Braised in Salsa

At least one food critic thinks that "put an egg on it" is a food trend that is so last year. I will be stuck in the food trend past, then, as I continue to slide a fried egg on top of just about any dish. My favorite is a fried egg on a slice of pizza.

Braised egg image from Eating Well

I also see that I've been using the wrong term for my new favorite egg-prep method. This recipe from Eating Well describes my "poached in salsa" as braised eggs. In any case, this makes the best egg ever.

Back to food trends, is molecular gastronomy over too? I don't get out for fine dining experiences that often, but I'd like to try something like these olives. In fact, I purchased the sodium alginate and calcium lactate gluconate so I can experiment at home.

Make that we can experiment at home. My chemist/cook, Taryn, is helping me out with the online class I am taking from edX. It is called Science & Cooking: From Haute Cuisine to Soft Matter Science. The course is full of math, physics, chemistry, and food. I signed up for it on a whim, but the material has captured me: I want to do my homework!

One of the first assignments was to calibrate my oven, which I now know runs about 35 degrees hot on convection. I always had to set the temperature lower when using the oven's fan. I didn't know by how much, and I burned a lot of cookies. The candy that resulted from doing the calibration test was yummy, too. (See it in the image below? The caramelized splat.)

Sugar melted at "330" degrees F in my oven. The melting point of sugar is 366 degrees F.

Up next, a recipe for eggplant, examining the recipe for Nestle's Tollhouse Chocolate Chip Cookies, and (this makes me happy) "perfect eggs."

Rain, Mud, and Sugar Cookies

Five muddy miles, done!

It's been raining here for five days straight. A tropical storm and a nor'easter met in the skies above us and decided to settle down together. Waves of rain slosh down, dreary skies become the norm, and the kids don't want to leave the house.

The girls say they don't want to go outside and stomp in puddles because they don't have rain boots. When did they start to care about keeping their feet dry? These girls used to stomp in puddles all over town, in the least appropriate footwear.

For entertainment, Taryn has been baking treats. She googled a recipe, and, on her first try, made the best brownies ever to come out of our oven. Next up were "green velvet" cake pops. I took a turn with "apple pie" muffins, which were meant for breakfast but didn't last that long. Today, she and a friend made sugar cookies with orange icing and black sprinkles.

I think I haven't been setting a good example. I didn't run outside in Thursday evening's deluge, choosing the treadmill, a DVRed episode of Top Chef, and dry feet instead. In fact, our only outside time has been the dash from house to car, to library/dentist/friend's house, back to car, back to house.

If a race hadn't been on my calendar, I wouldn't have gone out into the weather this morning, either. I would have missed out. In the woods, I felt like a kid again. I got my feet soaking wet, I was covered in mud, and I loved it. Seriously, [I am addressing you, Taryn and Kathy] you don't need rain boots if you want to get wet.

At home, I hosed down before leaving for the dry sauna at the gym. The cold had a good grip on my toes and fingers, and was hard to shake off, even in 175 degrees. I baked myself in that cedar paneled room and thought about what made this morning's race so fun. Being on home turf was easier than driving an hour to the starting line. The camaraderie on the trail was great, with two friends in the race with me, and another volunteering at an aid station along the way.

But the secret ingredient? The special sauce was the experience of sloppy mud, the shining rocks, the flowing creek, the sound of wind in wet leaves. All thanks to the rain.

On the next rainy day, Taryn and Kathy, let's go on a walk with the intention of getting wet. I will make you hot chocolate when we get home, and you won't miss having rain boots.