You may have clicked on this link, thinking I was referring to Marilyn Monroe. I'm not. But don't go away--this is even better.

Because I'm talking about an even MORE glamorous, even MORE mysterious, knock-out gorgeous lady. That's right, folks: I'm talking about my grandmother, Marilyn Moskowitz.

Full disclosure: I am pretty sure my grandmother never actually made kreplach (Eastern European dumplings, boiled or fried, filled with either meat or cheese). Traditional kreplach are pretty work-intensive, as you must mix, roll and cut the dough, and make the filling from scratch. Grandma's kitchen style tended toward the less-is-more school of thought, when it came to prep. Once, when I was about twelve years old, I watched her cover a lasagna with pre-shredded cheese. I had never seen bagged, shredded cheese before.

"How come you don't grate it yourself?" I inquired.

"Because, sweetheart, I have better things to do with my time than grate cheese," she answered, pinching my cheek. I saw her point: spending time with me was definitely more fun than grating a block of mozzarella.

Though my approach tends to be the opposite of hers (I'd rather do more work and spend less money), I've had Grandma on my mind recently, so I decided to take the Marilyn approach to homemade kreplach: fresh, simple filling made from cooked chicken, onions, garlic, parsley, dill, salt and pepper stuffed into eggy dumpling wrappers, rather than the traditional fresh, eggy, time-consuming noodle dough. I floated them in simple, seasoned chicken broth with a bit of sliced, wilted kale, and nobody suspected the meal was made from anything less than scratch. 

Wasn't she beautiful? My grandfather was a looker too.

The recipe is easy. First, you mix up the filling:

Then put a little on a dumpling wrapper:

Dab some water on the edges, then fold one side in like so, making sure to seal tightly:

Seal all the edges so it looks like this:

 

Make a bunch:

Cook them in chicken broth with sliced kale:

Ladle it up:

 

 

When I don't need the whole thing, there is no better chicken part for my money than whole legs.

This is one of those glorious one-pan meals. I usually add a green salad or a cooked vegetable, but it's not necessary. Served with a cold beer or a glass of Chardonnay, this is one of my favorite ways to end the day--and it's just enough for 2 (or 2 nights worth of dinner for 1).

When I don't need the whole thing, there is no better chicken part for my money than whole legs. Comprised of both the thigh and the drumstick, these tender, deeply flavorful chicken pieces work well in nearly every way--on the grill, cooked in mole, or roasted. They also feature a slightly higher fat content than chicken breasts, and therefore are ideal for cooking along with a root vegetable, as I've done here, since the extra bit of fat coats and flavors the dense veggies. I've used garnet yams here, but regular potatoes, peeled, cubed butternut squash, beets, turnips, or a combination would work nicely as well.

And the best part: one pan means fewer dishes!

Note: This isn't a requirement, but it's one of my favorite tricks: as soon as I open the package of chicken, the first thing I do is trim the excess fat. I saute it along with onions, garlic, ginger, Chinese Five Spice, fish sauce, a dash of soy sauce, water and whatever vegetable scraps I have laying around to make broth for pho. Even if I'm not planning on eating the pho the same day, it's a great, flavorful broth to have on hand, and it takes only a couple of minutes to get started. I let it simmer for a couple of hours, usually while I prepare and serve the chicken, and then simply strain, cool and refrigerate or freeze in an airtight container until I'm ready to use it.

This classic spinach-artichoke dip gets an upgrade from sweet, slowly roasted garlic. 

Look, I'm not going to lie to you; I am not interested in football.

I cannot tell you how many times when, as a kid, my dad would call me into the living room where he was watching an instant replay of some "amazing" play in some supposedly "epic" game. He'd take a brief break from screaming at the television (because he, like many sportsfans, believes the players can hear him). He'd wave me over to the couch, point at the TV and we'd have the following conversation.

Dad: Watch this, Gab! This is beautiful.

Gabi: Um. I have a lot of homework to do.

Dad: Just for a minute.

Gabi: OK.

(I watch a guy on TV catch a ball.)

Dad: Wasn't that INCREDIBLE!? 

Gabi: Sure.

And that's how pretty much every conversation I have ever had about football goes. I don't begrudge football fans their fun--I just can't seem to get into it.

But this year, the Niners, of San Francisco, MY beautiful, amazing city, are going to the Superbowl. And, while I couldn't care less about the specifics of the actual game, I am stoked that SF is representing. As such, I figured I better do my part and make a kick-ass dip.

This classic spinach-artichoke dip gets an upgrade from sweet, slowly roasted garlic. Roasted garlic is great on its own--just try it spread over some grilled bread...yum--but when used in place of the usual minced cloves, it adds a subtle-but-definitely-there hint of deep, garlicky flavor. A whole head of garlic might seem like a lot, but when it's roasted, it mellows out quite a bit.

I like to serve this with tortilla chips. pita chips and sliced red bell peppers.

GO NINERS! (And spinach-artichoke dip!)

Some people meditate with river rocks or yoga or gongs. Some people throw Tarot cards or the I Ching. Some people chant. Good for them.

I, however, make dumplings.

I find it endlessly soothing--the mixing of the meat, the flouring of the rolling board, the folding of the tiny ruffles that seal my dumplings together, creating a perfect vacuum for cooking the tender pork mixture.

It may not qualify as Zen, but it's my own personal Nirvana. And it's not as hard as you might think.

First, you mix pork (or another ground meat) with flavorings...

...so it looks like this.

Next, get your wrappers ready on a floured surface, with a little bowl of water.

Put a little bit of filling in the center of a dumpling wrapper.

After dabbing water on the edges, fold it in half, like a taco.

Carefully fold little pleats on one side of the dumpling, sealing as you go.

The finished product should look like this.

Make a whole plate of 'em.

Then fry them in vegetable oil, so the bottoms get brown and crispy.

Pour in a little water and steam away.

The finished product is crispy on the bottom and juicy inside. I like them chili paste for an extra kick.

The richness of the eggs combined with the fragrance of good, grassy olive oil makes my mouth water every time.

For several months now, I have been baking challah every friday afternoon. This is, of course, in part because I have spent the better part of the last year falling in love with someone who observes Shabbat every Friday, but that's not the only reason.

Making fresh challah is both sensuous (the richness of the eggs combined with the fragrance of good, grassy olive oil makes my mouth water every time), and familiar (I've made it so many times now that I have the ingredient ratios memorized and can do it by feel). Kneading the soft dough (almost a hybrid of pastry and pizza dough) relieves tension and fills me with promise of the weekend ahead. 

The toppings and variations are infinite. Once, I topped my braided dough with finely-minced onions, poppy seeds and sea salt: 

 

And another time, I pressed fresh, halved figs into the soft dough before baking:

Feel free to get creative, and don't forget to make enough to have throughout the weekend--there is no french toast like challah french toast!