If I were a little more on the ball, I’d be freaking out right about now. It’s mid-November. Mid-November, peeps. Thanksgiving is less than two weeks away. I know I said I’d write more about the cooking competition, but I need to get this pumpkin recipe out there, before the holidays completely disappear. And they will. Before you know it.

I made a lot of pumpkin rolls last year. I mean, a lot.

Last weekend, when I realized that autumn was getting away from me, I went on the hunt for a bakery pumpkin roll. To my shock, as delicious as they are, I found only one. One. And it was $10. For a pumpkin roll. Apparently, pumpkin rolls are a commodity this year. I could’ve made a pumpkin roll fortune, if this were last year.

So, I dragged myself home, despondent over the thought of restarting that cycle from last year, and broke out the canned pumpkin. But then I scanned my recipe and remembered why I made so many pumpkin rolls last year. Because they’re so easy. As in, 10-minutes-of-hands-on-work easy. Mostly measuring and pouring. And sliding the levers of the Kitchenaid, all both of the them, with no sweat broken. (Still, I did manage to break a nail. But that’s to be expected of me.)

Do plan to make this a little in advance so it has time to firm up in the fridge. But, then slice it up, sit back, and savor the scrumptious spicy pumpkin and cream cheese flavors. And then go back for seconds. I mean, that cake’s not going to eat itself, is it?

Because I hadn’t planned on baking last Saturday, I didn’t buy ingredients for the cake. I had to scrounge for bits and pieces. Which included two almost-empty cartons of eggs.

See what I mean about the measuring? Lots of yummy autumn spices go in here. Feel free to add ground cloves, too, if you’re a fan (maybe a 1/2 teaspoon).

SoupAddict’s kitchen is far from perfect. The handle broke off of this measuring cup long ago. But I can’t part with it. Its 1/3 cup compadre is acid pitted from fresh orange zest that I left sit too long. And the 1/4 cup handle is broken off, too, from scooping out rock-hard brown sugar one too many times. You won’t be seeing my kitchen on the Food Network any time soon.

The pecan is my favorite nut, and I love the little bit of cceeerrrruunch a sprinkling of it adds. I bet walnut-lovers would find it equally yummy with walnuts. (But not Brazilian toes. I cannot believe how gross they are. Planters, please take those things out of your nut mixes. Gross. I’m just sayin’.)

I love my Kitchenaid. Mixing this batter isn’t going break your wrist, but, it’s still nice to just flip a switch and be done with it. Clean-up is a breeze, especially when you have two mixer bowls. Like I do. And can leave the dirty bowl soaking in the sink for the last 6 days. Like I have.

Beautiful and glossy, the batter spreads like a dream.

When will the internet invent smell-o-vision? I’m sticking my head in the oven, not because of the long work-week that just ended, but because the smells are delicious and I can’t wait any longer. For now, you’ll just have to imagine it.

Okay, I have to fess up. This is a picture from last year’s pumpkin rollfest. Saturday’s cake cooled too long in the pan and cracked and cracked and cracked when rolled. Tip: don’t cool your cake too long in the pan. I ended up making a 5-layer pumpkin stack cake out of it, which oozed all over everything when sliced and was most definitely not camera-worthy. There were stifled smirks amongst the peeps at the sight of it, but not a word of complaint once fork was brought to mouth. The last smirk—and plate of finger-lickin’ ooze—was mine.

1.  Preheat oven to 375 degrees. Line a greased 15-in. x 10-in. x 1-in. rimmed baking pan with parchment paper; set aside.

2.  In a mixing bowl, beat eggs for 5 minutes. Add the sugar, flour, pumpkin, cinnamon, baking powder, ginger, salt and nutmeg; mix well. Add lemon juice. Spread the batter evenly in prepared pan; sprinkle with pecans.

3.  Bake for 15 minutes or until cake springs back when lightly touched. Cool for 5 minutes (but no more – the cake needs to be warm when you roll it). Turn cake onto a kitchen towel* dusted with confectioners’ sugar. Gently peel off parchment paper. Carefully roll up the cake in the towel, jelly-roll style, starting with a short side. Go slowly; use both hands (otherwise, cracking, and later, pointing fingers and mocking, will follow). Cool completely on a wire rack.

4.  In a large mixing bowl, combine the filling ingredients and beat until smooth. Gently unroll cake; spread filling over cake to within 1/2 inch of edges. Roll up again; place seam side down on a serving platter. Cover and refrigerate for at least 1 hour before serving. For a perfect presentation, cut off a thin slice from each end to eliminate the ragged edges. Discard the slices (as if! Devour the slices and bask in your baking genius.)

* Do not use a terry cloth towel. I found this out the hard way. It doesn’t really affect the roll, but you’d be amazed at how much sugar likes to get in those loopy nooks and crannies and hide. And after the warm cake has been rolled up in the towel for a while, it essentially steams the sugar into little shake-out-resistant clumps. Well, just trust me on this one. Use a linen towel; a large cloth napkin works well, too.

About a year ago, a friend of mine challenged me (well, taunted me into it, is more like it) to enter a cooking competition sponsored by a local Asian restaurant, the Oriental Wok. The invite was intriguing, as I was just coming off of back-to-back pie-baking contest wins, even though I was hardly qualified to compete against my friend, a BBQ-circuit veteran and champion. I wrote a little about it at the time, but not much. It was all very surreal. And believe me, if I had known what I was in for, I never would’ve accepted the thrown gauntlet. But it just goes to show you that, sometimes, ignorance is bliss.

The challenge was to create an original entree, appetizer or dessert, incorporating one of Oriental Wok’s proprietary sauces, and suitable for serving in the restaurant. I quickly decided that I wanted to do a lunch entree, and as there was about a month before the entries were due, I had a lot of time to ponder the dish. And ponder I did. Obsessed, even. I went over and over every little detail in my head before any ingredient ever hit the stove.

I had just watched a summer of Kitchen Nightmares, and it was fresh in my head what happens behind the scenes in a professional kitchen. So, I was also looking at my dish in terms of prep and not just flair. (Which was a good thing, it would turn out later, although I had no idea at the time.)

Now, what makes a viable lunch entree? For one, its components have to be prepped ahead of time, en masse. And then the dish has to cook up pretty quickly. That narrows down the possibilities: no meats that need a nice searing before a bake in the oven — too much time. Hmm.

By chance, I noticed one day that the restaurant publishes its own fried rice recipe right on their web site … which I tried … and loved. No brainer — they’ll already have plenty of that on hand. Fried rice it is (and it uses of one of their sauces, so no matter what I else I do to the dish, that requirement is already taken care of). Yes, fried rice. In a bowl. A lunch bowl, in fact, as that was all the rage then, breadless meals in a bowl, coming down as we were from the crazy Atkins’ craze. (Remember that? A no carb diet? No bread? No pasta? What was America thinking… [shiver]).)

Now, being that it’s a year later, and I’m of a certain age where car keys frequently disappear (and, hell, sometimes the entire car. Big grocery store parking lot, many tall SUVs, one small sports car. You know what I’m sayin’. Or, if you don’t, just humor me, because you’re going to find out someday), and a good 20% of the time I walk into a room without really knowing why.

Wait. Where was I going with this? Age, car keys, just-you-wait-you-whipper-snapper snark. Oh yeah.

It’s a year later, so I don’t remember the exact sequence of how I settled on the ingredients I settled on, but, for a while, I pursued a Southwest-themed dish: some kind of three-pepper thing, which I abandoned because I couldn’t reliably find the exotic fresh peppers I really wanted to use (it being end-of-growing-season October, and all. Duh).

But then, in one of those *ding!* moments, I came up with the dish’s name: East Meets West Lunch Bowl. Me likey’d. Didn’t really know what it meant, but it sounded good. So, now I had the primary ingredient and the name. Whew! That counts for something, right? Sure….

{Dream sequence}
“Here’s my entry.”
“It’s fried rice in a bowl.”
“In an East Meets West bowl. See the picture of the cowboy on the side?”
[awkward silence]
“Security!”
{End dream sequence}

Nose back to the grindstone. East meets West. East meets West. Which got me thinking about the customer base (I’m of a certain age so my mind tends to go off on random tangents): Who eats there? Well, Midwesterners, of course — the restaurant’s in Northern Kentucky (“The Southern Side of Cincinnati,” the NK Visitors Bureau boasts. Seriously. They’re hitching their star to a city that’s in another state. Even though they own the Ohio River, the river that provides the foreground for Cincinnati’s downtown shoreline, that’s the tagline they come up with.)

Anyhoo. Who. Maybe some travelers, since it’s near the CVG airport. May or may not be in for adventurous eating, with family or briefcase in tow, dragging after an early morning flight. Something familiar, something comfortable. Squid ink need not apply.

(It’s the Midwest, people. New culture infiltrates slowly here. (Remember what Mark Twain supposedly said about the Queen City? I’m a life-long Midwesterner; I can point out our foibles.) We used to have a restaurant downtown called Aioli Bistro, but it closed in 2006. Probably because no one knew how to pronounce it until 2008, when the condiment finally breached the Rocky Mountain wall and dribbled across the Plains. “You wanna meet at … at … Aye-ee … Aye … you wanna meet at Arnold’s [a few blocks over]?” Yeah.)

I felt I was getting really, really close. Midwestern ingredients. Asian flavors. Then it all just fell together, easy peazy. Chicken. [Yes]  Onions. [Yes]  Make that green onions. [Better]  Mushrooms. Meaty, crimini mushrooms. [Of course]  Bacon. Bacon? Bacon! [yes, Yes, YES!]  (Down, girl. It’s just food. Not Ralph Fiennes.)

Off to the grocery store. The sauce selection was easy—I needed two of them: Perfect Fried Rice Seasoning for the rice, and one other for stir-frying the remaining ingredients. The second I laid eyes on General Wong’s Spicy Sauce, I knew that was it. Sweet, spicy. Hoisinesque. Perfect.

The test runs were a wild success. As long as you got the fried rice right, there was no way to screw it up. Tasty. Simple. (Obvious, I secretly feared.) I wrote up my entry and mailed it off. I was happy with it, but I didn’t expect to hear anything back. I’m just a home cook with no pedigree. It was a fun effort, though.

Done and done.

Or so I thought … (duhn duhn duhhhhhn)

Competition-day shenanigans and complete recipe to come. Tune in next week. Same bat time. Same bat channel.

I’m a sucker for appetizers. How can you not like appetizers? They’re an entire entree packed into a bite-size morsel. So, you can have, like, a dozen meals at a single party. And no one will think you’re crazy. Mini crab cakes. Bacon-wrapped scallops. Blue cheese stuffed olives. The world is your oyster, one bite at a time.

I’ve been on the hunt for a really standout recipe for stuffed mushrooms. I looked high. I looked low. Nothing tickled my fancy. And then I remembered the beef ball. My delicious old friend, the beef ball. With a few minor changes—including additional cheese, officially kicking the ingredient balance in favor of cheese—I thought my search might have finally come to an end. And, oh boy, did it ever. These are, well, fancy-ticklin’. (Not to be confused with fanny ticklin’, which would be a whole different kind of party you might serve these at.)

Tasty beef. Adds just the right oomph. The jar art of this brand always cracks me up: there’s a beef ball right on the front. Acknowledge your niche, that’s what I always say.

Flavor, flavor, flavor!

They say, don’t wash mushrooms. Pfft. Mushrooms live in dirt. You don’t. But do you wash yourself with just a damp paper towel? (That was rhetorical. Please don’t share your bathing methodology. That would fall under TMI.) I have a nifty little mini-salad-spinner, perfect size for giving veggies (or fungi) a shower and a quick spin dry. And then I wipe them extra clean and dry with a paper towel.

I couldn’t help myself. I had to see how cute they’d be stuffed, before the butter bath (don’t worry, he got his).

On a slightly related note, given that we’re barreling down towards the holiday party season, this is the stack of catalogs that I pulled out of my post office box this morning. Dude. The Environment. Clean out your customer lists, marketers. I’m just sayin’.

Mmmm, butter bath. Buttahbuttahbuuhhttah. Buttah.

Hooo hoooo were these good. I thought the cheese ball mixture might overwhelm the flavor of the mushroom, but it totally doesn’t. The butter-swathed crimini mushroom adds a delicious savory note that’s just perfect. If I do say so myself.

1.  In a medium-size mixing bowl, combine cream cheese, dried beef, green onions, onion powder, garlic powder, asiago cheese, mayo and Worcestershire sauce. Cover and refrigerate until chilled (overnight, if possible, but at least a couple of hours. It gives the flavors a chance to mix and mingle. Hubba hubba.)

2.  OPTIONAL REQUIRED: Give the mushrooms a butter bath. Melt the butter in a large skillet. Add the mushrooms, and stir and flip and swirl until well coated. Sprinkle lightly with salt, if desired. Mmm, salty goodness. Cook for a minute or two, and remove to a plate to cool for a bit.

3.  Preheat the oven to 350°. To stuff the mushrooms, gently warm the filling in the microwave in 20 second bursts, stirring in between, until the mixture is very pliable (you may not need to do this, but if you can’t easily get a spoon into the mixture, odds are, you’re gonna crack a mushroom). Spoon a mound of filling on the cavity side of each mushroom, pressing down lightly to get all the tasty yumminess in the nooks and crannies.

4.  Arrange stuffed mushrooms on a rimmed baking sheet and slide into the oven. Bake for 10-15 minutes. Remove and cool. Keep your hands to yourself. It’s not safe yet.

5.  REQUIRED: When cool (or at least, cooled to warmishness), pop one in your mouth. You deserve it.

I do loves me some mac ‘n cheese. In my book, there’s just no better comfort food. But, I’m preaching to the choir, right? Because why else would you be reading this, except for seeing mac ‘n cheese in the title.

As much as I’m loathe to admit it, however, it’s not the healthiest thing. And as someone who has lost two siblings and, very recently, a father, to various forms of heart disease, it’s probably time to face the music.

So, the Fall issue of Food Network Magazine made me sit up and take notice when they had a “light” recipe for my beloved macaroni and cheese. And this time, “light” didn’t mean watery milk or flavorless cheese. Comfort food with no flavor is no comfort. You’re with me on this one, right?

The secret ingredient is … now, don’t run away screaming … cauliflower. Well-cooked, pureed cauliflower. You don’t even taste it (although personally, I love the flavor of cauliflower) — it just adds body that is normally provided by a roux or bechamel sauce. At approximately 400 calories per 1-1/3 cup serving, you won’t be ruing the lack of roux.

Does this look like you’re being deprived of rich, creamy, cheesy, noodlely goodness? I thought not.

1. Whisk the egg, evaporated milk, cayenne, nutmeg, and salt and black pepper to taste in a bowl. Toss the grated cheeses in a separate bowl.

2. Bring a large pot of salted water to a boil. Add the cauliflower and cook until almost falling apart, about 7 minutes. Transfer with a slotted spoon to a bowl. Add the pasta to the same water and cook until al dente, per the package instructions. Drain, reserving 1/4 cup cooking water. Preheat the broiler.

3. Combine the egg mixture and the grated cheeses in the empty pot and cook over medium-low heat, stirring constantly, until the cheeses melt and the sauce begins to thicken. Remove from the heat and add the cauliflower. Puree with an immersion blender until smooth and light (you can also use a regular blender). Stir in some of the reserved pasta water until creamy.

4. Toss the pasta in the sauce; season with salt and black pepper. Transfer to a shallow casserole dish. Broil until golden brown, about 5 minutes. (I didn’t broil mine; I couldn’t wait that long.)

Much to my surprise and chagrin, Fall is fast approaching. I love Fall — everyone loves Fall: if you were to take a poll, each pollee’s face would scrunch with happiness, and they would hold their arms tight like they were wrapped in a fuzzy blanket, while using words like “football” and “pumpkins” and “jeans-and-hoodies” — but, see, I’m not finished with summer yet. Where did August go? Where did June go? My gardens are still busting out, and I’m sooo not done with tomato salads. Doesn’t seem to matter what I think.

Fall is fast approaching anyway, rudely shoving beloved Summer out of the way. And bringing with it winter vegetables. And soup. Hm. Well, now, that’s news I can bear. Soup. Mmmm. (Had you heard, I’m addicted to soup?)

One of my favorite ingredients is the lovely leek. A member of the onion family, leeks lend a sweet, delicious pungency to many types of soups, including the ubiquitous potato and leek.

Their unique physiology, however, requires special cleaning considerations. Like onions, leeks are layered, with each layer representing a leaf that grows above ground to nourish that layer within the bulb. Unlike onions, though, the leek is not wrapped in a solid outer layer that turns into a protective papery skin after curing and keeps out dirt and debris. Dirt can easily seep down along the length of the beautiful tall leaves (or “flags”), directly into the bulbs. And pretty much guaranteeing that this will happen is the fact that farmers (and home gardeners like myself) mound up dirt around the stalk to help blanch the bulbs during growth.

It’s not uncommon at all to slice a leek and find mud seeping out between the layers. It’s also nothing to be alarmed about, but you do need to clean the mud away before you use the leeks.

This leek was not terribly dirty at all — just a few smudges here and there — but let’s take no chances and give it a thorough cleaning anyway.

Break out your handy-dandy mini salad spinner and get to work. Slice the leeks (do not dice) and place them in the basket. Give them an initial rinse under the faucet. Fill the bowl with cool water and submerge the basket into it. Let sit for a minute or two. Feel free to swish the leeks while you’re standing there. It’ll help loosen the dirt and make you feel as though you’re accomplishing something other than just standing there.

Lift the basket from the bowl and rinse the leeks briefly under the faucet. Dump the water from the bowl, refill with clean water, and submerge the basket again. Repeat a few times, until the leeks are squeaky clean.

After the final soaking, give the leeks a whirl in the spinner to remove the excess liquid. If you need to dice the leeks for your recipe, now’s the time to do it. They’re ready to go!

Gorgeous!

Oh, those wacky curcurbits. How is it that you look your cucumber vines over at 8pm one evening, finding only little sprites of spikey cukes peeking out beneath the pretty yellow flowers, but the very next morning, as you’re hurrying to the car for work, you notice that the little sprites are now fully formed veggies. And by the time you get home, they’re almost beyond their perfect eating/pickling size? What’s up with that?

I’ve never been able to figure it out, how they grow so fast, but taste so good. So, the challenge becomes, what do you do with all these cukes (beside load up your unsuspecting neighbor’s front porch in the middle of the night)? Canning is always a good choice (dill pickles, bread and butter pickles, pickle relish, yum). Refrigerator pickles are another. I love adding cukes to my tomato and mozzarella salads. [Okay, let's see, one-two-three-four still left. Wow, those things are prolific....]

They’re also quite refreshing in a pasta salad with a dill-based dressing. 15 minutes of prep, 2 hours in the fridge, and you’ve got a great little side to go with whatever you’ve slapped on the grill.

Prepare the cavatappi according to instructions on the package. Rinse with cool water to take the heat off.

In a large bowl, stir the mayo, sour cream and milk together until well-blended. (A whisk can speed that process along.) Then add the vinegar and sugar, and blend well.

Add the dill, pepper and salt, and give another whirl or two. Then gently stir in the veggies, bringing up the dressing from the bottom to coat the veggies. Cover and refrigerate for at least two hours (sometimes, when I haven’t planned as well as I should, I stick the bowl in the freezer for 15 minutes, then transfer to the fridge. That gives it a little jump on the cooling.) If the pasta salad is dry from cooling, add a little bit more of your favorite among the mayo, sour cream and milk, and stir again.

It took a while for Summer to decide to step up and do its thang. But finally, in August, it’s hot. The kind of heat that makes the peeps whither and whine, but makes the veggies sit up and take notice. At last. Heat.

As I’ve mentioned before, although probably not in these exact words, I’m a tomato-lovin’ freak. I love planning for them. I love hovering over their fragile seedlings in cold, dark March. I love digging their earthy homes in the Spring. I love the scent of the leaves and stems on my skin. I love seeing those shiny, plump little packages, in all colors of the rainbow, hanging in the greenery.

But most of all, I love to eat them. I can eat tomatoes like apples in a way that I can’t even eat apples (unless they’re Honeycrisps – otherwise, it’s pie or nuthin’). I’m not alone in that. In fact, the Italian word for tomato is “pomodoro” which means “apple of gold” (traced back long ago when yellow tomatoes were the most plentiful cultivar). So, my dreams of walking through a green, grassy field in Tuscany, munching on a juicy, sun-soaked tomato, would not, at least, be considered strange there. (And even if the Italians did think it strange, who cares, I mean, I’d be in Tuscany. “How do you like them pomodoros, Dear Italians?” I’d say, chuckle at myself for the bad pun, brush the tomato seeds off my flowy white sleeveless dress, and then go look for a field of Tuscan sunflowers to wander amongst.)

Anyway, with the last-minute summer heat, all of my tomatoes are ripening at the same time (along with cukes and peppers), and I’m taking in big hauls about every other day. Late though they are, they’re still gorgeous. And yummy. Insalata caprese, you’re in my immediate future.

Oh, and until the Tuscan dream comes true, I have my own sunflower field to wander through while munching juicy tomatoes fresh off the vine. Life is good.

I’m a summer girl, through and through. Sun … gooood. Heat … gooood. Bare feet in soft, green grass … goooood.

Best of all, though, is the food. If I had access to summer fruits and vegetables all year long — local fruits and vegetables, or at least grown in the US — I could probably become a vegetarian. (Probably)

Tangy tomatoes, sweet sweet herbs, garlic with bite, peppers with heat. And the fruit. Strawberries, blueberries, watermelons, cantaloupe, peaches. And cherries. Everything in life should be as sweet and perfect.

Of all the bright, plump, colorful fruits at the grocery today, it was the cherries that jumped out at me. My favorites are Rainier Cherries, and there they were, in all their creamy, blushing goodness.

What could be a better addition to a summery meal than a bowl full of cherries? Simple, sliced, chilled. No additives. No preservatives. Just juicy sweetness.

Fellow fans of fresh cherries, do yourself a favor and pick up a Cherry Pitter. I usually loathe single purpose kitchen tools, but after spending an entire hour last Christmas, cleaning and pitting — meticulously, maddeningly with a paring knife — cherries for dinner, I swore I’d never touch a cherry again. That’s when I realized it was time to stop standing on principle. Forego cherries forever? Not on your life. This is one cool little device. Neatly pushes out the pit in one easy squeezing motion. Summer cherries, you’re all mine.

I came late to the homemade ice cream scene. I hadn’t been keeping up on the technology, so when I heard “homemade ice cream,” I always had visions of those big bucket contraptions with that arm-killing crank. And rock salt. Crank crank crank. Churn churn churn. [Cramp] [cramp] [cramp]. Still soft. [Sigh.] Crank crank crank ….

No, thanks. Why would anyone do that, I thought, when there’s Ben & Jerry’s. Craaayyzzy.

Then, thanks to King Arthur Flour’s awesome blog (how fabulous does this flavor sound…), I got hip to the groove. Fresh homemade ice cream in under 30 minutes? With no cranking? Now that’s what I’m talkin’ ’bout. And I’ve never looked back. Sorry, Ben & Jer, I’ll take it from here.

This is the discovery of the summer for me, the $45 Cuisinart ice cream maker. Even though I eagerly hit the Add to Cart button when I read about the device on Amazon, I wasn’t quite convinced that the resulting ice cream would be as good as the big label brands. (After all, Cincinnati is home to the famous loved-by-Oprah-and-Sarah-Jessica-Parker Graeter’s brand, which makes two of my favorite flavors ever, Mocha Chocolate Chip, and Elena’s Blueberry Pie. We Cincinnatians know ice cream.)

But, I’ve been nothing but bowled over by the results of my experimentations. Just goes to show you that fresh ingredients make all the difference. The real fun of making your own ice cream is that, as long as you get the core recipe right, you can embellish to your heart’s content (the secret to Ben & Jerry’s magnificently inventive flavors is that there is no secret; it’s all credited to their magnificently inventive imaginations). Swirl in some caramel? Yup. Chocolate covered espresso beans? Go for it.

1.  If using malted milk powder, take 2 tablespoons from the cup of milk and heat gently in the microwave. Add malted milk powder and stir until completely disolved.

2.  In a large bowl, add the milk (or the remaining milk) and sugar, and whisk until the sugar is dissolved. Add the heavy cream, the malted milk powder solution and vanilla. Stir throughly.

3.  Freeze/process according to manufacturer’s directions.

4.  Add the cookies during the last five minutes of processing (or as instructed by the manufacturer’s directions).

5.  For best results, transfer the ice cream (which will be of soft-serve consistency at this point) to a freezer-suitable container***, and allow to set up (or “ripen”) for at least 2 hours.

* Malted milk powder is completely optional, but adds a delicious old-fashioned malted-milk-shake flavor.

** Use the best vanilla you can find. This is one ingredient you don’t want to scrimp on.

*** Just how cute are these ice cream containers (also, fourth photo above)?