And it takes 10 minutes! Seriously.
Hurricane Party! I was REALLY craving some homemade pizza. Like, it was almost all I could think about. Saturday night turned into a hurricane pizza party with the imminent arrival of Irene. I was going to make one “plain” since we had a toddler coming, one eggplant, one jalapeno, and one fun “white” pizza. I heart sweet and salty on pizza, and I’d read about a bacon and leek version before— plus I had some bacon in the freezer—done!
Apparently I like eggplant lasagna, huh? I made this lasagna in gargantuan proportions for a catering job last fall and a certain friend happened to be in attendance. Since then she has been hinting at me making this for her; it hasn’t happened yet BUT now she can make it herself, because here’s the recipe! It truly is delicious…it’s one I plan on making frequently in the future.
Reaaallly struggled to name this one. I came home from Wegmans (which, by the way, is AWESOME) with some turkey cutlets. I went to epicurious.com and searched around a bit. I found a recipe for “Shawarma” which is a Middle Eastern dish in which the name more accurately describes the cooking method than the overall taste. I used the basic idea of the dish but changed enough that it’s not a copy paste situation. Regardless, the name was tough for me so you might need to really scan through this to get the whole idea.
This recipe is balancing out every unhealthy thing I’ve ever posted. It’s “health” in a foil packet. That’s almost what I named it but thought I should go the more technically descriptive route. If you don’t like fish, this would absolutely work with chicken, too.
When I was little my mom would make us “egg and toast”. This consisted of torn, toasted, buttered toast put into a bowl next to a saucepan of boiling water. She would crack an egg into the water and scoop it out onto the toast once the whites were set and the yolk still runny. She would then toss it all together and add salt and pepper so that every bite of toast was covered in egg-y deliciousness.
During mine and my husband’s engagement time, I (for some strange reason) would picture our wedded bliss involving lazing around on Saturday mornings, me making pancakes, him watching Sports Center. I can remember one of our first Saturdays, waking up and saying, all eager eyed, “Do you want PANCAKES?!” Had I not met my husband? I shouldn’t have been surprised by his response. It had something to do with early morning basketball at the gym, pancakes sitting in his stomach like a brick, and “can I have my regular protein shake?”. I felt deflated.