caramel popcorn

Ryan has been on a popcorn kick for a really, really long time.

In the last year, though, he's discovered stovetop popcorn. The man whips up a mean batch of organic popcorn—which is infinitely healthier than the microwave stuff. I mean, it's perfect: never burned, always perfectly salty, light, airy, and full of flavor.

I'm craving some right now, thank you very much.

He's a bit of a purist when it comes to popcorn, though; a kosher salt and melted butter kind of guy. And that's fine, but then there's me... The experimentalist who has a soft spot for sweet-salty Kettle Corn (thanks, church camp) and the need to do things like this in the kitchen on a consistent basis.

For Valentine's Day, I got Ryan a Whirly Pop. Don't get me wrong, he's a pro manning the stock pot on the stove, but that requires a lot of lifting and shaking and results in quite a few unpopped kernels. The Whirly Pop, albeit a uni-tasker, eliminates all that.

Look at that marvel of kitchen wonderment! This is definitely a uni-tasker I don't mind having in the kitchen. Here it is at work. What'd I tell you? He's a pro!

So one night, I got ambitious (scratch that, I was just having a normal night), and asked him to save half of his batch for caramel popcorn. That's when I made the mess pictured in the post below.

Ahem.

I recouped, started over, and don't regret it one bit.

I based my caramel popcorn on this recipe over at Smitten Kitchen, but wasn't feeling brave enough to make it spicy. You can bet that next time I will. Everything else about the recipe was the same. So whether you want it sweet or spicy, I absolutely recommend those directions.

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mushrooms: the other white meat

Let's count the months, shall we, since I've had anything meat-related?

I have had a total of five bites of meat or fish since Thanksgiving, two of which were given to me by my grandmother (thanks for pushing that prime rib on me, Nan, it was the best I've had) and the other three, mussels in a saffron-infused white wine reduction from one of our favorite east Austin bistros. Of course, I'm excluding the organic salmon I had in NYC the night Ryan proposed.

So that brings us to a veggie-versary of... four months this week.

Adjusting really hasn't been that difficult; in fact, I have really enjoyed it. But I'm still not completely sold on "meat replacements."

Tofu? I only like it in some instances. These include, and are likely limited to: deep-fried (popcorn tofu po'boy at Wheatsville Coop), stir fried, and as a component to the always-popular hot-and-sour soup.

I wouldn't have made it this far without the help of veggie burgers, though (the best of which I had in NYC at some fun Irish pub near Times Square; my favorite here in Austin is the Veggie Ends Burger at Billy's on Burnet). Seitan and I have not yet come to speaking terms. I'll eat it (vegetarian chili comes to mind), but I am not a fan of the texture.

All this to say, mushrooms rock.

They pack a nutritional punch, with vitamin D, some B vitamins, potassium, riboflavin, selenium, and zinc among the naturally-occurring benefits.

And here's the real kicker: their flavor can come across as, well, meaty.

Grilled portobellos? Yes, please. Sauteed button mushrooms in red wine and butter? I'll melt. And this week: what can only be described as a very close replica to beef stroganoff. My first words upon tasting it were, "Tastes like Hamburger Helper." Which is actually a compliment, considering I LOVED Hamburger Helper growing up. Seriously. It was, like, my favorite junk food. That and Funyuns. Together.

I digress. Let's call this dinner...

Farfalle with Creamy Mushroom Sauce

1 tablespoon butter

1 tablespoon olive oil

1 medium onion, diced

3 cloves garlic, minced

2 ounces cream cheese

3/4 cup fresh parmesan, grated

8 ounces fresh mushrooms, sliced

1/4 to 1/2 cup vegetable broth or white wine

1-2 teaspoons dried herbs, to taste (rosemary, sage, parsley, thyme)

8 ounces farfalle pasta (rotini or linguini would also work)

salt and pepper to taste

Prepare onions, garlic, and mushrooms. Put a pot of water on to boil, and cook pasta according to package directions.

While the pasta is cooking, heat the butter and olive oil on medium- to medium-high heat in a large skillet. Add the onions and garlic, cooking until onions are translucent and soft.

Add the mushrooms and cook until they reach the desired tenderness (ours came out a little "al dente;" if you want very tender mushrooms, just keep cooking). Add stock and cook, stirring, until most of the liquid has evaporated.

Multitask: drain the pasta and set aside for a few moments while you finish the sauce.

Add the cream cheese and parmesan to the mushroom mixture, and stir until it is well incorporated. Once all the cheese has melted, add the spices and pasta and mix well.

Serve immediately, with a spinach salad on the side!

Note: I was going to make this recipe, but didn't have heavy cream on hand. Plus, I was hoping for a little healthier option. But that's where the general idea came from.

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inedible.

Folks, I've been upfront with you since the beginning.

I mess up. A lot. (Can we just run through a quick list of items—not meals—I have destroyed in the kitchen? Blender, countless wooden spoons, one enameled cast iron Dutch oven, several Mason jars, many glasses, one Pyrex measuring cup, two nonstick skillets, the juicer pitcher...) So today's post is less of a recipe and more of a word of encouragement. Because when you're just trying to make caramel popcorn and you wind up with this:

Well, it's just necessary to take a deep breath, step back, and believe your unbelievably patient fiance when he says, "It's all going to be fine."

With a lot of warm water and patience, the burnt-beyond-belief-formerly-sugar-and-water mixture allowed itself to be removed from the pan.

And last night, during what's quickly becoming routine sushi night (I'm getting better—and faster—at making maki veggie sushi rolls; once I'm a pro I'll post a recipe), I miraculously burned the rice. Did you even know this was possible? Burning of rice? Everyone in the world knows how to make rice. It's arguably the grain most commonly eaten by the human race, and do you know how many people have BURNED IT?

Just one. Me. I carry that proud distinction.

And I'm not just talking that it was slightly stuck to the pan. I'm talking, burned beyond belief, good thing we had the window open, even the visibly uncharred rice has the faint taste of smoke, it's taken 12 hours of soaking in baking soda and the pan is STILL not clean—that burned.

All this to say that in the end, we still have wonderful food. Yes, I mess up. A lot. We never have to intentionally test the smoke alarm; thanks to my cooking endeavors, we know it works. Fin and Ryan eat a lot of burnt bits and stomach a lot of sub-par dinners without complaint. (For this, among many other things, I am ever grateful!)

In the past, these mistakes have brought me to tears, throwing my hands in the air in unconsolable defeat and managing only to eek out the words, "Let's just go to Chick-fil-a." But the last few major mistakes have led me to resolve. That sticky, burnt mess up there? Well, I cleaned it out and started fresh. And we had some rockin' caramel popcorn. And last night's burnt rice? After lamenting that I might have ruined another enameled cast iron Dutch oven (and catching Ryan muttering something along the lines of, "This is why we can't have Le Creuset," only a day after I lobbied to put it on the wedding registry), I salvaged the unburned rice and made rolled my best sushi rolls to date in record time.

So, to all of you who timidly approach the kitchen counter, hands shaking as you tie on that apron, take heed! It's all going to be fine. If you ruin a pot, you ruin a pot. Life will go on.

Just try not to burn the house down.

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