Young & Hungry

Hey guess what – January’s over!  Time to focus on chocolate, fondue, and something delicious to make for that special someone so they’ll still be yours after Valentine’s Day.   What’s more romantic than a dinner in?  Let me rephrase, what’s more romantic than a dinner in when you’re used to dining out?  I might, for once, prefer not to slave the day away, but I’ve no doubt put in more than my fair share of kitchen duty.  So what to make for that special someone who will, for this one day at least, be your culinary inspiration?  Well, if you’re a lady cooking for your mister, you cannot go wrong with this pork roast.  It’s juicy and tender and doesn’t require constant attention so you can focus your first course elsewhere.    If you’re a mister cooking for your miss, perhaps this is a selfish choice of meat, but she’ll never question your machismo. 

Since I did first whip this up back in 2009 when I was stuffed from an indulgent December, I left the meal at meat and veggies.  You surely have recuperated by now and are ready for some starch.  Try a mashed parsnip or simple risotto.  The gym lines are finally clearing, so you should have more than enough time to give this roast the extra hours of TLC it deserves.  I promise you’ll be paid back one hundred kisses over. 

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I know they say that all good things take time, but hopefully there aren’t that many that take this much time!  Were the case that A – good things take time and B – time equals 6 hours, I think that one could most definitely also conclude that C – all good things do come to an end.  Because let’s face it, who has 6 hours to spend cooking on a regular basis… I, Socrates, hardly have one. 

 

That said, one weekend when time permits these are SO worth it.  Since they bake at a mere 200 degrees I think it’s perfectly acceptable to leave them on their own here and there, just don’t tell Mom.  I made these for a friend’s wedding shower and am now realizing that I first had them at another friend’s shower in DC.  The recipe itself, however, hones from my good friend from San Fran who was maid of honor for said bachelorette.  Confusing isn’t it?  Luckily, the distribution of my friends across the continental United States and sometimes Europe has resulted in a number of fabulous trips and reunions in new and always fabulous locals with even more fabulous food finds! 

 

Since you have a long 6 hours ahead of you I will stop carrying on and get to the recipe… 

 
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First of all, congratulations to the bride to be.  I am beyond elated for you and beyond grateful to you for providing me with an opportunity to FINALLY make these shrimp.  Giada made this recipe at least a year ago and it has been loitering around my recipe box ever since.  For those of you that know me, you know that once I get something in my head it is undoubtedly going to remain there haunting me and stressing me out until I finally concede.   This and timeliness (which is of course next to Godliness) are the only ways in which I am OCD, but they are surely enough to drive me and others to a supreme state of irritation.  If only I were infuriatingly clean as well…

 

I think I owe my obsession over this recipe to my larger goal of achieving the perfect polenta.  Some might disagree, insisting that such a thing does not exist.  Polenta is not the bland evil stepbrother of grits, the bastard child of an affair with a Italian import who, oozing with machismo and wooing unknowing women with their pretty accent and open conduct, swept Mrs. cornmeal away.  No.  When done right, I know in my heart that cornmeal can trump our precious Southern grits.  One day, hopefully while I still have the leftover cornmeal in my pantry, I will perfect the yellow stepchild and I will share the resulting recipe with all of you. 

 

Until then I want to share with you this recipe for polenta crusted shrimp.  I made them for my friend’s wedding shower and they were about as good as I spent the last year dreaming them to be.  Speaking of dreams, I had to endure my Mom cheering me on in a cupcake eating contest in attempt to fulfill her dream of grandbabies and marriage.  I was charged with finding the hidden wedding ring which, like the brides bouquet, would mean that I too would soon get married.  Ten cupcakes later and still sans ring I surrendered.  Perhaps my Italian prince is simply charming, but that doesn’t mean my polenta dreams can’t come true.  

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