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Last week Rodney and I celebrated our 10th wedding anniversary. I’d like to say that we planned an extravagant evening out on the town, retreated to a luxury hotel room, and enjoyed some breakfast mimosas in front of a roaring fire. 

Instead, it went down like this:

Phone conversation, transcript, November 13, 2014, 8AM: 

MUM: “Happy Anniversary Jess!”

ME: “What?!”

MUM: It’s your 10th anniversary today, remember?

ME: [silence]

We are not good at remembering dates.

Each year my Mum reminds us of our anniversary by sending flowers. This year, I could tell that she was somewhat shocked that we hadn’t even remembered our 10th. She tried to brush it off “Well, there have really been so many anniversaries, it is hard to keep track…” but in her voice there was a trace of “get it together people.”

It’s not that we don’t care for each other – in fact it’s the opposite. Every day feels like a celebration. We eat most dinners at home together, often after the kids have gone down, accompanied by a glass of wine. We make each other laugh; bleary-eyed tear-filled laughs. Yes, we irritate each other in the way that couples do. I am mostly to blame. But there is love, lots of it, and we remind ourselves of that frequently.

But 10 years….it’s something that should be commemorated, if not with a bronze plaque, then at least with some tequila.

By some twist of fate, there were exactly two tequila shots left in our bottle of Jimador that we smuggled back from our wedding in Mexico. Not easy for a Tuesday night, but sometimes you just have to do what it takes.

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We’ll plan a big dinner out soon – once we get through the holidays, the merriment, the wrapping, the unwrapping, and the sheer happy fatigue of it all.

For now, we kept things simple, because a weekend at home beats any evening out….

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Pork_belly_and_cranberry_sauce_2

Vegetarians, avert your eyes…

We’re getting into the nitty gritty of pork belly today.

The pork belly ramen at David Chang’s Momofuku restaurant was one of my first experiences. Rodney and I went several years ago, waited for hours for a table, and sat down to ramen that can only be described as “well worth the wait.” A sweet harmony between chewy noodles, the porkiest pork broth, the belly itself, and what I now know to be a perfectly-runny 5:10 minute soft-boiled egg.

I soon decided to tackle pork belly at home, buying it in smaller pieces before graduating to larger roasts, which is what I prefer to cook these days. It makes enough for dinner and leaves plenty of meat for leftovers.

Although it shouldn’t have been a surprise – pork belly is essentially a big slab of bacon – I thought that it was funny when my kids started to request it for dinner. Spaghetti with tomato sauce, chicken tenders….pork belly.

If I were to rank the nutritional value of pork belly, it would rank right up there next to candy canes. So we don’t eat it often, making it an infrequent luxury.

But considering that it is the holidays, and that we’ll be eating like gluttons all week long, what’s the harm in an additional 1,000-calorie meal, correct?

I’ve been in a Thanksgiving frame of mind and can’t stop using all manner of sage and cranberry; forgive me if you’re facing an overload of these ingredients. December will be about fruit cake and royal icing, and at a certain point you’re welcome to tell me to stop featuring those too.

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Belly is nothing to look at in its raw state. You can buy it with the skin on – which is how it’s typically sold. You can alternatively ask your butcher to remove the skin, or do it yourself at home.

I’ve roasted pork belly with the skin on before, and it comes out flavorful, but with the texture of shoe leather. David Chang suggests that you keep the skin and make Chicharrón, but it involves a dehydrator and some technical skill in removing every last trace of fat. Count me in for that exercise when I retire to Palm Springs with my silver hair and Mephistos. Until then, there are far too many kids in the kitchen, husband included.

For now, let’s talk about the rest of the belly. In the spirit of Thanksgiving, this one is rubbed with a mixture of salt, sugar, chopped fresh sage and orange zest. I love citrus at this time of year, but Satsumas, with their vibrant color and sweet juice is perfect for this. But pick a favorite orange, anything will work.

Don’t forget to drink a beer while you’re making it.

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Roast on high heat for an hour, then turn down the temp to low. Much of the fat will render out, leaving you with soft, shreddable meat and a crunchy exterior.

While the belly is roasting, switch gears and make your cranberry sauce.

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 purple_tritan_radish_FeedMeDearlyI’ve sung the song before. If at first you don’t succeed, dust yourself off and try again. We’ve eaten black radishes, red radishes, pretty radishes, ugly radishes, radishes that look like watermelons and radishes that don’t. And now this – purple Tritan radishes. Up there on the vegetable beauty index with delicata squash and romanesco. These radishes have milder bite than your typical red radishes, which is probably why 2/3 of the kids went for it. As for me, I’m just patting myself on the back for having the persistence to try enough radishes for one of my kids to say, “you know what mom? radishes are great”. 

ME: Guys, who knows what these are?

LAUREN: Cabbage.

ME: No, it’s not cabbage. That’s a good guess though!

EMMA: Onion?

ME: What an amazing guess! But it’s not an onion. Does anyone want to smell one and see if it smells like something that you know?

SAM: Wait! Wait! I think I know what it is.

ME: What is it?

SAM: Um… Is it turnips?

ME: Oh my gosh, Sam! That is an amazing guess! How did you guess that?!

SAM: Um…um… I… I… looked straight at it and I knew.

LAUREN: Is it really turnips?

ME: It’s actually… it’s not turnips, but it looks just like the purple-tinged turnips that I’ve bought before and I don’t think we even tried those yet.

SAM: It’s turnips!

ME: No, they’re not turnips. Smell them – they smell kind of like a vegetable that you’ve tried before.

SAM: Cabbage?

ME: Nope. What do you think, Emma?

EMMA: YUMMY!

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Veterans–day-soldier

Last Tuesday was Veterans Day and the older kids were out of school. Sam had a birthday party that chewed up the middle few hours of the day, leaving Lauren and I with some much anticipated one-on-one time.

There was a time when it was always like this. Just me, my girl, and a front-loading baby carrier with all of New York City to explore. I took her to museums, to restaurants, to Central Park and to the Hudson River where we’d spend hours wandering.

The need to explore is in her blood. It’s in mine. I’m restless by nature, which is why this city feeds my soul.

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We headed up to Sam’s birthday party at a movie theater near Penn Station. On the way we passed the James A. Farley post office, one of the city’s landmark buildings.

It seemed fitting to peer inside since the kids have always asked me about this building. It’s impressive in size and stature, taking up an entire city block, its entrance made prominent with a set of solid Greek columns. Today its stairs attract drifters from neighboring Penn Station, but step inside and you’re transported to an earlier era. A time when ceilings were gilded even lowly government buildings were considered a thing of beauty.

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We dropped Sam off at his event, and then Lauren and I rode the subway to Midtown. Our goal was to watch some of the Veterans Day parade, and then spend some time at one of our favorite museums.

Holidays typically mean street fairs in this city, and last week was no exception, with one set up directly in front of the museum.

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Veterans–day-scarves

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