Call it what you will, pop, soda, soda-pop, soft-drink, hiccup inducing sugar water, from time to time I do love a Coke. In fact it’s just about the only soda I will have in all of its permutations; vanilla, chocolate, and cherry from the fountain. And I adore the fountain Cokes, but they are a slippery slope.

We all know what a standard can of Coke tastes like– sweet, vaguely caramel in flavor, overflowing with effervescence. But a fountain Coke is an entirely different story. So much can go wrong, but occasionally you will receive the ideal Coke, the ratio of syrup to soda water is perfect, providing the flawless mixture of carbonation to sugary sweetness. But these incidences of impeccability are few and far between. Most of the time you will order a Coke where the ratio is askew, too much syrup has overridden the sprightly bubbles, or too many bubbles with just a hint of sweet, otherwise potent flavor. The unmatched fountain Coke has the just right ratio where the syrup is just potent enough, it almost tastes flat except for the rash of tiny bubbles, mild at first, simply tickling the palate, then coming through with strength and vigor.

There is a cafe, right across the street from where I went to college that has horrible coffee. In fact, it doesn’t even sell coffee, just coffee beverages, giving their baristas adequate time to burn shots of espresso before dumping it into various cups of tepid steamed milk. But for all of Cafe Strada’s short-comings in the coffee department, they have the ideal fountain. Late in the day, one class left, I would stumble in and order a small Coke to go. In moments my Coke would arrive, not simply in an ordinary paper cup, but lidded, translucent plastic– touch of class. The barista would plop a wedge of lemon in my Coke (fabulous– a lemon Coke), and send me on way, feeling the burn.

As you can see, I’ve done quite a bit of thinking about what makes the ideal Coke, but this does not extend to the various lemon-lime beverages. I haven’t had one of those in years; and the last time I had a ginger ale, not mixed with some potent alcoholic beverage, was when I had the flu. For all of this contemplation, I probably drink one Coke a week, they’re a treat, and I am trying to preserve my teeth. And I never drink diet beverages of any sort, so I can’t give you notions of those proper ratios. The saccharine scares me, and just as I am trying to preserve my teeth, I also like my brain to be intact. You never know just when you will need it.

The sunchoke, otherwise known as the Jerusalem artichoke was unfamiliar to me. Sure I’d read about it, even heard about this little knobby tuber in certain circles; I just had never gotten around to trying it. That was until this week, when the gorgeous buttery, potatoey, artichoky bulb came into my home via a Berkeley Bowl bag.

Berkeley Bowl is a legendary Berkeley market with an enormous produce section– enormous. It is not unusual to find seven different types of eggplant there, all lined up in various shades of purple. As I was strolling around the produce section I spotted them,the sunchoke, pimply, knuckly, with a sheer tan skin, they actually looked like hands of ginger. So I snatched them up and brought them home, unsure what I would do with them.

I scoured my cookbooks. Mark Bittman in How to Cook Everything, has only one recipe for Crisp Cooked Sunchokes that I wasn’t too keen on; I could do better. Alice Waters in Chez Panisse Vegetables doesn’t even mention the sunchoke, and yet she mentions a vegetable as unique as cardoons. What kind of bourgie does she think she is? Then I went on-line, expecting to find a plethora of recipes. I did Google searches for both sunchokes and Jerusalem artichokes, I searched epicurious.com, Cooks Illustrated, and many more. And I found recipes, just none about which I was all too excited. Most of them were for purees or silky soups, but it’s spring and I wanted something light, something that adequately displayed my newfound vegetable. And so those sunchokes sat on the kitchen counter taunting me with their dirty looks, begging for me to cook them.

And so I did; and they were delightful. I learned a lot about the sunchoke in my research. They are a tuber, very nutritious, high in vitamin C, containing iron, potassium, and calcium, and they are very low in calories. I also learned of their crisp texture, reminiscent of a water chestnut, and that this particular vegetable can benefit from parboiling previous to sauteing, roasting, or baking.

Unsatisfied with my recipe findings, I made up a recipe that began with bacon, because really how can you go wrong. There are few things that I have found to be such a pleasant, homey smell than that of bacon crisping. Toss in some shallots, a little bit of fresh sage, saute until the chokes have that caramel brown color, and dig in. I was definitely pleased with the results. The smoky saltiness of the bacon, combined with the smooth richness of the sunchokes were a perfect foil for one another. Sunchokes proved to be a surprise, something so innocuous as a root vegetable, combined with the taste of spring and steamed artichoke hearts. I had just parboiled them for a few minutes, so the chokes retained much of their initial bite, but put on the tongue they had a truly rich, creamy mouthfeel, with the subtle sweetness of that flowery vegetable. If you ever see sunchokes when you’re out shopping definitely give them a try.

This recipe can easily be adapted; bring the sauteed sunchokes down to room temperature then add frisee sprinkled with some balsamic vinegar for a more complete salad option.

Sautéed Sunchokes with Bacon

Serves 4

1 1/4-1/2 pound sunchokes, scrubbed clean
4 slices bacon
4-5 shallots, sliced
handful of fresh sage, torn into bite-size pieces
salt and pepper to taste

After sunchokes are scrubbed clean, slice into 1/4 inch disks. Put in boiling, salted water and parboil for 7 minutes, or until just fork tender.

Meanwhile fry bacon until crisp, then remove to a paper towel to drain. Pour off bacon drippings, reserving 1-2 tablespoons in the pan. Add the shallots, sage, and parboiled sunchokes. Season with salt and pepper, continue to sautee until chokes become a golden brown, about 10 minutes. Crumble the bacon, add to the sunchokes, toss and taste again for seasoning. Enjoy!

About five years ago I received a blow torch for a birthday present. Now this isn’t just any torch, the kind they sell at kitchen gadget stores, with a minute flame, and hardly enough heat to burn an ant. No, this is the Bernz-o-Matic propane torch, a pint-sized tool that when lit, holds enough power to conflagrate entire kitchens, breakfast nooks included. It’s from Home Depot, need I say more?

I loved the gift. I’ve moved three times since I received the gift of fire from Neil, and with each move the torch is packed away only to find a new home with my Cuisanart, mandoline, and hand mixer. But with all of the love and power-wielding attention brought on by my little flamethrower, I had never actually used it. Neil, knowing my penchant for cooking thought I would love the gift, and he was right; I just didn’t use it. I do love to cook, but baking is a whole other story, and baked goods are precisely the scrumptious objects that would most require a little attention from the Bernz-o-Matic. I do bake, I will bake, sometimes the only thing you feel like making and eating is a plate full of chocolate chip cookies. Slightly warm from the oven, chocolate chips still melty, there is just something so satisfying about gazing at a plate of baked goods, and knowing that you are the reason that they are there, tempting all who pass them by. But on the whole, I’m not much of a baker; it’s just too fussy, and I get too easily frustrated with the process.

And so the Bernz-o-Matic, (Bernie, for the sake of the story) sat by his lonesome. That is until this weekend. We had friends over for dinner, and I decided to make chocolate creme brulee. Enjoying the springtime harvest can be a tricky thing. You want to take advantage of the bounty of the season, but at the same time you don’t want the meal appear dietetic in nature, and leave your guests feeling as though they partook of a few nuts and berries when they dined with you. So what better way of of saying, “Let’s enjoy spring, eat a bit of asparagus, then bathe in the decadence of custard, chocolate, and burnt sugar,” than chocolate creme brulee? And what a perfect time to dust off Bernie for his inaugural torching!

The chocolate creme brulee, from Happy Days with the Naked Chef, was good, not terrific but a good, solid creme brulee, with a little treat of a bashed up bitter or semi-sweet chocolate bar hidden at the bottom of the custard. But Bernie performed stupendously! After dinner, plates stacked neatly in the sink, I brought the naked custards out, cautiously quivering in their ivory ramekins. A sprinkling of sugar (actually more than a sprinkling was administered to get an adequately thick layer of caramel), and then the torching began. The perfect participatory event to have at the culmination of a meal. Each guest was handed the torch in order to sizzle to oblivion his or her own custard. How egalitarian of us. A little custard, a little sugar, and a whole lot of fire. A lovely evening was had by all.

I love chicken soup of all kinds, matzoh balls lying heavy in a pool of hot chicken broth with a sprinkling of mandel (kosher-style oyster crackers), noodle soup, with puffy homemade egg noodles, and pho chicken soup, slurping up the toothsome noodles and dipping your spoon into the slightly piquant, garlicy broth. And now, I even liked poached chicken, ladled into bowls, with loads of fresh springtime veggies, a smattering of beans (lima and fava), and served with a sinus- cleansing fresh horseradish sauce.

Now I know that many of you might be saying to yourself, “Poached chicken? I remember poached chicken like my grandma used to make, coated in a thick, rubbery layer of opaque chicken skin, and the vegetables stewed to oblivion.” That description can be true, but there is a remedy to each poaching dilemma. Adding the vegetables in a proper cooking order, according to cooking time, prevents you from getting a mushy pile of grey vegetables. The vegetable choices that you make are key. Rather than the ordinary mire poix of veggies, opt for the less traditional but equally delicious, fennel, turnip, and radish in addition to potatoes, spring onion, and carrot. And the skin– well, what can be said about the skin; it’s a necessary evil. It protects the meat’s succulence, and imparts a lot of flavor to the stock, but will have to be peeled off before consuming the chicken. If you’re squeamish about doing this, as I am, just get your spouse or friend to do it for you. Problem solved!

This poached chicken recipe, is actually inspired by Jamie Oliver’s recipe for Spring Poached Chicken in his latest book Jamie’s Dinners. As the daffodils are pushing their way through the soil, and the sun is peaking out from behind the clouds one day, and hidden by storm clouds the next, this dish is the perfect celebration of spring and all its follies. It celebrates the season with its fresh selection of produce, and is warm and homey. The broth that is produced by the poaching liquid is actually quite flavorful, as the entire chicken is poached whole within it. And the horseradish sauce, made from freshly grated horseradish and creme fraiche (although you could use sour cream or yoghurt, if you can’t find the latter) offers a much welcomed pungency, to this settling meal.

Spring Poached Chicken
from Jamie’s Dinners

Serves 4

4 1/2 lbs. chicken, preferably organic
handful of fresh flat-leaf parsley
4 bay leaves
2 handfuls new potatoes, cleaned and scrubbed
2 handfuls baby carrots
2 handfuls baby turnips or radishes
1 bulb fennel, quartered, herby tops removed
2 handfuls peas
2 handfuls fava beans
1 colanderful fresh spinach leaves

optional:
1 horseradish, peeled and grated (or to taste)
1 small jar creme fraiche

Clean and dry the chicken, stuff with parsley and bay leaves. Put in a stock pot, filling with water to cover the chicken by an inch. Add a teaspoon of salt, and scatter in the potatoes. Bring to a boil, skimming of any scum. Once a boil has been reached, turn down the heat and cover, simmering for 20 minutes. Now add the fennel, carrots, and turnips; carry on simmering for 30-40 minutes.

When leg bone can easily be pulled away from the rest of chicken, it is cooked to perfection. Vegetables will be cooked to an ideal softness. To make the horseradish cream, grate horseradish into a bowl, season with salt and pepper, and stir in creme fraiche.

Remove chicken from pot, removing parsley and bay leaves, and divide into pieces, removing the skin. Add the beans, peas, and spinach to the pot to simmer for 5 minutes, or until cooked. Season with salt and pepper to taste, then ladle into bowl getting some broth and an equal portion of veggie. Place a portion of chicken in each bowl, and serve with horseradish cream on the side.

Well, go to 99 Ranch, that’s what. Easter is a strange holiday; it’s not quite as all-consuming as Christmas, but I was surprised at just how many places were closed. On Christmas I join the rest of the Jewish masses and usually go to a movie and then settle in for a lovely Chinese meal. Aaahh, the Christmas tradition of the non-believers. But what to do on the day of Christ’s resurrection? Once again I joined the legions of Asian Americans and ventured up to Richmond and into the Pacific East Mall which contains the 99 Ranch.

For those of you living outside of the west coast, 99 Ranch is a supermarket, but not just any supermarket– the Asian foods supermarket. This isn’t some tiny, whole-in-the-wall, Asian grocery, with a handful of fresh vegetables, a few bottles of bizarre (to the American palate) condiments, and packets of prepared soups complete with dried noodles. No, 99 Ranch is the size of your average American supermarket, but catering to all Asian nationalities and their own culinary delicacies, Indonesian, Thai, Chinese, Japanese, etc. Entire aisles of rice, jasmine, basmati, glutinous; a large produce section with the average apples, oranges, and bananas; plus every kind of Asian green waiting to be brought home and wilted in a wok; the tea section is vast, from green, to blacks, to white, all lined up for the tasting. And then there is the fish and meat department. Quail, partridge, and black cornish game hen, every cut of the pig imaginable, from tenderloin to tripe, and cuttlefish, live prawns, and catfish heads awaiting their fate in a cauldron-size stock pots to be stewed with colorful vegetables from the produce section.

I didn’t really need anything from the market, however this did not stop me from browsing, and selecting a few choice items. A package of Panko Bread Crumbs, more crumb-y, and less pulverized than the American variety, these will be a crisp addition to pork cutlets or chicken tenderloins. Sachets of Almond Paste to be mixed with warm water or milk and enjoyed as one would a cup of tea. Peanuts stewed not roasted in Soy Sauce, Sugar, and Salt, it’s interesting to see another culture’s take on a traditional snack food. And by far my favorite, a habitual food for me from 99 Ranch, frozen, Steamed Buns. BBQ Pork, Chinese Broccoli, and Plain, these buns are the perfect snack, savory fillings nestled inside mellifluous, white dough.

After buying our goodies, my husband and I strolled around the mall. All of the restaurants were packed full of people; families slurping up their pho noodle soups; we checked out the Japanese paper goods store, and wondered when it was that Snoopy became as popular as Hello Kitty, and looked at all of the gilded altars for sale in the Thai shop. Then as we were leaving the Pacific East Mall my husband stopped by a photo booth and took advantage of a special feature.

So which is it? There seems to be a very fine line between the two. I’ve been reading a lot of cupcake/muffin recipes lately due to the latest Is My Blog Burning event with the theme of cupcake and muffin recipes, and I honestly can’t decide what it is that differentiates a modern-day muffin from a cupcake, and vice versa.

Is it the frosting? It could be, but if I make a chocolate cake, and bake it in tiny cupcake cups, and then I omit the addition of delectable frosting (although I’m not sure why anyone would do that), do I have a muffin instead? I’m going to have to say no. But what about the ubiquitous chocolate chip muffin, or better yet the chocolate-chocolate chip muffin. These muffins are entirely sweet, made with a mainstay of the dessert cupboard– chocolate chips, so what is it about this breakfast treat that makes them indeed a breakfast treat, and not simply an after dinner addendum? Maybe it’s the addition of buttermilk. But not every morning muffin has buttermilk listed as an ingredient. Perhaps it’s the addition of some type of fruit that makes is a breakfast addition. But then there is the Poppyseed Muffin, no fruit there.

Feeling very much like I was preparing for Speech and Debate class in 7th grade, I resorted to The Oxford English Dictionary (OED), that veritable tome of all things English, and I offer you this: The OED doesn’t even offer a complete definition for the word cupcake, but favors the hyphenated: cup-cake. It defines this word as batter: “baked in a small open container or from ingredients measured in cupfuls.” Not really helpful. What sort of batter, any sweeteners, frosting? Not a mention. I turn the 1280 pages forward and try for the definition of muffin: “Originally a cake of any of various kinds of (esp. sweet) bread. Now a flat circular spongy cake of bread, often eaten toasted and buttered.” Also not really helpful; this appears to be the definition of an English Muffin.

Still unsatisfied I resorted to the trusty The Oxford Companion to Food (thank you Nishka) to see what Alan Davidson had to say about the matter. (I know that by my two reference books of choice it may seem that I am quite the anglophile, I assure you that I am not, but the English do know their reference books.) Davidson has not even a hyphen between this otherwise contracted word, it is simply written as– cup cake. He states that a cup cake is “the name given in Britain and generally the USA to any small cake baked in a cup-shaped mould or in a paper baking cup.” No mention of a muffin also being baked in this same mould. Then he goes on to tell us about Elizabeth Ellicot Lea’s baking of a rather large pound cake in 1845, when the term cup cake was used to describe the units of measurement. Sheesh, now I am thoroughly lost. A pound cake? Correct me if I am wrong, but pound cakes do not even have frosting, a glaze maybe, but usually not frosting. Besides the historical reference, it seems to me that pound cakes have very little to do with cupcakes. If we take The Oxford Companion to Food’s definition, a cup cake, is anything baked in a cupcake pan.

On to the muffins, yet furthering the conundrum. After a rather lengthy definition of the English Muffin being very popular 19th century snack, synonymous with crumpets and pikelets, Davidson addresses the American muffin more directly as a “generally small, squat, round cake which may be yeast leavened, although baking powder is used in many recipes. It is usually sweetened with a little sugar. These muffins may be plain, but are often flavored with fruit, nuts, or savoury ingredients…American muffins, still extremely popular, are oven baked in muffin pans, or cups and are served primarily for breakfast or as an accompaniments to dinner.” Please, Davidson does so much back-talking in this definition: they’re sweet, no savory; plain, no adorned; you eat them for breakfast…and dinner. It’s becoming clear that even he is unsure what makes a muffin. If we had a plain muffin as is said in this definition, what’s to say it would not simply be an unfrosted, vanilla cupcake?

The wheel of Ixion rolls on.

Well, it’s happened again. It happens every few years, something goes awry in the fast food industry. E-coli from hamburgers, mad cow disease, or in this case, a little, bitty finger finds it way into a bubbling vat ‘o chili.

Can you imagine the horror!?! You’re in a rush, you’ve stopped at a fast food restaurant, trying to order something remotely healthy you get the chili. It seems innocuous enough, a little tomato, a few kidney beans, and a bit of ground beef. But don’t you see, that’s where you have gone wrong. The dreaded ground beef. It’s not that I have anything against ground beef per se, but from a fast food restaurant? There is just too much that can go wrong. Whether it be at the slaughter house (!), the processing plant, or the tray laden, wrapper full, utensil-less restaurant, there are just too many places something could fall in, or in this case fall off, into your large vat of meat products.

I’m sorry, but I have to go for it. This mishap brings new meaning to the words “finger food.” I’m a big texture girl, I don’t like bits of fat, grisly portions, or what I call, “knuckly bits,” in my meat; they can ruin a meal for me. Can you imagine the knuckly bits this poor, unwitting woman in San Jose endured as she sat down to dinner Tuesday evening?

What is almost more disturbing than the finger itself is this quote from the paper: “Since all of the workers at the restaurant were in possession ‘of all 10 of their fingers,’ health inspectors assume the finger likely entered the food chain as a result of the manufacturing process, according to county Environmental Resources Director Ben Gale.” Was anybody ever under the impression that someone at Wendy’s had lost their finger and didn’t know it? You know that someone, somewhere, is thinking, “Hey! That’s my finger!” Talk about your 15 minutes of fame. And, logic dictates that if no one noticed their finger being lobbed off, perhaps there’s more than just a digit suspended in the vat.

Perhaps I am being too naive. Whether you are dining at a four-star restaurant, or a greasy-spoon diner your meat could be coming from virtually anywhere. I guess that explains the infiltration of the often costly, but ultimately more settling, organic meat products. We can’t guarantee that these products are better for you, but I do feel a bit safer buying them. Now I’m not going to get all Alice Waters on you. Of course it’s your decision what type of meat products you buy, or even if you decide to eat meat at all, but the next time you’re at the grocery store, or you pull up at your local fast food restaurant, I bet you will think of the woman, pulling a chili covered fingertip from her lips.

There is a little restaurant not too far from where I live, if you’re driving too fast you could drive right by it. In fact it’s sort of a dive, paint peeling from the walls, some lightbulbs burned out from the “stained glass” fixtures above the tables, and the banquettes sticky from over-use. But all of these transgressions can be forgotten once you have tasted this restaurants specialty– The Tandoori Chicken Sandwich.

A new amalgamation of the Western world, coupled with traditional Indian ingredients Tandoori Chicken USA is a truly bizarre, yet absolutely wonderful place to eat. So just what is the famed Tandoori Chicken Sandwich? Slices of warm tandoori chicken breast, pure (no knuckly bits here) and slightly piquant, nestled amongst crisp lettuce leaves, with a smattering of cooling mint sauce, all wrapped in naan, lending a pleasing charred flavor to this delightful chicken sandwich. The perfect match of east meets west. I usually am not the hugest fan of fusion cuisine, but to the chefs at Tandoori Chicken USA I say, “Bring it on!”

In homage to what it once was, a Foster’s Freeze, Tandoori Chicken does serve the traditional American fast food fare, burgers, and fries, but despite the bottles of ketchup lying about, I have never actually seen someone order these. But that is what makes dining at this restaurant so weird and wonderful; it is the fact that I could get a side order of fries with my Tandoori Chicken Sandwich that is so…egalitarian.

After ten years in El Sobrante, a small unincorporated town north of Berkeley, Tandoori Chicken has opened another outpost in Concord. Let me tell you, this place looks positively civilized. With carpet on the floor, chairs replacing banquettes, and neon signs of the chicken cooking in its very own glowing tandoori oven, it may be cleaner, brighter, more gentrified, but the Tandoori Chicken in El Sobrante is the place for me. I like my Tandoori Chicken Sandwiches with a little slice of Americana please.

The delightful, little gnome says: Welcome to Adrienne and Brian’s Wedding Party!

So last weekend’s party was a success, and I was so busy mingling, and passing around Caprese Salad Bites, that I didn’t have time to think about all of the gross faux pas that could have been occurring at the buffet table.

The hit of the event, food wise, were several types of Phyllo Triangles. I made two types with savory filling from The Silver Palate Cookbook, a Spanikoppita (spinach and feta cheese), and a Prosciutto and Ricotta. Despite being labor intensive to make, with the flag-folding of hundreds of phyllo rectangles into diminutive phyllo triangles, they were the perfect hors d’oeuvres to make for an open house, because they are equally good hot or at room temperature.

The sweet triangles I made on a whim. I filled these triangles with sweetened ricotta cheese (never a bad thing); while one triangle was filled with lemon flavored ricotta and adorned with freshly grated nutmeg, the other triangles were filled with mellifluous ricotta flavored with a rich cocoa. Light, and crisp, these were an ideal addition for a Saturday afternoon fête. I made both types of phyllo triangles because they could be made weeks ahead and frozen. This isn’t something I usually do, freezing rather scares me; no one wants something they bake to come out tasting like a freezing cold Kenmore Classic. But they froze beautifully, and simply needed to be brushed with butter and popped in the oven on the day of the party.

It’s funny, although the food was very well received (an anti-pasto buffet), I didn’t get to enjoy it thoroughly. Maybe it was the nature of the buffet, or perhaps it was my inability to split my time appropriately between the kitchen and our company, but to tell the truth, I think it was like eating through osmosis for me. Whenever I throw a dinner party, or have people over, I love the preparing. The chopping, the seasoning, the sauteing, but by the time we are ready to eat, it is as if I already have. I will graze, taste things here and there, take a sip, or nibble, but I can’t actually tuck in. I swear, it’s a good thing I don’t actually work in the restaurant industry, or I would probably waste away.

What do you do when you get some bad news, when life just doesn’t seem to be going your way, you’re feeling under the weather? Usually I don’t do much of anything. Perhaps I will take in a mindless, feel-good movie. One that makes me think, no one’s love life is just so perfect. I’ll eat movie theater popcorn for dinner, wiping my greasy fingerprints on piles of crisp, yet diaphanous paper napkins. If nothing looks appealing at the cineplex, maybe I’ll rent a John Hughes, ’80′s era movie, one that makes me long for that old high school chum that never really existed. Call it wallowing, call it self-pity, it usually works for me.

This week my husband and I received some disappointing news (really it was my husband’s news, but disappointing for me by proxy). I’m not sure if it was the nature of the news, or perhaps just where I am in my life, but this time I was driven away from the cineplex and straight into the warmth and nurturance of the kitchen. Now we didn’t have much in the form of ingredients, despite leftovers from wedding fete this past weekend (more on that in upcoming blogs). But never one to let something as paltry as ingredients stop me from cooking when needed, I resorted to an old standby, something settling and soothing to untie my stomach– a frittata.

A little egg, some cheese, whatever vegetables happen to be lying about, and in a matter of minutes you have an ultimately satisfying, and a little bit gourmet (depending on ingredients), complete meal. I wasn’t actually hungry, although it was dinner time, so the frittata proved to be the perfect match for me to make as it is equally good hot as it is at room temperature. This frittata was a take on a recipe I found on the BBC Food website, very simple yet satisfying, with a touch of much-needed spring. With some frozen peas, a touch of fresh chopped mint, and some lovely Gruyere cheese left over from the party, a delightful egg dish was made in about one half hour.

And I must say, although the frittata itself was a comforting meal, it was the being in the kitchen that sort of did the trick for me. There was something soothing about the soundtrack of pots being bashed around, getting my aggressions out with a mortar and pestle rather than throwing myself down in a jag of screaming and crying, and having the oven on, the heat tenderly washing away the tumult of the day. Being in the kitchen just did it for me. Who knows, maybe I’ll have to save the John Hughes movies for when I am feeling nostalgic for the past, and the experience of eating movie theater popcorn for my main evening meal as simply a gluttonous treat.