Diane Morgan - Grill Every Day: 125 Fast-Track Recipes for Weeknights at the Grill

125 FAST-TRACK RECIPES FOR WEEKNIGHTS AT THE GRILL

by Diane Morgan

PHOTOGRAPHS BY
E.J. ARMSTRONG

To Greg, Eric, and Molly, you enrich my life and make me happy every day.

Text copyright 2008 by Diane Morgan.
Photographs copyright 2007 by E. Jane Armstrong.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be
reproduced in any form without written
permission from the publisher.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data available.
ISBN 978-1-4521-2662-3

Food styling by Patty Wittmann
Designed by Alicia Nammacher
Typesetting by Connie Bigelow

The photographer wishes to thank
Super Duper Kitchen Styling Backup: Charlotte Omnes
Super Assistant / Digital Saviour: Lance Hofstad

Chronicle Books LLC
680 Second Street
San Francisco, California 94107

www.chroniclebooks.com

A true pleasure at the end of writing a book is taking time to thank all the people who have guided me, advised me, supported me, and kept me on track.

To Bill LeBlond, my editor at Chronicle Books and dear friend, for all his expert guidance, support, and time. Its a professional relationship beyond compare and one I cherish deeply.

To Lisa Ekus, my agent, for her amazing advice and enthusiasm. And to Jane Falla and everyone else at The Lisa Ekus Group for their dedicated support.

To Amy Treadwell, Leslie Jonath, Andrea Burnett, Peter Perez, and the others at Chronicle Books, who have inspired, supported, publicized, and otherwise kept my projects on track. You are all delightful to work with. To Sharon Silva, many thanks for copyediting my book with such care and precision. Alicia Nammacher, your book design enhances the words on the pagethank you.

To Cheryl Russell, my fabulous assistant, I dont know what Id do without you! Weve grilled together through rain and shine. You make developing and testing recipes both a pleasure and loads of fun.

To my friends Harriet and Peter Watson, who have eaten more test recipes and given me honest feedback for more books than I can recall. I cant hug and thank you enough. Your friendship and unswerving support bring me joy and much laughter even when deadlines are looming.

Many thanks to my friends, family, and colleagues: David Watson, Paola Gentry and Eric Watson, Richard and Barb LevKoy, Domenica Marchetti, Charlie and Jeanne Sosland, Bruce and Ellen Birenboim, Steve and Marci Taylor, Sukey and Gil Garcetti, Roxane and Austin Huang, Karen Fong, Sherry Gable, Margie Sanders, Ken Sanders, Priscilla and John Longfield, Brijesh and Ann Anand, Deb and Ron Adams, Summer Jameson, Kam and Tony Kimball, Mary and Jack Barber, Sara and Erik Whiteford, Tori Ritchie, Josie Jimenez, Joyce Goldstein, John Ash, Monica Bhide, Denise Bina, Judith Bishop, Carolyn Burleigh, Ericka Carlson, Lisa Hill, Jamie Purviance, Rick Rodgers, Lisa Donoughe, Kathy Campbell, Barbara Dawson and Matthew Katzer, Tony Gemignani, Braiden Rex-Johnson, Alma Lach, Michael Wehman, Janine MacLachlan, Laura Werlin, Andy Schloss, and Cathy Whims.

Special thanks to Antonia Allegra and Don and Joan Fry for their professional guidance and encouragement. Whether in France or at the Greenbrier, it is always treasured time when we are together.

Finally, this book wouldnt have been nearly as much fun to write without my loving and nurturing husband, Greg, sharing in all I do. To Eric and Molly, my children, thank you for all your love and caring every step of the way.

I DIDNT CONCEIVE OF THIS BOOK WHEN I WAS FOURTEEN YEARS OLD, BUT THATS WHEN I BUILT MY FIRST LIVE FIRE.

I was spending a month at Camp Barney Medintz in northern Georgia, making friends, building skills, singing spirited songs, and generally enjoying days of structured activities away from my family. I had been an eager camper from the age of six, starting with day camps and then maturing to overnight ones. But I was particularly excited about this summer camp because it included survival training, or as much as any camp was going to risk with a bunch of teenagers. Still, we were taught all the skills we needed to exist for one long night in the woods alone. The most important was building a firespecifically, mastering the one-match fire. I excelled.

Digging a little pit with a shovel and gathering tiny dry twigs, then bigger ones, and finally dead, fallen branches large enough to sustain an ongoing fire for cooking and keeping warmthis was the goal. We were given plenty of instruction and then an in-camp test, our final hurdle before setting off into the woods with minimal provisions, sleeping bag, and tarp. For the test, each camper received three matches, and I immediately started arranging little twigs in a crosshatch pattern, building layers and allowing for critical airflow. Crouched down on my knees, my elbow and forearm resting on the dirt, my cheek next to the ground, I lit a match, placed it under the twigs without hitting the dirt, and waited a minute for the sticks to catch fire. As soon as I saw red-glowing wood, I blew ever so gently to spread the flame without extinguishing it. I did it with one match, and then I was ready to survive on my own, at least the eating part.

After wed hiked about four miles as a group, the counselors gave us our final instructions and handed out our meager food suppliesa hot dog, a raw baking potato, a package each of instant hot chocolate and oatmealand three matches. We all carried a small shovel, ball of twine, Swiss Army knife, whistle, water, metal cup, and spoon. We were separated and told we were to survive from afternoon until morning. If something went desperately wrong, we could blow our whistle to signal for help.

I felt rugged, ready, and capable. I was in touch with that primordial link to my prehistoric roots. I gathered wood, built a lean-to for my nights shelter, and began to dig the fire pit. Fortunately, I didnt have to hunt for my dinner! A one-match fire fueled my ego, so to speak, but it also meant I could grill a hot dog on a stick and wrap my potato in leaves, letting it bake under the coals. I watched the stars and sang to myself well into the dark, smoke-scented night. Sleep was fitful, as I was sure I was going to be eaten by a hungry creature. I couldnt wait for daylight, and the chance to start another fire.

This was the beginning of my love of building fires, but it took time to translate this youthful passion for flames into grilling. When I was growing up, my father manned the backyard grill, and I was assigned the boring job of setting the table and folding the napkins. When my culinary career began, I was an apartment dweller without a place to put even a hibachi. This was Chicago, and we all know what happened when Mrs. OLearys cow kicked over the lantern. Fire laws were strict, so you couldnt put a grill on any fire escape. It wasnt until I moved to Portland, Oregon, that I began my outdoor culinary adventures. My husband bought me a grill as a birthday present