and full, yet delicate. I would certainly order his instead of mine.  

Though for dessert our waiter who had been dead-on with all of his suggestions told us to try the white chocolate raspberry bread pudding, Andrew and I selected the only true chocolate choice on the menu (he knows my chocolate sweet tooth!) – the bittersweet chocolate cake with el ray chocolate sauce and vanilla bean ice cream. Served warm in an upside-down soufflé mound, the moist, uber chocolatey, molten-chocolate-cake-like dessert with cold ice cream was just the sweet I needed to complete my relaxed, hour-and-a-half dining experience.

Alta Cocina, as its name suggests, proved to be high-class in every sense – from the décor and ambience to the food, the waiters and even the other guests.       

You only live once?

Take a walk down Las Olas on a Friday night. Circa 8 p.m. No, really, do. Patios are jam-packed with people waiting for tables – upwards of an hour, have you – and sipping on martinis made with premium liquor. The valet guys can only catch a break from parking Mercedes, Ferraris and Porsches when Hummer limos pull up. And women too old to show so much leg are attempting to keep eyes from their varicose veins by loudly displaying their two, humongous fake additions in dresses that appear too trashy to have cost $250. Men sport toothy, perfectly white smiles as they usher appetizers and drinks to bimbos they’ve never even met. As for an economic crisis, I wouldn’t even believe it. I suppose people would rather spend money on a fancy night out than on their mortgages?

At the culmination of my first official week of work, I felt entitled to a delicious dinner at a trendy hot spot. Missing Barcelona’s late-night scene and my “there’s-always-something-going-on” social life, I needed to escape from a dinner in the confines of my home. Las Olas, with its plethora of expensive, yet usually tasty restaurants, promised not only dinner, but a chic ambiance for a Friday night. I selected YOLO – a restaurant that opened after I left for Spain and nightspot that friend’s raved about.

YOLO (You Only Live Once) had mixed reviews online, but an eclectic menu with main plates ranging from $16 to $35. A call the morning of snagged me reservations at 8:30 p.m. (apparently everyone makes reservations for 7:30 p.m. and 8 p.m.), and my best friend, Andrew, and I arrived early to enjoy a drink on the lounge-style, South-Beach-wannabe patio before our meal. It was here that we played a rousing game of “Who can spot the most fake boobs.” Andrew, naturally inclined as a male, of course, won, but I like to believe this was because I was more intrigued by wads of cash folks were doling out, drink after drink (what about this economic crisis my parents swear we are going through?)

With a name like YOLO, I envisioned oily, bready, creamy foods smothered, covered, sautéed and flambéed in butter and, oh, I dunno, chocolate. I mean, that’s what you’d want to eat at a place that stands for You Only Live Once, right? The one-sided menu was more like that of a high-end wedding reception, with a choice of fish, chicken or beef. I opted for the rotisserie chicken marinated in crushed herbs, served with herb mashed potatoes, and Andrew ordered the New York Strip on special with gilled veggies and the same mash. I must say it was pretty “cool” that the hostess used a rather large stamp to punch the list of specials into our paper tablecloth.

My chicken was good, and the portion size was adequate. Just good and adequate. The potatoes were light and airy. You-only-live-once light and airy…not at all. The atmosphere, trendy and modish, added some needed pizzazz, and the meal overall was enjoyable (but perhaps that’s because I was in great company). So if you can really only live once (and you actually are in an economic crisis), then perhaps you should take a trip over to Jaxon’s Ice Cream Parlor and really enjoy some relatively cheap, worthwhile calories and fat in the form of a kitchen sink.

We all gotta start somewhere...

It’s pretty tough for a suburban slicker turned city chick returned slightly changed suburban slicker to keep her many lives separate. After four months of here and four months of there and yet another four months of somewhere else, I feel like I’m on a rollercoaster and just when my stomach catches up with the rest of my body, the ride plunges again. I find myself mixing my “excuse me’s” with my “perdona’s” with my “get the hell out of my way’s.” And I can’t for the life of me remember if I should walk, take the subway or drive my car to my destination.

Being home means being a team player. Contributing to household chores, running errands and remembering birthdays. With my newfound love of cooking (especially after taking a cooking lesson in Spain) and since I have to wash the dishes anyway, I figured that for my mother’s birthday I should prepare a dinner.

Calling myself a beginner chef would be a fallacy. If I told you I have prepared more than simple scrambled eggs, tortellini, oatmeal or tuna fish, I would be lying. I’d also be lying if I told you that I am an expert microwaver because I have been known to reheat food that’s still wrapped in tinfoil, and I have set off sparks when trying to boil water in a metal-insulated coffee mug. On occasion, I have left a pot on a heated stove without anything in it, and aside from packing the occasional brown paper bag lunch or baking pull-and-peel cookies, I can scarcely tell the difference between a whisk and a monkey wrench. I was never one to participate in preparation or cooking of my childhood family dinners, and it probably didn’t help that we ate out at least four nights a week. Thus, I got the gift of dinner table gab, but not the flare for food.

That being said, I suppose I should call myself a sorry fledgling – desperately trying but completely vying - in the kitchen. Mother bird is about to push me out of the nest and I am smart enough to know that I’m gonna land with one heck of a splat. So a dropped red wine bottle, a fried microwave and a terminally screwed-up electric can opener seem like minor issues that I’m sure every great chef messed up at one point. My mom’s birthday meal is a great excuse to catch up with my cooking faux pas in the comfort of my own home under the direction of my not-so-little younger brother, who relatively knows his way around the kitchen.      

I flipped through my mom’s Bon Appetite and the darling cookbook my mom’s friend, Cindy, sent me after I raved about her superb scallops. Because I believe every meal should be centered on a theme, I selected a hodge-podge of items to create a menu inspired by my trip to Spain (plus, I knew it would help my homesickness for Calle Aribau, 80).

A feast in honor of Mommy’s birthday

Assortment of Mediterranean olives

Creamy gazpacho with chunks of fresh cucumber, tomato and onion, garnished with basil and grated parmesan cheese

Spanish tortilla made with chopped sweet onions and sliced potatoes

Steak fajitas with grilled peppers and mango, served with a special, whipped sour cream-based sauce invented by my brother

Steamed carrots, broccoli and water chestnuts

Chocolate birthday cake (bought by my stepdad) 

The olives served as a Spanish “pica pica,” or a small delight for my family to nosh on about 20 minutes before the commencement of the formal meal. Thanks to Bon Appetite, I prepared a tasty tomato soup with a tad of garlic. I chopped and blended a day in advance so my gazpacho would have time to chill in the fridge. Cold soup is always my mom’s favorite, and I knew a completely homemade gazpacho would serve as a tasty treat in the humid Florida heat. It actually turned out to be everyone’s favorite part of the meal. 

The tortilla recipe I used for my premier plate was a traditional Catalonian one that I learned during my cooking lesson in Barcelona. It is, by far, my most preferred Spanish dish, so I knew that I would have to incorporate it in my menu somehow. The second plate, steak fajitas, was a concoction invented with the assistance of my brother, who has always enjoyed a hefty hunk of meat for his main course. I did, however, put up a few fights.

Perhaps I should backtrack for a moment. When I dine out, my orders tend to be reminiscent of Sally’s from “When Harry Met Sally.” “I’ll have the grilled chicken sandwich without the bun, but with extra lettuce and extra tomatoes and honey mustard on the side. You can hold the pickle. As for sides, well, I won’t eat French fries, so can I get a side salad with balsamic vinegar? Of course, I’ll want the vinegar on the side too. Thank you and that’s all.”

Needless to say, I needed to fight for my brother’s special sauce to be served on the side of the fajitas (not all of us are so athletically inclined and can easily lose unwanted calories). Plus, I have never been a fan of anything drenched in sauce - I think it’s a sign that either the main course isn’t strong enough to stand on its own or that the sauce isn’t flavorful enough to be served in moderation. I also suggested chunks of mango on the side since I felt the meat and peppers could use a bit of tangy sweetness (I have always had a sweet tooth!).

Lastly, to compliment the heavy fajitas, as well as to help out our digestive tracks, I served steamed veggies. I must admit, though, these came from a bag of SteamFresh and were nothing special. But when served with the rest of the dinner, these light veggies were just what we needed.  

Good food, however, does not make a good meal. A beautifully set table and proper presentation are key (at least all those childhood years of dining out taught me something!). I served my olives with rainbow-colored toothpicks, and the tortilla was cut like a pizza pie (I figured that if my food was awful, at least it would look pretty). The piece-de-resistance was my gazpacho, which I served in chilled wine glasses with a basil leaf sticking out and grated cheese.

The steak turned out a bit overcooked. The potatoes in the tortilla were not soft enough. I added a bit too much extra virgin olive oil in my soup. We didn’t begin eating until 8:30 p.m. since I totally miscalculated how long everything would take. And I put the SteamFresh bag with the wrong side up in the microwave. But everyone seemed to enjoy the meal and it was my first true experience cooking. No blown up microwaves (just a blown up bag of veggies) and no cuts on my fingers from all the chopping. Alright! 

So voila (and I learned they actually do say this in France) - my meal was a success. One small step for womankind, one giant leap for this kook in the kitchen KP.