Recently by Kate Rogers

I like anything with a heartfelt inscription to Mom. There's a great one in Lee Svitak Dean's lovely new cookbook, Come One, Come All--Easy Entertaining with Seasonal Menus. Dean, the Strib's Taste editor and local foodie doyenne, fondly recalls her mother's facility with menus and knack for throwing fantastic parties.

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If you're like me and have been searching for ways to boost your I matter-ness, it's a relief to know someone finally cares about us.

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Gastro Non Grata was Sunday night. It's Wednesday. But it kicked enough epicurean ass to still be on my mind. Founder Craig Drehmel was pretty pleased, too. "How long did it take us? Seven shows?" he marveled. Sunday's gig at the Triple Rock affirmed a winning formula: local meat, booze, and bands all happening simultaneously among an affable group of people who love to eat, drink, and rock.

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Things are trending downward. Bailout bills aren’t passing, one kertrillion dollars vamoosed from Wall Street, and in my house on Main Street, I’ve got a marital ache called monetary discord. What’s next? Plastic in my chocolate? My gawd!

At times like these, when defenestrating myself feels reasonable and possibly prudent, I have to remember that it’s better to chin up, stick to the budget, and make something delicious. Something like, say, a cheese plate. This is where Benjamin Roberts, the affable cheesemonger at France 44’s cheese shop, can help. Roberts specializes in domestic, farmstead cheeses. He argues persuasively that good cheeses should be accorded the dignity of thoughtful composition. A cheese plate can have countless arrangements and accoutrements (read about it here, and keep those rinds turned in), but it should always offer a progression of flavor and intensity.

Roberts recommended I try a trio of cow’s milk selections: a light, peppery Toussaint from Sprout Creek Farm ($12/.5 lb.), a creamy Bridgid's Abbey from Cato Corner Farm ($17/.5 lb.), and an earthy, morning milk blue called Bayley Hazen from Jasper Hill Farm ($12.50/.5 lb.). Add a touch of honey, a few tavern peanuts, and we’re feeling better already. Oh, and if you’re anything like me, you won’t leave without an inexpensive Sangiovese or something equally delightful from the folks next store.

The Cheese Shop at France 44, 4351 France Ave. S., 612-925-3252, france44.com. Note: Toussaint is currently out of stock. Expect more by next Wednesday, October 8.

Last Saturday night, I found myself alone, broke, and hungry. It was only a temporary slump—husband out of town, I just bought a summer blanket and Euro shams, and it was dinnertime—but still, as someone who cherishes alone time, I was surprised to feel so, well, lonesome. I needed something delicious, fast. Luckily I had fresh loot from the Mill City Farmers Market, so I set about making a light supper of pasta and salad. As the water boiled, I remembered how Judith Jones, the legendary editor of Julia Child, Madhur Jaffrey, Marion Cunningham, and plenty others, affirms the pleasure of cooking for one. Set the table, light a candle, and have a proper meal, she says. Preparing food is so often about other people, it’s easy to forget how nice it can be when it’s just you.

Perfect Summer Supper
(Now confirmed to cure minor blues.)

Pasta squares with wood sorrel ($3.50 for 4 oz., Susan Dietrich’s Very Prairie stand)
Bunch of ridiculously fragrant fresh thyme ($1.25, multiple stands)
Unsalted butter (I’m working my way through a pound from Hope Creamery)
Parmigiano Reggiano
Kosher salt
Fresh ground pepper

Salt water just after it boils, cook pasta (The squares are delicate. They only need a few minutes). Drain pasta, reserving some of the water. Return pasta to pan over low heat. Add a tablespoon or so of butter and a handful of chopped thyme. Stir gently until butter melts, adding a bit of the reserved pasta water if you like. Serve in large bowl, grate cheese over noodles, season to taste.

Mache (any greens will do)
Lemon
Extra virgin olive oil
Raspberries
Fresh thyme  (no need to use it all in the pasta!)
Kosher salt
Fresh ground pepper

Make a simple dressing by whisking together freshly squeezed lemon juice and olive oil (roughly one-third lemon juice to two-thirds oil). Season to taste. Toss with mache, raspberries, and throw in a few pinches of chopped thyme. Serves 1.

I can’t even tell you how much walleye I’ve eaten lately. My gut-stretching bender of fillets, fritters, strips, sliders, and cakes has been research for an upcoming Mpls.St.Paul Magazine feature. I began as a walleye nostalgist, eager to rekindle taste memories of a saltine-crusted fish and my dad’s stories of the way things were. Now that I’m more of a realist, I’ve gotta say: The quest for the best has turned up some downright appalling concoctions.

There has been questionable use of Parmesan, teriyaki, and flavor-killing onion on walleye all over town. But the strangest dish—by far—is the St. Paul Grill’s walleye dusted with almond flour and a pecan Frangelico butter sauce. As my companions and I contemplated the absurdity of the plate before us, which tasted like a mix of lake fish and praline ice cream (a boffo seller, our server reported), we got to thinking about other unpalatable combinations that somehow persist under a veil of deliciousness. I mean, what’s with lobster or truffle mac and cheese anyway? They’re all great ingredients, but they don’t complement one another. (Maybe it’s just a way to charge $11 for mac and cheese?) And while I’m at it, can anyone explain the appeal of foie gras Eggs Benedict (that’s you, Cosmos)?

The classics are the classics for a reason. Chefs are experimenting with our palates in the name of seeming innovative or keeping their jobs interesting. It’s time we called them out. What are other dishes that annoy or perplex you? Let us know by posting a comment.