Finding My Groove | Eggplant, Salami + Gouda Sandwich

Having a baby and not wanting to cook came hand in hand. There were many things that I wanted to do in the little time I had when I wasn't carrying my child like, and I say this in all seriousness, showering. It took me a while to get back into it away from the cooking I had to get done for work every single day.  

We were faced with an issue at home. Do we really want to eat what I cooked for work? Do we just order in or do we find that little reserve of energy we had left to actually throw something together in less than a half hour? In the first year of our child's life, I don't think we really enjoyed any food. It was all for survival. We ate late, we ate crap but we ate.  

Things slowly started coming together. I started showering more often. I began looking less sallow. My cooking for work became routine and we started cooking things we wanted to eat; and it all began with soups, salads and sandwiches. Endless combinations, fulfilling flavors. Quick to eat and fun to make. Next time you find yourself in a rut, make a sandwich. This recipe was developed for Frico.    

Rustic Eggplant, Salami & Gouda Sandwich 

2 slices of gouda cheese
6 slices of eggplant 
3 cloves of garlic
4 slices of salami
4 large button mushrooms, sliced
4-6 fresh mint leaves 
1 cup of deseeded Kalamata olives
1/2 teaspoon of fresh thyme leaves
A handful of rocket leaves
1/2 tablespoon of lemon juice
2 thick slices of bread
1/4 cup of olive oil 
Black pepper, to taste
Salt, to taste

Blend the Kalamata olives with garlic, thyme, salt, pepper, lemon juice and 2 tablespoons of olive oil until smooth then set aside. 

Heat a frying pan then pour in the olive oil. Pan-fry the slices of eggplant after seasoning with salt and black pepper until golden on both sides. Remove from the oil then sauté the mushrooms in the same pan, seasoning with salt and black pepper. 

Toast the bread then coat with a thick layer of the prepared olive tapenade. Add the rocket leaves, slices of gouda, fried eggplant, salami and sautéed mushrooms. Top with mint leaves and freshly cracked black pepper. Serve. 

Note: this can also be assembled and toasted in a panini press. 

Where I've Been + Mushroom Rice

How long is a long time? When I finally find time alone with myself I interrogate blogger me, "Isn't it time you update your blog, Sarah?"

Every week this happens; and as each passes this long time extends. A week, a month, a year. But what happens when you almost don't feel how quickly that long time went by? I'll tell you what happens. You get stuck; you have an excuse but then you have none.

My last blog post exhausted me. By then, my round belly extended past my newly pudgy feet, themselves resembling nothing of what I know my feet to be. My bum would have to be pushed back by bending my ever-expanding hips to make room for the plate in the overhead shots I'd have to take. I was stuck with a deadline - a deadline to deliver forty pasta recipes for a client and one baby for us. 

My joints were creaking. My pelvis was loose. My cravings had never been so real and I hadn't cooked so much pasta in my life. There was just no room for blogging. I was unable to move without having every fibre of me groan for relief and I truly looked like Michelin Man minus the power of Michelin. 

Soon after, our baby arrived (hooray!) and I crazily took on even more work. Why? Because it afforded me the ability to work from home without having to do either of the options I didn't want to do: 1. Leave my child to someone else, anyone else. 2. Bring her into restaurant kitchens and meetings about restaurants' lacking menu options.

So I worked alone and I worked from home thus becoming a stay at home mom who operated on minimal sleep and copious cups of coffee (well, as many as I was allowed to consume while nursing).  

Cook in the morning, take photos of said cooked item while my child threw onions, lemons or whatever else prop I was using AT ME; then later edit and write recipes at night without sneaky little hands trying to pull out my laptop keys. Memorable times.  

My situation lately has shifted. I have more time for myself in the morning and so I have more time to share what I've been up to. Now, I don't have enough time just yet to create recipes especially for Buttered-Up these days but it's good enough for me to be able to share some of my work with you. So, let's begin! Here's a recipe that was created for Knorr. 

Mushroom and Onion Rice

You'll need: 

200 grams button mushrooms, sliced

2 tablespoons of ghee

1 onion, sliced

2 spring onions, sliced

1 cube of Knorr vegetable bouillon + 3 cups of hot water or 3 cups of broth

1.5 cups of basmati rice

½ teaspoon of black pepper

Salt to taste

Dissolve Knorr’s vegetable bouillon in the hot water and stir. (Leave this step out if you're using real broth.)

Melt 1 tablespoon of ghee in a large pot.

Sauté the sliced mushrooms on high heat for 3 minutes then set aside. In the same pot, melt another tablespoon of ghee and cook the onions until they caramelize and reach a deep golden color.

Add the mushroom to the caramelized onions then add the prepared stock/broth and sliced spring onions. Stir on low heat for 2 minutes until the onions release their color into the stock.

Add the rice then season with salt and pepper. Allow the rice to reach a rapid boil on high heat then lower the heat and cover the pot allowing the rice to cook for 20-25 minutes. Turn off the heat and leave the covered pot on the stove for another 10 minutes. Serve.

Hot Cinnamon Drumsticks

Now that I'm working with a regular schedule like most people (which I haven't done in 7 years), it is not a matter of choice anymore that I make food days ahead to snack on during work hours. At first I tried to do the apple/banana & nut butter thing. I ate raw almonds in bulk. I drank and drank and drank herbal tea. But all day? No, thank you. There's only so much you can take before you hear your insides wail, telling tales of personal tragedy, aching for grease. 

For a few days, I ordered what I would call nothing else but crap with the 21 year olds at the office but in reality, my body at 30 does not feel like it's 21. 

Maybe it should. Maybe I'm not doing enough. Maybe I should. 

So I started trying. I had already managed to go for 2 months without refined sugar, honey & yeast (which is a story I should tell in the next post). This had to be the next level - maintaining what I had already started with a few exceptions here and there. 

At this stage, I'm doing okay. No more crap. Clean eating. Happy body. Sort of self-satisfied me. Oh & here's a recipe that I like a lot: 

Hot Cinnamon Drumsticks
You'll need:

1 kg of chicken drumsticks
3 garlic cloves, minced
1/2 cup of vegetable oil + 3 tablespoons for cooking
1/4 cup of honey
1 tablespoon of mustard
2 tablespoons of fresh lemon juice
2 tablespoons of soy sauce
1 teaspoon of ground ginger
1.5 teaspoon of chili powder
2.5 teaspoons of ground cinnamon
250 ml of chicken stock
1/2 teaspoon of black pepper
Salt to taste

Excluding the chicken drumsticks, beat the rest of the ingredients in a bowl. Add the chicken and marinate for at least 8-12 hours.

Place a large frying pan on the stove and heat until medium hot and separate the chicken drumsticks into three batches.

For the first batch, brown on all sides then add approximately 80 ml of chicken stock and lower the heat. Cook for around 10-12 minutes until the chicken stock dries up entirely & the chicken is tender & nicely glazed.

Continue to turn the drumsticks to gain even color for another 1-2 minutes on medium heat.

Repeat with the next two batches. Allow the chicken to rest before serving.

Garlic Confit

At the soft opening of Chef's Market, we were given a giveaway bag - embossed wooden spoons, a copy of the menu and closest to my heart, a little jar of garlic confit paste. I used it all - in grilled cheese sandwiches, the simmering molokheyya on my stove, vinaigrette, pasta, winter soups and hummus dip. It was my companion, tender and fragrant, adding that extra bit of oomph when time was not on my side.

A little saddened at its end, I washed the jar and put it away hoping that one morning, I'll get up and remember to make that garlic confit, golden, nutty and sweet, like its predecessor. 

Today was the day. I didn't make it into a paste this time preferring to keep the plump cloves intact, submerged in the oil that flaunted its new caramelized notes, tucked away safely in the same jar. My garlic confit jar. 

A thank you to the chefs at Chef's Market. Good stuff. 

Garlic Confit
You'll need:
1.5 cups of peeled garlic
2 cups of vegetable oil
3 black peppercorns
4 white peppercorns

Place the garlic and peppercorns in a pot.
Pour the oil over your garlic and pepper mix.
Cook over low heat for 40 to 45 minutes or until your garlic is soft and you have reached your desired color.
Store chilled, submerged in the remaining oil. 

Banana-Mixed Nut Espresso Smoothie

I was never one to turn down cake, especially if I was alone with it; if I was able to bite into its soft crumb with my gaping mouth that struggles to keep the frosting off my nose. On other days, it is the butt of a baguette with salted butter and a sticky glob of honey, scarfed down in seconds until there is none. 

It has been weeks. Three of them. No sugar, no yeast, only discipline. Surprisingly, at least to me, I am a happier human. I have more energy. I smile more often. It almost feels like a better side of myself has decided to drop by. 

On a Saturday, I dropped by the farmer's market at Arkan where I ran into these ladies running a branded booth, Fino's, that made all kinds of nut butters. For a moment in which I moped, I was told that they add honey to their products. A little heavy-hearted, I asked a question; the kind of question that would normally irritate me. 

Out loud, higher pitched voice: "Do you have anything that is unsweetened? No sugar? No honey? Nothing?"
Old Me to New Me: "Are you really turning into that woman on a diet/with an allergy/that can't accept a product the way it is and buy or walk away?"

But it turns out that people are nice sometimes (or maybe I need to socialize more often) and that these ladies do cater to my selfish needs. I ended up with a mixed nut butter; dense, smooth, rich, clean, good. I'm sold.  

Banana Espresso Smoothie
You'll need:
400 grams of frozen sliced bananas
2 1/2 heaped tablespoons of mixed nut (almond, hazelnut, cashew) butter
2 shots of espresso (Substitute: 1 1/4 tablespoons of espresso powder)
1 1/2 cups of milk
7-10 ice cubes, depending on the size
Honey to sweeten, optional (I did not use any so will be unable to give a measure.)

Blend, espresso, bananas, milk, mixed nut butter and ice. Serve.

Boiled Cranberry Raisin Cake

 So I haven't updated in a long time. I have not attempted to write in as long but have continued to cook, explore and battle with my mood swings, myself. I shot the first season of a grilling show for a local cooking channel with my husband and it has aired. People every so often stop to ask us for quick recipes, for tips. They smile broadly and we smile back. We pose for pictures we'll never see after being asked if we're really married to ensure that they're not falling for some television stunt. It is awkward and while I am thankful I'm excited to be back in my space, where I can sit in mismatched clothes and eat food that will not be judged.

Today's recipe is a boiled cranberry and raisin cake - a coffee cake that doesn't take long to throw together and doesn't need much effort. You can freeze this, take it to a gathering or eat it all alone dripping excess caramel on your chin between bites. It's difficult to muck this one up. Next time I'm adding walnuts. 

Boiled Cranberry Raisin Cake
(Adapted from Allrecipes.com)
You'll need:
1 cup of dried cranberries
1 cup of raisins
2 cups of warm water + 1 cup of cold water
50 grams of butter
2 tablespoons of maple syrup
1/2 cup of vegetable oil
2 cups of white sugar
4 cups of all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon of ground cinnamon
1/2 teaspoon of ground ginger
1/2 teaspoon of nutmeg
1 teaspoon of baking soda
1 egg, beaten
1/2 teaspoon of salt

Preheat your oven to 175 degrees Celsius.
Boil raisins and cranberries in 2 cups of warm water along with the butter and maple syrup for 15 minutes then remove from the heat.
Add 1 cup of cold water and the vegetable oil to the boiled raisins.
In a large bowl, mix together the sugar, flour, cinnamon, ginger, nutmeg, salt and baking
soda.
Add the raisin mixture to the flour mixture then add the beaten egg. Stir until mixed.
Pour into a large rectangular baking pan and bake for around 1 hour. Serve with homemade caramel sauce.

A Sunny Lemon Curd

As featured in The Daily News Egypt

I stepped into a friend's cramped kitchen, cluttered with crusty teaspoons taking a mud bath in coffee-stained mugs, working to sustain the whims of a bachelor who would order out more often than not. Despite my friend's phony cries for help, there was not much I could do with a shiny fridge that housed a few soda cans and individual-sized bottled water alone.

Only a week after contemplating my friend's dilemma of having only a small electric cooker and a microwave to work with, I found myself in a similar situation, living for the most part in a single room that contains a small four-burner gas cooker with a pleasantly-sized temperamental oven, a sofa set, a television, a mini-fridge and a bathroom that worked twice as hard – also functioning as a wet kitchen.

Yes, this is temporary until the rest of our home pulls itself away from that construction site look it's sporting these days. Even so, the months living in this room have allowed me to advance in the kitchen and challenge myself, especially considering the lack of equipment.

Some people, in fact many friends, are not waiting for the rest of their homes to be finished and furnished and must make do with simple and often underrated appliances they have around; but fear not for there are many ways to make your small kitchenette work for you —— from creamy puddings and light-weight cakes to making jams and fashioning a well-balanced meal. All it needs is a little research, an attention to detail and a hungry heart.

Just as I was beginning to acknowledge that I was luckier than others to have a proper albeit small gas cooker available in our tight space, my luck ran out as I was about to start baking a dreamy dark chocolate cake studded with crunchy candied peanuts.

The dreaded day arrived when my beloved cooking gas canister ran out. The butane gas crisis disrupting other Egyptian families’ lives finally hit home. I had no source of fire and was left isolated with a cold white microwave.

Deciding not to panic, I called the nearest mini-market that exchanges these magical cooking cylinders. At first, the man on the phone promised he would send it that night. After a few minutes of prodding, he finally admitted that in reality, he could not tell me when he would be able to send me a refill because “as you know, there's a shortage in the country and other people paid for extra ones”.

It has been three days today. I know three things by now: I have received no gas canister; I am not alone in this problem; the price of a replacement canister has gone up to 40-50 EGP instead of the established 10 EGP.

Choosing to make do with what I've been handed although I've been generously offered to borrow an extra one, I wonder how many other families are trying to get by daily with no solution to their seemingly small disaster? Is it fair that many wealthier homes have an extra cylinder or three in case they run out of gas? I'm upset, Egypt. I'm upset because I don't have an answer and someone else has my share of gas.

The only solution I can think of is this: if you too use gas cylinders and you've got a handy microwave or a standby electric cooker, conserve your precious gas for now and kindly refrain from hoarding the cylinders because there are thousands of others out there that may need that extra one more than you.

A microwave has come a long way from reheating food. As of recently, microwaves have a variety of cooking modes, power strengths and grilling options. Funnily enough and although I've stared at the different buttons hundred of times, I've never actually thought to use any of them. It is a little silly of me to admit that I have just realized the capabilities of an invention that has helped me write this column today and that has given me a zesty lemon curd to spread on warm bread, stir into creamy yogurt, fill soft crepes and moist vanilla cakes, or eat straight from the jar.

Lemon Curd

You'll need:
3 eggs, room temperature
1¼ cup of granulated sugar
1 cup of fresh lemon juice (4 -5 large lemons), strained
The zest of 3 large lemons
½ cup of unsalted butter, melted

When you're squeezing the lemons for the lemon juice, make sure to strain it a few times to get a clear juice. This will give you a much smoother lemon curd. Whisk the sugar and eggs consistently in a large microwave-safe bowl until completely combined. Add the lemon juice, lemon zest and the melted butter and whisk again. On full power, cook at one minute intervals. After each minute, stir the mixture and return for another minute. This should take between 4 to 6 minutes. Each microwave differs depending on strength. To know when your lemon curd has finished cooking, dip a metal spoon into it. If your curd coats the back of the spoon, you're ready and shouldn't continue cooking. Remove your freshly prepared lemon curd from the microwave and pour into a clean jar. This will keep in the refrigerator for up to 2 weeks if the jar is tightly sealed.

Chasing the Scent of Suji Halwa

As featured in The Daily News Egypt

Pressing play, my sister begins showing the first few minutes of a home video — our trip to France and Italy in 1995. We throw our heads back in laughter, discuss our bizarre choice of clothing and animatedly point out funny moments to our husbands, those that missed the awkward years of our lives.

I spot a lost moment in time, one that I cannot recall; a father leaning against the railing of the Bateau Mouche chats with his young daughter, so engrossed in the conversation they forget to see the river Seine. It is then that I forget to continue watching.

Eyes fixed on the screen, I drift away to a garden I once knew; there are teeth piercing through thick mango skin to release its pulp redolent with notes of honey, frogs croaking at the Indian monsoon downpour, glimpses of women walking barefoot on the cool terrace, a single strand of my father's silver hair falling to the ground and scents of ghee tinged with cardamom, of melting sugar, swirling in the pan, sputtering like raindrops popping upwards, breaking free.

I have spent the last few years chasing a smell. Evading me on the streets of Cairo, escaping me in even the most Indian of quarters in Malaysia, it seemed at one point that I would only find it again in India, in the home of a man I have not seen in 13 years — my father.

In the past few years, I have started to build an invisible relationship with my father — one that is there but is not yet a functioning reality. I have come closer to him through the beautiful knives he left behind; through Claudia Roden's “A Book of Middle Eastern Food” (1968) that was hiding in the midst of his countless classic cook books collecting dust in my mother's bookcase; through my moods, my traits, my hands — the same ones I share despite the time spent apart. 

Could it be possible that my affair with the kitchen, good knives and intimidating cook books comes from my father?

Another year is coming to a close and I have ended my search for the magical scent that would take me back to my father's home. Finally hunting it down and finding out the name of this rich dessert that I've had only in my dad's house, I made suji halwa today and sat alone in my own home with my warm bowl, taking mouthfuls of bittersweet memories, willing them to melt away in my mouth.

Failing annually at keeping my elaborate new year's resolutions, this year I will strive to achieve the first thing on my list — the most difficult resolution: to find the Indian in me by getting to know my father for the first time. If this one works, the rest shall follow.

Find the family you've fallen out of sorts with, re-establish your relationships with friends. Reconnect the dots and search long and hard for the roots to your passions. Feast on the food of your people. Follow the trail of your own suji halwa — that elusive scent, difficult as it may be.

Suji Halwa

This dessert is often brought to temple or puja (prayer) as prasad, an edible offering.

You'll need:
1 cup of semolina
1/4 cup of ghee

3 cups of water
1 cup of sugar
3 cardamom pods, peeled and crushed
10 almonds, peeled and thinly sliced
6 pistachios, finely chopped
A small palmful of raisins

Over moderate heat, combine the water and sugar in a saucepan. Stir to dissolve the sugar entirely. Allow it to boil once then reduce the heat to low. Cover your syrup with a tight-fitting lid and let it simmer.

On low heat and in a pot, melt the ghee. Add the semolina and stir in the ghee for about 15 minutes. Fry until it reaches a golden color and becomes aromatic. Add the almonds and pistachios to the semolina after about 5 minutes of frying.

Turn up the heat under the syrup and add the raisins and cardamom. Bring to a boil. Raise the heat under the semolina and stir continuously for 1 minute. Take the semolina off the heat and carefully pour the syrup into the semolina, stirring always. At first, it might splatter but will quickly absorb the liquid and stop.

Bring the semolina-syrup mixture back to the stove on very low heat and stir steadily until the semolina has absorbed the syrup completely. The halwa will now start to look slightly like pudding and will begin to pull away from the sides of the pan. Cover and cook for 5 minutes over the lowest flame possible. Remove from the heat and allow it to steam for 5 minutes before serving. Halwa can be served for breakfast with a side of fried puri bread or as a rich dessert. Always serve hot.

Half-browned rice - a family tradition

Special to The Daily News Egypt
When my mother is in the kitchen, she likes to talk about my grandmother; I don't think she realizes that it has become a pattern. As she stirs, today a creamy mushroom soup, tomorrow some strawberry jam thickening on the stove, she remembers her own mother's hands, how they tailored dainty dresses and kneaded soft and supple biscuit dough.

My mother-in-law skims her freshly chopped molokheyya soup as it simmers, the same method used to skim greasy fat rising to the top of a bubbling chicken stock. She does it out of tradition, a custom that was never intentionally passed on by her mother but viewed through the eyes of growing children who would one day instinctively emulate what they once saw long ago. She retells stories of her mother, a refined woman from the city traveling through the countryside in the 1930s with her doctor-husband and eight children in the making, and of how she would awake early and trundle out to cook the day's meals thus eliminating the smell of cooking in the house if she were to receive visitors later in the afternoon or how she would exercise her fingers on the piano or listen to the radio as she sewed on her treasured sewing machine every morning.

My newly married sister has picked up on preparing food beforehand and freezing it for a later date in the same fashion that my mother continues to do today. I have a feeling that she will always have homemade burgers on hand and will offer them up readily to the hungry stomachs that visit.

A close friend insists that the only way, her mother's and grandmother's way, to make goulash, a savory beef and phyllo pie, is without a trace of tomatoes and a healthy dose of beaten egg and milk; another friend explains that it can only be made with stock to give it a crunchy base like that of the one she grew up with and a rich tomato sauce to complement the ground beef filling. This is the way of tradition and preserving identity.

We are constantly shaping the way our traditions look for future generations. I wonder if our children and grandchildren will know half of what we today are learning from the generations that grew up in an Egypt that they wanted to remember. Will we too pass on these same traditions or are we forgetting our heritage? Why is it that when I talk about Egyptian food, many Egyptians insist on notifying me that there is no such thing as Egyptian food?

What of Upper Egypt's sun bread known as “shamsi bread” that is left to rise in the sun and is baked today in a method that dates back to the ancient Egyptians? What of Egyptian desert truffles known as “terfas” rumored to be created by a magical lightning bolt and also highly appreciated in ancient Egypt? How many Egyptians begin to preserve their leftover fruit in jars of jam or pickle their vegetables for the winter?

No longer do many of us know our own history away from the wars and military achievements.

While countries everywhere embrace the little that they have been blessed with, the relationships they have formed or the cultures they have cultivated, we continue to run to the French and Lebanese for inspiration, the Gulf for religion or live forever trying to find ourselves like the Americans on television.

Even today, many of us are looking toward Malaysia in hope that maybe we could become “like them.” Malaysia has now officially banned protests and political marches, its Muslims cannot enjoy a glass of wine in public without being monitored or arrested by plain-clothed police and the differentiation between the three Main Malaysian races — Malay, Chinese and Indian — is clear to anyone willing to question bravely. When did we become tired of our own fertile ground?

Today, take a look around you and learn from an Egyptian that knows more about a facet of Egypt than you. Disregard the political parties you don't agree with for a moment, turn a blind eye to the unknown future and take note of a tradition from our past. This recipe belongs to my grandmother who used to feed me chicken soup and boiled chicken for the first years of my life believing that it was the way to true health. Introduced to me by my mother, it has become part of my home as well and has found a place in my husband's heart.

Egyptian Half-Browned Rice
You'll need:
1 cup of short-grain rice
1 ¾ cups of water
1 ½ tablespoons of ghee
Salt to taste

Begin by rinsing the rice in a sieve. After draining, separate the rice into two equal halves. Place a pot on medium heat. Add the ghee and wait for it to melt and ripple. Add half of the rice to the ghee and mix together with a heatproof spoon. At first, the rice will stick together and seem like it won't come undone. Continue to mix. Gradually, the rice grains will start to break apart to form the loose grains they were at first. Keep stirring the rice for 2 minutes. It will begin to turn a light gold color. Continue to stir until it reaches a deep golden shade. Once you have reached the desired color, add the second half of the rice. Mix to combine both and add 2 cups of water. Bring the water to a quick boil and reduce the heat to a low flame. Cover the pot and leave to cook undisturbed for 15 minutes. Uncover the pot, taste to test the grain of rice. If it remains resistant, cook for another 3-5 minutes. Serve hot.

Coconut milk mussels & unlikely flavors

My latest for The Daily News Egypt
There's an odd story recanted to me that goes like this: A four year old girl, upon returning to Cairo and being invited along with her parents to her relative's house for dinner, glared intensely at the thing presented at the table then slowly moved her head sideways to blankly stare at her mother. “Mommy, it's fish with eyes.”

I had never seen fish with eyes at a dinner table before, only boneless fish fillets and fish fingers coated in breadcrumbs before delicately frying up to crispy tenderness. Fish with eyes belonged in gleaming fish tanks, also in the big blue sea. They ate the bread you would throw at them, similar to the ducks at the Giza Zoo that I too used to love feeding; and if you were feeding something, it would be unthinkable to fish it out and consume the thing, eyes and all. I bet I was thinking, “Why are people eating fish with eyes and not the fish fingers that are so much more humane?”
That sensitive being that was me was repulsed by the fresh oysters her parents loved and didn't like much other than pizza. Of course, I still have a penchant for pizza but have thankfully moved beyond thinking that shells belong solely on a beach to be collected by little girls in frilly swimsuits.

Getting a little older, I would sit at the table with my feet dangling off the chair and eat bone marrow from the mutton curry I'd share with my father. Since the dish didn't have eyes or a face, it didn't strike me as strange or disgusting. It was just a bone; nothing there to give it personality.

Today, vegans would hate me. I prefer to cook my fish with eyes and happily whistle as I look down at the dead body staring up at me. Without a second thought, I stick my fingers under a chicken's skin to butter it up before it's placed in the rotisserie. I try to coax as much flavor as possible out of all that I've bought. I make shrimp stock out of the heads and peeled shells and leave the tails on for presentation. My childhood empathy is lost when I try to maximize flavors. Am I so wrong?

If I'm not going to become a vegetarian or even a vegan overnight purely because of my selfish love for meat, then I would think it the honorable thing to do — to cook not only quality cuts but also those neglected cuts of meat and join the nose to tail eating movement. Fergus Henderson, an English chef and father of nose to tail eating, explained his philosophy in an interview with the Daily Telegraph newspaper some years ago: “It seems common sense and even polite to the animal to use all of it. Rather than being testosterone-fuelled blood-lust, it actually seems to be a gentle approach to meat eating.”
It seems today that inviting people for dinner comes along with beautiful beef fillets from a moist tenderloin but lacking at the table are slow-cooked briskets and seared livers, chicken and beef, spiced up and served right off the stove. Elegant guests shudder at putting their lips to a bone and most unstylishly drawing in the insides as they would the contents of their sparkling drinks.

If you too aren't planning on becoming a vegetarian anytime soon, open your mind up to the countless cuts presented to you on a daily basis and create something new. Introduce your young children or narrow-minded friends to seafood besides fish and teach them to appreciate fish still attached to the bone. You'll end up with copious ideas for meals and will probably, at times, spend a little less on the cuts of meat that most people aren't buying.

This recipe bathes the mussels in coconut milk and doesn't need much more than good bread and a cool night that holds the promise of winter.

Coconut Milk Mussels
You'll need
4 tablespoons of vegetable oil
1 medium onion, finely diced
1 tablespoon ginger, minced
1 tablespoon ground coriander
1/2 teaspoon turmeric
2 bird's eye chilis, sliced
1/2 teaspoon chili powder
2 cups coconut milk
1 cup of water
salt and pepper to taste
1 kg of mussels, scrubbed and debearded
1 tablespoon of lemon juice
Handful fresh coriander, chopped

Pour the oil into a large pot over medium high heat. Add the onions to the pot and cook, stirring often, until lightly browned. Add the minced ginger and sliced chili and cook for a minute, stirring constantly. Add the coriander, turmeric and chili powder and cook for another minute, again stirring often.

Pour in the coconut milk with one cup of water. Bring to a boil and then add the mussels. Add some salt and pepper and stir until the mussels are well coated. Cover the pot, reduce the heat and cook for about 7 minutes. Turn off your heat. Add the lemon juice and coriander and spoon into bowls. Serve.

Chicken Quesadillas, because leftovers are boring.

In our house, we have a problem with leftovers. That problem is as simple as this: we don't like them. Having spent many years in our parents' homes being taught not to waste by coming home from school and barging into the kitchen to be greeted by reheated leftovers, we rejoiced at the idea of not having to deal with lifeless leftovers in our future grown up homes. Never again, our pre-married selves screamed. How naïve and mistaken we turned out to be.

It starts with what many experts have stated time and time again but falls on mostly deaf ears. We eat with our eyes first. This is evident in the pretty plates presented to voracious customers at restaurants, it is displayed in the homes of those hosting dinner parties and it is especially present during the holy month of Ramadan.

You enter the kitchen and gradually begin increasing the quantities you will be serving. A few extra grams won't hurt and neither will one more cup. Everyone will need to eat more than that, or so you think. After creating a lavish spread of complementary colors and watching everyone eat to their heart's content, you push them to push a little more into themselves and say a little prayer for no leftovers. It almost never works.

After one too many a time of leftovers going bad, the pangs of guilt consumed my thoughts. I would open the fridge and sigh in despair at the foods that I didn't want to eat for days in a row.

What a sad mess it all was.

Wilting salads clung to the edges of the bowl to avoid drowning in their dressing, pastas drank up all their beautiful sauces to become gluey, unfriendly specimens and chicken would just become cold, unappetizing and boring enough not to have any appetizing way to describe it.

As easy as it is for some people to go through life inconsiderately, with no thought of another's suffering, it was not about that I could not do it anymore - I would not.

Leftover bread would be toasted and made into finely ground bread crumbs, to be used later on breaded chicken or sprinkled onto a simple linguine dish. Apples would be saved from their fateful death and cooked into apple sauce and best of all, rotisserie chickens would be reinvented to fit into everything - creamy chicken soups, cold sandwiches and crisp salads.

Forcing myself to conjure up my previous self, that which worked at an advertising agency, reinvention was key.

Sohour, your past-midnight Ramadan meal, is an ideal occasion for leftovers and one of the most filling things to choose to eat is the Mexican quesadilla; and for me, the chicken quesadilla. Load it up with onions, mushrooms, peppers and olives or keep it plain, it always turns out to be better than the thought of eating reheated chicken.

Overcoming my leftovers dilemma, while liberating, also reminds me on a daily basis of the hungry and the weak and of what I can do to stretch what we have a little further so that our home doesn't end up one that is wasteful and weak-spirited. Before you groan about the day-old dry chicken lounging in your fridge, think again. You could end up making something you would order at a restaurant, except this time you would know where that cooked chicken is coming from and how old it actually is. That's a better deal in my book. I'm taking it.

Chicken Quesadillas

You'll need:
1 large flour tortilla
½ a grilled chicken breast
½ a medium onion, sliced
¼ cup of grated mozzarella and mild white cheddar
salt and pepper to taste

Moderately heat a lightly oiled pan and add the onions. Add some salt and pepper and stir occassionally until they begin to soften. This should take around 3 to 5 minutes. Sprinkle the chicken with some salt and pepper and add it to the pan to toss with the onions. Remove from the heat.

On a stable surface, place one flour tortilla at a time and spread the onion-chicken mixture over half of the tortilla. Sprinkle liberally with grated cheese and fold the other half over to form a semi-circle and press firmly on the seam to seal it. Assemble as many quesadillas as needed in the same manner.

Heat a lightly oiled pan over high heat until it begins to smoke. Once it begins smoking, reduce the heat to moderate and grill your quesadillas on one side until nicely colored. Turn over the quesadillas and continue to cook until the cheese has melted completely. This whole process should take about 4 minutes per quesadillas. Transfer with a spatula to a cutting board and cut in half. Serve hot.