A Culinary Masterpiece

A Delightful Addendum to the Previous Post

After reading my last entry, Rad asked if I could post about what an awesome cook he really is... since I mentioned the ONE time he's ever messed up in the kitchen. First off, I never thought his eyes would fall upon that post...ever. You see, he only reads my blog when I force him to (although there's no excuse to have belittled him like that). Secondly, I am very lucky to have such a culinary artist as a husband (no I'm not calling you feminine honey). Folks, it's true, my husband is a pretty good cook for a man--and not just with the steaks and potatoes, barbecued chicken and pulled pork burritos. Let's take for instance, the French Toast he made me for breakfast last Saturday.

So we have a little device called the GT Xpress (As seen on TV). After spending hours watching the infomercial Friday night, we were inspired to actually use the one that we got as a wedding gift. The next morning, I sent Rad out to make us some french toast, another favorite breakfast food of mine, using the GT Xpress.
Meanwhile, I cleaned up the kitchen and watched out of the corner of my eye as each of the ingredients was added generously to the shallow dipping pan. Eggs, cinnamon, brown sugar, vanilla, and finally, the bread. It seemed to be going alright, but then again, it wasn't over yet. While the battered bread was steaming inside the GT Xpress, I noticed the foulest of smells, and didn't dare comment on it... especially since Rad kept saying how good it smelt.

Fast forward to the eating part. I took one bite and threw it back up on my plate (charming, I know). Rad stared in shock, his fork hovering centimeters from his mouth. Was he trying to sabotage me for making fun of him? No, not like him at all. I knew the culprit almost immediately.
"You put paprika in the french toast!" I cried, literally.
"What? That's not possible!" he exclaimed, running over to the ingredients on the counter. "I swear I checked the label. See, it's Cin--" He trailed off. "Cumin," he sighed bitterly. "I guess I saw the letters C and N and just assumed it was the cinnamon."
I would not wish that evil upon anyone-- french toast a la cumin, except my own husband. Sadly, I could not convince him to take a bite of his masterpiece and I knew I was destined to face the agony alone. That horrid, bitter taste was on my tongue three brushes later. In fact, I don't know if I will ever feel the same way about french toast. To top it all off, Rad wouldn't even allow me to take a picture of the finished product, knowing it would only lead to future embarrassment.

My husband the chef. To clear the record, he's not an idiot and I hope I didn't give anyone that impression. His cooking far exceeds my own abilities. Heck, why do ya think I have him making the french toast in the first place. I'm no all star in the kitchen. Don't worry babe-- two bad incidences won't wipe away a year of positive achievement. Mind if we steer clear of breakfast foods though?

I am so going to be in trouble for this guys. Pray for me.

Today's Reflection- wish I was here again.. It's almost been a year!

Crepes & Butter

I woke up one Sunday morning with a longing for my favorite breakfast food, the crepe- Thin, perfectly sweet and delicious. I nudged Rad out of his slumber, told him I was in the mood, and asked if he would do the deed. After a moment of hesitation, he rose from bed, eager to please his wife with her favorite breakfast dessert. I got lucky. Of course I knew he secretly agreed to do it because it would give him license to quote one of his all time favorite movie scenes for the rest of the morning, in a French accent. “Just say you like really really thin pancakes,” he says as he exits the room.

I dreamt of sweet smelling blossoms, cool breezes and cool buttery cream. I awoke to the sound of a whisk tapping a glass bowl and the sizzling grill preparing to make its masterpiece. Before returning to my slumber, I thought I should go check on Rad, after all it was his first time making my favorite dish alone. I usually prepare the batter while he helps with the cooking. I asked him how it was going and he said he had it covered and to go back to bed. Before I obliged, I noticed he was stewing over what to do with the butter. I hinted that he should melt it in the microwave before adding it to the batter. I returned to the bedroom to shower, with complete confidence in my sweetheart.

I emerged minutes later, taking in the divine smell coming from the kitchen. I went out and breakfast was done. They looked amazing, stacked high and thin, rolled into perfect golden cylinders with crisp edges and tender centers.

Rad made me giggle with the way he gracefully tapped the sieve of powdered sugar onto the crepes using a spoon. Not just any spoon either- a special spoon, only to be used for tapping.

I carefully filled mine with fruit and cream, rolled and topped them with syrup and dusted with powdered sugar. Heavenly. I noticed, although still delicious, that they tasted slightly different than usual.

“Honey,” I asked, “did you remember to add the vanilla?” His head sunk, as if he knew he was a failure.

“No,” he sighed. I laughed and told him they were delicious and I was the luckiest girl in the world to have such a talented husband, so willing to please his wife.

After all, crepes are no easy task for a man. They have to be delicately thin but not so thin they tear (too thick and they taste like a sponge), somewhat round, perfectly golden, and of course, the first one has to stay warm while you cook the other 10 to 20 individually.

I felt completely satisfied as we cleaned up..

That is, until I found this…

“Sweety,” I inquired, as delicately as I could, “What did you do with the rest of the butter.” Again I saw his head droop, and the same look of defeat swept over his face.

“I guess I accidentally put the whole stick into the crepe batter,” he muttered. He held up the recipe without making eye contact. “And it only wanted 2 tablespoons.” I smiled and creeped up onto my tippy toes to hug him, and my legs felt just a bit heavier as I did.

“Would you like crepes with your butter?” he joked, holding out the wrapper, and I knew I got lucky. Lucky to find someone who made me smile everyday.

Dessert Crepes

3 eggs

7/8 c flour

1 ½ c milk

2 T sugar

2 T butter, melted

1 T vanilla

In a bowl, whisk eggs. Add flour. Whisk until smooth. Add milk slowly and whisk again. Add sugar and then melted butter slowly and whisk.

Using only 2-3 T of batter, drop into oiled pan, tilt pan to spread batter across evenly. Flip and continue to cook until golden brown.

Keep in tortilla warmer between wax paper if available until ready to eat.

Makes 12 crepes

Recipe c/o Michelle Collett

Rad

I recall a conversation between Rad and I that went something like this.

Did you ever get made fun of for your awesomely strange name?
Yeah, all the time. But I would just tell people my parents were hippies and I had two sisters named sunshine and waterfall.
Hmm, you sure showed them. So what's the story behind the name?
My full name is Jonathan Rad Clark. I was named after 2 family friends, Jonathan and Radavon Vusucivich, who are brothers, from Serbia-Montenegro. This may also be a good time to tell you that we have to name one of our sons after their father, Risto.
Alright then, but I'm picking the rest of the names.

A name is just a name after all, and it's the spirit inside that brings it to life. So whether it's Rad, Radley, Radavon, J. Rad, Radical, Radica (a hybrid of our names) or any of the other nicknames, to me, he's just sweety, sweet pea, honey and lover... no matter what.

Rad, little Rad, and Jon

I am posting a picture of one of my favorite green items every day this month to celebrate St. Patty's. I will also post a picture or "reflection" of the day every time I make a post using pictures I've taken to celebrate all the fun and interesting things I've seen and done over the years. Enjoy!

My favorite giant bowl I painted at my first trip to color me mine way back on one of our first dates

Reflection of the Day: Gorgeous pink flamingos at the zoo- the ones that are really pink eat more shrimp, its true!