Foodies rejoice. Then subscribe.

The Domestic Dilettante considers herself a connoisseur of fine food.  And writing.  Put the two together (fine writing about fine food) and she is positively overwrought with ecstasy.  (“Overwrought with ecstasy” is not a phrase a fine writer would casually offer, but then the Domestic Dilettante never said that she was a fine writer. Only that she knows one when she sees one.)

To wit —  savor this paragraph.  It appears a couple of hundred words into an essay on fried chicken:

“Francis tended to burn hers at the edges, in hindsight, I think, through a combination of fear — of the undone breast and its buried tender — and considerable loathing.  By the look on her face, she couldn’t have much enjoyed cooking.  The table she set for us, laid out with something less than aplomb, creaked from heavy bowls of limp beans, soggy fried potatoes, and beaten-down squash, not to mention the main event, the oil-charred chicken with the mealy exterior (crust it never had a chance to be) tasting of paste and carbon.”

Hyperbole is also not a tool employed by the fine writer, but I’m completely comfortable declaring that I could die a happy woman if I ever produced a paragraph as sublime as the one that so artfully describes poor Francis.

Or this:

“When folks die, we fry. Fried chicken offers crunchy respite at the alcohol-free wakes of Red Bed Plains tradition, sitting up brown and strong in a wide sea of soft, spoonable dishes.  The strength of such ritual is enough to fortify an entire host of family and friends, a comfort amid the silent pining.  The sag on the funeral table is formidable, and one is tempted to trace fried chicken and all its trimmings back to the feasts of the early saints, their disciples and lesser followers clinging to hope at the end of a drumstick sticky with fried skin, the salt stabilizing the unsure earth, the pepper providing a speck of savory irony.”

The writer of this delicious prose is Mark A. Brown, former food writer for the Tulsa World and publisher of Argentfork, a subscription-only literary journal.

In this wired age when any yahoo who can type (or who can’t) can set up shop on the internet and declare herself a blogger, or a Domestic Dilettante, Mark Brown is producing an old-fashioned quarterly about food.  On paper. (Remember paper and type?)  And I love him for it.

Click here if you’d like to fork over $5 to subscribe.  Don’t be a schmuck.  The Dilettante also knows a dabbler when she sees one and there are too many of us out here.  Sign on with the real thing.

Truth-in-advertising Disclaimer: I do not know Mark Brown and I have no incentive for recommending him other than the satisfaction of knowing a few more people are being exposed to top-notch writing.  I do, however, know three people who KNOW Mark Brown and they say he’s a cool guy.  And one of those three people gave me a gift subscription to Argentfork. And another of those three people gave me the back issue on fried chicken. I’m a lucky gal, indeed.



Too cool for school.

In case you didn’t know, the Domestic Dilettante’s love for all things beautiful extends from home decor to fashion.  My secret fantasy is to be Carrie Bradshaw.  Not that I want to sleep around, mind you. But I would dig wearing super-cute outfits in a size two around the streets of Manhattan.  I know it’s not real, but a girl’s gotta dream.

Alas, I am too old (read: 48) and too tall (read: 6′ 2″ in heels) and too big (read: not a size two) to go all Vogue on you.

But my daughter?  She totally pulls it off.

Check out today’s ensemble: (Say it like the French, please: ahn-SAHM-bluh)

A look I love but tragically can't pull off. Although, that IS my necklace.

I know. It’s not a great photo. I was naked and just about to step into the shower when she came into the bathroom to ask me a question.  I was so charmed by her ensemble that I grabbed a towel and my iPhone (because naked mothers snapping photos at 6:00 am . . . ewwwww!)

But I digress. Floral blouse, sequined tee, and Chanel-style jacket over jeans?  She was very Boho chic if you ask me.  And ask me, please, because I know me some fashion when I see it.

I just can’t wear it.


Lemony risotto with shrimp. And chardonnay.

Tonight’s supper was a one-dish wonder . . . full of spring’s brightest colors (lemons and asparagus) and topped with buttery shrimp.  My family ate it up in a snap and asked why there’s never anything that good on the menus of the restaurants they frequent.

There’s nothing that warms the heart of a Domestic Dilettante more than hearing her children wonder about the state of the world’s culinary  achievement.  “Yes, my sweet ones,” she murmured, “your mother feeds you right.” Or maybe she thought it, in between sips of wine.

A fine Chardonnay is a must for this dish.  The cook must pop the cork and pour a generous glass before preparation begins.  How else is one to summon the patience for risotto?  All that stirring is much more pleasant in between sips.

A glass of wine and a bouquet of flowers are lovely additions to supper.

And a few splashes in the pot are de rigueur.

Lemony Risotto with Shrimp

5 cups chicken broth, heated to a low simmer

1 pound peeled uncooked shrimp

1 bunch asparagus

1/ 2 cup minced onion

6 TBLS butter, divided

1 TBLS olive oil

1 1/4 cup Arborio rice

2/3 cup dry white wine, divided

1 TBLS lemon zest

2 TBLS lemon juice

3/4 cup grated cheese, Parmesan and Asiago mixed in equal proportions

2 TBLS chopped parsley

1/4 cup heavy cream

1/4 tsp salt

Cracked pepper to taste

Shrimp preparation: Melt 2 TBLS butter with olive oil in a large skillet over medium heat until foamy.   Saute shrimp, adding 1/3 cup wine after shrimp begins to turn pink.  Continue to toss shrimp until fully cooked, then toss with lemon juice.  Cover and keep warm.

Risotto preparation: Bring chicken broth to a low boil in a medium saucepan.  Cut asparagus stalks in half and add to pot.  Cook until barely tender, about four minutes.  Remove asparagus from pot and plunge into an ice bath to stop cooking. Keep broth simmering, transfer asparagus to a platter and drain.  Chop into one-inch pieces and set aside.

Heat 2 TBLS butter in a large saucepan until foamy.  Add minced onion and saute until tender, 3-4 minutes.  Add rice to pot and stir until well-toasted, about 2-3 minutes. Add salt and 1/3 cup wine and stir until wine is absorbed, about a minute.

Begin adding broth, one-half cup at a time, and stir constantly until all liquid is absorbed.  This will take quite some time and requires a glass of wine patience.  After successive additions of broth, you will begin to see the rice plump up and turn whiter.  You can taste it after each addition of broth if you like in order to become familiar with its “bite.” After a minimum of 20 minutes and several additions of broth, your risotto will be ready.  I like mine very soft, with little noticeable bite, but I know many people like it al dente.  Stop adding broth whenever you find its consistency to your liking.

Add 2 TBLS butter, lemon zest, chopped asparagus, parsley, cheese and cream.  Stir well. Spoon into a bowl or on a plate and top with several shrimp and cracked pepper.

Serves 4.

A perfect spring supper.

Because you can never get too close to risotto.

For those of you who know the Magpie for her tablescapes, you’ll forgive me for today’s omission.  I built a blog this afternoon and had little time for setting the table.  There’s some wine left if that will make you feel better.


Welcome to Domestic Dilettante

For those of you looking for the Magpie, I’m here . . . albeit in a slightly different form.

Beyond the technicalities (I’m trying to learn WordPress; I’ve got a new blog name; yada, yada, yada), I’m still haunting the blogosphere, still cooking, still obsessed with beautiful tablescapes.

This blog may settle into a new home for the ever-chatty Magpie, or it may serve as a transition to yet another incarnation.

For now, welcome.  Pull up your chair and pour a glass of wine. A lovely meal is soon on your way.

The Magpie

The Magpie wants her cake and eats it too.