Science Fiction Double Feature...

Okay, so technically, only one of the two movies I saw today was science fiction, but how could I resist that title?

Usually, my goal for any given year is to see at least twelve movies in theaters, or one every month. Until today, I was woefully behind, having only seen two movies so far in 2012. This sorry state of affair has partially been due to being consumed with moving and settling in for the first three months of the year, but also partially because there haven't been that many movies this year so far that I was interested in seeing. Now that we're nearly fully settled into our new home, and summer movie season already seems to be in full swing, I have no excuses on either front, so today I thought I would kill two birds with one stone.

Though most of my movie watching comes in the form of date nights these days, there are still old family habits and traditions that are worth keeping. For instance, for most of my life I've seen superhero movies with my dad, as they are by and large the only action movies I really enjoy, and Dad has had a thing for superheros ever since he was into comic books as a boy. With a spate of superhero movies coming out this summer, I left Justin and Dad to decide how to divide my time, and they settled on an arrangement by which I'd see The Avengers with Dad, and The Amazing Spiderman with Justin. I have no idea what I'll do about The Dark Knight Rises, other than than go with both of them at the same time, or see it twice.

I also wanted to see Men In Black 3 with my mom, since I had seen the previous two films with her when I was in middle and high school (I'm officially old now, and I knew she was interested in rounding out the trilogy. Since yesterday was technically her actual birthday, even though we celebrated it last weekend, today seemed like an appropriate time to come spend time with her, and since I'd already be up in the burbs at the movie theater, I figured I'd scratch The Avengers off my list as well.

Even though neither film could be considered a cinematic masterpiece, both were perfectly entertaining summer blockbusters, with dynamite special effects. The Men In Black franchise may have been more exciting when I was younger, when computer generated special effects were more impressive than they are now that they're ubiquitous. There were plenty of funny moments, though the time travel premise was a little much for me to swallow. It felt at times that the writers of the screenplay hadn't ever picked up a history book. In 1969, Will Smith gets pulled over for driving while black, but then not more than 30 minutes later, we're supposed to believe that his long-lost father was a high ranking military official in charge of the Apollo 11 launch? I don't think so.

Still,  Josh Brolin was perfectly cast as a young Tommy Lee Jones. He was so convincing, you'd think he was his real-life son. Will Smith seems to be gaining gravitas with age, so his jokes weren't quite as funny as they were ten years ago, but he still delivered an acceptable performance. Nobody really acted their heart out, or delivered any particularly memorable lines, but it wasn't really that kind of movie.

Much was the same with The Avengers. Though Joss Whedon should be commended for making a movie that managed to balance an ensemble cast made of characters that have all starred in their own films, none of the individual superheros particularly stood out. Robert Downey Jr.'s Iron Man was full of sass, as usual, and Captain America came off as predictably self-righteous. The Hulk may have actually gotten the best lines of the bunch, including a scene where he tosses Loki, the villain, around like a rag doll. I wasn't really expecting much from Black Widow or Hawkeye, and I wasn't disappointed, but I would have preferred to have seen better usage of Thor, as I actually enjoyed his eponymous film quite a bit, even if it was ridiculous at times.

I don't think The Avengers was the end-all, be-all superhero movie that it was hyped to be, but it certainly provided a solidly entertaining experience for a summer afternoon. The special effects were breathtaking, and the action was balanced with a perfect amount of humor. I'm going to hold out for The Dark Knight Rises to be blown away by a summer blockbuster, since the grittier, darker style of that franchise suits me better. My tastes will always lean towards the moody, Academy Award fodder that is released during the winter months, but until then, I will do my best not to fall too behind on my annual quota of Hollywood releases.

Slip Slidin' Away...

Though I try to avoid dining ruts, more often than not it seems likes we have some sort of sandwich on Friday nights. In large part, I think this stems from the fact that sandwiches are usually quick to prepare, even if you aren't making them out of cold cuts or peanut butter and jelly. We usually do our grocery shopping on Friday nights after work, since the new weekly sales start on Thursdays, and I can typically carve out some time on Thursday night to make a grocery list. Coming home later than usual from the store, coupled with a week's worth of pent up exhaustion makes sandwiches an appealing dinner option.

Continuing in this week's theme of recipes that I selected based on Justin's taste preferences, I opted to try a sandwich recipe that combines two of his favorite flavors -- mustard and apricots. Apricots are Justin's favorite fruit, something he seems to have inherited from his family, where his grandma preserves her own apricot jam, uses it in her famous Sachertorte, and bakes them into a few of her other most popular desserts. Unsurprisingly, apricots are Justin's father's favorite as well, and the apricot rugelach I brought over to their house once was a big hit.

This recipe calls for grilling the fruit, and then turning the lightly-charred apricots into a tangy chutney with mustard (of which Justin is also exceedingly fond), and vinegar. Apricot is not the dominant flavor of the sauce, but it adds a nice body and sweetness to the mix. The chicken itself is nothing to write home about, as it is simply grilled with a quick pepper dry rub. I think you could easily replace the meat with store-bought rotisserie chicken and no one would know the difference.

When combined, however, the two components of the dish played together very nicely, creating a nice harmony of flavors. Plus, there is something about the petite size of sliders that just makes them more fun to eat than regular sandwiches, and who couldn't use a little more whimsy in their lives? Though it would make the recipe less simple, I feel like this dish could use another component, such as caramelized onions, or a bit of cheese, in order to bring more complexity to the table. Other than that, I could definitely see giving this recipe another try.

Grilled Chicken Sliders and Apricot Chutney

adapted from Cooking Light

1/4 teaspoon cayenne pepper

1/2 teaspoon freshly cracked black pepper

1/8 teaspoon salt

1 1/2 lbs. boneless, skinless chicken thighs

3 apricots, halved and pitted

1 tablespoon water

1 tablespoon cider vinegar

1 tablespoon Dijon mustard

2 cloves of garlic, minced

8 mini-sandwich buns

1. Combine first 3 ingredients in a small bowl. Sprinkle chicken with pepper mixture. Place a large grill pan over medium-high heat; coat pan with cooking spray. Add chicken to pan; cook 5 minutes on each side or until done. Cool slightly; shred meat.

2. Recoat pan with cooking spray. Place apricots, cut sides down, on pan; cook 6 minutes on medium-high heat or until tender and lightly browned, turning after 4 minutes. Place apricots and next 4 ingredients (through garlic) in a food processor; process until smooth.

3. Spread apricot chutney over cut side of each sandwich bun half. Place about 1/3 cup chicken on bottom bun; cover with top half of bun.

Stop The Presses - Part Three

Last week, the latest installment of "Dining Due Diligence" hit the stands in the Chicago Daily Law Bulletin. Due to a miscommunication with my editor, I accidentally ended up reviewing the same restaurant as another writer, so the two pieces ran side by side in a comparison/contrast format. Here are my thoughts on Acadia, a restaurant in my old neighborhood of the South Loop:

Inside chef Ryan McCaskey's Acadia, a palette of warm greys and whites accented with hints of slate provides an abstract allusion to Maine's rocky coastline, but the elegant furnishings convey none of the rusticity that is conjured by the restaurant's namesake. Despite the stylishly spare ambiance, the overworked food is so overwhelmingly elaborate that it is difficult to remember what one has just eaten.

Cocktails from head bartender Michael Simon start an evening at Acadia on an ambitious note. Every potential drop of flavor is wrung from the mixed drinks — even the ice cubes are flavored. The Sazerac, a New Orleans staple, finds new life in the herbaceous addition of juniper and Creole Bitters, while the Aviation Fizz provides a refreshing lemony palate cleanser.

The attention to detail and reconfiguring of classic pairings did not translate as well to the cuisine. Appetizers were almost universally disappointing from oddly crunchy bits of potato in a mock "risotto" flavored with a creamy truffle sauce, to a tepid, soft-cooked duck egg that lacked sufficient garnishes to soak up the yolk.

Things improved slightly during the second course, where the standout dish of the evening was the deconstructed lobster pot pie. The flesh of the butter-poached lobster was decadently succulent and worked harmoniously with the mélange of vegetables and rich lobster bisque. Slightly less over-the-top were the Deer Isle shrimp, which were perfectly seasoned and coupled with clever "noodles" created from ribbons of squid. The rabbit, however, was abominably handled: its delicate flavor was completely overwhelmed by the bacon wrapping.

Dessert proved to be the most overwrought course. The spice cake, a deconstructed riff on carrot cake, featured two types of ice cream and cubes of compressed pineapple, so pungent that they dominated any bite containing them. The passion-fruit toffee was riddled with chalk-like cardamom cylinders, and the chocolate cremeaux was the most unattractive item to leave the kitchen.

If business brings you to the South Loop, consider visiting the restaurant's bar to linger over a well-crafted cocktail and a light meal from the less pretentious bar menu.

A Fish Tale...

Growing up, my mother had a certain repertoire of dishes that she drew from. We tended to eat the same handful of dishes again and again, and they were always perfect. Because we also ate out a lot (Mom may have been good at cooking, but she didn't enjoy it), it never became boring. Spaghetti, taco salad, burritos, chili, meatloaf, tuna salad, chicken and noodles, pork roast, and a well-practiced array of potato and vegetable side dishes were the defining flavors of my childhood.

In a way, I think my constant quest to test new recipes stems from an urge to find my own line-up of classics. Dishes that I can make again and again, and always end up with a reliable, delicious meal. Of course, I've adopted a few of Mom's recipes into my regular rotation, and in my roughly six-year cooking career, I've managed to accumulate a few standards of my own, like my pasta with saffron sausage sauce, turkey burgers, cranberry chicken salad, and of course, my beloved recipe for salmon cooked in parchment paper packets in the microwave. Not only was that salmon dish the very first recipe I ever shared here on "The State I Am In," it was one of the first things I ever made for Justin when we started dating. It has a very special place in my heart, just like he does.

Because salmon is one of Justin's favorite dishes, however, I found myself compelled to start looking for other ways to prepare it. Even if my existing recipe was flawless and foolproof, variety is the spice of life, and I didn't want Justin to get bored with plate after plate of salmon en papillote. Though I like salmon, because it is Justin's favorite, I've been scouring the web for recipes that combine salmon with other things Justin likes, and this time, I went with mustard. While I can tolerate mustard in small doses, my mustard collection has increased by a factor of 50% since we started dating; not unlike the exponential growth of my hot sauce collection, which has gone from zero to at least four different types that I can think of off the top of my head. The man likes his condiments.

Tonight's recipe came from Serious Eats, one of my favorite food blogs, and a good source for simple, weeknight recipes, which are woefully lacking from my repertoire in general. While it wasn't quite as quick or simple as my usual salmon, and it dirtied more pans, it was a nice change of pace. The mustard provided an acidic, spicy counterpoint to cut through the richness of the meat, and the technique of lightly buttering the bottom before searing the fish created a gorgeous, golden-brown crust on the bottom. I'm convinced that our broiler isn't working properly, due to a series of less-than-stellar attempts to use it in the past, but tonight, it beautifully browned and crisped the breadcrumbs scattered on top of the meat.

I would definitely consider making this again, even if it will never reach the hallowed status of my salmon en papillote recipe. Those kinds of dishes are rare, and finding them takes time. Until then, I'll have fun continuing to experiment, and in the meantime, I'll get the pleasure of trying new things, like tonight's mustard-baked salmon. I could do a lot worse, I think...

Easy, Crunchy Mustard-Baked Salmon

adapted from Serious Eats

2 slices high-quality white bread, crusts removed and torn into chunks

2 boneless, skinless salmon fillets

1 tablespoon unsalted butter, plus more for the salmon, softened

1/2 tablespoon Dijon mustard

1 teaspoon whole grain mustard

1 teaspoon fresh thyme leaves

1. Preheat the broiler to high and adjust rack to 6 inches below the element. Pulse bread in the bowl of a food processor until coarse crumbs are created, about 10 to 12 one-second pulses. Season the salmon with salt and pepper. Set aside.

2. In a medium bowl, mix together the breadcrumbs, 1 tablespoon butter, both mustards, and thyme, pinching the mixture together so the butter is incorporated and the mixture sticks together. Season with salt and pepper.

3. Spread the bottom of each fillet of salmon with a thin layer of butter. Preheat a medium skillet over medium-high heat for 2 minutes. Add salmon buttered-side down and cook without moving until a nice crust has formed, about 2 minutes. Pile the crumbs on the salmon, then transfer to the broiler. Broil until the crumbs are crunchy and browned, 4 to 5 minutes. Serve immediately.

Bein' Green...

I debated whether or not to blog about this recipe, considering it's for a dish that I find so odious that I've now made it twice without so much as testing it for seasoning. However, I've been told, by two distinct sets of dinner guests that it is ridiculously good. So good, in fact, that just about everyone who's sampled it has requested the recipe, which is what finally persuaded me that I should share it with others. I'm probably alone in my complete and utter disdain for guacamole anyway, so I'm sure the vast majority of you, my loyal readers, will be interested in this.

As I said, I can't stand guacamole, mostly because the texture and flavor of avocados grosses me out. It's like vaguely vegetal butter, and butter is an ingredient or a condiment, not something that I want to slather on chips and eat by itself. Plus, guacamole typically contains cilantro, and I belong to the camp of people with a genetic aversion to the herb. To me, it tastes like a combination of soap, and the flavor memory I have of putting keys in my mouth as a child -- metallic and unpleasantly tangy. As a result, I reach for other dips and snacks when I find myself at gatherings where guacamole is on the buffet table.

Not unlike fruit salad, however, despite my aversion, I'm fully aware of how much other people seem to love it, so I cranked out my first batch, based on a recipe from my of my favorite food bloggers, when Justin's family came over for my Cinco de Mayo-themed dinner. Magically, though only four people were eating it, the massive bowl of dip practically disappeared, and I suspected I might be on to something. I demanded honesty from Justin, to assure that it hadn't been eaten out of politeness, and he convinced me that it had, in fact, been the best guacamole he'd ever eaten.

With that knowledge in hand, I decided to reproduce it for yesterday's potluck. Not only would it accommodate my vegan guest, unlike my beloved olive tapenade, which contains anchovies, and cheese dip, the perennial snack time favorite on my mother's side of the family, but guacamole seems to be a crowd favorite. As Spock said, "The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few, or the one." Once again, my guests inhaled the guacamole, and requested the recipe.

I can't vouch for this guacamole in any way, other than to promise you that everyone loves it. The secret to its alleged awesomeness is in the technique: pureeing the aromatics (the onion, cilantro, and peppers) punctures more cell membranes than merely chopping them, thereby releasing more flavor compounds into the finished dish. It seems like a subtle tweak, but apparently it makes a difference. If you like guacamole, I think you owe it to yourself to try it -- it may just be the best you've ever had. Only one way to find out...

The Best Basic Guacamole

adapted from Serious Eats

1 small yellow onion, roughly chopped

1.5 serrano peppers

1/2 c. cilantro leaves, finely minced and divided

2 teaspoons kosher salt

5 ripe avocados

juice of two limes

1. Combine onion, chili, half of cilantro, salt, and half of lime juice in a food processor and process until smooth paste is formed, scraping down sides as necessary.

2. Split each avocado in half, discard pits, and spoon out flesh into a medium bowl. Roughly mash with a stiff whisk. Add onion/chili puree, remaining cilantro leaves, and remaining lime juice. Fold to combine. Season to taste with more salt and lime juice. Serve immediately with warm tortilla chips.

I Suppose It's Berry Nice...

As we enter into summer, I've been observing people celebrate the arrival of warm-weather fruits and vegetables. My coworkers gleefully tear into packages of fresh strawberries and share them amongst themselves, and I've been buying boxes of blueberries for Justin to put in his morning cereal and pop into his mouth as a quick snack. I have to say though, with perhaps the exception of the impending arrival of peach/nectarine season, I'm not really feeling the same enthusiasm. I just don't care much for fruit.

Sure, I force myself to eat it from time to time in order to obtain vital nutrients, and feel like my diet is at least a little bit healthier, but I can honestly say that I never crave fruit. Nutritionists have tried to convince me in the past that if I eat it often enough, I'll come to love it, but it just hasn't happened. Even as my palate has matured during adulthood, and I've come to tolerate vegetables that I couldn't stand as a child, like broccoli and Brussels sprouts, I've yet to pick up a taste for fruit.

I particularly loathe berries, the stars of the summer fruit scene. I hate the tiny little seeds that get stuck in your teeth, the sweet/tart flavors, and the often mushy textures. If I puree them, add sugar, strain out the seeds and churn it into sorbet, I can get myself to eat raspberries, but that's about it, and I'm pretty sure that defeats any nutritional value in consuming the fruit.

Still, when it came time to pick some dishes for the Memorial Day potluck I hosted today, I found myself considering fruit salad. I may not understand it, but I'm astute enough to notice how happy people are to be consuming summer fruits. I make plenty of dishes I don't really want to eat myself just for the experience of making them and to bring joy to others, so why not give the people what they want? Plus, one of my guests has recently adopted a mostly-vegan diet, and I didn't have much time to bake one of my usual butter-laden desserts anyway, due to our trip down to White Hall. Fruit salad seemed like a perfect solution.

Because I don't eat it myself, I decided to turn to a source I could trust for a recipe -- my mom. For as long as I can remember, she's been making a fruit salad with poppy seed dressing that's always universally well-received with house guests, family members, and whoever else had had the chance to sample it over the years. I'd never had the inclination to try it myself, but I figured I couldn't go wrong.

Thankfully, though Mom was still down in White Hall with the rest of the family, Dad was home (an unfortunate accident at a conference he attended in Las Vegas last week left him with a badly sprained ankle, and unable to travel downstate with us) and he was able to locate the recipe in Mom's handwritten cookbook, transcribe it, and email it to me. Though I had to check two different grocery stores to find the frozen limeade concentrate called for in the dressing recipe, the recipe was exceedingly quick and easy to put together. The most time-consuming part was washing, peeling, and cutting up the fruit itself. Who knew it was so difficult to supreme an orange?

Just as it always has been for Mom, the fruit salad was a huge success. My guests devoured it, leaving only a tiny, single-size portion in the bottom of the giant bowl. Even I ate a few slices of peach and orange, and I have to admit, that for fruit salad, this stuff is pretty good. I know that simple, unadorned fruit seems to be popular this time of year, but if you're looking for a way to jazz up your summer produce bounty, I think you can't go wrong with this recipe.

Fresh Fruit Salad with Poppy Seed Dressing
adapted from Mom

Dressing:
1/4 c. honey
2 tablespoons frozen limeade concentrate
2 tablespoons vegetable oil
1/2 teaspoon orange zest
1/4 teaspoon poppy seeds
1/8 dry mustard powder

For salad, choose any four of the following:
1 c. fresh blueberries
2 medium peaches or nectarines, peeled and sliced
2 medium oranges, peeled and sliced
2 kiwis, peeled and sliced
1 c. fresh strawberries, sliced
1 c. grapes, sliced

In a small lidded jar, combine all dressing ingredients, shake well. Refrigerate several hours to blend flavors.  Arrange salad ingredients on serving plates.  Serve with dressing.

Surprise...

Surprise parties are kind of a big deal in my family. It feels like we're throwing one every couple of years, and the tradition goes back as far as I can remember. There was a surprise party to celebrate Grandma Betsy and Paw-Paw's 40th wedding anniversary; one to celebrate my 6th birthday, for which the whole family gathered in Galena, Illinois, where we frequently took family vacations during my childhood; we threw a motorcycle-themed surprise party for my uncle Doug when he turned 46, not long before he would tragically pass away from esophageal cancer; when he was still sick, he traveled to White Hall and the whole family stood outside on Grandma and Paw-Paw's deck and waited until they finally saw us standing out there -- I'll never forget the way Grandma's jaw dropped in shock!

More recently, we surprised Grandma on her 80th birthday (which, in retrospect, may not have been the best idea; I don't endorse surprise parties for the elderly), and my aunt Lisa, uncle Dick, and their kids have been engaged in a round-robin of surprise birthday parties. Tonight, we added to that proud, family tradition by throwing a surprise party to mark Mom's 60th birthday, and I have to say, we got her good.

Totally surprised -- and touched.

My aunt Brenda got in touch with me months ago to start planning a party for Mom; she wanted to do something to celebrate the person in our family who is always selflessly doing things for others, yet is seldom the center of attention herself. The family wanted to have a surprise party downstate, and in order to do so without raising suspicion, they had settled upon Memorial Day weekend, when the entire extended family usually gathers to tidy up Grandma's yard. I put it in our calendar, and the subterfuge began.

Calls flew back and forth between me and my aunt, on everything from timing to cake selection, though the vast majority of the plotting, scheming, and decision making occurred between my aunts Lisa and Brenda. Mom, of course, was curious why we weren't coming down to White Hall for Memorial Day, especially considering the fact that we didn't have any other plans. I scheduled a picnic with my friends for Monday just so I could tell her we had something going on (after 27 years of motherhood, she can always tell when I'm lying, so it had to be something that was grounded in fact), even though it would mean rushing back from downstate. 

Mom's Kermit cake suffered a mishap, as the unbalanced frog topper started sliding off the cake before the party started. My aunts and cousins hurriedly tried to prop him up with the cattails and leaves that had previously been interspersed over the surface of the cake, which held the whole thing together long enough for her to arrive, but it definitely diminished the overall aesthetic impact of the piece.

My aunts and cousin concocted an elaborate ruse to guide Mom into going to the restaurant where they were having the party: my aunt was babysitting one of her grand kids for the day, and the restaurant was on the way to her daughter's house so she could return him to his mother. Thankfully, the idea that she might be the subject of a surprise party was so far from Mom's mind, that she disregarded many potential tip-offs to what was afoot:

• The large volume of cars in the parking lot didn't seem odd to her, and she didn't recognize the vehicles of her relatives. For our part, Justin and I had driven my distinctive, periwinkle Volkswagen Beetle an indirect way down to the party venue, to avoid driving through White Hall and the adjacent Roodhouse, where Mom might spot us, and had parted at my great-aunt's house and carpooled with her to the restaurant.
• The restaurant sat us right in front of two large windows, which Mom didn't think to look through.
• When they walked into the restaurant, my mom gave the hostess the name of the reservation, and the hostess said, "Party of eight? We have a party of thirty eight," and my Mom just wrote her off as being flighty.

When she came in the room, she was still so unsuspecting that she didn't even look in the direction of the huge gathering of people on the opposite side of the room. Her focus was on a table set for eight, the size of her original group, that the waitress was mysteriously not guiding her to. Finally, we had to haphazardly yell, "Surprise!" to get her attention, and even then, it took a few seconds for her to realize that the party was for her.

One of the biggest, and most genuine smiles I've ever seen from Mom.

Mom teared up, and exclaimed, "We don't do this kind of thing for me!" Not only was she completely taken by surprise, she was very touched. It was great to see so many people show up for Mom, and to see how many lives she has touched. She is very loved, not just by me, but by a community of people, and I'm happy that we were all able to gather to celebrate her -- she deserves it! Happy 60th Birthday, Mom!