Serious Eats - seriouseats.com

My family is alsways asking me for my apple dessert.
ECM's Perfect Baked Apple Dessert: (serves 2)
Preheat oven to 350 degrees
2 Granny Smith Apples, peeled, cored and cut into big chunks
juice of 1/2 a lemon
1 1/2 teaspoons flour
1/3 cup of brown sugar
salt, cinnamon and freshly ground nutmeg to taste
2 tablespoons of butter
Mix everything, except the butter, together in a bowl. When thoroughly mixed, divide and place into two ramekins. *My ramekins are 2 1/2 inches deep by 4 inches wide. Place a tablespoon of butter on the top of each apple filling.
For the topping:
1/3 cup of flour
1/3 cup of brown sugar
in-between 1/4 to 1/3 cup of room temp butter
Place all flour, sugar and butter into a bowl. Blend with a fork until the butter is in little pea size bits. Divide and place topping on the apple filling, pushing the topping down onto the filling. Bake for 30 minutes on the center rack at 350 degrees.
http://www.evilchefmom.blogspot.com

Taco Chicken
No breadcrumbs, no eggs, and they want a breaded and baked chicken for dinner?

Chicken breasts(1/2 per person)
Doritos
Mayo

Salsa(must top with)
Diced red onions
Diced white onions
scallions
fresh tomatoes
garlic
salt
pepper
extra virgin olive oil (sorry can't stand EVOO.......OOOOOO)
balsamic

Chop and mix salsa

Coat chicken with mayo,roll in doritos,let sit for 1hr or so.
Sautee in olive oil till golden. Place in baking dish and bake @350 for 45min.
Upon service top with salsa and sour cream.
I serve with a combo of basmati rice and black beans.

Kids LOVE this

My asparagus that includes parmesan and hazelnuts- no I will not share the recipe because then I would be useless and also, my honey mustard roast chicken. That one is simple, but I don't really write recipes down. I just add rosemary and thyme to room temperature butter. I push it under the skin of the breast meet. I rub the bird with olive oil and then sprinkle it with a bit of salt and pepper. In the cavity I put a head of garlic, a lemon and whatever fresh herbs I have laying around- usually Italian flat leaf parsely. I roast the chicken at 350 degrees and when it's nearly done, I brush on a mixture of dijon mustard, honey and lemon juice. You can't put the honey mustard glaze on early, it'll totally burn the skin of your bird because of the sugars in the glaze. That's it, my simple secret to honey mustard roast chicken!

Lex stop that stop it now (smacks)

I am famous for my baking, which I do every holiday and party and sometimes when I get stressed out.
People hollar for the Nick Malgieri Coconut cake which I fill with lemon curd.

That would be bread; brioche, challah or French. Or pastries and desserts like cheesecake, bread pudding, crostatas, tarts, ice cream. Guests know there will be dessert here because that is my opportunity to show-off bake. The SO eats sweets very rarely and that really sucks for me. It's probably a splendid idea to not have the goodies in the house though.

Cheesecake and pretty much anything Italian. I'm also known for being able to whip together something a la minute to feed a crowd. (Love that rep most of all!)

It's a good question: "What are you famous for?" for whereas in times past people (usually women) were famous for a certain dish they might make differently or better than those around them, today with the vast amount of cookbooks and knowledge available (and with people moving around the world bringing new recipes and ways of doing things with them) it might depend more often on context than on simple excellence. In other words, with the advent of the time of foodies along with the information age, the bar has been raised in general.

I've been famous for different things at different times in different places.

I have a folder with personal letters in it from congressmen and senators with thanks and compliments for the chocolate chip cookies which used to be a standard inclusion in every meal we served when I was an executive chef. That fame had a lot to do with context.

I've been famous within one family group for being the only daughter (in-law) who knows how to make the matriarch of that family's Easter Pie (which is like a calzone of sorts). Context again, due to me being the outsider than learned the recipe whereas the native daughters (and sons, but one does not initially think of them "just because" these recipes are the sorts of things that go mother-to-daughter historically) did not learn the recipe.

Another claim to fame due to context was made by cooking and serving an unusual delicacy when most others would say "Ohmigod don't serve that - it's too different!". Here's that story, of the goat, if anyone feels like reading a story -
..................................................
The Goat

There had never been a goat on the table before that night. Likely there had never been a goat in the building before that night. At some time in the distant unknown past a goat may have been on that street in lower Manhattan, before men arrived to erect the tall stone structures that mimicked a goat’s usual preferred environment of precipitous mountaintops here on the banks of the glittering East River, but by this time the squat granite merchant-banks had grown and flourished just as the rounded tummies had grown on the well-fed men laboring within them. The stone idols of buildings with their eyes of shiny glass had now rooted themselves with a steady tenacious perseverance into the island soil of Manhattan like
an odd form of kudzu. And there were no goats.

There were men, though. The men entered the room in packs of three or four. Their walks marked who they were. It was a stamp which proclaimed “King of the Wall Street Jungle” every bit as clearly as a lion’s mane and roar defined him as king of his own sort of jungle territory. They moved together in pompous measured rhythms, slightly stiffened legs marching almost solidly, slowly . . . but not quite – just a bit softer like the pads on the feet of the big cats they were - hitting the deep oriental carpets in a knowing grasp. The immaculately groomed hands were clasped together behind their backs, or, in the alternate acceptable choreography the arms were held firm, just bent ever-so-slightly close to the sides of the dense dark wool suits covering the flesh that was not goat, but man.

The table in the room gleamed with glistening stems of wine and water glasses. It glowed with heavy silver of all shapes to lift foods from the table into waiting mouths. It twinkled with a delicate lilt of fine glossy china plates, all of this embracing and held within the ivory linen napkins and placemats, the color as ivory as elephant tusk laid stark on the cherry wood table.

The men were drawn to the eyes of the stone idol when they entered the room. The windows looked down upon the grey river, the tiny yellow taxicabs and the moving crowds of people who resembled nothing more than dressed-up insects seeking sustenance. The men were becoming hungry. They bounced on the balls of their feet, murmuring in low voices, waiting for the moment when they would be beckoned to the table.

That moment came when a small round man with a head like the butt of a gun walked into the room, darting his eyes here and there while walking briskly to the table where he threw down his handful of disheveled papers into a sprawling pile. His pride of men gathered round and sat, each in his anointed place.

There was the barest moment of hesitation when the door opened with a rustling noise and what sounded like hushed giggles in the background. The trolley rolled in, the waiter’s head turned downward towards the brass and silver platter as it trundled towards the spacious round table. Behind him walked the chef with a solemn smile. The goat had arrived.

The men turned slowly to look at the goat. The one who had asked that the goat be roasted looked pleased. He was thin, intense, and rarely hungry – but he was hungry for goat. Each of the others looked down at their hands, at the linen napkins, at the water shimmering in the glassware set before them. Their leader, bullet-head, spoke.

“Cottage cheese” he barked. “Now. For everyone.”

There had never been a goat on the table before that night, as the chef and waiter lifted the heavy silver tray onto the table. And as the roasted goat sat proudly on the table wearing its watercress necklace it watched the men from silenced eyes and well knew that likely, it would be the last.
...............................................................................

In this moment of time I am famous with my children for making MommyKabuki - which is when I pretend I am a Japanese Steak House chef - the context again is the surprise.

And I am working on becoming famous with my ex-spouses' new (what my kids call the replacement) family by sending along the sausage bread the ex's mother used to make at all holidays to their gatherings each holiday, carried by my daughter who adores it and who wants to eat it and who also can not stand the cooking of anyone in the new family (well . . . the food is rather dreadful I hear) where it sits among the dried-out ham and chunky mac and cheese emitting a wonderful aroma, and where nobody - except of course my children - will touch it.

Mwah ha ha ha ha ha!

Fame - so often due to context, aside from excellence. :)

My food! And.......like chiff, and I'd expect most of us.........being able to pull something fabulous together at the last moment with no notice. I can't take all the credit though - my sister, mother and grandmother were all known for the same talent.

I always refer to a cookbook in the beginning, but always alter that, since I always like to try something slightly different, and over the years I have become known for a few of the renditions of foods that my family and friends really love. Actually, there are a couple of "uniquely" my own dishes (however unique a recipe can truly be these days):

Chocolate Chip cookies
Honey orange bread
Pearson's Nut Goodie bundt cake (mine)
Mocha treasure cookies (mine)
Chicken dinner bars
Spinach and chick pea dahl
Carrot and coriander soup

Now, I am getting hungry....

1. Really good food that makes everyone moan about how they ate too much.
2. Running behind schedule with a meal, especially if I'm socializing while I cook (I get distracted).
3. The rare but truly abysmal failure. Hubby says that I hardly ever mess up, but when I do, it's a complete f-up. He says it's because I always do everything right and all the way, and therefore my f-ups are no exception ;-)

My artichoke and mushroom lasagna. People always remember it. I posted the recipe here:

http://wardstreetbistro.typepad.com/wsb/2008/03/luxurious-aritc.html

I would love to share them! Wait for the string, and I will bring some in to type up for you (I haven't quite memorized them). I am happy to share! And if you alter them and people like them, let me know! Part of what I love is seeing how recipces change and evolve over time. :)

@Traveller, like CookiePie, I am very curious about your chicken dinner bars. What are they? I have never heard of a dinner bar, very interested!

my Challah and my Apple Pie.

Appetizers....I never like to serve the same ones twice, so I'm always researching new appetizers & dips to tempt everyone with....now I've set a presidence for myself.

Karen,

You shoulda just made goatloaf.