Cafe Renaissance

There are a few things that happen when you start working a lot of hours at the office.  At first it sort of exciting to roll up your sleeves and tackle the project.  It's new work. Interesting work.  Challenging work.  And then the reality hits that it's- well, work.  And  every hour at the office is one less hour to do the laundry, help with homework, and cook.  And when there's no cooking, the time and material for a cooking blog gets really thin--unless, of course, your husband decides to make the one thing he makes better than anyone I know:  Reservations.








Ah.  The pleasure of having someone else cook for you, and then have it all served up to you with fresh roses on white linens in a candlelit space--proceeded by a salmon-colored cosmo.  Hard work has its benefits.  Most people who like food have a favorite eatery.  We foodies may branch out or do take-out, but ultimately we have a spot where we prefer to dine out.   Ours is a restaurant in Vienna, Virginia called Cafe Renaissance.  

It's a bit bizarre to find such a treasure positioned at the end of a strip mall, right down the sidewalk from a dry cleaner and a barber, but once you walk through the double doors you're transported to an entirely different dimension.  The walls are donned with faux-impressionist paintings, the flowers are fresh, and a sure sign that I'm getting older:  it's quiet.  The owner is Iranian, our favorite waiter Jordanian, and the chef is from Turkey, but the food is pure French--and some of the best on this side of the Potomac.  Bring an appetite, your wallet, and good friends.   Even though it isn't cheap, this is a culinary experience that you'll want to share.  But make a reservation, especially on weekends.  This place is busy.   Just like me these days.  Sigh.

A different kind of cheesecake

It's no secret that I'm a cheese gal--even for dessert.  Although a deep rich dark chocolate anything is up there, in the end, I'll choose a triple cream brie every time.  There's something sexy about licking it off my finger--even as I engage in total disbelief and pretend that it won't end up on my thighs.  So recently when I offered to bring something to a fundraising champagne and dessert gala, I immediately opted for a brie cake.   You've seen it before.  It's behind the glass case in the cheese shop at Wegman's or Whole Foods.  It's outrageously expensive--more outrageous when you realize how utterly easy and cheap it is to make yourself.  Indeed, the fact that these grocers persist in such abject thievery wholly exonerates that I've copied it whole cloth and am posting the results here.

Brie "Cake"

1.  Go buy a small wheel of a good rich and creamy brie.

2.  In a small bowl mix together the following:  1/2 cup apricot preserves, 2 Tbsp. golden raisins, 2 Tbsp. dark raisins, 2 Tbsp. craisins, 2 Tbsp. chopped dried apricots, and 2 Tbsp. of chopped walnuts or pecans.  You will have a gloopy concoction.  If it's too gloopy, add more dried fruits and/or nuts.  If it's too dry, add more preserves.  You can be creative with this step.  I have substituted caramel sauce, maple syrup and  raspberry preserves for the apricot preserves, but in the end, I think that the apricot preserves are best.  Your choice.  It's a free country.

3.  Slice the rind off the top of the brie.

4.  Slice the brie wheel in half, horizontally, to obtain two layers of your "cake".

5.  Spread about half the mixture on top of one of the layers, and top it off with the other layer.

6.  Pile the remaining mixture on the top layer.  The mixture should be thick enough that you can pile it into an attractive rounded pyramid.

7.  Garnish with walnut or pecan halves or dried apricot halves.  Serve it with crackers, french bread, or my favorite:  just slice it into wedges and serve it like the cheesecake that it is.

P.S.  The beauty of this dish is that any leftovers can be cut up, rolled up into raw puff pastry and baked for another entirely different and decadent dessert or appetizer.  

The Great American Melting Pot

My children spent their formative years in the home of a lovely Afghani woman.   No, scratch that--she's an American.   They grew up on rice laced with carrots and raisins, and she could stew an eggplant until it tasted like candy.  If I could only repeat that feat, my children might actually eat vegetables.  But besides feeding my children, she did the only thing that really mattered to me as a working mother:  she loved my children.

My hairdresser, who depending on the day, I might actually love more than my children, is Iranian- or was, I should say.  He's an American now too.  He is living in suburbia with his wife and two kids, and he's an absolute artist when it comes to hair color.  No one knows when my roots show because he has managed to match his dyes to my natural hair color.  At the risk of sounding hyperbolic, if there was a Nobel prize for hair color (and why isn't there?) this man would be standing on the Stockholm stage every year.

Queso-blanco; diced small

Another "new" American is a friend of mine, who like my grandfather, came to this country when he was 17 and taught himself English.  Unlike my grandfather,  this guy makes a mean macaroni and cheese.   It  uses-of all things-queso blanco, a cheese from Latin American that I didn't even know existed until he told me about it.  It must be good because they sell it at Costco in a two pack.   It's a subtle and mild cheese, and for those who grew up on the macho of cheddar for their mac-n-cheese, you may find it too mild.   Nonetheless, this version of mac-n-cheese is remarkably simple--you take this Mexican cheese, cut in up into small pieces, melt it over pasta with a little milk and butter, salt and pepper, add some parsley,  and voila!.  It's the perfect metaphor for what should be our immigration policy:  something simple that let's good people come to this country to share their best gifts and talents.

Macaroni-n-Queso-blanco

1.   Cook one pound of your favorite macaroni, al dente.


2.  Add 1 cup finely dice queso-blanco and heat over low heat, with a tablespoon of butter until the cheese begins to melt.  Stir constantly.  A word of warning here, queso-blanco doesn't melt into a nice creamy roux; even with the coaxing of some butter, it's a cheese that stubbornly keeps its shape.  By the end a lot of the cheese had glommed onto my stirring spoon, and I had to keep scraping it off.  Eventually, I managed to get the cheese fairly evenly distributed, but if look elsewhere if you want an alfredo-like sauce.

3.  Add fresh chopped parsley--about 1/3 of a cup, a generous dose of pepper, and salt.

The Final Product

4.  Voila: a macaroni-n-cheese that doubles as pasta salad.