so, we’re on vacation. and it’s pretty freaking awesome. I am very brown & very relaxed & very pleased to offer you today’s guest post from my friend Lauren, who is beautiful and talented and funny and with whom I went to school for twelve years (she was a fellow Christmas pageant Mary).
I know that you’ll appreciate her sense of aesthetics and clever voice as much as I do. you can find her regularly on her blog, Gathering Moss.
Given that many of my cohorts are getting engaged and planning weddings, I asked Lauren to offer her advice on the kitchen-related part of The Infamous Wedding Registry—an arena in which I have zero expertise!
hi hello, Lauren here. thanks for having me, Blue Jean Gourmet! it’s fairly hilarious that Nishta asked me to guest post, because I’m not that much of a cook. the cooking at chez stone is generally relegated to my husband, affectionately known in blogland as “captain fantastic.” because he is. except not at cleaning up after cooking. but that’s a-whole-nother blog post. I do make a mean vegetarian lasagna (thanks to my dad, who is also one of those fantastic cooking husbands) and a pretty sweet baked gouda (thanks to my mom, queen of the hors d’ oeuvres), so I suppose I qualify as a Blue Jean Gourmet. maybe more like a Tattered Overall Gourmet, but whatev.
something that I am better at than cooking is shopping. that’s really why I’m here. c-fan and I were married last June, so without (much) further ado, my wedding registry suggestions for foodies, wanna-be foodies and all to-be-weds who want a well-stocked kitchen:
I would be remiss to not mention that ubiquitous wedding registry staple, the Kitchen Aid mixer. it comes in a gajillion delicious colors to match any decor, makes many types of food prep gloriously easy, and, if you have generous wedding guests, can be yours for free (well, ok minus the cost of the wedding…). even the non-cooking-inclined may find themselves regularly making brownies from scratch in the middle of the night with this beauty. I speak from experience. highly recommended.
another helpful appliance is the food processor. but beware – all I wanted in life (after my kitchenaid mixer, of course) was a shiny new food processor. which I may or may not have mentioned several dozen times. and I ended up being gifted four. 3 cup, 4 cup, 7 cup, 12 cup…one in every size. The size you’ll actually want depends on how you’ll be using it; for a couple or small family, 4 cups is probably good. If you regularly host large dinner parties or plan on joining the Quiverfull movement, 12 cups may be the way to go.
dishes. you’ll need those. here in the south, we register for both “everyday” dishes and fine china; sometimes even Christmas china, y’all. the patterns you register for are a personal choice – we decided to go with a neutral everyday set, which we can accent with festive linens and accessories. for fine china, we chose a pattern that’s the modern incarnation of my mother’s pattern, because we’ll be inheriting her silver and love sappy stuff with meaning like that (isn’t it sweet how I said “we,” like captain fantastic gave a hoot about dishes?)
the number of dishes you request is also a matter of your lifestyle – if you live in an apartment in the city and rarely eat at home, you may only want 6 or 8 place settings, whereas big entertainers and family types will want 12. if you get extra plates (which can happen if you register for the same item at multiple stores), go ahead and keep them; things break.
other registry staples that you’ll be sure to use often:
a nice set of knives (Blue Jean Gourmet would like to suggest Wusthof as a go-to brand)
a pattern of stainless place settings for everyday use; a pattern of silver if you’re feeling fancy (we registered for a few extra place settings of the family silver that will be passed down to us)
upgrade your pot and pan collection (hard to go wrong with Calphalon)
fill out your assortment of cooking and serving utensils by registering for that slotted spoon/silicone spatula/tongs/pizza cutter/other implement you’re always wishing you had but never remembering to procure.
get some fancy wine glasses. Riedel are a perennial favorite. it’s a good idea to get both red and white wine glasses. if you’re always swilling martinis or sipping champagne, you may want to register for a set of specialty glasses. again, the number you request will depend on the number of people you anticipate needing to serve.
some general registry advice and etiquette:
your registry information does not belong on your wedding invitation; it can spread by word of mouth (traditionally through your mom), on shower invitations and/or on a wedding website if you have one.
it’s advisable to register with at least one national big box store with an online component, like Macy’s, Williams Sonoma or Target; this way, out of town guests can easily choose a gift and have it shipped straight to you.
remember to choose a variety of gifts in a wide price range so that all of your guests will be able to give a gift that’s comfortable for them.
any veteran married folk out there who’d like to share a particular registry item that’s gotten lots of use? anyone in the registry process right now and have a specific question? comment away!
Lauren Stone is an undercover decorator with a day job in communications (much like Clark Kent, but with a more stylish wardrobe). She never met a topiary she didn’t like. or a piece of chocolate. lauren got into blogging while planning her june 2009 wedding, when she realized that there was a whole community of people out there who would rather be DIYing. Born and raised in Memphis, Tennessee, she currently resides there with new hubby, Captain Fantastic, and their giant mutthounds, Marley and Sterling. team stone is on a tireless crusade to turn their little house into a home, one ridiculous project at a time.
Last year, I was asked to be in charge of desserts for a renegade Seder. Such is the path by which I discovered Matzo Toffee, which is what baby matzo hopes it will grow up to be someday and what you, once you make it, will be unable to stop eating. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.
You don’t have to be Jewish to appreciate the combination of all good flavors—the richness of bittersweet chocolate, the butteriness of toffee, the earthy snap of almonds, the crunch of matzo, & the edge and texture of quality sea salt—but if you are Jewish and observing Passover next week*, it might be exciting to discover that matzo can actually be delicious.
What is a renegade Seder, you might ask? Well, consider that our hostess was a Jewess whose Twitter bio claims she is a “kosher pork authority.” Her sweetheart is a Muslim and for Halloween, they dressed up as the Israeli-Palestinian conflict (she taped settlements to his shirt as the night wore on). For the reading of the Haggadah, we had gift bags full of “plagues” represented by various craft-store-acquisitions, including red foam cut-out boils. There were Red Sea cocktails with drowned Egyptian ninja figurines. (Please note: we love Egyptians. We do not wish them any violence. We were just going along with the Bible story).
And I, the Hindu, was unable to eat the desserts I had made for the Seder because I had given up desserts for Lent. Heh. But the toffee went over so well with the rest of the evening’s guests that they convinced me to save a bag for Easter Sunday, upon which occasion I promptly devoured what was left.
Before we dash off on vacation, I’ll be making up a batch of this good stuff in solidarity with my Jewish friends and students. Now that I’m back from the 8th grade Washington, D.C. trip—a whirlwind, exhausting and unbelievably fun four days—I’m relishing the spring break life but already kinda miss my students. Just don’t tell them that!
*To make this recipe kosher-for-Passover, ensure that all the ingredients are certified kosher-for-Passover and that the kitchen you’re cooking in and utensils you’re cooking with are as well. Since this recipe contains a large amount of butter, serve it with a meatless meal or make it with kosher margarine. You may need to omit the vanilla.
Adapted slightly from David Lebovitz
You can also make this recipe with Saltines or another plain cracker, omitting the sea salt. You might want to double the recipe, while you’re at it—it’s incredibly simple to make and very, very satisfying.
6 sheets unsalted matzo
1 cup unsalted butter, cut into pieces
1 cup packed light brown sugar 1
½ cup bittersweet or semisweet chocolate, chopped or in chips
½ tsp. vanilla extract
a pinch of salt
1 cup almonds or another nut, toasted & chopped
a few generous sprinklings of coarse sea salt
pan: Baking sheet(s) lined very well with foil, then top the foil with parchment paper. Yes, this is necessary. Toffee is messy business, you know. Delicious, but messy.
Place the matzo along the bottom of the baking pan, breaking it up to cover the whole bottom.
In a big, thick saucepan, melt the butter and brown sugar together over medium heat. Bring up to a boil, stirring regularly, for about three minutes, as the mixture thickens. Remove from heat and stir in the salt & vanilla. Pour over the matzo, distributing the caramel mixture evenly and quickly.
Move the baking sheet(s) to the oven and bake for 12-15 minutes, watching to make sure that the caramel doesn’t burn. (If it begins to get too dark, remove from the oven & turn down the heat to 325˚.) Once everything is nice and golden brown, remove from the oven and immediately sprinkle the matzo with the chocolate. Wait a few minutes, then smooth out the now-melted chocolate with a spatula. See how you just made the recipe work for you? Love that.
As the chocolate is cooling, sprinkle with the toppings of your choice—in my case, some almonds & good sea salt. Let the matzo toffee cool completely before breaking into pieces and devouring it. If there’s any leftover, it will keep in an airtight container for up to a week.
Forgive me in advance for my discombobulation. Is “discombobulation” really a word? No, it’s not. But I’m an English teacher and so I think my made-up words should count.
Tomorrow morning I leave to chaperon the eighth grade trip to Washington, D.C. We’ll be packing in some l-o-n-g days of sight-seeing and I just don’t know that any blogging is going to happen while I’m gone. I bet I’ll have some excellent stories to share when I get back, though; I’m fairly certain this trip is going to be exhausting, educational, and highly entertaining.
After D.C. comes Passover break! (Some of you may recall that I work for a Jewish school). And, what do you know, Jill and I are actually GOING ON VACATION. To a resort. On a beach. Just the two of us. Where they make drinks with little umbrellas in them. Aside from road trips to see my mom or her parents, Jill and I haven’t taken a non-work related trip since I graduated from college. Which was five years ago in May. So, it’s time.
Fret not, though, while I’m lounging on some sunny beach and finally reading The Girl with a Dragon Tattoo, two excellent guest bloggers will be taking care of things around here. And once April rolls around, we’ll be back to our regularly scheduled programming.
In the interim, I present you with some lentil soup. Should you be experiencing the “cold snap” (feels more like the weather BROKE if you ask me, since it was sunny & 70 degrees yesterday, now blustery & 41, what gives?) that we are, or should you live somewhere that’s just straight-up cold, give this soup a try. It’s very hearty but actually healthy at the same time, doesn’t take too long to throw together but gets better as it sits in the fridge for a few days. Should you prefer a vegetarian version, Jess from Sweet Amandine read my mind and posted one.
GREEN LENTIL SOUP
1 ¼ lb. sausage*
2 small yellow onions, diced
3 carrots, peeled & diced into small chunks
3 ribs celery, diced into small chunks
2-3 gloves garlic, minced
3 cups green (French) lentils, picked over & rinsed
6 cups water or chicken/vegetable stock (I used ½ & ½)
1 28-oz. can diced tomatoes (I like fire-roasted)
2 bay leaves
1 cinnamon stick
½ tsp dried thyme
splash of red or white wine vinegar
salt & pepper to taste
Slice the sausage into thick rounds and brown it at the bottom of a stockpot or Dutch oven. There’s no need to cook it all the way through, just get good color on both sides, then remove it from the pot and set aside.
My sausage wasn’t very fatty, so I added a little olive oil before tossing in the onions. You might not need any extra fat, or may even want to remove some of the sausage grease—it’s up to you. Either way, get the onions going, and once they become translucent, toss in the garlic, carrots, & celery.
When the vegetables have lost a bit of their “tooth,” throw in the lentils, liquid, tomatoes, & aromatics (bay leaf, cinnamon, thyme, & about a tablespoon of salt). Cover the pot and let everything cook until the lentils have reached your preferred softness, about 30-45 minutes. You may need to add additional water or stock as you go.
At the end, stir in the vinegar and generous grinds of pepper, along with extra salt to taste. Serve up in big bowls with a hunk of crusty bread or wholegrain crackers.
*I used a garlic sausage that we get from our meat share, but I think a mild Italian would work well here, too.
I have a sweet tooth. A serious, serious sweet tooth.
As a kid, my mom managed the sugary contents of our house with an iron fist; that is to say there weren’t really any sugary contents in our house. Well, there was sugar, and I am ashamed to admit that more than once I snuck spoonfuls of the powdered sugar from the baking pantry and grabbed furtive handfuls of the Cinnamon Red Hots my mom kept as a secret ingredient for her holiday-time hot punch.
The first time I spent the night at a friend’s house, I opened her freezer to discover pints and pints of ice cream. Just SITTING there. Available for eating…whenever she wanted. Staggering.
To be fair, my mom had good reasons to be strict about sugar. My father developed typed-II diabetes when I was a little kid, and she was determined not to let genetics win with me. But the truth is, much like a teetotaler’s kid, I went a little bit nuts with sugar when I achieved the freedom of adulthood. My freshman 15 had nothing to do with beer and everything to do with Chef Roger, who took over my residential college’s kitchen and had a real way with pastry.
Those who know me know the affairs I’ve had with various kinds of ridiculous sugar products: Smarties, Bottlecaps, Laffy Taffy (but only the grape & strawberry flavors). Chocolate isn’t safe around me, either. I could SO have been one of those Willy Wonka kids.
In the last few years, though, I’ve worked to consciously change my tastes. No more movie-theater-sized boxes of candy or cartons of Ben & Jerry’s for me. Smaller spoonfuls of sugar in my tea, sometimes no sugar at all. It’s amazing how I’ve been able to retrain my palate to the point where I can appreciate desserts and flavors I would have previously overlooked.
As a kid, kheer never appealed to me—not nearly sweet enough, of course. But now, I love the subtlety of the cardamom and rosewater, tinged with just a bit of sweetness and finished with the salty texture from the nuts.
So I’m proud to say that my tastes have become a bit more sophisticated, though I have been known to buy a small bag Laffy Taffy at Walgreen’s every now and then…just don’t tell my mom!
KHEER (Indian Rice Pudding)
Kheer isn’t particularly difficult to make, but it does require patience. Cook it slowly on the stove whenever you’re already planning to be in the kitchen for a while.
The best part? Kheer keeps extremely well—in fact, you may even find that it tastes better after a few days in the fridge.
4 cups milk*
½ cup basmati rice–use the good stuff!
½ cup chopped almonds and/or pistachios, toasted
¼ cup sweetened condensed milk
2 T ground cardamom (I love this flavor, but if you don’t, cut the amount in half)
Rinse the rice twice while heating the milk over medium-low heat in a heavy-bottomed pot. Drain & add the rice to the milk, stirring to combine with a wooden spoon.
The main object while cooking kheer is to keep the milk from scorching at the bottom of the pan. You don’t have to stir constantly, just regularly, and err on the side of caution when it comes to managing the heat on the stove.
As it cooks, the kheer will thicken. If you prefer a thinner pudding, feel free to add extra milk.
When you’ve reached the twenty minute mark, check the rice for doneness. Once it has been cooked through, remove the pot from the heat. Stir in the cardamom, then swirl in the sweetened condensed milk, then check for sweetness—you may want to add a bit more.
Serve the kheer hot, warm, or cool. Sprinkle each bowl-full with a handful of nuts and a teaspoon or so of rosewater.
*please use 2% or whole milk, it makes for far superior kheer.
I’m in Chicago for the weekend. It’s cold here, but not too cold, grey and foggy instead of sunny, and I’m here because my friend Katie texted me a few months ago and said “bitch, when are you coming to visit me?” Yes, I believe those were her exact words.
Katie and I first met as high schoolers at a school program called Close Up in Washington, D.C. She was there from Michigan, me from Tennessee. We started talking the first night in the lobby of the hotel where our groups were staying, and she wound up loaning me her giant CD collection and trying to explain that strange Yankee card game, Euchre. The next day, we sat next to each other on the bus, and by the end of the five-day trip, she handed me a postcard with the Jefferson Memorial (her favorite) on the front and a note that included “I love you” on the back.
We are really such unlikely friends; I was the geekiest sixteen-year-old known to man, she was loud, sarcastic, a partier, the center of social attention. For the longest time I was convinced that she was actually too cool to be friends with me and eventually she would figure that out and ditch our long-distance correspondence. But the thing about Katie is that there are so many layers to her brash persona: fierce loyalty to family and friends, voracious reading habits, impatience for all things superficial, and her boundless generosity.
I like to think that I was able to see those things back then, when others couldn’t, or didn’t, and that she saw me—the, as it turns out, a little brash and mouthy and daring myself—underneath the suiting of a hopelessly self-conscious and sheltered sophomore. Katie wasted no time drawing me out of my shell. She’s my delightfully corrupting influence. When Katie’s mom heard that I was coming to visit this weekend, she told her daughter, “Could you please not dye or tattoo or pierce anything this time around?”
This week marks our eleven-year friend-versary—in that time, we’ve probably spent less than two months in the other’s actual physical company. But space and time don’t seem to matter for us; no matter how long it’s been, we always just pick right up where we left off.
HOMEMADE GRANOLA BARS
If historical trends are any indication, I’ll need to compensate for questionably healthy eating choices after spending a weekend with Katie. Oh, yep, in fact, she’s banging around the kitchen right now, making pancakes. Granola bars + serious gym time are going to be in order.
The folks at Superior Nuts were kind enough to send me some of their beautifully packaged sliced almonds and jumbo apricots, so I used them, but you could substitute any kind of nut or dried fruit. I’m convinced that adding flavorings like cinnamon and nutmeg go a long way to putting these granola bars in a different stratosphere than the cardboard-replica-versions you so often find.
2 cups old-fashioned oats
1 cup sliced almonds
1 cup shredded, unsweetened coconut*
¼ cup golden flax meal
¼ cup wheat germ
*If you use sweetened, omit the brown sugar below.
Stir all ingredients together in a large bowl. Spread out on two foil-lined baking sheets. Toast for 10-15 minutes, stirring at least once, until the mixture has been lightly browned.
Return to the bowl and stir in:
1 cup dried fruit, chopped
½ tsp. cinnamon
½ tsp. nutmeg
pinch of salt
For the wet ingredients, whisk the following together in a small saucepan over low heat:
½ cup honey
3 T butter
3 T brown sugar (optional)
1 tsp. vanilla
Pour the mixture into the bowl and stir to combine. Be sure that all of the dry ingredients are well coated. For thicker granola bars, use a square pan. Thinner, a rectangle. Line your pan of choice with parchment paper.
Drop the oven temperature down to 325˚.
Press the granola mixture into the pan, using your fingers to get an even layer and pressing down hard. Use the back of a metal bowl or small water glass to smooth out the top.
Bake the bars for 10 minutes, just to help them harden. Cool thoroughly (at least two hours) before lifting the parchment-lined bars out of the pan. Cut into desired size using a sawing motion with a sharp serrated knife. Store in an airtight container for up to a week.
You, like Jill, may be one of those people who is mystified by my love for this:
Yes, that’s right, I am a Von Trapper, a girl who counts Christopher Plummer among her first crushes, who knows every word to every song and squeals unabashedly when the camera first opens onto the Viennese countryside.
I can’t rightly say how many times I have seen “The Sound of Music,” but I do know that every time I go back to it, I discover something new. Like the first time I was old enough to understand that my beloved Captain Von Trapp wasn’t just a handsome military widower who could sing and dance BUT ALSO a radical who resisted the Anschluss and stood behind his political convictions.
Or the first time I realized I had outgrown any affection for the cheesy gazebo scene (“sixteen going on seventeen”) between Liesl and Rolf in favor of the cheesy gazebo scene (“must have done something good”) between Maria and the Captain. Or this most recent encounter, in which I decided that there was maybe something to this “favorite things” business after all.
Cream colored ponies and crisp apple strudels
Doorbells and sleigh bells and schnitzel with noodles
Wild geese that fly with the moon on their wings
These are a few of my favorite things
Or my version:
Babies with Afros and top-shelf margaritas
Rothko and Rilke and freshly-made pitas
Baristas who flirt with a glint in their eyes
These are the things that help me get by
So I’m not meant to be a songwriter–the sentiment still holds. Perhaps it’s ridiculous, but I think that conjuring up the memory or thought of things you like best can actually be rather useful. Or you can actually conjure up some cinnamon rolls in real life.
Cinnamon rolls from scratch do not a quick breakfast make. Patience, grasshopper. They are SO worth it.
For the dough:
1 package yeast
¼ cup warmer-than-your-finger water
Pour the water into a large bowl, then sprinkle the yeast on top with a pinch of sugar. Let it stand for a few minutes—if it doesn’t foam, try, try again.
Now you’ll need these things:
¼ cup whole milk
2 T butter
Microwave them together for 30 seconds or until the butter is melting and it’s all warm (but not hot). Toss the warm dairy into the bowl with the yeast, then add the following:
3 ½-4 cups all-purpose flour, added 1 cup at a time
¼ cup sugar
½ tsp. salt
I like to hand-mix but you can use a dough hook. Knead until springy but still soft (you may not use all of the flour). Don’t over-knead; you want a dough that’s loosely hanging together.
Butter the bowl you were just using & let the dough rise there for at least 1 hour, or until doubled in size (may take 1 ½ hours).
For the filling:
1 cup butter, completely softened
1 cup packed brown sugar
1 cup chopped pecans
1 ½ T cinnamon
Whip all of the filling ingredients together with a fork or spoon until fluffy. Roll the dough out into a large rectangle about ¼-inch thick. Spread the filling gently atop the dough, going out to the edges on all but one of the long sides. Leave a ½-inch border along that final edge so you have something to seal the roll with.
Roll the dough up into a log, starting with the edge opposite the border. When you get to the border, wet the dough a bit, then pull it up and over the log and press down to seal.
Line a jellyroll or spring form pan with parchment (cleanup is a nightmare if you skip this step, trust me). Using a serrated knife, cut the dough log into inch-thick rolls, placing them swirl side up in the pan. Don’t space them too closely together, as they will expand. Cover the pan with a damp towel and let the dough puff up again, about 30-45 minutes.
Preheat the oven to 325˚. Bake the cinnamon rolls for 20-25 minutes or until golden brown.
While they’re baking, whip up a simple icing: a whole lot of powdered sugar thinned with a little bit of liquid. You can use just plain milk or milk + some kind of flavoring (orange juice, vanilla, almond extract, etc.)
Once the rolls have cooled slightly, drizzle them generously with the icing.
This weekend I watched my best friend eulogize his sister. I watched his sister’s widower, who is thirty-one, eulogize his wife, telling the sweet story of how they met as undergraduates at Rice, their first date an Old 97s concert, their sixth anniversary just a few months ago, just a week or so before she died in the midst of an earthquake in Haiti.
The same week that Dave flew home to begin the long vigil of waiting for news of his sister, my dear friend Wayne sat in an ICU waiting room night after night, keeping company and logging time as his mother recovered from emergency brain surgery to remove a cancerous mass.
Today I spoke to Wayne on the phone—his mother is doing well, feeling strong and working her way through chemo and radiation—but Wayne’s fiancée Elizabeth, if you can believe it, has been diagnosed with a brain tumor of her own. It woke them both up a few nights ago, Elizabeth gripped by a seizure, her body revealing its secret.
Understanding isn’t welcome here, friends. Answers, even if we had them, would do no good. The rain falls on the just and unjust alike, moral indignance to the contrary be damned. If anything, what we can cling to is our insistence on aliveness, the instantaneous dose of perspective such news brings, like my realization that most of what’s on my to-do list is useless; my list of complaints and grudges, bullshit. I know it shouldn’t take catastrophe to get me to pause, to “what the hell” and toss out my agenda in favor of face-to-face time with the people I love, but all too often, it does.
I sat across from Dave tonight, espresso cups balanced on a rickety table between us, as we have done so many times before in our decade of friendship. Of course, everything has changed now, inextricably and irreparably and inexplicably. I make mix CDs and I hug him tight and try not to say anything idiotic, hope furiously that loving someone as much as I love him counts for something in this long-run weigh-in with grief.
Something about this dish screams “carpe diem” to me, perhaps because it’s so decadent without being fussy, comforting and dead satisfying. It’s the kind of thing you make when you’ve abandoned any healthy pretenses and instead decide to serve up a bowl of something unguent, tangled mess of joie de vivre.
Disclaimer: this is not a strictly authentic version of carbonara, and I know that. It is, however, a much less cluttered version than many you’ll find out there. To strip down further, omit the parsley and use guanciale instead of panchetta, splurge on fresh pasta.
1 lb. linguini or spaghetti
¼ lb. pancetta, roughly chopped
3 cloves garlic, crushed & minced with a little salt
¾ cup Parmesan or Pecorino Romano
¼ cup dry white wine
½ tsp. red pepper flakes
optional garnish: chopped flat-leaf parsley
First things first—get the pasta going. Cook it as you normally would, but be sure to save about a ¼ cup of the cooking liquid when draining the noodles.
In the meantime, heat a little olive oil over high heat, then add the chopped pancetta and cook until it begins to brown. When it does, turn down the heat to medium and add the garlic. After about 5 minutes, your kitchen should be nice and fragrant. Pour in the wine and let it cook down, another 5 minutes.
Sprinkle the red pepper flakes atop the garlic-panchetta brew. In a separate bowl, crack and gently beat the eggs. Add in the pasta water and beat further—this is to temper the eggs and keep them from scrambling when you add them to the hot pan, which you are about to do.
Bring everything together: remove the pan from heat, then add the drained pasta. Pour the egg mixture over everything, tossing rapidly to coat. Sprinkle on your cheese and grind in a generous helping of pepper, then mix again.
Serve hot, with parsley and a little extra cheese as garnish, if you wish.