That aside, some more details leading up to my national debut. In a phone call with Ms. Producer A, I found out that a car will pick up The One, Renee Schettler Rossi, Cindi Kruth (my TV assistant) and me—yes, I have a posse—at 7:30 on Monday morning and drive us to Rockefeller Plaza. That’s all of 30 blocks—I could walk it—but I love the feeling of being important, even if it’s for just 1 1/2 miles. Like I’ve always said: I was born to have staffs and staffs of people to do my every bidding. Apparently, though, God never got the memo.

I was also instructed to show up at the studio on Sunday afternoon at 4:30 p.m. to hand over the ingredients and cataplanas to the prop men and do a walk-through of the demo. This is wicked cool. Whenever I’ve done TV in the past, I’ve showed up, waved to a few people, set up my kitchen, and 30 minutes later a disembodied voice from the control room has said, “Stand by…and…,” which cues the host, usually the marvelous Desiree Fontaine, to GO! But to walk the Today Show set with no cameras rolling will be enormously helpful. For the past two months I’ve watched nearly all of the show’s cooking segments, making diagrams of the set, figuring out how I’ll navigate the two islands, choosing where I’ll place my hand on the counter so I can lean over ever-so-nonchalantly, deciding where I’ll hide my bottle of Xanax. I also gave Ms. Producer A. a long list of demands: 1.) Smear ample Vaseline on the lens of the camera that will focus on me, 2.) Use some sort of special optical thinning contraption that distorts what I look like, making me appear skinny, and 3.) Festoon my dressing room with nothing but white roses—they soothe me. Oh, and 4.) Supply two bodyguards who will escort me from the studio to a waiting town car after the segment. (What? I’ll need some sort of buffer from all my newly acquired fans.)

Then this afternoon, I received a call from Bianca Henry, food stylist extraordinaire on the show, for a little pre-production meeting. We’ve met several times before and in an e-mail earlier today reminded me that we even worked together once. It just goes to show you that even though this business has its share of, well, some less than stellar people—remember Lady Beelzebub?—there are some truly upstanding folks. Bianca and I bumped into each other at the Saveur party last year—me literally swaying from weakness because my arm was being ravaged by a staph-like bacterial infection, thanks to an oral surgeon’s shoddy injection. (But that’s another post for another blog.) And while she probably thought my weaving was due to too much wine, she was warm, asked about the book, me, my family. Now, I mention all of this because not 24 hours later, the Today Show called my publisher asking for my reel. (Ha! What reel?) Although Bianca denies she had anything to do with it, I think it or’leaps coincidence. Alas, nothing happened, until eight months later when Giuliano Hazan intervened with the inimitable Ms. Producer A.

Back to moi. The wardrobe department (AKA The One) has been busy. So far we have two contenders for outfits: a blue shirt and a white shirt. (Jeans are a given—you can’t get me out of them even with a crowbar.) I vetoed the white shirt—not exactly slimming—and am considering the blue. The One is campaigning for a dark cashmere sweater, which remains a possibility. I assumed any kind of patterned or striped shirt was out because it can cause a moiré pattern on TV. But Ms. Producer A. said, “Oh, wear whatever you want. With high definition there’s no problem—it picks up everything.” Curses, you HDTV!

Tomorrow I’m off to the Ironbound, the Portuguese section of Newark, NJ, to pick up some smoked sausages, fabric for set decoration, and other items that may be of visual interest.

Oh, and I’ve lost three pounds since Sunday. Fifty-seven more to go in five days.

I hinted at it. I accidentally blurted it out.  But finally, I’m able to talk about it in all its glorious, fabulous details. On Monday, March 22nd, I’ll be on the “Today Show.”

The interesting thing is I’ve been plotting this for 33 years.

When I was a junior in high school, we were going on a field trip to New York City. At that time I was gaga for anything NYC, partly because I grew up in a town with fewer than 10,000 residents—and that included cows, chicken, cats, dogs, and guinea pigs. And partly because I wanted to be an actor. Although I lived only 3 hours away by train, I had never been to the center of the universe, but I was dying to go. There were two options for the field trip: a tour of the United Nations (how boring) or a tour of the “Today Show” set. I knew where I was going. But on the morning of the trip, while the buses idled in front of the school, we waited, and waited, and waited. Eventually we were told the trip was off. (I think it had something to do with liability.) I went to chemistry class completely and utterly bereft.

I thought the stages of NBC were forever out of my reach.

Then last year I met Giuliano Hazan, teacher, cookbook author, and son of Marcella Hazan. We were at the Epicurean Classic in St. Joseph, MI, and after watching me do two demos, he told me I should be on the “Today Show.” Sure, I told myself. If my publisher couldn’t get me on the show, how can you? He gave me the name and contact information for Ms. Producer A., and I e-mailed her in August. Fast forward to November 17th. I got a message from her, after having given up any hope of being on the show. It took us all of ten minutes to decide what I’d cook: clams in a cataplana (amêijoas na cataplana). It’s flashy, easy, and fast. (I’ll post the recipe on the 22nd.)

Knowing I have only four minutes to make a dish that takes about a half-hour, I had to choreograph everything, breaking down each step. Clearly one cataplana, the clam-shaped cooking pot the dish is made in (think of a wok with another on top), wasn’t enough. I hard to order three more from Silampos, a company in Portugal.

Last week, The One played director, costume designer, set designer, and personal assistant. I practiced cooking the dish in front of him in real time—meaning the full 30-minute version—making believe I was chatting with Matt, Meredith, Ann, and Al. (Meredith and I had lots to say to each other because she’s also Portuguese,  grew up about 15 miles away from me in New England, and her family is from an Azorean island, just like mine is.) On Wednesday I heard the great news that I’ll appear on the 9 to 10 a.m. hour and was told that Bianca Henry, one of the food stylists on the show who also happens to be half Portuguese, would be working with me.

I have a lot left to accomplish by next Monday. On the top of the list are: 1.) find something flattering to wear, 2.) practice cooking in TV time, in which I jump from cataplana to cataplana and get everything done in less than 4 minutes, 3.) get my hair cut and sideburns dyed (ah, vanity, thy name is David), and 4.) lose 60 pounds. (Anyone know where to get Spanx for men?)

Stay tuned right here, as I countdown the hours to my 33-year plan to get on national TV. Read Part II

He says: Come into our kitchen and you’ll find cookbooks gracing it. About three dozen of them tucked away on two shelves along one side of the cooking island, their bindings perfectly even (thanks to a ruler I frequently nudge up against them). But they’re cooking eunuchs, nothing more than decoration, as if we were selling the house and wanted to subtly convey to potential buyers the domestic pleasures awaiting them in those pages. The motherlode of books are found far away from the UXBZ (unexploded bomb zone) of the kitchen: In CT, that would be in my writing studio, and in NYC, the dining room. Plainly put: No sauces, tomato stains, or grease smudges will deface my books.

So it’s curious that my laptop, which cost me three times my monthly mortgage, is what I bring into the kitchen when I cook.

For me, comprehensiveness trumps logic. I know I should keep the computer miles away from the stove and my preternatural clumsiness. (I won’t even eat near my computer during the day.) But I just can’t stay away from everything the Internet has to offer while cooking. It’s like having my own personal Schlesinger Library’s Culinary Collection in my kitchen.

Whether you like it or not, just about any recipe you want to make from just about any cookbook is online, somewhere. (Me, I like it.) And I like having Portable Leite Brain—what I call my laptop—handy because I rarely cook from just one recipe. I pull from three or four at once, and the last thing I want is piles of books on the counter. Plus I oftentimes cook from this site but am curious how other sites and blogs whip up, say, gougères or bavette, so I browse. And soon enough, I’m lost in that great, wonderful, frustrating worm hole of cyberspace. Along the way I pick up a few tips from Michael Ruhlman here, a video from Mark Bittman there, and sometimes even a new idea for tomorrow’s dinner.

Then comes the ritual of the printing of the recipes and the taping to the cabinets (something The One hates, because I once pulled off paint when ripping them down after a particularly frustrating dinner). After the kitchen is kitted out, the computer isn’t out of reach—I never know when I might need more info, want to catch up on the latest episode of “Desperate Housewives” while onions sauté, or reply to Momma Leite, who likes to e-mail during the early evening.

What can I say, I have cooking ADD.

Of course, Portable Leite Brain’s being in the line of fire (sometimes literally) has prompted me to jury-rig it for safety. First, I never have it next to the stove, anymore. We won’t go there, but suffice it say that I have a new laptop. I also cover the keyboard and screen with plastic wrap—kind of a giant computer condom, protecting it from all kinds of nasties.

Now, the one place I never hesitate to bring my beloved books is the bedroom. There I luxuriate in their words and pictures and sometimes even fall asleep with a pile at my feet. I don’t know what that says about me or my relationship, but we’re not going there, either.—David Leite

She says: If you could see the state of my cookbooks, you’d understand why I don’t take my laptop into the kitchen.

It’s not that I’m intentionally careless or that my cookbook collection  is mistreated terribly. It’s that I’m simply not the type of cook who can maintain the books in just-off-the-shelf condition. As my husband says, I really get into my cooking. I’m prone to what he describes as Seussian stacks of teetering pots and pans everywhere, And that’s not all. Chopping boards balance over the kitchen sink. All four burners blast aflame. The narrow ledge outside our window doubles as a makeshift cooling rack. Guests have been known to duck and dive, but for me, there’s a rhythm, albeit an occasionally discordant one. In the midst of this juggling act, there just isn’t a lot of time to be prissy about things like splashes and drips and splotches. If there’s a lull in the cooking, fine. Otherwise, it’s just too distracting.

Even when I try, really try, to be careful, I just can’t seem to pull it off. Just ask David. The last time—and I do mean the last time—he loaned me a cookbook, I set it safely outside the kitchen. One stray, damp thumbprint was all it took to give my habits away.¹

I wouldn’t dare take my electronics into that fray. Nor would I want to, practicality aside. You know how they say to use your bedroom only for sleep and, um, other bed-centric pursuits? I feel the same about my kitchen. I don’t want to read emails that other people feel are urgent while my eggs perfectly sunnyside up—soft, please—slip tragically into mediocrity. And I don’t want to interrupt everything to tweet 137 self-deprecating characters about the incident. Laptop as resource? Without a doubt. But not when I’m in the throes of cooking. I already did my homework, sussing out an ingredient substitution or summoning  a technique online before I decide to stand facing the stove. If something comes up, I’ll deal with it on my own. When I’m in the kitchen, it’s time to cook. Anything else just messes up my mojo.

So the closest my delicate, Meyer-lemon-averse Mac gets to the mess—and I to its distracting charms—is the wee wooden schoolhouse chair in the foyer, just outside our galley kitchen. With my laptop’s volume cranked, I can ponder deep thoughts from “All Things Considered” or croon off-key to Ella while otherwise considering things cooking-related.

As far as I’m concerned, perhaps the best use of technology in the kitchen is to photocopy a recipe in order to keep a book out of harm’s way. Yet I’m a sucker for the sentient pleasures related to cooking from a book, which explains why my cookbooks are a mess in the first place. I need the soothing white space around the edge of the page in order to dance a duet with the ingredients in my imagination. I spend those idle moments waiting for a stock to burble lost in the lyrical headnotes of Judy Rodgers. And I learn every time my husband leans over my shoulder to eye an open cookbook to make pithy comments about the writing style, urge me to take more liberties with the ingredients, or muse over recipes that may be more to his liking.

They’re not just cookbooks. They’re scrapbooks of sorts. Telltale translucent stains from melted butter both grease and grace my mom’s binder of go-to recipes. I continue her legacy with a blemish here (a smear of cilantro that escaped my maiden molcajete run with a Peppercorn-Coriander Root Flavor Paste) and a batter-splattered page there (the incomparable Laurie Colwin channeling Katherine Hepburn’s brownies in a decades-old issue of Gourmet). Though the perfectionist in me sometimes cringes, I don’t mind the splotches that shout out those memories, moments that probably wouldn’t exist had the recipes blinkered onscreen. I don’t mind them at all.—Renee Schettler

¹Okay, let’s be real. A single watery fingerprint would be fine. But I could tell which recipe she tested by looking at the side of the book. The page was so wavy, it looked like an EKG readout.—David

Tell us: Do you bring your computer or cookbooks into the kitchen? And why?

© 2010 Leite’s Culinaria, Inc. All rights reserved. Terms of use.

You love to cook, go to restaurants, and travel on food-based adventures. Your camera feels like it’s part of your arm. You read food blogs and wonder if you should start your own—writing up your recipes, insights, and travel experiences and becoming part of a community of online writers.

So, how do you make that happen?

You might think it’s simply starting your blog. After all, it’s never been easier. Just pick your template, type in your blog’s name and first post, upload your photos, and press the “publish” button. And you’re a blogger.

But there’s more to it than that. Do you know, for example, what will distinguish your blog from the thousands of food blogs out there, why people should care about what you have to say, and how they’ll find you? Your posts need a strong voice, and your photos must look professional. You need the discipline to write at least twice a week to keep your readers’ interest, not to mention how to use other social media to drive traffic to your blog.

Dianne Jacob’s blog, Will Write for Food: Pithy Snippets about Food Writing, has garnered a strong following with many passionate commenters. She posts regularly on topics that attract viewers, has learned how to write in an entertaining yet informative style, and how to drive traffic to her blog. Through her blog, she has developed relationships with many top bloggers who have helped her achieve her writing goals: to encourage discussion on topics central to food blogging, such as attracting comments, writing reviews, and posting recipes.

What this class will do for you In this interactive evening, you’ll learn what’s involved in creating a successful food blog. Topics covered include:

• why should you start a blog
• how to begin and keep going
• deciding what to write about
• how to develop your voice
• posting good photographs
• getting noticed
• and how to make money.

The class begins with a lecture, including insider insights Dianne has gained from being a blogger, working with and interviewing successful food bloggers, and speaking at blogging conferences. An extensive Q&A follows the lecture. Handouts include How to Structure a Post as well lists of food photography resources and blogging workshops.

Why this class is right for you If you’re curious about starting a blog, this class will show you how to start, what to write about, and how to get noticed. Even if you have a blog, this class will help you work through the challenges every bloggers face, and it will give you heard-earned insights about  successful techniques and resources.

How this class works You don’t even have to leave home. On Tuesday April 27th at 8:45 p.m. EST/5:45 p.m. PST, we’ll convene by telephone for a 2-hour conference call comprising both lecture and discussion. A private podcast of this class, available only to participants, will be posted online for one month at no additional cost.

Who the instructor is Dianne Jacob’s blog is Will Write for Food: Pithy Snippets about Food Writing. The Food News Journal has chosen her posts several times in its daily round-ups, and some of the biggest food bloggers in the US comment on her blog. She has been a speaker at the 2009 BlogHer Food Conference and the Club Med Food Blogger Conference.

Dianne is the author of Will Write for Food: The Complete Guide to Writing Cookbooks, Restaurant Reviews, Articles, Memoir, Fiction, and More. Now in its fourth printing, the book won the Cordon D’Or International award for Best Literary Food Reference Book. Her most recent book is Grilled Pizzas & Piadinas (Dorling-Kindersley, 2008), a cookbook she co-authored with Chicago chef Craig Priebe.

Dianne was a top editor and writer for a book publishing company, international magazines, and newspapers before starting her own business as a food writing coach, author, editor, blogger, and teacher. She coaches writers across the US, Canada, and Europe on how to become published freelance writers, book authors, and bloggers. For several years, Dianne has judged cookbooks for the James Beard Foundation and for the International Association of Culinary Professionals annual cookbook awards.

At this year’s International Association of Culinary Professionals annual conference, Dianne will lead three sold-out coaching sessions. She has also been a speaker at the Symposium for Professional Food Writers at the Greenbrier. She has taught food writing at the Smithsonian, the University of California in Los Angeles and Silicon Valley, the Writing Salon and Book Passage bookstore. For five years she chaired a food-writing conference at Book Passage.

For more about Dianne, visit her Web site. Read this interview with Dianne on Seattle Tall Poppy.

What students are saying about Dianne’s class and her coaching
“When I decided to relaunch my blog from Veronica’s Test Kitchen to Kitchen Musings, I sought out Dianne. She helped me figure out what my blog was about, which became invaluable in developing my voice. With her help, I developed relevant topics for future posts in line with the blog’s overall theme of culinary obsessions. Doing so gave my blogging structure. Dianne also gave me useful comments and suggestions on how to tackle different aspects of a post, from the all-important lead paragraph to the composition of the recipe. Working with her has definitely enriched and strengthened my writing style.”—Veronica Perez, Kitchen Musings

“Dianne has made it possible for me to set my blog on a more professional and productive course than I could ever have imagined. Her insight, knowledge of the culinary world and honest, friendly critiques consistently challenge me to be a better writer, blogger and personality. I particularly like the inquisitiveness with which Dianne displays about my field of endeavor; not an easy feat when dealing with pizza or a high strung small businessperson.

“I highly recommend Dianne Jacob for forthright, cutting edge advice, editing and direction on blogging, writing and human nature. She is guaranteed to challenge you, make you think, be your friend and ensure you are on the path to success. I know have one of the best pizza blogs in the nation because of her.”—John Gutekanst, Pizza Goon

“Dianne is a patient and gifted teacher. When I started my blog, I had no confidence in my ability to write or my technical savvy to create a blog, but I knew I could cook and create recipes. Through coaching, Dianne taught me how to eliminate extra words, get to the point, see my work through the readers’ eyes, and eliminate my repetitive grammatical errors. I learned specifics relating to recipe writing. She was also kind enough to teach me how to upload pictures and create hot links. As a result of my blog, with Dianne’s encouragement, I got my first feature article published.

“Now I can say that I enjoy blogging, writing, and recipe testing almost every day. I have received a lot of response from my readers and my topics resonate with a surprising array of people. In the 9 months since I started The Boreka Diary I’ve had thousands of hits.”—Linda Sendowski, The Boreka Diary.

If you have any questions, please contact us at enroll@leitesculinaria.com.

If you’d prefer to pay with a personal check, please e-mail us to make arrangements

You get compliments on your cooking, and people always ask when you’re going to write a cookbook. Perhaps it’s time to document your best recipes and techniques for a larger audience. Maybe you’ve already started putting a book together, deciding on chapters and recipes. But now you’re wondering: What’s the next right next step for me?

If you’d like to be traditionally published, you need to write a cookbook proposal. Essentially a business plan for your cookbook, the proposal tells agents and writers about the book, why it needs to be published, why you are the best one to write it, and who is waiting for it and why. It includes a table of contents for the book and sample recipes. The best part is that writing the proposal helps you refine your cookbook idea, differentiate it from the competition, and flesh out the structure and content.

What this class will do for you In this interactive evening, you’ll learn what’s involved in writing a winning proposal. Topics covered include:

• Why you can’t just write a cookbook and submit it
• The secret to making your proposal irresistible
• The 10 best ideas for a cookbook
• How to focus, organize and structure your idea
• What a platform is and whether yours is sufficient
• Why to promote your book before it’s published
• Choosing the right recipes for your book
• How to approach photography and illustrations.

The class comprises a lecture, including insider insights Dianne has gained from working with agents, cookbook editors and established cookbook authors; and an extensive Q&A. Handouts include a Dianne’s guideline to cookbook proposals, and a resource guide for additional information.

Why this class is right for you If you’re curious about writing and publishing a cookbook, here’s your chance to move forward. Learn what’s involved in creating the kind of proposal that shows off your cookbook idea in the best light, while crystalizing your idea.

How this class works You don’t even have to leave home. On Wednesday, May 12th at 8:45 p.m. EST/5:45 p.m. PST, we’ll convene by telephone for a 2-hour conference call comprising both lecture and discussion. A private podcast of this class, available only to participants, will be posted online for one month at no additional cost.

Who the instructor is Dianne Jacob is the author of Will Write for Food: The Complete Guide to Writing Cookbooks, Restaurant Reviews, Articles, Memoir, Fiction, and More (Da Capo Press, 2005). Now in its fourth printing, the book won the 2005 Cordon D’Or International award for Best Literary Food Reference Book. Her most recent book is Grilled Pizzas & Piadinas (Dorling-Kindersley, 2008), a cookbook she co-authored with Chicago chef Craig Priebe.

Dianne was a top editor and writer of a book publishing company, international magazines, and newspapers for decades before starting her own business as a food writing coach, author, editor, and teacher. She coaches writers across the US, Canada, and Europe on how to become published authors, and she regularly receives referrals from literary agents and editors whose clients’ proposals and manuscripts need sharpening. Clarkson Potter; Penguin Putnam; St. Martin’s Press; Stewart, Tabori & Chang; Ten Speed Press; Wiley & Sons; and William Morrow are some of the companies who have published books by authors who worked with Dianne. She has also worked as a freelance book editor for Weldon Owen and Andrews & McMeel. For several years, Dianne has judged cookbooks for the James Beard Foundation and for the International Association of Culinary Professionals annual cookbook awards.

For more about Dianne, visit her Web site and blog. Read this interview with Dianne on Seattle Tall Poppy.

What students are saying about Dianne’s class and her coaching
“Dianne sharpened my focus and strengthened my cookbook proposal. Working with her has made a huge difference to me.”

“Dianne’s expert advice regarding my cookbook proposal helped enormously in landing a contract with a major New York publisher. And even though I’m an experienced food writer, I’ve found helpful tips throughout Will Write For Food. She’s an invaluable resource!”

“I sent her my cookbook proposal and chapter and she gave me really useful, supportive feedback. Just what I needed.”

“Dianne turned me from a wanna-be author to a paid published author. I always felt I had a great idea for a book, but knew nothing of how to take that idea and turn it into a book people would actually pay to read. Every time I cash my royalty check, I thank Dianne.”

“I had bought books and attended seminars on how to write a winning cookbook proposal, but it was a different when I finally sat down to actually do it. The greatest benefit I gained from Dianne was her ability to help me put together a compelling, insightful, and concise proposal I now believe an agent would read. I encourage anyone who has ever thought about writing a book proposal to consider Dianne. Working with her was truly the best investment I have made toward my writing career.”

If you have any questions, please contact us at enroll@leitesculinaria.com.

If you’d prefer to pay with a personal check, please e-mail us to make arrangements

It’s the unlikeliest of couples. One thin and popular, the other fat and shunned. Each repelled by the other. But when senselessly beaten into a frenzied submission, oh, how they cave! These two frenemies suddenly give in and embrace one other, creating a more perfect union.

Sound like a bad episode of The Marriage Ref? Not surprising. When these culinary opposites—milk and oil—are thrown together, they act a lot like warring spouses, which makes their participation in the creation of Portuguese maionese de leite (may-o-NEZ duh late), or milk mayonnaise, all the more amazing.

I encountered this ghostly white condiment a few years ago in Portugal while trolling the country for recipes for my cookbook. But on our first date I didn’t see it in its shocking bare-naked form. Instead it played the role of a fiendishly good green olive dip at Restaurante A Bolota, in the Alentejo. It was so good, in fact, The One didn’t stand a chance. I singlehandedly mopped up the entire bowl with hunks of bread while he nattered away with the restaurant owner, Antonieta Cocheirnha Tarouca, and the chef, Ilda Vinagre. When he looked at the bowl then at me, I just shrugged.

After dinner I followed Ilda into the kitchen to watch her whip up silky clouds and clouds of white buttercream-y goodness in her processador (food processor) using nothing but milk, oil, garlic, and a few drops of lemon juice. What? No eggs? How could it be called a “mayonnaise” without eggs? By definition mayo is a sacred emulsification of egg yolks and oil, which makes it, at least to me, the mother of all mother sauces. But Ilda shook her head: “Não ovos.” As she scribbled the recipe on the back of an envelope, she explained she wheedled it out of a chef while visiting Brazil. Then she kissed me goodbye and wished me luck.

And luck was certainly what I needed. My every attempt to make a scaled-down version of her restaurant-size mayo recipe ended in a flood of milk with an oil slick on top. Nothing, and I mean nothing, could keep these two together. Ilda, who found the Internet impertinent and cell phones intrusive, was of no immediate help. Eventually I got through to Antonieta who relayed my frantic pleas to the kitchen. The answer that came back changed everything: Don’t make it in a food processor. It’s far too big for such a small batch. Bingo! Once I switched over to a mini-chop, I had thick, luscious milk mayonnaise and green olive dip oozing from GladWare containers on almost every shelf of my fridge.

Fast forward two years.

After the book came out, I was positive milk mayonnaise would be one of its most interesting, most blogged about recipes.  Milk and oil whipped into an emulsion? It defies all logic. Plus it’s eggless. How many people out there have egg allergies? They’ll beat a path to my door and throw their jewels and Google stock certificates at my feet as thanks for releasing them from their mayo-less prison, I told myself. But nothing. That is until months later, when Kathleen Purvis and Amanda Hesser wrote about the recipe within a day of each other. Kathleen hit it out of the park on the first try. It took Amanda four late-night attempts to get it right. (She had strayed from the recipe by using a hand mixer instead of an immersion blender or small blender.) The next day I had my 15 minutes of social-media fame—but not because of anything I did. (Note to self: In order to boost your Twitter clout, allow yourself to be pimped by Amanda, even when she’s exhausted and misreads your recipes.) Questions poured in. Is it really an emulsion or is it just oil-flavored whipped milk (ack! gross)? Can I use cream instead of milk? Is it stable? Can it be flavored?

So I did as I always do when faced with the perplexing conundrums of food science. I called Shirley Corriher, the doyenne of kitchen wizardry and the award-winning author of CookWise and BakeWise.

“Your mayonnaise is a 100-percent, true emulsion,” she assured me over the phone. “It’s not any kind of a flavored aerated milk.” She went on to explain that for any emulsion—mine included—to take hold, one liquid, in this case the milk,  has to break down into finer and finer droplets until it gets “juicy,” or looser, allowing the oil to get all up in there between the droplets to thicken it.

“You also have two other things going for you,” she added. “Milk has natural emulsifiers, making it easier to blend. And the garlic helps to make a sturdier base before adding the oil.” What’s the role of the lemon juice? “It helps coagulate the milk, but there’s not enough to make it curdle,” she said.

Shirley also mentioned that adding a touch of cream would make a better emulsion. Figuring if a little cream is better then a lot must be fantastic, I substituted it for all of the milk and ended up with butter before I even poured in the oil. And for stability? I’ve had my mayos last up to a week with no ill effect (longer, actually, but my publisher’s lawyers would have killed me if I said that in the book).

Last, there’s that pesky question of whether the mayonnaise can be flavored. Clearly, not enough of you are buying the book because in it I offer four variations: cilantro and ginger, anchovy, curry, and sun-dried tomato—which, in my magnanimousness, I’m including below.

The case of the milk mayonnaise that may or may not really be a mayonnaise is closed.

May I have the mayo variations, please? Clockwise from top right: cilantro-ginger, curry, anchovy, sun-dried tomato.

Milk Mayonnaise
Maionese de Leite
Makes about 1 cup

Since I was given the recipe, I haven’t stopped finding ways to cook with it. The master recipe is only a canvas for additions. Besides the uses in this book, I’ve smeared the variations on grilled meats and fish, used them as dips and in dressings, spread them on sandwiches, and stirred them into potato salads, much as I do with actual mayonnaise.

Atenção: Like all emulsions, this recipe can be a bit finicky. But adding the oil in a thin stream and stopping when the right consistency is reached is the key. For almost foolproof results, a handheld blender is best, but a small canister blender with a narrow base will do.

convert Ingredients
1/3 cup very cold whole milk
3/4 teaspoons fresh lemon juice
1 small garlic clove, peeled
1/8 teaspoon freshly ground white pepper
About 3/4 cup vegetable oil, or 1/2 cup vegetable oil plus 1/4 cup olive oil
Kosher salt

Method
1. Combine the milk, lemon juice, garlic, and pepper in a 2-cup glass measuring cup. Using a handheld blender (or a blender), buzz on high for 30 seconds until frothy. With the motor running on high, slowly pour in the oil a few drops at a time, and gradually increase this to a fine thread, moving the blender up and down, until the mixture thickens lusciously and resembles a soft mayonnaise. You may need more or less oil. Season with salt to taste. The mayonnaise will last up to 1 week in the fridge.

Variations
Cilantro and Ginger Mayonnaise
Maionese de Leite com Coentros e Gengibre
Add 1 loosely packed cup of well-dried fresh cilantro leaves and tendril-soft stems and a 1 1/2-inch peeled and grated thumb of fresh ginger to the cup along with the milk, 1 3/4 teaspoons of lemon juice, and the pepper. Omit the garlic. Whir in the oil as directed above. Stir in 1 scallion cut into thin slices on the diagonal.

Anchovy Mayonnaise
Maionese de Leite com Anchovas
Add 6 anchovy fillets (generous 1 tablespoon) packed in oil to the cup along with the milk, lemon juice, garlic, and pepper. Whir in the oil as directed above. Omit the salt.

Curry Mayonnaise
Maionese de Leite com Caril
Add 2 teaspoons of your favorite curry powder to the cup along with the milk, lemon juice, garlic, and pepper. Whir in the oil as directed above. Before using, let this sit for an hour or so in the fridge to bloom.

Tomato Mayonnaise
Maionese de Leite com Tomate
Add 1 1/2 tablespoons of double-concentrate tomato paste to the cup along with the milk, garlic, and pepper. Omit the lemon juice. Whir in the oil as directed above. Stir in 1 tablespoon minced oil-packed sun-dried tomatoes.

David Leite | Personal Recipe Collection | Serves 4, or 6 with the meal stretcher

The One and I have been making and enjoying this dish for years—in fact, it’s been in our arsenal for about a decade. Technically, it’s not a chili, as it doesn’t contain chiles or chili powder. It’s really more of a Mediterranean bean stew. What can I say, nicknames stick. What’s great about it is it’s a cinch to make (all of a half hour) and it’s surprisingly light. When we have weekend guests and don’t want to get bogged down with making six big, heavy meals, we turn to this for a satisfying lunch or a light supper, with a salad on the side.

Customarily, chilis and stews are made by first browning the meat then transferring it to a bowl while cooking the vegetables. Because there’s so little fat in the turkey sausage (and, admit it, they just don’t have that flavor punch beef does), I like to keep the turkey in the skillet while cooking the vegetables. This does two things: 1.) it really gives the turkey a good browning, which adds flavor, and 2.) it doesn’t overcook the red pepper. Oh, and whatever you do, resist the urge to muck this up by adding chili powder (yes, even though it’s called a “chili”). It would ruin the flavor profile.—David Leite

www.youtube.com/watch?v=HdLrCbJMtG4

convert Ingredients
3 tablespoons olive oil, more if needed
1 pound sweet Italian turkey sausage, casings removed
1 medium yellow onion, chopped
1 red bell pepper, chopped
2 teaspoons dried oregano
2 teaspoons dried basil
1 teaspoon dried thyme
2 large garlic cloves, minced
One 15 1/2-ounce can cannellini beans, well-drained
One 28-ounce can San Marzano tomatoes, undrained, tomatoes chopped
Kosher salt
Freshly ground black pepper

Method
1. Heat a large skillet over medium-high heat until hot. Swirl 2 tablespoons of the oil into the pan and then add the turkey. Cook, stirring often and breaking up the meat with the edge of a wooden spoon, until the turkey is chunky and nicely browned, about 10 minutes.

2. Drizzle the remaining tablespoon of olive oil over the turkey. Dump in the onion and pepper, sprinkle with the oregano, basil, and thyme, and sauté, stirring often, until the vegetables are just softened, about 7 minutes. Add the garlic and cook 2 minutes more. The bottom of the pan may develop a brown coating—that’s good. It gives a lot of flavor. If it threatens to burn, drizzle in a few tablespoons of water and scrape it up.

3. Turn the heat to low and stir in the beans and half of the tomatoes and half their liquid. (Reserve the remaining tomatoes and liquid for a meal stretcher, see Note.) Season with salt and pepper to taste, cover, and simmer for 15 minutes.

Meal Stretcher Note: Unexpected company? No problem. Add a second can of drained cannellini beans and the remaining chopped tomatoes and their liquid. Simmer the chili until heated through. Serves six, easily.

Recipe and photo © 2010 Leite’s Culinaria, Inc. All rights reserved. Terms of use.

This Sunday, at my own exclusive petite soirée attended by just The One, our very in-the-know entertainment publicist friend, Ellen, and moi, I want to sidestep the usual lineup of smarmy suspects for Academy Awards party fare. We have a close friend who’s a Hollywood event planner, so I’ve seen and heard it all, from the divine to the ridiculous. And I’ve devoured just about every permutation of show chow at glammed-up (or, worse, funked-down) NYC parties, including Oscar-shaped grilled cheese-and-bacon-sandwiches, glittery gold-leaf desserts, and black-tie nibbles (read: nothing but black-and-white food, such as caviar and sour cream on squid ink blini). And, of course, anything served on silver plates so guests could admire themselves almost as much as their favorite egomaniacal nominees.

This year, I’m going for something a little easier, a little less forced. To come up with possible dishes I played a game of word association, or rather, nomination association. It went like this: Renee and I faced each other, and she shot the name of a nominee at me. I said the first recipe that popped into my head, based upon my vast, deep, and preternatural understanding of every recipe and every last piece of minutiae on this site.

So, here’s a warped look into my head for what I’m considering as possible dishes to wrap a menu around for our 82nd Academy Awards dinner.

Crazy Heart
A has-been alcohol-soaked country singer who loves whiskey contends with a dysfunctional relationship. Easy. A Manhattan. (Or do as Jeff Bridges does and ditch the vermouth, bitters, and cherry.)

Food, Inc.
What horrible things big business does to our food. My first thought: pure spring water drunk leaning over an outcropping and slurping it up with my hands. Since we don’t have that on the site, I opted for a Lyonnaise Salad. You can still have your lettuce, your lardons, and your eggs—and eat them, too. Just buy organic, organic, organic—locally, natch.

A Single Man
A British professor in Southern California is still mourning the death of his lover eight months after the fact. The film depicts the day he chose to kill himself. Colin Firth’s orderly and dispassionate approach to his own death is perfectly suited to…Crumpets. Pip, pip, and stiff upper lip, old chum.

Inglourious Basterds
A band of ruggedly handsome men go for nothing less than bringing down Hitler—Quentin Tarantino-style. That means lots of perversely compelling blood and guts. The obvious choice would have been blood-drenched rare steaks, but my mind went for the more sanguine choice of Blood Oranges, Dates, Parmesan, and Almonds. Even the Bloody T-man himself might get a kick out of that.

The Cove
A documentary about the shocking and chilled abuse heaped upon dolphins for the benefit of the aquatic entertainment industry. Utterly shocking. Another no brainer: Something entirely ocean-safe, Tapenade Trio.

The Lovely Bones
A young girl is murdered. From beyond the grave she helps lead her father to her killer. There’s no bone lovelier than the one running through these Slow-Cooked Lamb Shanks in Pinot Noir.

Julie & Julia
If you don’t know the movie, you shouldn’t be reading this blog. My first thought: coq au vin…which we featured two weeks ago. So that was out. Then, anything French with “buh-terrrr,” as Meryl Streep purred in the film. But one of Child’s own dishes, Steak au Poivre, popped into my head.

Rabbit à la Berlin
The story of the colonies of rabbits that lived between the two Berlin Walls (east and west) and how they survived and thrived once the wall fell. Cruel, I know: Portuguese Rabbit Hunter Style. (What can I say? It’s how I think.)

The Blind Side
A white family, led by a cojones-busting momma, takes in a young black man who goes on to shine as a football player. With all that testosterone Sandra Bullock exudes, I immediately thought of Tony Bourdain, but in a tutu. So I picked his Floating Islands with Black Currant Sauce.

Up
An animated feature about, well, a house that lifts off because of all the balloons attached to it. (Sorry, didn’t see it.) But you gotta love my association: Double Chocolate Soufflé, with all of its glorious egg-white rise.

When you look at the nomination list, what do you think of immediately? Tell us, and if we have it, we’ll add it.