15 Quotes by Meredith Mileti

We stop for a snack, a couple of slices of prosciutto, some cheese, and the heel of a loaf of Italian bread. Because I'm training Chloe to have a sophisticated palate, I do not heed the butcher's maxim that prosciutto di Parma shouldn't be wasted on someone who has no teeth. Besides, she has four. Not that she needs them, anyway. The meat really does melt in your mouth.

My philosophy is that kids shouldn't be played down to. Introduce them to complex flavors early on, and they'll develop sophisticated palates. It's worked so far with Chloe, whose list of green vegetables, in addition to the standard ones, includes mizuna, artichokes, and rapini.

Eggs Benedict, served in perfectly steamed artichoke hearts, with slices of thick-cut, grilled pancetta and a hollandaise sauce the color of a Cézanne sunrise; lush, tender strawberries with clotted cream and muscovado sugar; warm croissants; hand-cured smoked salmon; and coffee heated in mugs.

On Christmas Eve, Renata prepares a traditional Italian Feast of the Seven Fishes. We dine on fresh lobster, crab, and shrimp, clams casino, calamari, baccalà, and mussels-

Jake takes the warm pizza from the oven, spreads it with a wedge of softened, oozing Taleggio, scatters a few slices of apricot, some prosciutto, and a handful of the arugula over the top. He anoints it with olive oil and a squeeze of fresh lemon. The combination is one of my recipes, and it's been a seasonal favorite at the restaurant for years.

I make myself an espresso and bring it over to the pastry station where I begin the pasta. I can hear Tony whistling in the large walk-in refrigerator as he unloads the day's shipment of meat and eggs. I measure out the semolina and deposit it into several piles of approximately equal size on the marble station. Tony has set out a large bowl of fresh eggs and several containers of pasta flavorings, two kinds of pepper (red and coarsely ground black), lemon zest and anchovy paste.

I'm intrigued by Jake's mention of the Castelli Farms pork. And anything made with wild boar. Perhaps a wild boar ragout with braised carrots and fennel. Sausages are a must, lamb and spicy pork, served with black pepper flecked polenta. Mussels steamed in sweet vermouth, a salad of chicory and fresh anchovies with a warm caper vinaigrette.

As soon as we open the apartment door, we can smell the turkey roasting. I've cooked it in a paper bag (a neat trick that ensures an incredibly moist bird without basting). The smell is a heady combination of roasting turkey, and apple brandy, butter, and wild mushrooms that I've combined and rubbed on the inside of the bird and under the skin of the breast and legs. It will be delicious.

I devour the sandwich, a mountain of corned beef between two greasy slabs of marble rye, leaking cheese and Russian dressing all down the front of my sweater. It's delicious, and I don't stop eating until I've finished the last thick fry, which I use to mop up the remains of the sandwich.