Nanwich

• sliced deli ham
• muenster cheese
• bread
• butter

Spread bottom half of bread with butter, stack ham and cheese. Cut in half to serve.

The dish: There are few spots on earth where you feel as faultless and perfect as when you're standing in the sight of your grandparents. When your age can be counted on your fingers this becomes especially true. I bring this up because today was my paternal grandmother's funeral. My father gave the best eulogy I've ever heard and it really got me thinking about my nan as a person. Her own mother died when she was just a young child and she and her sister were raised by her uncle (another exceptional person; you'll hear more about him when I make something with honey). The obstacles my grandmother had to overcome never once diminished her spirit and her unwavering faith was the foundation of her remarkable life. She was valedictorian of her high school class and attended the college of New Rochelle on full scholarship (women in the 30s going to college? In the shadow of the 19th amendment, most were amazed they could just vote). She married my grandfather and raised 4 boys, building a family that's continually growing. 13 years ago she lost her husband of over 50 years and still remained strong, thriving in the role as the leader of the family. Her reward for such a rich and long life was a terrible disease that slowly robbed her mind from her, and yet her faith remained with her to the end. All of this of course, takes a back seat to the memories my younger self holds of the treat of going to nanny and poppy's house. My grandparents did a great job of making sure their home was always stocked with an endless variety of snacks; everything from chocolate milk, to fresh cold cuts to any type of Entenmann's cake you could imagine. One of my favorite treats was a ham and cheese sandwich nan would make where she would spread the bread with butter that was soft from sitting at room temperature. Those early memories were so great that they've left me with not only a fondness of food, but a feeling as to how a kitchen should look; nan too had a red room. All of the goodies my grandmother would give me were prepared in her red kitchen and it always seemed so sharp that when it came time to remodel ours the choice was obvious what color it had to be. It was great having nan visit our home because for someone who was always so svelte she had a great appetite and loved to try new things (that and more than anyone else in our family she loved our cat, Digit). It was great to fix nan a treat from my red kitchen, thinking back on how our roles were reversed from years earlier. In honor of nan, Kim signed us up for a walk to benefit an Alzheimer's association and as I get more information I'll be posting it as comments to this entry. If you'd like to donate or to participate, please do not hesitate to contact us.

asparagus and seared shallots in a lemmon butter sauce

• 2 bunches fresh asparagus, cut on the bias (at an angle)
• 5 shallots
• 2 tablespoons butter (or Olivio)
• 1/2 lemon

Melt butter over medium flame, add shallots and cook for 3-5 minutes. Add asparagus and saute for about 5 minutes or until asparagus is a bright green and crisp, but not raw. Turn off heat and add juice of lemon half. Season to taste with coarse salt and fresh ground pepper, stir until blended.

The dish: Almost every time I see asparagus it's hiding out beneath a blanket of hollandaise sauce. It's not that I don't enjoy that preparation, it's just that I got curious and looked up how to make that velvety yellow sauce; take about a third of your body weight in butter and egg yolks and add some lemon to the mix. I'm not too strict with keeping a healthy diet, but I can't justify being that decadent without at least looking for an alternative. This dish gives you the fresh lemon and butter flavor without drowning the greens, and the shallots add a nice earthy touch. The ingredients for this dish were purchased in the middle of the night with faithful reader, Mike from Brooklyn. If you ever want to meet your blogger just go to Hannaford long after all the same people are done shopping for the day and look for the dude comparing heads of lettuce, that's most likely me.

shiitake and white truffle risotto

• 2 cups arborio rice
• 1 cup white wine
• 2 cups vegetable stock
• 2 cups chicken stock
• shiitake mushrooms, chopped
• butter
• fresh parsley, chopped
• white truffle oil (highly optional, I just got some on sale and had to use it)

Combine chicken and vegetable stock in large pot, heat on back burner over a medium high flame, stirring occasionally. In large pot on front burner, brown the mushrooms in a little butter over a medium flame for about 3 minutes. Add rice and more butter, occasionally turning rice, for another 3-5 minutes. Add wine, cook for 3-5 minutes, or until wine is fully dissolved. Reduce flame on rice pot down to medium low and stir in a ladle of stock, cook until fully dissolved. Continue adding stock, one ladle at a time waiting for each to dissolve before adding more. Make sure to keep the pot with the stock warm and be watchful of the rice, making sure to add enough stock so that the rice doesn't burn, but not so much that the rice appears mushy. The whole process will take longer than you'd expect, about 40+/- minutes. Once all stock has been ladled in check rice for doneness. If not fully cooked add more stock or water until done, if it's good then add parsley and truffle oil.

The dish: Loosely translated, "risotto" is Italian for "rice that's a pain in the ass to cook". However, the end result is well worth the effort. I'm not sure if it's the browning of the rice or the incremental addition of the liquids that makes it taste so distinctive, but whatever the trick is you certainly won't mistake risotto for Uncle Ben's boil in the bag. I had the truffle oil and decided to play on it with the mushroom theme, but risotto is a blank canvas that you can do any number of things with. I usually add cheese at the very end, but figured it might be a little too much with the oil. Use any white wine, but I have a box of Digit's likeness in the fridge that I use primarily for cooking.

salmon with lentils

• 3 fresh salmon fillets, skin and bones removed (the ones I used were a little better than 1/3 of a pound each
• 3 carrots, peeled and cubed into small pieces
• 2 shallots, chopped finely
• 3 cups of vegetable stock
• fresh thyme, chopped
• 2 cups of brown lentils (or any kind- I think they all cook up about the same)
• good quality mustard (I used an even mix of Grey Poupon Dijon and spicy brown)
• unsalted butter

Saute carrot and shallots in large pot with a little olive oil over a medium high flame for about 5 minutes. Add lentils, a few sprigs of thyme, vegetable stock and about 1.5 cups of water, bring to boil and then reduce heat and simmer, adding more water as needed, for about 35 minutes or until lentils are cooked (they should be firm but tender). Meanwhile, in a large skillet over medium heat melt about two tablespoons butter and cook salmon for about 5 minutes (or longer, I like mine done on the rare side of medium) turning once. Remove fillet from pan and place on warm plate under tin foil. In same skillet, melt just a little more butter (maybe a tablespoon depending on how much is left in the pan) and whisk in about 4 heaping tablespoons of mustard and some chopped thyme. Turn flame off and continue to whisk until sauce is thick and creamy. Serve salmon over a mound of lentils with sauce spooned over both. We had it with broccoli rabe sauteed with garlic- it basically rocked.

The dish: I think I'm about to go on a salmon kick. It is hands down my favorite cooked fish (tuna winning the raw award) and I've got about 4 or 5 really good, really easy (this is by and large the hardest) recipes that I'll be posting soon. If you haven't tried preparing it at home, I highly recommend it as it tastes great, is easy and versatile and doesn't leave your house smelling like the Fulton Fish Market. It's also packed with Vitamin D and more Omega 3 than just about any other food, just be careful not to make yourself mad as a hatter.