Fit For Human Consumption

Food for Thought

2012-01-29T13:48:00.000-08:00

I read an article over the weekend that provoked some questionsabout what we should value in food. The article’s three-way conversation(between two chefs and one well known author and television personality) camedown in the end to a debate over ingredients or technique as paramount.

Unsurprisingly given the cutting edge techniques employed byone of the chefs, he argued strongly that the tendency to exalt the ingredientsover the chef is leading to mediocrity. It is a mistake to focus on justingredients, he suggested. He asserted that if one is paying a certain amountof money to eat in a certain caliber of restaurant one should assume theingredients are going to be high quality but what makes a meal rise above mediocrityis what the chef does. That the cooking is what counts.

I so see the point. It’s bound to come up in every creativeoutlet in some form. In writing: if you have a good subject matter for astellar story, how much is attributable to the word gifts of the author? If aphotograph depicts something beautiful, how much value is placed on the eye ofthe person behind the lense? Etc. etc. In essence he seemed to be arguing thatquality cooking is about what the creative artist (here the chef) does with theraw materials he or she is given.

Which is true. Except it obliterates some sad realitiesabout our current food system. Leave aside for a moment that whether or not we “should”be able to assume a certain quality of taste in ingredients in a certain classof restaurant, I don’t think we always can do that. And leave aside for aminute that the kind of food this particular chef cooks is to the food most ofus eat as haute courture is to jeans and a t-shirt.

I’m not entirely sure where I come down in this particularargument. Being someone who both enjoys supporting local farms and purveyorsand someone who is frustrated and infuriated by the trendy lemming-like rush to“farm-to-table” concepts, I get the frustration. Simply sourcing hard to findheirloom ingredients for a restaurant does not a five-star dining experiencemake. But at the same time, democratizing the awareness that foods grown,cultivated and bred in certain ways improves both the quality of those foodsand their impact on the world seems like a positive step.

This Little Pig

2012-01-13T17:00:00.000-08:00

At lunch today at a local restaurant I had a visceral reminder of how much food culture has shifted since I grew up the child of 60's-era hippies (as previously referenced and illustrated here, I mean really look at that hair! the lapels!), primarily in the figure of the enormous half pig carried through the dining room and plunked on the counter of the open kitchen. I was psyched, but suffice to say my semi-back to the land parental units gave us a childhood that wasn't entirely mainstream. Wonderful, yes. Mainstream? Not so much.

The fact that we ate eggs from our own chickens and raised pigs and a cow to eat isn't really your usual 1980s childhood tale. Granted, in rural Vermont where I grew up it was. Southern Vermont is steeped in rural familiarity with small farming enterprises; rural areas held on to those memories of where our food came from long after it became a styrofoam wrapped commodity in most places.

But for mainstream U.S. society food became something that seemed to sprout out of thin air in the refrigerated case at the supermarket. That divide was very clear to me in the decade since I left Vermont for urban areas. Apparently it was unusual that we had a cow, incidentally named Roast Beef (RB for short-a tag my father and I each steadfastly blame on the other). Unusual also were the chickens. And the pigs. The flock of very mean geese. The rabbits. The pheasants. The occasional goat. Horses, bantam hens (smaller than the regular ones), araucana chickens (they lay smaller, pastel eggs), homing pigeons. And a partridge in a pear tree. Just kidding, but only about the partridge. The rest were real.

It's not exactly a scene from Family Ties or the Cosby Family. And yet today I watched diners calmly eat their lunch in a vaguely upscale trendy restaurant inches away from a chef butchering half of a very large pig. The first thing that came off was the head. Out came the iPhones, but aside from that she could have been slicing lemons for the bar. Okay, they were a little more interested than if she was just cutting citrus, but you see my point. It's pretty hard to ignore that your brussel sprouts sauteed in bacon (which were fantastic btw) aren't connected to the 400 pound pig being carved up before you.

Or is it? Part of me wants to say, bravo. We've normalized the food chain again. But the cynic in me has to ask, have we really? Or are we just fetishizing our food and turning it into dinner theater? To be fair the restaurant didn't seem to be deliberately putting on a show. It was well after the lunch rush and the concept of the place is that all its kitchens are wide open. There really isn't anywhere else to do basic prep, even if it does involve carving up a pig. I just hope those diners watching also take the time to gain transparency into the food they buy, eat and cook at home.

Lazy Ratatouille Recap

2011-09-26T18:32:00.000-07:00

Digging through e-files today I discovered a long lost post written but never published. So despite the transition from tomatoes to apples and all that autumn entails, here's where I was at for July and August. Plus it seemed to fit with our handy dandy new header (thanks Shea). Love the tomatoes.

Julia Child (JC) is adamant about a number of things. Among them she insists that the elements of ratatouille (tomatoes, onion, garlic, peppers, zucchini and eggplant) MUST be cooked separately before they are combined. It has something to do with integrity of flavor I suppose. I’ve made JC’s version. It’s fantastic, and I must admit worth the extra effort if you have the leisure time.

However, on a Tuesday night after work I’m usually uninterested in the prospect of turning a potentially one pot, quick dinner into a 50 minute labor-of-love-homage to French cooking. Sorry, JC.

And really, while her version is outstanding there’s a million ways of deliciously combining tomatoes, onion, garlic, peppers, eggplant and zucchini. (Or aubergine and courgette if you prefer. Such pretty words.) Add to that the seasonal felicity of all those items and basil appearing at the same time in my CSA haul. With the exception of peppers: when faced with a choice between taking one less heirloom Cherokee purple (unthinkable) and an unexciting green pepper, I made the obvious choice.

Given the Tuesday-state of things I opted to violate JC’s cardinal rule of ratatouille making, and horror of horrors cooked everything in one pot. Hopefully the fact that I used my very best and prettiest pot (Le Creuset to be exact) will help make up for my sins.

And the results, while not strictly traditional, were awesome both hot and cold when incorporated into a pot of Israeli couscous cooked in broth. I don’t usually measure when I’m cooking out of my head but roughly speaking I think I used equal amounts of the aubergine and courgette; an onion; two cloves of minced garlic; most of a large container of grape tomatoes; salt; olive oil; a tablespoon-ish each of anchovy paste and tomato paste; and a sizable handful of basil leaves.

Chop the courgette into bite size pieces, toss with salt in a colander and leave in sink to drain while prepping other ingredients, stirring it occasionally. After chopping all necessary ingredients to give the eggplant time to do its thing (i.e. releasing some of its bitterness) sautée onions in oil. When they're soft add the garlic and cook until just fragrant. Add eggplant and cook until it loses some of it’s resistance. Add zucchini and sauté until crisp tender. I added anchovy and tomato paste here, stirring to fully incorporate. Then tomatoes. Turn heat to low and simmer while couscous cooks (a 2:1 broth to couscous ratio boiled in a pan until liquid is almost entirely absorbed). When couscous is done I turned off the vegetables, tossed in some chopped basil. And mixed the two pots together. Finis.

It may not be traditional, but it was certainly delicious. This is what I love most about having a csa, the abundance of fresh ingredients that I'm forced to do something with. It's made me very appreciative of how well seasonally symbiotic crops go together. (See above recipe.) Even lacking in one typical ingredient things still taste right.

Evolution of an Eater

2011-06-05T09:47:00.000-07:00

I just finished reading a Mark Bittman excerpt about how he learned to cook at Salon.com. His was a largely accidental and practical journey. It’s a path that I would assume resonates with a lot of people. And from the perspective of a child of parents of his generation who had a very similar approach to cooking I think I learned from my parental units the same way Bittman's eldest daughter learned from him. My parents were no fuss, fresh ingredient oriented, aging hippies as well.

My father went through various cooking “phases” where he would become enamored of the cooking styles of his Italian ancestry (kicking off a Marcella Hazan exploration that I was unappreciative of until I was much older) or lavish annual Memorial Day and Christmas Eve parties (which could account for my masochistic urge to host dozens of friends for sit down dinners). In our house however, my father was the “special occasion” cook (although to be fair that has completely shifted in recent years).

When my siblings and I were children my mother was responsible for the day-to-day nourishment of the family. It was a skill she didn’t pick up until she was an adult. It was my father who taught her to cook in the early days of their relationship. My father-the product of a woman who was decades ahead of her time as a working mother in the 1950s and thought that there were more interesting things a woman should do than just cook and entertain (go Gram!)-taught himself to cook mostly out of self-preservation. My paternal grandmother is a spitfire, a fantastic dancer and so vivacious at 90+ that I feel old by comparison, but a stellar cook she is not.

My mother grew up in the exact opposite environment. My maternal grandmother is a fantastic cook, incapable of cooking for a group smaller than 20. Another skill I may have inherited, but in her case a well-justified habit. She fed a family of 10 three meals every day. The sheer logistics involved in that scale of cooking meant my mother never learned how to cook from her mother. My guess is it was easier for my grandmother to delegate care of my mother’s seven younger siblings and household chores to the elder kids than it was to teach them how to use knives and fire safely.

By the time I was old enough to register what was entailed in cooking, my mother was a very proficient cook with an experimental streak that grew as we got older. I don’t remember specifically being taught to cook. I do remember messing around periodically in the kitchen. Our first microwave was particularly entertaining—like an easy bake oven on steroids. In high school my best friend from down the street and I experimented a lot with stir frys for a full summer. And there were a lot of “fancy dinner” parties with my friends that had more to do with dressing up than cooking.

What really launched my interest in cooking were too rather pedestrian impulses: I like to eat and was too poor to eat out as a recent grad living in New York and I hate doing dishes. The first was a rather obvious impetus: survival. The second was a literal cause and reaction. The rule at our large family gatherings is the cooks don’t do the dishes. I hate doing dishes. It seemed only logical to start volunteering to cook side dishes. Which evolved into increasing experimentation, a cooking club with friends, the eventual masochistic urge to take over family holiday dinners and so on. The rest, as they say, is history.

Bounties of Spring

2011-05-04T16:18:00.000-07:00

It's official: spring is here. Farmer's markets start this week. CSA pick-up kicks off next week. And my tangled bunch of herbs awaits a new patch of earth to make themselves at home in.

Summer in D.C. is a thing to be avoided at all costs. But the fantastic springiness of the transition from winter to summer here makes it all worthwhile. (At least until August hits in all its swampy glory.)

Having grown up in VT where the season between snow and summer is aptly called mud season I revel in the true spring I get here complete with cherry blossom, azaleas, lilacs, dogwoods and all manner of allergy inducing pretties. And best of all: some of the edible signs of spring that I'd only heard tales of before moving here.

We're poised on the cusp of that moment when all the teasing flowers and rain will come to fruition and life will be delicious (and local) again. I've already splurged on early ramps. Now I'm chomping at the bit for more local arugula, early greens, perfect asparagus and the tumble of vegetables to follow.

I have visions of farmers markets dancing in my head. I'm happy to let someone else express it for me.

Today by Billy Collins

If ever there were a spring day so perfect,
so uplifted by a warm intermittent breeze

that it made you want to throw
open all the windows in the house

and unlatch the door to the canary's cage,
indeed, rip the little door from its jamb,

a day when the cool brick paths
and the garden bursting with peonies

seemed so etched in sunlight
that you felt like taking

a hammer to the glass paperweight
on the living room end table,

releasing the inhabitants
from their snow-covered cottage

so they could walk out,
holding hands and squinting

into this larger dome of blue and white,
well, today is just that kind of day.

Embracing My Hippie Roots

2011-04-09T09:16:00.000-07:00

What is it about making something with your own two hands that is so satisfying? Why is it so down-deep pleasing to look at something and say: I made that?

The high you get from making things fully from scratch would seem to fly in the face of talk about how Americans don't cook anymore and how the Food Network and its ilk turned food into a spectator sport .

I blogged a year or two back about the idea that cooking is one of the few "dirty" jobs we still do. And I still think that, although I've begun to suspect that cooking is just the tip of the iceberg--the gateway drug. See: recent spate of hipsters learning how to butcher things. And as much as I hate to admit it, I totally get it. I spent the last 6 months looking for posters that show all the butcher cuts. I found them, and now they're taunting me. Isn't the next logical step learning how to break down a cow?

I would not be the first, or only, amateur to take this path. But really, short of ponying up for a class I think my hands on experiments will have to stay on the tamer side for now. (Heads up for the buried lead.)

In that spirit, I made yogurt last week. From scratch, like actually from a gallon of milk! I'm hardly breaking new ground here, I have friends who have routinely done this for years, but I'm still basking in the glow of accomplishment. It was embarrassingly easy, but even that can't diminish my sense of pride. I was dancing-literally-around the kitchen when the texture finally came together. Winner!

The only hitch: there is now a full gallon of yogurt in my fridge. Any suggestions?? It's a lot of yogurt. The obvious short term solution was to embrace my hippie roots, so batch one of yogurt was quickly followed by a massive batch of granola. Yes, I admit my transformation back to the crunchy Vermont hippie roots is nearly complete. I fought it as long as I could, and finally caved. But I still draw the line at Birkenstocks.

But really, despite it's "crunchy" stigma, both the yogurt making and the granola were so. much. fun. Really, you should try it. I'm officially hooked. And ridiculously excited about breakfast every morning. I'm almost as giddy about this as I was about a successful pasta making experiment with LD last month. Another "I made that" moment of euphoria and self-congratulatory back slapping.

I'm feeling quite cocky now. Next stop: cured meat. Now if only I could find saltpeter (which is apparently also an ingredient in some truly frightening explosives-who knew?!?).

California

2011-03-29T18:22:00.001-07:00

Two days back from a trip to California and I'm still sorting through all the deliciousness. The best food images from part of my trip are most definitely to be found at Shea's blog, I can't even pretend to get visuals close to this. (and yes I have fully lifted one of his pix to catch your interest.) I only wish he'd been there for the rest of the week to catch a few of the other meals we had (I'll get to those later).

There was some amazing food, but what will linger long after I forget the precise taste of the Parkside fried chicken benedict(it was outrageously delicious) or how puckeringly, deliciously, lemony the ice box pie Shea trekked from Lois the Piemaker was (and it alone was arguably worth the price of my plane ticket)was the people all those meals allowed me to connect with.

It was one of the humbler home cooked meals last week that clarified why I love not just the experience of eating well but the conversations and relationships that take place around it. Abby and Paul had two friends over, brothers from Mexico. A and I cooked, one of those "what's in the fridge" meals that turned out surprisingly well.

A, P and I were talking about a New Year's meal from last year when I made carnitas a la Shea, which is a fabulous winner of a meal. LL and I won a sandwich competition based around it earlier this month. Which is all to say I'm kind of proud I've mastered this recipe. Until last Tuesday that is. Martine, the younger of the two brothers schooled me about carnitas. Apparently he's been helping his father cook carnitas back home all his life. Hard to compete with that.

Midway through the conversation (as translated through his brother as my Spanish skills are nonexistent) what struck me about the conversation was less the actual recipe, although it really sounds amazing, and more that we were completely bonding over the "right" way to make the dish. I'm going to concede defeat to the lifelong practice Martine has on me, but in spite of the difference in experience and language we had a long conversation about how you cook carnitas.

It got me thinking about how many times I've done just that, connected with a virtual stranger across whatever barriers might exist around food. Which leads next to how many connections I have with the people I love that are also bound up in and intertwined with food experience.

San Francisco has many amazing food options, but what really made them all memorable was getting to share them with friends and family. As always it's not just about what we eat, but how, where and who we are eating with....of course that won't stop me from dreaming about both the fried chicken benedict and the lemon pie. And saving my pennies for my next flight west.

Resolute Relish

2011-01-08T08:57:00.000-08:00

I don't go in much for New Year's Resolutions. I support the notion of goals and self improvement, but the act of making a resolution rings false to me. If you want to do something, just do it. It's possible my personality is more inclined towards contemplation interrupted by bursts of impulsiveness. Yearly goal setting is a tad to regular for my taste. With that said I'm thrilled to bid 2010 goodbye and good riddance and move into 2011. So in the spirit of starting over what I can get behind are some reasonable food and eating goals. So here goes.

1) Learn how to make fresh pasta.
2) Conquer my fear of pie crusts (just in time for what every food paper, blog, smoke signal and what have you calls the year of the pie in 2011)
3) Catch up on my food lit: namely the MFK Fisher compendium and the New Yorker food tome collected dust on my bedside table.
4) Cook more complete meals
5) Eat more vegetables
6) Try more food trucks before the bubble bursts in DC
7) Find more local sources for food to carry through the farmer's market off season
8) Can something
9) Bake something, anything, from the pretty "My Bread" book I've avoided all year
10) Blog more

Happy New Year!

T-minus to Turkey

2010-11-24T05:17:00.000-08:00

Cranberry orange relish, check. Gingered butternut squash soup, check. Pumpkin ginger cheesecake pie, check. All that's left is the cauliflower gratin, the roasted brussels and the herb butter basted bird. And of course the table setting, the gravy, the last minute inevitable chaos. And accommodating the seven other sides being supplied by others.

Only six for Thanksgiving this year. I'm so used to cooking for crowds that this feels ironically more challenging. Note to self: do not make a vat of anything.

My family is one of the "you don't mess with classics" variety. For many years I found that stifling and bland. I always introduced one new dish to the classic line up, on principle. It was also in hindsight what spawned my growing obsession with cooking. Thanksgiving for me was a time to try things out in a safe environment where my experimenets were backed by many, many other tried and true recipes to fill in if I failed.

All these years later, and hosting another Thanksgiving with friends instead of family (albeit only the second time I've ever not been with my family) I find the menu I gravitated towards to be a mix of favorites, experiments and dishes I've tried but are on their way to being classics.

Ironically it's not the turkey that inspires nerves. Can I do the cauliflower the way my mother, grandmother and aunt have? I've never done it solo. What if it's not the same? It's the one dish that's a nod to my family traditions this year. The butternut squash soup is a favorite of mine, easy, delicious and healthy. The pumpkin ginger cheesecake pie was a hit at a few events last year, courtesy of another blogger friend. The roasted brussels are a common table adornment around here, having emerged as the only way I like the veg. And the potluck component of most meals at 1660 ensures that there will be plenty of new dishes to try.

In some ways my Thanksgiving table resembles my approach to life these days, a nod to tradition but the curiosity to keep experimenting.

Happy Turkey Day.

Vacation, in the Vernacular

2010-11-17T17:12:00.000-08:00

Vernacular: of, relating to, or characteristic of a period, place or group. In essence, native.

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about how travel and food intersect. Not just because I’ve only recently returned from a fabulously food filled vacation, although I have, but more because I find the two interests so intertwined as to be nearly inseparable. And then today, voila, an online chat about the New Yorker’s food issue with three writers supplied the term I’ve been searching for. Writer Calvin Trillin said he mostly writes about vernacular food, food attached to a specific place. He said his dislike of fancy restaurants often comes from the sameness you can encounter.

It’s perfect. Yes, I can eat Turkish food in the U.S. versus traveling there, and have done so deliciously twice in the last seven days, but what I loved about both meals was how firmly grounded they were in being Turkish. I might not NEED to travel to Turkey to eat those foods (though I would love to) but I do want the meal to make me feel as though I did.

I think I’d take Trillins thought one step further to include the totality of what vernacular means, essentially that a meal can be tied not only to place, but to the when and who of a meal as well. The experience of eating something is inextricably bound up in where you are when you consume it, when you consume it and who you share it with. Eating is about things that taste good, but as I’ve said on this blog before I don’t believe it’s only about what tastes good.

October brought a wonderful two week vacation that was very much about vernacular food and encompassed a trio of locales. A pitch perfect week in London with BOG /W, a long weekend in Kent for the wedding of PA/A, and four days in Barcelona to round it out. It was far flung and wonderful and full of fun, dear friends and delicious food.

In fourteen days we ate more than I could possibly include in one blog post, I’ll have to dissect and describe the culinary compendium later. But suffice to say highlights, in addition to the seaside paella, included: curry near Brick Lane; pad thai at a restaurant that features chilies so hot they brought the fire department, literally; grilled razor clams at a tapas bar inside La Boqueria; partridge cooked in a pear cider sauce in a 17th century inn in Kent; wonderful, lemony Afghani food in a tiny London storefront; churros and chocolate during a festival celebrating a saint represented by flies (long story involving French invaders and swarms of defensive insects supposedly sent by a dead saint); cozy soup in a cook book store turned café; and countless other meals.

Why is it that food tastes so much better when we’re traveling or on vacation? Even basic things seem luxurious. Is that because we’re paying more attention? Because drinking that bottle of wine at lunch on a Tuesday seems just a wee bit naughty? Whatever the reason I seem to find all my meals memorable when I’m traveling. And this trip was no different. The multi-cheese picnic consumed on the train after strolling around Borough Market stands out in my brain just as clearly as the two fantastic tapas meals I had at Tapas 24 in Barcelona. Go figure.

Wanton Chicken

2010-09-18T13:24:00.000-07:00

I was vindicated today to find that Julia Child’s recipe for basic roasted chicken is almost the same as the one I’ve been using. Simple. Delicious. Humble. I can’t imagine anything better than the smell of a chicken stuffed with lemons, rosemary, thyme et al roasting away. Perhaps I can’t imagine it because right now that’s all I smell.

JC and I differ on one element. She trusses her chicken, tying the legs together to make for a better presentation. She’s quite adamant that to leave the legs swinging free is wrong. She makes some noise about overcooked drumsticks but her main concern seems to be keeping up appearance. Actually, the word she uses is “wanton”…. Leaving the legs splayed “gives the chicken a rather wanton look,” JC says in her lovely cookbook co-written with Jacques Pepin. I love that that’s the word she chooses. I usually can’t be bothered to dig out my cooking twine. So wanton chicken it is.

I’ll admit that roasting a chicken is an odd activity for a lazy, gorgeous Saturday when lunch is past and it’s not quite dinner time. But this was a: when the oven was free in my cook crowded home today, sandwiched between the farmer’s market inspired breakfast cooked by one housemate and the zucchini cake baking frenzy of another who is valiantly trying to tame our CSA share. And b: if I didn’t make this chicken today it was going to be a lost cause.

Hence roast chicken at 3pm.

My approach to roast chicken is simple. Having never owned the proper v-shaped roasting rack I strew the bottom of the roasting pan with onions, potatoes, carrots, celery, leeks: whatever’s in the house and will lift the chicken off the bottom of the pan. Rub the bird’s skin with butter or olive oil, s&p, put some in the cavity as well. (JC calls this a “generous butter massage,” wanton indeed!). Cut a couple lemons (or a mix of lemon and orange if there are oranges to be had) into thick slices. Squeeze the lemons over the chicken and stuff the cavity with them and fresh herbs. We always have rosemary and thyme so those tend to be my preference. Whatever lemons don’t fit in the cavity I toss into the bottom of the pan. Roast at 425 for 15 minutes, then turn the oven down to 350 for somewhere in the neighborhood of an hour.

That’s it. It makes for very simple, delicious chicken. With some yummy roasted veggies in the bottom that basically basted in butter and chicken fat…. Really what’s not to like. Although the “veggie rack” I use might not be universally appealing. They are very mushy and very intensely flavored and can end up on the salty side as basting washes some of the salt from the skin into the pan. I love it. But it might not be for everyone.

And I have to say that JC’s system for testing chicken’s “doneness” is preferable to my mind. If I cooked a chicken until the meat thermometer said it was done it’d be sawdust. I swear that’s why chicken has such a bad rap. Stuffing the cavity with citrus does slow the cooking time if, like me, you’re over exuberant about citrus. But I just allow for extra cooking time—a necessity with 1660 Hobart’s ghetto oven anyway. Julia says the chicken’s done when the juices run clear and the legs move easily in their socket.

Bon appétit!

2010-09-02T05:18:00.000-07:00

I think I may have found the cure for my pathological fear of baking. Booze! LL’s birthday was Aug. 27 and per the birthday girl’s request I was charged with making an ice cream cake. In keeping with LL’s tastes I decided on chocolate stout cake for the “cake” layer of the ice cream cake and used a Hobart favorite: Milk Stout. I have to admit I did not make the ice cream myself. I need to log quite a few more hours on the Dixie Bell (our aptly named retro ice cream maker) before I’d venture to include one of my own creations in something as important as a birthday cake. I chickened out in other words and bought Haagen Daz. Vanilla.

As an aside have you ever read the ingredients of most ice creams? I did the other day and it is truly terrifying. The vast majority are most definitely not Fit For Human Consumption. Why on earth are there so many unpronounceable ingredients in them? Having now made our own ice cream I can attest that it’s a refreshingly simple recipe. Cream. Ice. Salt (for melting the ice). Whatever fruits or flavors strike your fancy. In an entire case of ice cream at Whole Foods the ONLY brand that had just ingredients I could identify without a periodic table or a degree in food science was Haagen Daz. Ridiculous.

So ice cream purchased all that remained was the topping. I again relied on a Hobart favorite: bourbon whipped cream. I worried in the days leading up to Laura’s birthday that the stout, chocolate, ice cream, bourbon combo would be overwhelming, that there was too much going on. But if the reports of those who ate the cake are to be believed it all married surprisingly well. The bourbon notes in the vanilla dovetailed nicely with the bourbon whipped cream. And the dense chocolate stout cake seemed to benefit from the cool smooth vanilla flavor of the ice cream. I’m going to try the cake solo for guests this weekend as a comparison, so we’ll see how the recipe does at room temperature with nothing to distract from it. I think the cake definitely benefitted from sitting a day or two. The milk stout gave the chocolate cake an almost sour taste which while not entirely unappealing really mellowed out over time.

I don’t have the attention to detail required for light fluffy baking. Dense, intense flavor I seem to be able to manage. Chocolate stout cake definitely falls into the latter category.

Hobart St. Boozy Birthday Cake

Cake recipe (courtesy of the NYT, adapted from Epicurious)

Butter for pan
1 cup Guinness stout
10 tablespoons (1 stick plus 2 tablespoons) unsalted butter
3/8 cup unsweetened cocoa
2 cups superfine sugar
3/8 cup sour cream
2 large eggs
1 tablespoon vanilla extract
2 cups all-purpose flour
2 1/2 teaspoons baking soda

1. For the cake: heat oven to 350 degrees. Butter a 9-inch springform pan and line with parchment paper. In a large saucepan, combine Guinness and butter. Place over medium-low heat until butter melts, then remove from heat. Add cocoa and superfine sugar, and whisk to blend.

2. In a small bowl, combine sour cream, eggs and vanilla; mix well. Add to Guinness mixture. Add flour and baking soda, and whisk again until smooth. Pour into buttered pan, and bake until risen and firm, 45 minutes to one hour. Place pan on a wire rack and cool completely in pan.

Ice Cream layer:

Allow a container of ice cream, recommended flavor vanilla with bourbon notes, to soften at room temperature. Line an 8 inch spring form pan with plastic wrap. Pour or scoop ice cream into the pan and smooth into an even layer. Freeze until hard.

When hard, put cake layer on top and freeze again. (Note: my intention was to do 2 layers of cake with ice cream in the middle. Using the above cake recipe you would need to double it, the one cake isn’t tall enough to split horizontally. But the single layers of cake and ice cream worked just fine.)

Topping:

1 pint whipping cream, powdered sugar and bourbon to taste (Buffalo Trace worked nicely). Mine was a little too bourbon-y so be careful not to over pour. If there’s a “right” time to add liquid to whipped cream I don’t know what it is-I dump the powdered sugar and the bourbon into the cream in the stand mixer and flip the switch. For topping a cake stiffer whipped cream, practically butter texture, is preferable. It was easier to use as frosting.

Cover cake with whipped cream frosting. For frosting technique I recommend getting lessons as I did over the weekend from a trained cake decorator! I would’ve been a train wreck on my own. (Thanks AM.) Otherwise do the best you can. My philosophy is that taste matters more than aesthetics anyway.

The assembled ice cream cake is best if you allow it all to freeze again. Perhaps even overnight. Day 2 and 3 of LL’s cake outstripped day 1 hands down. The whipped cream sets up more like frosting and the flavors seem to meld better. But if you’re antsy (or like me perpetually running behind) it can be eaten in the ooey gooey stage right after frosting. The flavors are all there.

Tomato Tomahto

2010-08-12T16:22:00.000-07:00

I always have trouble answering that ubiquitous “what would your last meal be” question. On premise it bothers me to narrow down an answer. And in reality who can pick just one thing?!? That is, until late summer hits and brings with it the bounty of lush tomatoes and fragrant basil. Ask me now, and I definitely know my answer.

I have to come clean, I’m a tomato addict. I blame my father. When tomatoes were in season when we were kids every dinner and many lunches were accompanied by a plate of glistening tomato slices. No dressing, no fancified cheese and basil stacks. Just. Tomatoes. Maybe salt. It’s simplicity and appreciation for good ingredients at its unvarnished best. Sometimes, the best times, the tomatoes would hit the table still slightly hot from the sun.

I’m violently opposed to refrigerating tomatoes. I’m also violently opposed to any tomato someone tries to sell me out of season (with the exception of those imported grape tomatoes I purchase with all the shame of a junkie looking for a fix). Pink, mealy January tomatoes shouldn’t be eaten. And they certainly don’t deserve to be classed together with the gorgeous beauties rolling into my kitchen right now.

After the tomato blight heartbreak of last year, I’ve hedged my bets in 2010. Good thing too since this year’s garden is once again suffering. This year the twin pillars of my fabulous CSA and the MtP farmers market have kept my habit well supplied. This weekend was even better, a visit to see BG staying with her family in Pennsylvania was totally tomato focused and once they recognized my…obsession they sent me home well kitted out to keep my three tomato a day habit humming along.

And they outfitted me with a sizable bouquet of basil to go with it. BG’s dad tried one of those aero gardens that I would’ve dismissed as a gimmick until I saw this basil plant. The size of a tree ya’ll, without getting woody or making the basil bitter! Amazing. I am so getting one of those, because if there’s anything that can improve on an in-season ripe tomato it would be its favorite companion, basil.

I have to cop to sometimes slightly fancifying my tomato dinner platter from my dad’s version. If I have access to good cheese, which I did this week in the form of a mozzarella braid from Calander’s dairy in Nazareth PA, it’s hard not to add that to my tomatoes and basil. Olive oil, salt, pepper. Perfetto. Although I’m more inclined towards a bite size chop of the ingredients than the large, round stacks of caprese typically offered in the U.S. Just a personal preference.

This year I can’t get enough of the raw unadulterated tomatoes but soon I’ll make some sauce to store. Maybe a tomato tart (there’s a recipe for one with gruyere that is delicious). And WaPo ran an intriguing article about homemade ketchup today. We’ll see. As long as I can keep the tomatoes coming I’m a happy woman.

Zucchini, Take One

2010-06-28T11:04:00.000-07:00

The oppressive heat of a Washington summer arrived early this year. The District has been a sticky, sweaty, humid, hot mess on and off since May. The only added bonus of all this early heat and humidity is that it’s pushing a lot of my favorite summer crops onto an earlier timetable. And apparently into a supersized realm.

1660 Hobart got its first monstrous zucchini of the season from our fabulous CSA the week before I headed out on vacation in Costa Rica (more on that at a later date). It rivaled some of the late summer fruit from last year, longer than my forearm and almost twice as wide. Big honking zucchini always spell zucchini bread for me. It’s delicious, and freezes well. And knocks out a large zucchini that might be past it’s flavor prime. My favorite recipe is an Epicurious standby for spiced zucchini bread, lots of cinnamon and allspice and tweaked to add chocolate chips. Delicious. The loaves that came from last year’s steroidal zucchini lasted us well into the epic blizzard last winter. And made a lovely breakfast pre-sledding if I do say so myself.

Under a time crunch from my impending vacation departure and AK's bday at all you can eat Korean BBQ (clearly not to be missed) I chose to bake my first batch of zucchini bread on an unbearably hot night. Ugh. But had to be done. The heat addled my brain however and one whole batch of bread made it into the oven missing one crucial ingredient (oil) and with significantly less than was called for of another (sugar). There’s a reason Liza doesn’t bake very often people, being easily distracted is a hard problem to fix in finicky baking recipes.

On JB’s suggestion I decided to call it an experiment since inadvertently I’d made a healthier version. The final result needs some significant tweaks to improve the texture, but all in all the verdict was it wasn’t half bad. Worth playing with if the zucchini keep rolling in. The second batch was spot on: dense, gooey, chocolate-y zucchini goodness. And with a truly frightening amount of vegetable oil in it, anything but healthy.

Six loaves later there was still a massive quantity of shredded zucchini so JB and I had a zucchini pancake showdown the next night. We tried two competing recipes: one with mint and feta, the other with curry. Both were super easy and delicious, although it was agreed that some texture issues needed to be ironed out. In an effort to retain the health benefits of the zucchini we tried to minimize the oil used which meant the crispness they would’ve had from being deep fried wasn’t there. But the flavor was. A fair trade off in my mind. If we keep getting zucchini the size of baseball bats we’ll need some healthier options to dispose of the bounty-even I can't eat that much zucchini bread.

Curried Zucchini Pancakes
1 large zucchini, shredded with a grater or food processor
1 sm. Onion, shredded with a grater or food processor
¼ C egg white
¼ C cottage cheese
¼ C matzoh meal or bread crumbs (more if the mixture seems impossibly wet)
1t curry powder (choose your favorite)
Salt and pepper to taste
Mix all the ingredients together and use a quarter cup measure to make the pancakes. Cook until brown on both sides, pushing down on the pancakes to flatten them. Benefits greatly from the addition of Greek yogurt to balance out the curry. (A yogurt sauce of some kind with some cool mint or cilantro, maybe tzatziki style might also work here.) Also the addition of shredded carrots might give it a little more flavor depth.

Spring Has Sprung

2010-05-12T20:01:00.000-07:00

I’m not a very patient person. It’s what makes me infinitely more suited to the farmers market than the garden. I’m working on it, but it’s admittedly harder to get inspired by something that won’t come to fruition, literally, for months.

That being said I think I’ve achieved a good balance this year. Saturday was the second farmer’s market, I stocked up on enough asparagus to make a super easy vibrant green soup to chase away Sunday’s blustery early spring feel and more rhubarb and strawberries to start stockpiling batches of my new favorite compote. (thanks Shea).

I also managed to spend upwards of 30 dollars on seedlings for our much improved communal garden, despite exhibiting an unusual level of self control buying herbs to plant. Managed to contain myself to just buying lavender, lemon balm, spearmint, tarragon, African blue basil and thyme to join the thriving rosemary and parsley in the herb bed.

I think the herbs are the best way to combat my impatience with gardening. Don’t get me wrong, I’m excited for tomatoes. I love tomatoes. But after last year’s blight plague on the east coast stunted our success I don’t know if I can take the heartbreak again. I needed a solid plan b. Or multiples.

That’s why I love our farmers market and the proximity of DC to farm country. This year 1660 also joined a CSA that involves visiting a farm once a week. (As a Vermonter who's dwelled in cities for the last decade I find this part especially exciting.) The farm share we have includes pick your own opportunities on top of a weekly share. Plus the farm does some really neat work to keep their program accessible for those with no disposable income. I’m sure I’ll wax on about the CSA quite a bit this summer. Our first pick up is next weekend, and I’ll miss it due to a family obligation but I can’t wait to see what we get.

I think the balance of surprises from the CSA and what comes out of the yard, with the support of the far more dependable offerings from the farmers market should make for a delicious summer. Asparagus soup recipe below--it's kept me a happy eater all week. Keep in mind I don’t really measure when I cook…. Consider all these numbers in the “ish” range.

Herbed Asparagus Soup

(heavily improvised and adapted from Eating Well to match existing refrigerator contents)

NOTE: this makes a large quantity of soup. I appear to have inherited a family gene that makes it impossible for me to cook for less than an army. The skill serves me well on Hobart, but obviously adjust measurements according to quantity and taste.

2 medium leeks or onion, chopped

2-4 cloves garlic, minced

2lbs asparagus (trimmed and cut into inch long pieces)

1 and 1/3 cups green peas (frozen or fresh)

4 cups chicken broth

4 small to medium sized potatoes (peeled and diced)

4-5 T finely chopped herbs: dill, parsley, chives (any combo you like, i went heavy on the dill).

½ C crème fraiche

S&P to taste

T or 2 of lemon juice

Saute leeks/onion in olive oil until tender but not browned. Add garlic and sauté, stirring, until fragrant 1 minute or so. Add chicken broth and potatoes, simmer until potatoes are tender. Add asparagus and peas and cook until just tender but still bright green. Remove from heat, stir in herbs, salt and pepper to taste. Puree soup (I used an immersion blender which if you don’t own you really should. Fantastic kitchen toy.) Add crème fraiche and incorporate well using immersion blender. Bring soup back up to temperature. Just before serving add lemon. Top with herbs and Greek yogurt or more crème fraiche if you like.

Loads of Lemons

2010-04-12T20:10:00.001-07:00

I'm having a citrus moment. Ok, it might border more on an obsessive compulsion these days. It started with my discovery that these Meyer lemons I'd been reading about for years that all the lucky food types in warmer climes waxed on about were available for a very reasonable price in the P Street Whole Foods.

I've come late to the Meyer lemon party, but for anyone who hasn't seen them they are both delicious and truly lovely looking. They're smaller than a regular lemon and smoother and they glow with the most intense yellow lemon-ness. They also smell and taste divine-like a cross between a lemon and a clementine or tangerine, lemon but sweet enough to eat alone. You get the picture.

I bought them by the dozen for as long as I could find them. Then friends started buying them for me and delivering them to me. They're irresistible.

I made good use of the bounty of Meyer lemons that came my way. In salad dressing,in intensely lemony shortbread, as a marinade with oranges and parsley for fantastic grilled chicken. I froze juice, I candied lemon peels. I even made some preserved lemons despite never having cooked with them before. I had Meyer lemon fever, which gave way to a very citrusy winter/spring in general when the Meyer lemons were no more.

When forced to move on to more pedestrian citrus the results were still pretty great. The roast chicken we served for a part of passover seder this year was heavenly, basted in a combo of lemon and orange juice. And you've already heard about the grapefruit marmalade which we just ran out of sadly.

It's nice to have something bright and fresh to tide you over these last few weeks before growing season really hits. Washington's season starts earlier than the brief summers in VT, but not early enough for me. I'm positively itching for the neighborhood (producer only) farmers' market to start and our CSA kicks in at the end of the month. The citrus filled the hole admirably, but despite my inclination to buy local whenever possible I'm not ready to give up on lemony recipes. The pasta with tuna, capers, basil and lemon zest that I made for a recent barbecue served as a good reminder of lemon uses in summer. Mmmmmm.

Bacon Cake

2010-03-01T16:48:00.000-08:00

Appropriately, albeit accidentally, we observed National Pig Day early this year. (Yes there is a National Pig Day and it happens to be today.) Bacon cake actually had another name. It's something along the lines of bocconcini stuffed Mediterranean bacon pull apart bread. But it should be called Bacon Cake.

It is every bit as decadent as it sounds. Herb bread rolled and sealed around tiny balls of fresh mozzarella, rolled in butter, bacon fat and parmesan cheese and baked in layers, in a bundt pan, with a mixture of bacon, green onions, olives and sundried tomatoes sprinkled between layers.

"Bacon cake" sounds appropriately decadent and just a little bit dirty. As it should. This is a naughty cake. You feel just a little bit dirty eating it. This is a cake you pretend not to like, because you shouldn't. This is a cake that looks sweet but is in reality salty, tart and indulgent. It's a surprise, this cake. It's nuanced, with just the right dash of naughtiness.

This is a cake you should make. But a word of caution. It is not to be trifled with. It is also a cake that should be made when it can be easily disposed of on willing guests. Otherwise you're likely to wake up in the middle of the night dreaming about sneaking down for just one more bite. It's hard to resist, this cake. You'll want to eat the whole thing. And really, no one needs to be that naughty....not whole bacon cake naughty.

The illicit thrill fades when you over indulge. And really, the fatty, salty, slightly dirty bacon-ness of it all should be savored--good behavior be damned.

Here's the recipe. And I'm linking to it rather than retyping the recipe so you can see the flights of obsession it inspires in others. Namely the author of the blog that kindly supplied us with the recipe. So you'll know I'm not crazy.

The inaugural bacon cake was consumed as part of a Foodie Films night featuring "Mostly Martha," which I am at this very moment watching. Again. The movie is also indulgent and a little bit decadent. It's fabulous. And it's a movie that I suspect would totally get bacon cake, seeing as it's a movie all about the naughty, slightly-dirty-in-the-best-way, sensual appreciation of food and what that can do for people. I recommend it (just ignore the dated sax music and focus on the food. And the bursts of Louis Prima.). And clearly I also recommend the bacon cake.

Canned Sunshine

2010-02-28T11:10:00.001-08:00

In flipping through past posts it's clear we're deep into winter. It seems as though there was so much more to write about in the summer and fall. The seasonal proclivities of FFHC seem to follow the seasonal trends of crops as well. Bountiful in the fall....lacking in the winter months. We still cook a lot but like the crops my creativity seems to be fallow these days. Unfortunate really since writing is the perfect cold weather activity.

Tonight we're having the second of what hopefully will be a regularly occurring dinner and a movie night focused on food themed films. The first featured "Chocolat." Following a dinner of grass fed beef and simply prepared veggies (including my new favorite quick braised cabbage) we had a dessert of chocolate fondue, naturally.

Tonight's dinner and movie are less closely aligned out of sheer laziness on my part. Watching "Mostly Martha" and eating pasta. Pasta's just such an easy way to feed a large crowd with ingredients that are on hand. I'm dreaming about farmer's markets and gardens but even in my more southern location these days that's months away.

The one sunny bright spot of the culinary landscape? The multiple cases of citrus fruit that arrived courtesy of a fundraiser for a local choir. The sunny bursts of citrus scents and color in the house might just help me survive until the weather turns. To that end...trying my first canning experiment under the tutelage of KF. Grapefruit marmalade is percolating away on the stove as I type. It smells wonderfully sunshiney. I'll let you know how it turns out, this is a multiple day project.

A Fish in Favor

2010-02-21T09:44:00.000-08:00

Anchovies appear to be having their moment. Evidenced here and here. Which bodes very well for the multiple cans of anchovies in my cupboard. I accidentally overbought them in a fit of overexcitement over a recipe for a romanesco cauliflower pasta dish this fall when it was in season. So pretty. And oddly, the first time I had actually cooked with anchovies. I had a hard to shake suspicion of canned fish for a long time. No more.

Hibernation

2010-02-11T08:55:00.000-08:00

I had time to ponder the affects of snOMG 2010 (insert favorite snowism here, there were many) on my wintery trek to work today. Secretly the Northerner in me takes a small amount of smug joy in all this snow paralyzing the city.

I should probably be more understanding of the panic that gripped the city, given that this region is entirely unprepared for any significant amount of snow. The large number of flat roofs alone indicates just how unprepared. Don’t worry, I got my comeuppance yesterday when the skylight in my house succumbed to the large mound of snow on it and started leaking like a sieve. Smug Northern revelry officially stifled.

It will take DC a long time to dig out from under this one, but despite all the memorable images, inch counts and snow drifts still in evidence, the memory of the storm is largely fading for me into a pleasant blur of social gatherings. Specifically comfort food driven social gatherings. We clearly survived the storms by eating our way through them. (And maybe drinking a little way through as well.)The first round of snow over the weekend fueled some great impromptu neighborly feasts. Nothing like a fabulous, remarkably well coordinated, last minute Indian feast to beat the cold. Lots of heat. Yum.

Saturday morning IAG treated us to panko crusted deep fried soft boiled eggs with sriracha remoulade. And yes it was every bit as decadent, delicious and artery clogging as it sounds. Justifiable winter fuel in my mind and an experiment worth repeating.

I also learned how to cook polenta this weekend, and found myself wondering why it took me so long to get around to it. So easy. So delicious. And so very useful. We followed Bittman's recipe in "How to Cook Everything." It made a wonderful base for two slow cooked beef dishes on Saturday and Sunday. Nothing says “winter” in my mind like a slow cooker or dutch oven meal. Both were delicious-one winier than the other, but aside from that not terribly different preparations in the end. Also delicious: the chili WM and BO’G served for their Superbowl gathering. Great game.

Sunday morning JB whipped together some great sweetpotato hashbrowns with diced local bacon. Lovely with an egg on top. Not one of IAG’s super stylin deep fried kind, but an egg nonetheless.

The second round of snow Tuesday into Wednesday produced an avalance of baked goods. A yummy, sticky, chocolatey assortment of goodness that came with the added bonus of being largely delivered to our door by stir crazy friends. Hooray for intrepid neighbors!

I Brought a Hand Grenade to the Potluck

2010-01-19T12:24:00.001-08:00

Food is love. I've read about this concept in various places over the years. The gathering of people and ingredients, the sharing of cooking talents, making and eating. I think they said it best in the wonderful documentary "I Like Killing Flies", "Making food is about as intimate as it gets, I mean, they're going to put it in their mouth."

However if making food for friends and family is a way of bonding, a way of loving, making food for the public is War. Yes, I try to put Love into everything I make. I'm not joking. I think it tastes better that way. But working behind a sushi bar, where horde upon horde comes flooding through the door. There's an overwhelming feeling that we are out-manned and out gunned. How can these people still be hungry? Where are they coming from? Didn't we feed everyone in town already?

Prep time, before we open is all about getting ourselves ready. What are we preparing? Food sure, but more accurately: Ammunition. We want to make sure you never run out of bullets. So we stack our ammo, our tuna, our avocado, our rice, our sauce; we stack it high. On a busy weekend we'll go through 200 pounds of fish and 300 pounds of cooked rice. When we run out, things begin to spiral out of control, that foreign army gets a little closer, a little more irate, a little more unpredictable and we start to lose the battle.

Sometimes the noise level in the restaurant rises to the point that I have to use hand signals, two fingers pointed to my eyes and then at a table to let the waitress know from across the room to look at them. I found myself shouting out at customers mere feet from me because if I didn't they wouldn't understand. I turn my head to hear their response directly into my ear and nod, as if we're all hunched under a chopper that's about to take off.

While our bar works best in it's U shape, to maximize seating capacity, it's hard not to think that we've dug a trench and are now surrounded. When you leave the trench, to go to cash register, to help the helpless at the door, you feel as though your exposed, somehow in danger of being taken to floor and beaten for what little sushi you might have left.

To top this, more than half the time I have an extremely sharp knife in my hand, that I have, on at least one occasion, threatened a customer with and on many more occasions secretly thought of stabbing someone with. Think I'm crazy? Try not to think of it as a weapon when someone is yelling at you.

This brings me to final point. You see the face of Evil working in a restaurant. The way humans treat other humans can be both amazing and horrifying around meal times. I've seen the most disfunctional of dysfunctional families. I've see food thrown as live ammo. I've seen spitting indoors. I've seen grown men puff out there chests over who was on the list to sit down first. I've heard parents tell their kids that they're too fat to have any more. I heard jeaous wives ask their husbands if they wanted to just "fuck the waitress and get it over with".

And yet, like some kind of adrenaline junkie, I keep coming back to work. Because every night I get that rush, like I just might not make it out alive this time, but somehow at the end, they all go home and I live to fight another day.

Dear Eater

2010-01-06T11:19:00.000-08:00

First credit where credit is due: Shea needs to be lauded not only for discovering, testing and disseminating this carnitas recipe but for mailing me a package of the specific Mexican spices required and making it harder for me NOT to try it than it was to just make it. And boy was I happy I made it, as were my New Year’s Day companions if the number of helpings I saw consumed were an accurate indication.

I’m linking you here to the recipe on Shea’s other blog. Get it. Make it. It really does live up to any hype I can give it. A side note, I simply made the carnitas and tomatillo salsa for sandwiches and didn’t mess about with eggs or cheese.

What I really loved about making this particular carnitas recipe (aside from a renewed appreciation for the values of patient slow cooking) was how unexpectedly and completely communal it felt. Food creates community by bringing us together around a table and binds us together in shared experiences and shared tastes. This recipe sent from the other side of the country was just that.

Cooking this carnitas recipe from Shea, with spices he sent, for my family and some DC friends he has yet to meet was like reading a well written, deliciously filled letter to them. You remember those letters right? Before the internet took over? Those letters that made you feel like you'd just had a great chat with an old friend? It was one of those.

It was as if Shea sent me a complete moment in the mail. Almost like sharing a meal…..with a slight pause between bites.

Technology has broadened our horizons in so many ways and has clearly made communication across great distances far easier. Shea and I can both contribute to this blog despite having lived a continent apart for almost ten years (eek). Clearly we’ve embraced new technologies. But food, at its core, is still a fundamentally sensory experience. The taste, the smell, the texture can’t be replicated in bits and bytes (note I’m resisting the urge to go for a trite bites v. bytes joke).

At a very basic, human level communing over food still involves an in-person experience. Which this most definitely was. And a delicious one.

Clearly, nothing can replace the joy and connection felt in sharing a meal with friends and family. It’s time to be savored whenever possible. But in the absence of having all my nearest and dearest living right next door, this meal that was mailed to me was almost as good as the real thing. Almost.

P.S. Both of the recipes I made over the holidays that garnered the most positive feedback came to me via friends. This Pumpkin Ginger Cheesecake Pie via my book club compatriot MissMangoHands was also a hit, and well worth making (scroll about halfway through October for the recipe). Particularly for any ginger lovers.

A Holiday in Menus

2010-01-03T11:33:00.000-08:00

The holidays always mean food and lots of it in my family. Luckily the family is packed with great cooks, although I volunteered to spearhead a good portion of our eating regimen for the last week. Resolution for 2010: volunteer in much lower profile ways. But it was great fun. The weather cooperated to make the holidays appropriately snowy....and justified some of my favorite comfort foods as well as providing ample opportunity for snow activities and board games with family and friends. What more do you need at the holidays?

Christmas Eve-a Valenta tradition (courtesy of KV and co):
a multi-ethnic buffet

Christmas morning-an ironic breakfast:
Bagels and Lox

Christmas Dinner in NJ (a team effort):
Sausage crostini
Winter vegetable soup
Grilled herb and garlic crusted lamb with a port/red wine reduction
Coq au vin
Mushroom risotto
Honey glazed carrots and parsnips
Green beans in a shallot vinaigrette
Horseradish mashed potatoes
Roasted sweet potatoes
Braised red cabbage
Apple pie, rum cake, assorted cookies….all topped with a Cognac whipped cream

Boxing Day (this was all JV with some sous cheffing)
A trio of grilled pizzas: prosciutto and gorgonzola with balsamic glazed figs and shallots; white pizza with broccoli and a lemon wine sauce; roasted peppers and mushrooms.

Second Christmas in VT:
Pan seared steak with a red wine tarragon sauce
Oven roasted potatoes
Butter braised carrots

A Healthy Respite:
Red lentils and rice

VT Welcomes DC (courtesy of my sissy Abby and pops):
Butternut Squash lasagna
vegetarian chili

NYE-a fridge purge:
Leftovers
Broccoli with shallots and balsamic
Copious amounts of champagne/VT beer/maybe a little mescal direct from Mexico

New Year’s Day- a comfort food bonanza:
Breakfast: hash brown casserole and eggs
Dinner: outrageous pork carnitas with tomatillo salsa (Shea's recipe)

A snowy visit with the G-parents:
Macaroni and cheese
Spiral ham with a brown sugar glaze
Salad
Pumpkin Ginger cheese cake

Logo

2009-12-20T09:32:00.001-08:00

Think of this as a first draft, just thought we needed something there. My basic idea was knife, fork, spoon, text, then I did all this other stuff to it. Happy to change or remove it, never to speak of it again.

Past as Prologue Part 2

2009-12-14T11:51:00.000-08:00

A flashback for my West Coast co-blogger, whose obsession with scrapple has been well documented. Shea, it appears you weren't the first to try and convince the un-believers that scrapple is one of life's finer foods. But imagine trying to do it blogger style at the pace of snail mail.

I love the reference to steampunk in this piece by the way, it's an alt culture I think is interesting.

Happy reading.

Towers of Turkey

2009-12-06T19:25:00.000-08:00

I’ve waited so long to write my Thanksgiving blog post that it’s almost Christmas. Yikes. Apologies for the delay, but I'm knee deep in planning Christmas Dinner for 30. (In a moment of hubris and overestimation of my talents I may have volunteered to helm our family's biannual Christmas gathering. Ooops.) And in all honesty I didn’t know where to start on my Turkey Day entry.

I could start with a detailed list of the embarrassingly OBSCENE amounts of food we had. No joke. We’re talking 3 Turkeys, 1 ham, 1 duck, 15 pounds of potatoes, 1 tray of mac and cheese, 1 soup, 20 sides, 5 pies, 1 apple pudding, 1 almond tart, 3 cakes, 6 trays of stuffing and a partridge in a pear tree. Ok, I made the last one up but you get the drift. Obscene. Amounts. Of food.

Or I could start with the list of typical near-disasters that occurred. The turkey that refused to thaw-leaving us with an entire leftover bird when it finally emerged, perfectly done about 30 minutes AFTER dessert. The three batches of gravy that went awry. The seating mishaps, the minor spats. The late start to dinner that meant some folks had to leave for other parties. Oh, and then there was the oven fire.

Rather than focus on all those things I prefer to focus on what fun the whole affair was. There was some delicious food consumed, at a lovely table. Happy glowing neighbors and friends of neighbors abounded. And did I mention the Richard Simmons placecards? (LL is demonstrating those in one of the attached pics.)

All mishaps aside, it’s those bumps and messes along the way that sometimes make for the best meals. Or at least the most family-like. And we had enough to feed anyone and everyone that came near Hobart Street for over a week. What more can you ask?

Courage

2009-11-25T11:38:00.000-08:00

I’m not sure where I’ve been hiding, but did you know that the President of the United States officially pardons a turkey for Thanksgiving every year? That it’s been a holiday tradition since Truman?

I did not know that. The lucky bird, this year his name is ‘Courage’ (seriously!?! I couldn’t make that up), gets officially pardoned and then apparently flown FIRST CLASS to Disneyland to serve as the grand marshal on a Thanksgiving float. Then Courage, who has so recently cheated death, retires to live on some fake ranch at Disneyland. Although personally, if I were a turkey I’m pretty sure I’d opt to end up as dinner over living out the remainder of my days at Disneyland.

According to an article in the Washington Post today that’s worth a read, Butterball turkeys like Courage only live 4 months. They’re bred for breast meat….which explains why Courage weighs in at a whopping 45 pounds. That’s too big, especially for a bird destined for the table. There’s no way to cook a bird that size without seriously under or over cooking portions, but I digress.

I have a number of beefs with this entire process, although overall I find it highly entertaining. First off let’s start with the fact that the POTUS is the one doing the pardoning. Really? He has nothing better to do with his time? I mean come on! I get that it’s tradition. We’re big on tradition in the U.S., especially when it comes to our leaders but seriously.

Second, they fly Courage to Disneyland first class. First class? I’VE never flown first class. Plus Courage has an understudy, Carolina. Just in case he gets stage fright at the parade tomorrow. I’m assuming they both get a first class seat. Although maybe Carolina gets relegated to coach with the hoi polloi until she gets her big break.

And lastly, like most traditions, I’m assuming there’s some symbolism here. But for the life of me I can’t figure out what it is in this case. I suppose on some level the whole thing is very American. Butterball, slaughterer of millions of oversized overweight commercial birds, saves one symbolic bird from the fate of its brethren who will be consumed by millions of Americans who will gorge themselves on far too much food during a holiday that supposedly represents the spirit of cooperation and gratitude. Don’t get me started on the hypocrisy of the “historical” components of Thanksgiving. And to top off this turkey ceremony, insult to injury, Butterball’s lucky bird gets sent to DISNEYLAND. Sigh. American commercialism trumps all again. It’s like having POTUS do commercial spots for Butterball and Disney. Ick.

I will say Obama handled the whole thing with a respectably self-deprecating level of humor. If you care to check it out CSPAN gave the 10 minute ceremony top billing this morning. Sometime around minute 2 or 3 is Obama’s borderline snarky comment about how he feels about the 15 minutes he spent hanging out with Courage today. Otherwise he does his duty pretty willingly all told.

Happy Thanksgiving! I'm off to finish prepping for tomorrow, wish me luck we have a full table and a lot of prepping left to do. There will be no birds pardoned at my house this year. In fact three of them, possibly four if the duck happens, plus a pig will grace our table this year. And I'm very thankful for every last one of them.

Past as Prologue

2009-11-17T14:28:00.000-08:00

Mid-search for more Thanksgiving recipes I found a NYT article from 1895 with some entertaining vintage menus in it. We’re midway through planning the Hobart St. Thanksgiving dinner, so our menu is still a moving target. For now I can’t resist the urge to share “ye olde Thanksgiving menus.” The pertinent story is halfway down the page listed under “Thanksgiving Day 1895."

Surprisingly there was one recipe for pumpkin pie included, circa 1656, that actually looks like it had some potential. In addition to your standard nutmeg/cinnamon/allspice/clove pumpkin pie spices this recipe added thyme, rosemary, parsley, pepper and marjoram. I don’t know about that last one, marjoram easily hints of soap to me, but the idea of a savory pumpkin pie is something I could definitely get behind.

It’s sacrilege to admit so close to their big day, but pumpkin pies are my least favorite fall food. I’ll eat it if someone makes it. Out of a sense of decorum on Thanksgiving I try a sliver every year just to make sure my tastes haven’t changed (don’t mock, I find my tastes frequently evolve for the better as I get older). But I might have to give some thought to this rosemary and thyme inclusion. Maybe in the crust? The rest of the pie bears little to no resemblance to modern incarnations, there are slices of real pumpkin laid in the pie and something that seems to closely resemble custard poured over the top if I’m reading my 17th century cooking lingo correctly.

Items included in the “old-fashioned” Thanksgiving menu from 1895: oyster soup, breadsticks, olives, celery, chicken pie, creamed macaroni with cheese, radishes, roast turkey, mashed potatoes, sweet potatoes, turnips, onions, squash, cranberry sauce, lettuce salad with French dressing, mince pie, apple pie, pumpkin pie, apples, nuts, raisins, coffee and cheese wafers (high quality crackers with good cheese melted on top in the oven apparently).

The article specifies that ONLY red and yellow apples with chrysanthemums should adorn the room, by the way. None of those fake turkey centerpieces or tablescapes a la that dreadful Sandra Lee person on the Food Network.

The “modern” menu the paper listed, per a famed Delmonico chef included: mortadella, celery, codfish, egg sauce, lamb chops a la Robinson, croquettes of macaroni, curry of chicken a l’Espagnola, mushrooms on toast, punce en surprise (punce?!?), roast turkey, cranberry sauce, celery salad, mince pie, strachino cheese and coffee.
I have to point out, no only did both “old” and “new” recipes in this article include a “macaroni” dish, but they both list celery as a standalone dish without elaborating on a preparation. I’m curious now. Maybe we’re missing out on something exciting to do with celery? I’m skeptical.

PS: There’s a frightening, but ironically placed, article directly following all the talk of menus warning about the effects of unseasonably warm weather on the slaughtered turkeys that year. You might want to skip the finer details, but it references unpleasant odors and “damp” turkeys. Menus might make me nostalgic but I’ll take a life with refrigeration any day.

This Little Piggy Went to Market

2009-11-11T13:39:00.000-08:00

A chance discovery at the Mt.P farmers market last weekend has me dreaming of the myriad uses for pork fat. On the hunt for ingredients for a traditional Italian dinner we discovered that Truck Patch Farm carries guanciale. (This being territory south of the Mason-Dixon line they call it smoked pork jowl, not guanciale, but same same.)

Last weekend was all about Italia. FG was in town visiting. Per usual we started the weekend with wine and cheese. That progressed to delicious homemade muffins with KF and her charming mother. Saturday afternoon rounded things out with a tart fall salad via IAG. But that was all just a warm-up for dinner. Inspired by the guanciale discovery on a trip to the market between muffins and salad, FG made bucatini all’amatriciana.

It never ceases to amaze me how much flavor pork imparts to things it’s cooked with. Had a chat today actually about the flavor possibilities of pork vs. chicken vs. beef. Consensus found chicken to be somewhat lacking. And I had to plug the grassfed beef as being particularly flavorful. Plus I’m a sucker for slow cooked beef as well. And veal. Ok, clearly the girl from the dairy state digs her cows. But I have to admit that pork is rapidly gaining some ground for me as a cook.

Speaking of pigs, the pork shoulder that MN graciously smoked for us over Halloween was every bit as good as you think it was. Awesome. And remarkable to me what depth of flavor wood smoke imparts to food. I have serious smoker envy now. MN’s Is a thing of beauty to behold. Seriously. I’m looking for pictures so you can appreciate, and not having much luck. You’ll have to trust me. It’s gorgeous. And that pork. Oh. My. God. If he’s not careful we might make him smoke everything.

Anyway, back to the pork-tastic meal from last weekend. Truck Patch was also the source of some delicious Italian sausage which was broiled with cheese on crostini. Also finally found the perfect perch for some awesome sardines that JH brought me from Portugal earlier this year atop a baguette with butter. We were almost too full for the bucatini all’amatriciana. Almost.

It was a perfect, mostly local, and almost entirely pig and carb based meal. It was perfect.

If I was feeling more honest I would go back and revise my “Turkey Turkey Pig Turkey” post. It should probably read Turkey, Pig, Pig, Pig, Turkey. Not only was last weekend pork-centric, but we’ve dropped one turkey meal from the lineup. Not from any lack of interest in turkey per se, but more because I clearly have been distracted by other meals. Plus Thanksgiving needs my full attention this year—IAG and I just started planning what looks to be a lovely menu. Very, very excited. Stay tuned.

Ciao

2009-10-30T11:53:00.001-07:00

There’s been much written about the demise of Gourmet. How it was an institution, how it was such a strong brand, how it changed the way we eat and helped people realize that eating is an inherently political act. And I agree with all those stances. In blog years the folding of the magazine was eons ago so I won’t retread what others have said, I just can’t move forward without at least a small perfunctory nod to my erstwhile favorite food mag.

In keeping with the theme of this blog I think what I’ll miss most about Gourmet (aside from the regular venue it gave Ruth Reichl) will be its invaluable expansion of what we consider “fit for human consumption.” And by “fit” I don’t just mean edible or delicious. I think Gourmet was one of a number of national platforms that helped people start to think about what their food choices mean, how food really does touch on every aspect of our lives from the purely superficial to the deep and meaningful. I believe that thinking about those things is very important, even in light of all the self-righteousness that has arisen around some sectors of the food industry (I’m looking at you vegan activists and militant locavores). There’s so much about food that has a larger context, and whether I agree with all sides of the issue or not, I do think the dialog itself was important.

So here’s my final toast to Gourmet, in all its glossy, pretty, fanciful food presentations, its top notch travel features, and some of its more serious endeavors. Thanks for helping us really figure out what’s “fit” to consume. You will be missed.

Turkey, Turkey, Pig, Turkey.

2009-10-30T11:36:00.000-07:00

There was plenty of food consumed in the two (three??) months since I last posted. Meals made. Friends gathered. Menus planned. Plenty of ideas marinated as well. But nothing to compare with the next month. Not only are we in the thick of my favorite time of year-culinarily (yes i know that’s not a real word but clearly it should be so I’m using it anyway) and otherwise—but Hobart Street has been/is/will be the site of a considerable amount of edible riffing on fall themes in the next few weeks.

By the time December rolls around the capacious dining room tables at my house will have supported no fewer than three Turkeys. And dozens of friends will have gathered to give thanks for whatever it is they give thanks for, which with this crowd probably mostly means for the food, wine and good company.

We kicked things off with a lovely Canadian Thanksgiving celebration courtesy of Chef Jen B. Canadian Thanksgiving, it turns out, looks much like American Thanksgiving with the addition of some new-to-me desserts including a butter tart that is every bit as decadent and rich as it sounds.

We’re interjecting a Halloween open house into the Turkey Day line-up this weekend. Slow cooked pork will elbow aside the ungainly turkey for one night. As a total aside, don’t you just love the complexity you get when you slow cook things? It’s the ultimate example of patience rewarded. The supporting case for our pig, courtesy of neighbor Mike, will be a full barrage of comfort foods to fortify the neighborhood adults for the onslaught of marauding pint-sized trick-or-treaters that descend on the street. The flip side of living in a locale that closely resembles the friendly feel of Sesame St. or Mr. Roger’s neighborhood is that it attracts the same fans those shows did. Don’t get me wrong, Halloween is my favorite holiday on Hobart but I don’t think I was prepared for the sheer volume of hopped-up-on-sugar-kids we saw last year. This year I know better and we have a very VERY large pile of refined sugar products waiting to be distributed.

Once the costumed kids and the neighbors’ annual Halloween show have passed we’re into November. And November means Practice Thanksgiving. I view it as a dinner which let’s me experiment with more untraditional dishes that might not be ready to incorporate fully into the actual Turkey Day menu yet. But turkey number two takes its bow at this party.

Our final bird will mark Thanksgiving itself. Due to a number of factors—namely a family wedding and bit of travel fatigue—I’m opting to stay in Washington for Thanksgiving. I was calling it “Orphans Thanksgiving” for awhile, implying that we were picking up any strays who couldn’t or weren’t inclined to head out of town. But so many folks have opted to stay on purpose (myself included) that it really feels like a deliberate destination. Not so much a meal for orphans and strays as it is a pretty exciting gathering of some of my favorite folks. I’m more than a little bit excited. And not just because it gives me a chance to try out a few recipes before tackling a high pressure Christmas dinner for 35 in December (more on that mess at a later date).

I’ll try to take some good pics of the rest of our trio of fowl and the lone swine.

The Other Side of the Beloved Burger

2009-10-04T09:14:00.000-07:00

After all of the Rah-Rahs for Burgers on this blog, I feel like it's only fair to include a link to this article, decidedly not Fit For Human Consumption.

Taking Pastry Seriously

2009-09-10T22:17:00.000-07:00

You could call me a Japanese Fanboy. My interest in Japanese history and culture started my senior year of high school, followed by a degree in Asian History and my current 9 year stint as a Sushi Chef. I'm just letting my bias be known before I gush here about the recently opened Mahoroba Bakery in Sacramento.

An aspect of Japanese culture I really admire is their attention to detail and drive for perfection. The Tea Ceremony is one example of this. About a thousand years ago they developed the absolute best way to make tea. And then they stuck with it. Kikkoman Soy Sauce, one the bigger soy sauce makers in the world, has been around since the mid 1600s. That's a serious company history. In the sushi bar, many people are surprised to learn that in Japan, Sushi and Tempura are (beyond the tourist areas) not available at the same restaurant. It would be un-Japanese to specialize in two things, therefore specializing in neither. It is this cultural trait that puts them on top of the electronics and car industries. They take it seriously, whatever "it" is.

In this case, it's pastry. Pastry and bread in Japan is, like their beer, a relatively (in the last hundred years) new phenomenon. Their word for bread "Pan", is the same as the Spanish word, not out of some cosmic coincidence but because bread was brought to Japan by Portuguese and Spanish trading vessels in the late 1600s. They took it and ran with it, apparently all the way to Freeport Blvd in Sacramento, California.

This is usually the section where the writer divulges the secrets of the Japanese baking process, the special techniques, ingredients etc. that you could use at home to recreate the kind of pleasure you get from eating a pastry from Mahoroba. But the truth is I have no idea how the pastries they offer transcend the Dunkin Donuts and Krispy Kremes of this country, but they do. To write a true review I really should have just sat there and sampled all the varieties (20-30) but I didn't want to put my health on the line for this article.

I can tell you that the white chocolate ones, soft, rich bread, surrounding a creamy white chocolate center, may have been made by an angel. If you're not into sweets Mahoroba offers Chicken Terryaki mini pizzas which are also excellent. My favorite (and pictured here) are the Red Bean Paste, Strawberries and Cream. The term "Red Bean Paste" conjures images of Mexican food stuffed into a donut, but I assure you it is very different. Sweet and smooth, it adds a heartiness to the pastry that gives the eater a sense that maybe they are getting some health benefits from this piece of Japanese Pastry Genius after all.

Regardless of what they fill their pastries with, I'll be back, again and again. And as far as a true understanding for you my readers, well you're just going to have to go there.

Lentils du Puy

2009-08-13T19:38:00.000-07:00

I have an odd food shopping....let's call it a quirk. I'm prone to purchasing new ingredients after an interesting recipe gets me all fired up. And I'm particularly intrigued by bulk bins. Unfortunately my follow through doesn't always match my initial enthusiasm. I've made it my unofficial project the last week to try and use up some of the myriad grains, legumes and various sundry other pantry items I've collected.

It's lead to some surprisingly satisfying meals. And further experimentation is definitely warranted. Quinoa was a bit of a revelation. Clearly I have not been a vegetarian...well ever, but somehow I missed out on some of the staple grains. The "kitchen sink" style quinoa salad I made on Sunday needed some tweaks, but it was surprisingly easy and tasty for something so healthy.

But tonight's project topped it. In one shopping fit I purchased multiple lentil varieties. And aside from a decent side for fish one night I haven't touched them since. I move the pretty multi-colored mason jar housing them almost daily to get at other items in the cabinet, but haven't felt inspired. Tonight I finally managed to make use of some of the contents in a lovely, easy meal made up of a mash-up of a few different recipes.

Lentils du Puy are small dark lentils, they're often described as green but I honestly think they're more indigo or purple. From what I gather they are traditionally from the Auvergne region in France. The provenance of mine was by way of Whole Foods, so I can't vouch for the authenticity of their native land. Tonight's dinner was inspired in part by a vegetarian take on another recipe and in part by a blog I read about one woman's favorite lunch from a Paris bistro.

Essentially it's lentils cooked in white wine with eggs. So simple, but SO delicious. I'm continually amazed at the complex flavors that wine and fresh herbs give the most basic dishes. I add wine to a lot of things, it's probably what drew me to this recipe. I tend to add a splash to any cooking broth or sauce. Even a recent attempt to make pesto for a pasta salad with limited kitchen tools was remedied with a splash of wine--with decent results I must say.

Regardless, here's the basics of tonight's foray into the Great Cabinet Purge. There are pictures, but cooked lentils aren't particularly photogenic. You'll have to trust me, it was very pretty. Enjoy.

(Guide to my abbreviations: C=cup; T=tablespoon, as opposed to t=teaspoon)

Lentils du Puy Cooked in Wine, w/ Eggs

1/2 C lentils
1 bay leaf
1/2 C wine
1/2 C broth
1 med onion or 2 shallots, chopped fine
1 T flour
1/4 C parsley

-boil the lentils and bay leaf in water until tender, about 20-25 minutes. Drain and set aside.
-saute the onion/shallot in oil until tender.
-add wine, broth, flour and the cooked lentils.
-bring to a boil, then reduce to a simmer. Simmer until most of the liquid has evaporated.
-add parsley and salt and pepper to taste.
-fry two eggs in oil/butter, leaving yolk runny
-serve eggs over lentils with a side of greens
(note: I added some shredded aged gruyere, just because, but I don't think it's necessary)

Lazy Hazy Summer

2009-08-10T19:47:00.000-07:00

The dog days of summer have hit with a vengeance. A week’s vacation, followed by the requisite crazy week at work that almost (but not quite) makes you regret the time off, coupled with the first dismally hot spell of a D.C. summer have sapped me of the will to do anything productive. The blog is clearly suffering as a result. Cooking and eating have, however, continued unabated. So here, in lazy list form is a synopsis of recently test driven recipes and food other people fed me since my last substantial blog post.

Grilled pork loin with pineapple basil salsa. The basil really really made this one. I’ve tried it a few different ways, really it’s the salsa that makes this worth trying. Simple. Delicious. Repeatable. And has officially replaced mango salsa as my fruit based condiment of choice.
Plums cooked with rosemary, sugar and juice over any kind of cream based goodness. It’s equally awesome with a dollop of mascarpone, sour cream or whipped cream. I think it’d be equally phenomenal paired with Greek yogurt, ice cream or quark.
Fresh tomato sauce with capers and olives over penne. Needs some tweaking, but I’m developing a mild obsession with capers. I plan to revisit this one.
Raw oysters and clams on the half shell eaten on the dock, with a steamed crab follow up. Clearly this was not a cooking episode, but to the cousin who kindly shucked them all for us: my thanks. Yum.
Quinoa salad with grilled veggies and a champagne vinaigrette. I’ve been intending to try cooking quinoa for months. Finally did it. And surprisingly loved it! The specifics of the recipe aren’t as important, it was a definite kitchen sink approach, but glad to find a new grain to play with.
JH made some seared tuna steaks after our fish market trip (more on that later) that were outrageous. She served them with some soy, ginger, sesame, wasabi sauciness… Awesome. Plus an Asian cole slaw on the side that might have changed my opinion about cole slaw forever. Seriously.
Cod steamed on the grill with capers, dill and lemon, also procured at the fish market, see above. Never ceases to amaze me how buttery cod can be without the slightest bit of actual butter added. Awesome. And another caper-obsession fueled dinner.
Have had bbq ribs (cooked by others) twice in the last two weeks. I’d forgotten how awesome they can be. Messy and a bit carnal, but delicious. One set was wet, one dry. I know bbq purists tend to favor one over the other depending on their personal style, but I have to say I love both. The dry rub on the most recent set was amazing, and even better the next day. And the ribs done with sauce were also great.
IAG rolled fresh picked peaches and goat cheese in chicken. And grilled it. Enough said.
Got my fill of Country Market pies on vacation with the whole fam at the beach. They’re an institution in our family. Strawberry rhubarb, peach, berry. If I could make a pie crust half this good I’d be a very happy girl.

Vermont Cheese

2009-08-10T19:07:00.000-07:00

The travel listicle below made me miss Vermont. A lot. It's a National Geographic Traveler article about the VT Cheese Trail! Brilliant.... Although I would definitely argue that they left some fantastic artisanal cheese makers from the southern end of the state off. Taylor Farm maple smoked gouda, made in Londonderry, changed my life, or at least my stance on gouda cheese. And some of the early farm cheeses from the Major Farm in Westminster West (which is now the Vermont Shepherd Farm) that were sold at the Putney co-op inducted me into the wonders of earthy cheeses.

Vermont's a wonderful place, with a well entrenched local, sustainable food community. It's nice to see it get some attention, although the Vermonter in me has an inherent mistrust of any increase in tourism. That being said a lot of the local purveyors and business men depend on visitors, so here's the link.

Vermont Cheese Trail

The Perfect Burger?

2009-07-27T22:01:00.000-07:00

Tonight I gave the Perfect Burger a shot. Here's a recap of the little things that make the "Perfect Burger" stand above the competition, according to the New York Times.

1. A 70-30 meat/fat content ground beef (I could only find as high as 80-20)
2. Sear the meat on the grill or in a skillet, finish in the oven on 375.
3. Don't handle the meat too much, shape it, and put it in the fridge to chill.
4. Make a small dimple in the center of the meat to avoid the "puff up" effect.
5. Salt just before cooking.
6. Have a warm, crispy, not totally in the background, not totally in the foreground, bun.
7. Homemade Pickles, cucumber slices soaked in rice wine.
8. Grate the cheese, then shape it to the burger for superior melting properties.
9. Cold, crisp lettuce and ripe tomatoes.

So, here goes. The choice of a higher fat content burger is not only cheaper on the wallet, but tastier to the pallet. Probably not as good for the body though (Soul and Mind, perhaps...) Searing the meat on the grill and then finishing in the oven makes for an incredibly juicy burger. Also, this method allows cooking large volumes of burgers to be ready at the same time. That I didn't overpack the meat helped but I can't say I really noticed an improvement from my previous "meat handling" technique. Make a dimple in the center, whole new world. This burger actually came out the shape I wanted it to, making it cook more evenly and also much easier to eat. Wow, who would have thought such a simple thing could make such a difference. Salt just before cooking? No noticeable improvement. Warm crispy bun? I'm still looking for the right bun, not that these were bad they just weren't that good either, and I still vote English muffins as the best burger bun. Homemade pickles? Maybe if I had let them soak a little longer or cut them a little thicker but overall, not the crazy "Wow!" you would hope for in something handcrafted. Grating the cheese and then shaping it absolutely makes a difference in both even meltingness and cheese stabilty. I always use crisp lettuce and ripe tomatoes, who doesn't?

Perfect? Not by a long shot, but a few key tips that will definately set these burgers above the rest. For now though, I'll keep looking for that perfect recipe.

Red, White and Blueberry

2009-07-09T20:25:00.000-07:00

I don't think I can fully explain how excited I was to pick blueberries on my way home from the shore over the Fourth of July with LL and turn them into pancakes 24 hours later. Something about pick-your-own anything makes me happy. Giddy, silly, deeply little kid happy. It capped a perfectly July Fourth-y kind of weekend of beach, clams, food.

The house I grew up in until I was 18 was across the street from a huge pick-your-own operations in VT. Strawberries gave way to blueberries which in turn bowed to make room for raspberries. And there were orchards all over town that offered the same option for apples when the weather turned in September.

I remember long, hot summer days in the strawberry patch with my mother picking what seemed to me at the time like hundreds of pounds of berries to freeze for winter (or at least the ones that didn't get stuffed directly into our mouths). I remember cool wet falls days punctuated by fresh cider doughnuts spent pickng the apples for crisps and pies. For the record, apple picking was usually deemed the more "fun" of the two when we were kids because it offered an excuse to climb trees. Strawberries taste amazing when still warm from the sun, but picking berries off all those squat plants in long endlessly straight rows was much less fun than climbing gnarled old trees to toss apples down.

In both instances, and again last weekend as a grown up gathering blueberries in N.J. half the fun lies in eating oneself sick on the just picked fruit. If you've never tried it, I highly recommend a pick-your-own excursion.

The nostalgia was pushed even higher by coming home and making pancakes for dinner. It should be said here that LL and I spent a good portion of our picking time plotting out what to do with all the blueberries, I'm already wishing we'd doubled our haul.

But back to the pancakes. There's something so quintessentially comforting about breakfast foods, but I don't always have the craving early in the a.m. Breakfast for dinner isn't a tradition from my childhood, I think it's a habit I've acquired in adulthood. It must stem in some way from the discovery of brunch in college--we ate brunch like it's what we were studying to do. Although usually we ate out, cooking brunch in evolved later.

I've come further in my culinary wanderings as I've gotten older--I'm pretty sure that brunches and dinners I cooked in college never consisted of homemade blueberry buttermilk pancakes with a side of brown sugar and cayenne carmelized bacon. The college variety would have been more likely to include Bisquick and frozen veggie sausage patties (still a go to favorite prepared food if I'm being honest, but only Morningstar Farm's). Both meals would be smothered in real maple syrup, for Vermonters nothing else exists.

Regardless, I'm excited that pick-your-own berry patches have survived long enough for my culinary proclivities to catch up and give their fruit it's just dues.

The Perfect Burger

2009-07-01T09:27:00.000-07:00

Rather than summarize I'll just include the link to the article here. It has some great ideas on small changes to your burger technique that can make a big impact on the final product, solving the "puffy burger", holding the juice in, meat choice etc. It made me, after eating a hearty spinach, basil, garlic, cheddar scramble with fresh tomatoes and avocado, want to immediately start making a burger.

The Best and The Worst

2009-06-24T23:08:00.001-07:00

The Best part of my job as a Sushi Chef is, without a doubt, also the worst. It's the people. Whether its coworkers or customers, they make or break my day. Working with the public, particularly in a serving capacity, jades you to the human race. You find yourself continually disappointed with the shortcomings of mankind.

However, there are glimmers of hope here and there. We have no televisions in our restaurant, mostly because we don't want people to linger. This has a side effect though. People actually have to talk to each other. I had a man tell me once that his body produced electrical charges in sufficient amounts so that he could kill everyone in the restaurant if he wanted, but not to worry, he wasn't going to do that. I've also had deep debates about politics, the environment and God. And this is all while I'm getting paid to slice fish and pack rice.

There is something intimate about providing a meal to someone, the giving and receiving of something that sustains life a little bit at a time that brings out interesting sides to people. It is why I think more families really should eat together, without the television, or music, or anything but food and their thoughts on their day, their future and their past.

This brings me to our most recent topic of sushi bar discussion. Given, that in a lifetime, there can only be one Best Day; what are the chances you've already lived yours? What if it never really gets better than that? Does this mean you're on the downslope? Is it logical that the longer you live the more likely it is that you've already had your Best Day? Is it possible you've had your Best Day but not your Worst?

Think about this....

People so far fall into two camps. The first, are the people who are pretty sure they've had their Best Day already (largely because they are going through what they perceive to be a traumatic life event right now). These people are immediately dragged down by this question, and tend to shoot the messenger.

The second camp are the ones who think the idea of a best day, rating your days, even thinking about whether there is such a thing, is stupid and a waste of what could be your Best Day. I liked my father's answer the best, basically that time is an illusion, there is no past and no future, there is only Now.

But it's mealtime, one of the few things where we're not assaulted by outside stimulation except the simple act of eating that draws these questions to the forefront of our minds, and I'm thankful that I can be a part of that, regardless of whether or not I have the answer to life's many questions.

Food for Thought

2009-06-21T00:54:00.000-07:00

Just when I start to think I have this writing thing down I read something that makes me wish I'd written it. I find most of what M.F.K. Fisher wrote inspires those moments actually. Here's a bit from my reading the other night per "The Art of Eating", a wonderful compilation of her books of essays that everyone who eats should read. This particular bit of poetic prose comes from "The Gastronomical Me" which she wrote decades before "foodies" had thought up the term to identify themselves with.

"It seems to me that our three basic needs, for food and security and love, are so mixed and mingled and entwined that we cannot straightly think of one without the others. So it happens that when I write of hunger, I am really writing about love and the hunger for it, and warmth and the love of it and the hunger for it...and then the warmth and richness and fine reality of hunger satisfied...and it is all one."

M.F.K. Fisher, 1943

Serious Props

2009-06-09T20:49:00.000-07:00

You've all clicked your way over to Shea’s “other” blog, Cooking With Hoover, by now, yes? For those few who haven't checked it out, go ahead, go now. Take a look….

Ok, back now? Here’s where I am going with this. My dear, old friend is constructing some seriously artful meals. Well thought out. Beautiful. Mouthwatering dinners. You can tell that he is a real honest to goodness chef. And he’s giving me major league stage fright. How is one supposed to compete with that? He’s an impossible act to follow.

More than half-okay realistically closer to 90 percent- of meals I cook these days are those slap-dash affairs where I’m rummaging deep in my cabinet looking for something, anything to use to turn the disparate ingredients I’ve mined out of my refrigerator into a semblance of “dinner”.

I do the requisite grocery shopping, I make the pilgrimage to the farmers market and come triumphantly home with anything pretty and fresh I find there. And I read and collect recipes compulsively, like some people collect stamps or coins or whatever it is people like to accumulate excessively large collections of. I try to maintain a working “pantry” of those ingredients that you should always have on-hand.

But despite all that I still find myself on most nights doing mental gymnastics to get something that resembles a balanced meal onto my plate. I can usually get one element right...but really there's only so much a side dish can do.

My meals look nothing, I repeat NOTHING, like those lovely pictures Shea posts. My approach of late has resembled a patchwork quilt gone awry. Lots of clashing colors, and as yet no discernible pattern. Recent hits: A variety of sauteed summer squashes over bland Israeli cous cous. Egg salad-always a perennial, lazy favorite when home made. Tuscan kale with garlic scapes and pine nuts-delicious but clearly a supporting actor in need of a star that never showed. And the low moment a couple weeks ago, brats and....wait for it...frozen peas. So much for the culinary arts.

I fear it’s a reflection of my general state of mind this summer. I miss nice orderly, matching meals, with a main protein and two sides. I’m capable of them-if I take the time to plan ahead. They’re just not in the cards for me lately. And with summer rolling in, it’s looking unlikely for the near future.

Until some coherence returns I plan to live vicariously through Shea’s well-tuned meals. And in the meantime, I am seriously borrowing a few of those recipes for future use, when my planning skills return. Spiced banana sundaes? Really? Yum. I'm pretty sure they should qualify as a "balanced meal."

2009-06-07T21:15:00.000-07:00

In keeping with Liza's burger theme I thought I'd write about my favorite spot out here. In a time when we should support local businesses and reduce fuel consumption, a thirty mile (and 2000 vertical feet) drive to my favorite burger spot is not the way to do this. Not only is it not a locally owned business, but it's a corporate chain. I write, not of the golden arches, but of the golden arrow. In n' Out Burger.

Those of you on the east coast most likely think its a myth, a burger lover's Shangri-La. But I assure you, it's real. And it's soooooo good. A Double Double Animal Style (more in a minute) contains 670 calories, dwarfing McDonald's puny Big Mac by 110 calories. Their fries are real potatoes pealed and then cut directly into the fry oil. You can get a burger and fry for under five dollars, a steal in this economy. The company looked at opening up a store in Tahoe but decided that winter road closures might lead to a delay in the availibility of fresh ingredients, so they decided not to. This is a restaurant philosophy I can stand behind. They are one of the few (I think Jack in the Box is the only other) fast food joints that perform bacteria testing on their meat, ensuring quality.

Beyond the above mentioned pros there is another. In n Out's menu. Foodwise you have four choices. Double Double, Cheeseburger, Hamburger, Fries. That's it. They don't waste time with fry sizes, specialty sandwiches, or half hearted attempts at coffee. They make burgers and fries and that's it. There is however, a secret menu. It expands their menu to include things like "animal style", "the flying dutchman" and "4x4", among others. How cool is that? Now all of a sudden being a patron of a burger joint has made you a member of a secret society!

Until my local spots figure out these simple but crucial tricks that make me go back again and again for my calorie count, I'm going to In n Out, every chance I get.

Cheeseburger, cheeseburger, cheeseburger...

2009-06-01T20:20:00.000-07:00

Burgers! I can't escape them lately. Yes, it's summer but the burger blitz of late is a bit out of hand. Newspaper articles about burger of the month clubs, magazine articles about the 20 best burgers in the U.S., multiple trips by members of the Obama administration to multiple local joints (the latest was Obama at a Five Guys near Nats Stadium with a NBC crew in tow). And that's just in the last couple weeks. It's like burger-mania.

Which got me thinking. Clearly summer evokes burgers and grilling for many folks. It's arguably one of the few major contributions to world gastronomy that the U.S. has made that is very uniquely "American". Supposedly there's a spot in New Haven, CT that made the very first burger ever as a way to use up leftover bits of steak. How's that for recycling?

Despite it being the season for burgers, and despite recent trends that focus on moving everyday food upscale (see foie gras stuffed burgers and Wagyu and kobe beef burgers priced like small cars(, the humble burger really does seem to be having a moment. Is it because of this all-American image, or could it be that it's still an affordable indulgence? My guess: it's a bit of both. A burger is one of the few comfort foods that surpasses regional trends, at least at a basic level before all the dressings, condiments and tweaks are added.

Being a bit of a carniwhore myself (new favorite word courtesy of F. Bruni at the NYT) I do understand the burger's appeal. Juicy, satisfying, and when cooked right and topped properly just perfect. It's one of the few food cravings I have constantly. And it's an easy itch to sc ratch. Not only are there an increasing number of spots to get a great affordable burger of any style, as evidence by all these articles I keep reading, referencing, and posting, they're simple to make and play around with. Shea showcased quite a few great versions in the last few months.

I hadn't made burgers in awhile, until a recent bbq. Kept them simple, but tried matzoh meal instead of bread crumbs. A nice change of texture (thanks IAG). And I finally made it to the Shake Shack in NY recently, about five years fashionably late to that particular party. Yum-although I have to ad mit I think I like the ones from Good Stuff Eatery here in DC better. Apologies to any NY loyalists.

Which all goes to show, maybe I'm having my own little burger-mania moment. Seems an apropos time, we could all use a little comfort and a taste of summer these days.

Now I officially promise to stop blogging about burgers....Promise. Ok, I'll try to refrain until the next bbq.

Ahem

2009-06-01T20:13:00.000-07:00

Dear Mr. President,

Please stop eating at all the restaurants I love/am dying to try. (See the first couple's trips to Good Stuff Eatery, Bluehill,Ray's Hell Burger etc.) While it shows impeccable taste and respect for food you are making it impossible for me to even get through the door as hordes of your fans descend to take all the tables.

Good for the business, possibly good for the national awareness of high quality food, but terrible for my poor deprived taste buds.

Sincerely, LC

http://dinersjournal.blogs.nytimes.com/2009/05/31/all-the-presidents-rhubarb/

http://dcist.com/2009/05/michelle_obama_spotted_at_good_stuf.php

Worth the Read

2009-05-26T17:59:00.000-07:00

http://www.nytimes.com/2009/05/24/magazine/24labor-t.html

This article, called "The Case for Working With Your Hands," that ran in the NYT mag over the weekend is well worth the read despite the daunting length. I implore you to read the article for the full idea, but for those who want the Cliffs Notes: in a nutshell he writes about the joys of useful, hands on work versus the abstract, often willfully counterintuitive jobs most Americans do.

What, you ask, does this have to do with food-the supposed subject of this blog? For me, plenty. I think in a roundabout way the author gets at what I find so therapeutic about cooking and food. It's a tangible experience. It requires thought and concentration, and an unavoidable amount of physicality. There is a visceral quality to food that even the sterilization and fluorescence of the supermarket haven't been able to scour out of the experience of preparing and eating food.

At the most basic level eating is a biologically mandated process, what we as humans have chosen to do to adapt that process crosses a spectrum from debasement to high art depending on the practitioner. But regardless of what we do, there is an unavoidable basic, natural component to food. And subsequently to cooking.

You could argue, and many have, that the average American is pretty far removed from the realities of growing or cultivating their food (although I do think that is changing). But even many of those people who believe that chicken is born into plastic wrapped styrofoam containers and fruit should be available regardless of season in waxed, perfectly uniform pieces may eventually have to cook those items. It's still the moment where we get to do something with our hands.

Cooking is the only "dirty" job many of us do anymore. Food for thought.

Will Drive for Food

2009-05-20T22:45:00.001-07:00

In stark contrast to the backyard barbecues of Hobart, the “don’t even bother to put your shoes on” comfort of a home meal surrounded by friends and neighbors, there is something about the wide open spaces of the west coast, the valleys that extend to the horizon, the sky that is everywhere and yet can’t hold you in, that make it a normality to drive miles and miles for a meal.

The city of Sacramento is, to me, Reno’s cousin in California. Flat and smog laden, temperatures in the summer routinely go from hot to miserable. This and other unfortunate attributes are the kind of things that make you want to grab a citizen and shake them, pointing towards San Francisco yelling, “There is a much cooler city, in many ways, right over there! Why are you still here?!”

Just off I-80 (i.e. a short stop off the highway on your way to a much better destination) is the wonderful Tower Café, a literal monument to great food. Located at the site of the original Tower Records, it has a colorful, busy, artsy interior, a great baked good selection and a superb breakfast.

The café’s menu makes you want to start at the beginning of the month and make your way through the choices daily. The Carnitas con Huevos (my choice today), is succulent slow cooked pork, scrambled eggs, tortillas and potatoes just the way you want them, crispy and crunchy on the outside and melt-in-your-mouth creamy on the inside. That you can get slow cooked Mexican style pork for breakfast is another reason to love the west coast, and indeed the Tower café serves the kind of food that makes traveling miles and miles, and then ending up in Sacramento, well worth the trip.

2009-05-17T15:52:00.000-07:00

It started, as so many of my messier ideas do, with something I read. Which made me buy Julia Child’s first book, “Mastering the Art of French Cooking.” So Thursday I thought, hey why not, lets try one of JC’s recipes. Coq au vin seemed pretty straightforward. There were no techniques involved that I didn’t know. And she’s like the original kitchen goddess right? Everyone, but everyone references Her. It’s about time I gave it whirl right? Except it was a weekday after work. And what I hadn’t fully absorbed at the outset about JC is that those recipes take forever. Seriously. For. Ever.

Oh, and lady looooves her butter.Health food this is not. I poured my first glass of wine somewhere around halfway through the first stick of butter. Sadly a not so great rose. Note to self: get my sister to give me a list of good roses again, because the good ones are so very very good, and this one was so very very not. But I digress.

We were talking about her epicuriousness, and she is no joke. I followed the recipe pretty closely for a first outing but out of necessity overlooked one ingredient. In all honesty, I was secretly thrilled there was no cognac in the house because the last thing I really want to do before a weekday dinner is light my stove on fire. On purpose. Without any adult supervision. (There’s a stage in JC’s coq au vin where you pour cognac in the pan and LIGHT IT ON FIRE whilst “averting your face”!?!? Seriously.)

Even without the culinary arson I occupied some serious kitchen real estate in my foray. Two hours later there were dishes on every surface of the kitchen. Parsley from one end of the counter to the other—inextricably so because it wasn’t an actual ingredient in the coq au vin I was making. And I might have used every pot in the kitchen (though in JC’s defense that has much more to do with my inability to estimate volumes accurately and having to switch pans midway through cooking).

Was it foolishness to dive into my first French cooking experience on a weeknight? I don’t know. But here’s what I do know—coq au vin is delicious. Seriously awesome. I might’ve made a mess, and it may not have been the prettiest thing I’ve ever plated. And JC definitely goes the long way round on things, which in our current corner cutting culture is a shock to the system. But woman knew what she was doing. Or at least she knows coq au vin (I’ll let you know about the rest). Honestly it wasn’t that difficult—just time consuming. Next time I’ll read ahead, it might help. Or better yet, coq au vin in terms of prep time and heftiness might best be left for rainy Sunday dinners not hot muggy Thursday nights. Live and learn. But I certainly ate well.

Seeking Suggestions....

2009-05-16T09:09:00.000-07:00

Farmers market impulse purchase of the day (aside from MORE plants I didn't need): green garlic. Taking suggestions on what to do with it now beyond just using it like regular garlic. I had an article from last year about what to do with the earlier spring phases of garlic, something about green garlic soup...now if only I could find it. Help!

Home Sweet Hobart

2009-05-12T20:09:00.000-07:00

In response to Shea's post from earlier today I felt like I should respond with a "best breakfast" spot of my own on the East Coast. Just to represent.

But as I tried to think of what restaurant to pick I had a realization. The best brunch I've had in recent memory wasn't in a restaurant, but it was in the place outside of my home that I return to most frequently for great meals and good company. My neighbor's back patio.

I lived in NYC for 8 years. EIGHT. And never once in that nearly-decade did I share a meal with one of my neighbors. Just shy of a year on Hobart Street here in D.C. and it’s the rare week that doesn’t bring a gathering of some kind with a slew of neighbors.

It started with a back and forth between my group house and the house next door that predates me. But the back and forth accelerated. Birthday dinners. Sloppy joe nights. Going away parties. Seder. Christmas. Easter. Marathon carb loads. And so on. And a barbecue pretty much every time the sun decides to shine. All casual. All stocked with food-most a semi potluck approach. And all full of an ever evolving cast of neighbors and their friends.

The menus are as eclectic as the crowds. Some have a theme. Some have no coherence. Some are too heavily weighted towards one course, one food group, or the bar. Some are just perfect. But what sticks out--beyond how consistently tasty the food is--is how wonderful the crowd is and how lucky we are to live here. All of our gatherings have done a wonderful job of fostering a sense of community.

I’ve been meaning to chronicle more of the neighborhood culinary adventures, they’re part of what originally made me think a blog was worthwhile. It’s a pretty prime example of where culture and food meet.

For those who haven't been to Hobart it’s a charming street, with large front porches, old formal dining rooms and shady back yards that beg to host parties.One neighbor told us over drinks at the local bar last weekend that when he moved in one of his neighbors said the street rule is if there’s more than three people on a porch you can invite yourself in. I think the social vibe was here long before us-but I’m thrilled to carry it on.

Oh, and that brunch that I think rivals the West Coast offering Shea detailed...it was an all day affair that started with a recovery brunch, moved through cold beers and settled nicely into dinner. I can't recall everything we ate but it included pork medallions in a mustard sauce, eggs with tarragon, bacon, and capped off with chicken/yogurt/mango sandwiches that were just perfect for the 90 degree day that surprised us in April. The food was great, but I do think the company added something.

The Glory of Benedict

2009-05-12T14:31:00.000-07:00

For visitors to Reno, there are plenty of things to point and laugh at; the bleakness a city in the desert can’t escape, strip clubs, pawn shops, casinos that imply youthful partying but reveal aged oxygenated retirees gambling everything they’ve got left. Peg’s Glorified Ham n’ Eggs would not be on this list. In truth I’ve only ever eaten one thing here, Chef George’s Benedict, a brilliant southwest take on Benedict with Chorizo and a rich Chipotle Hollandaise. I didn’t even look at the menu today and judging by the crowds inside, the comforting chatter, the clinking of silver on flatware and the shuffle of the waitresses’ feet on soft carpet; others have their own favorites here and keep coming back. I always wait here which, now that I think about it, has been true of great breakfast spots throughout my life. Peg’s Glorified Ham n Eggs is a welcome addition to that pantheon.

Clearly Over Posting

2009-05-07T18:40:00.000-07:00

Interesting rumination on Alice Waters role in the food world. Considering that the season for farmer's markets just kicked off in D.C. I have to say I see more of the positives than the negatives in what she's done for eating in America. Every movement needs someone at the forefront agitating for an uncompromising vision of what is possible. It's up to the rest of us to work what we can into the realities of our own lives. The rigid element in any movement can be grating, but overall I do think she's done some pretty amazing things to bring local eating into the mainstream consciousness. Others contributed, complicated and diversified how that movement developed, but when all is said and done someone had to do it first. It's worth the read.

http://www.gourmet.com/foodpolitics/2009/05/war-on-alice-waters

Variations on a Theme

2009-05-06T10:27:00.001-07:00

In keeping with yesterday's post...an article about a Burger of the Month club in NY (with the entertaining acronym of BOTM pronounced like a part of the anatomy that probably doesn't benefit from participation in said club). This is a brilliant idea via the NYT dining section. Now I wonder who I can rope into founding a DC chapter.

http://www.nytimes.com/2009/05/06/dining/06burg.html?_r=1&ref=dining

I'll Have Mine Rare

2009-05-05T20:03:00.000-07:00

Per the Associated Press newswire on May 5.... this is a president I can get behind. Haven't yet ventured to Virginia personally to try Ray's Hell Burger but it consistently ranks high on the DC "best burger" list. Thus far my adventures in burger-dom have only extended as far as Capitol Hill and the Good Stuff Eatery. Granted, they make a burger I'd consider selling my soul for. But a prez who can get down in a place with the word "Hell Burger" right there in the title at less than 7 bucks a pop? Yes, please. Times have truly started to shift.

.
Obama, Biden go out for burgers
BEN FELLER

"ARLINGTON, Va. (AP) — It's like this: When you want a burger, you have to have a burger.

In this state of mind, President Barack Obama and Vice President Joe Biden took a short — but wholly noticeable — motorcade ride from the White House to Virginia and pulled into a small, independent burger joint called Ray's Hell Burger.

The two leaders went right up to the counter where the meat was being grilled and ordered.

Each fetched cash from his pocket and paid, and then the pair stood like the rest and waited for their number to be called before going to a table.

The restaurant, which prides itself on premium aged 10-ounce burgers, sits in a small strip plaza. The burgers sell for $6.95."

Roasting with the Jones'

2009-05-05T14:07:00.000-07:00

When I pulled it from the pool of white packing peanuts in the shipping box, a few fluttering to the floor, I didn’t know what it was. I could tell it was a machine of sorts. It was heavy and from the pictures on the box looked like some kind of trendy popcorn maker. Brushing away the static clinging peanuts revealed a home coffee roaster.

Just that act of brushing something away to read an “inscription” already made me feel like Indiana Jones. This was no longer a routine night at home with the cats; something now had to be decoded, discovered and conquered. And really this is an indication of how mundane my life has become, that receiving an unsolicited coffee roaster in the mail made it seem like I was about to set sail on an adventure.

This gift from my father was the iRoast 2. I liked that the name implied that in addition to my other culinary skills I also roast coffee. “iRoast 2” could easily be construed as “I roast as well”. It was already padding my ego.

Digging through the peanuts again revealed several tightly packed plastic bags of light green pellets. Now it appeared my dad had smuggled me some kind of illicit narcotic through the mail. But no, these were raw coffee beans! They were a pale green, smaller than the roasted coffee beans I grind everyday, but on closer inspection were the same basic shape, the rounded oval turtle back, with the single divot running lengthwise down the other side.

I spread the bean bags and various parts of the roaster out on the counter like puzzle pieces. There was a giant heavy motor, a glass chamber, a metal mesh filter, some other odd filter, a weird top shaped like a tear drop and finally an open metal cylinder. Obviously these components fit together some way, but rather than look at the instructions, still unwrapped on the counter, I began to mash and twist the various bits together. It was now a machine teetering on itself and the cats, bored with the packing peanuts they had spread throughout the apartment, were looking from the machine back to me with alarm. That didn’t seem safe, so after tearing open the instructions and reading the directions, I had an assembled coffee roaster.

Now to choose a bean! I had several options, involving the countries of Brazil, Kenya, Ecuador and Columbia (places Indiana Jones no doubt traveled through), with descriptions like “chocolate milk”, “sweet citrus”, “peach-apricot preserves”, “spiced tea”, “apple skins”, and “mild floral aroma”. These clear, if a little snooty, qualities were also paired with more austere and baffling descriptions like “City+ to FC+”, “At City+”, and “FC to FC+”. In the end it came down to my love of another beverage, Whiskey. One of the bags had the word “Bourbon” written clearly in both the title and description. Sold.

I loaded the glass chamber with one cup of “El Salvador Siberia Estate Bourbon”, twisted the lid shut and turned my attention to the controls. The machine has one digital read-out and only four buttons: Preset 1, Preset 2, RoastTemp, and Cool Time. “Who needs instructions when there’s only four buttons?” I thought. Preset 2 seemed like a good bet. Once pressed, the machine’s readout changed from blinking dashes to 11:30. I mashed Roast Temp, thinking I was now setting the power of the machine. Nope.

That started it, and with the sound of a powerful hairdryer, the beans began blowing about the chamber and clinking against the glass. Both cats, sensing danger involving untested machines, heat, and poor ventilation, ran for cover. I sat mesmerized by the process. The time read-out was now counting down, and I had the feeling that I had triggered a bomb. Indiana Jones triggered bombs, but surely he didn’t sit in his kitchen alone and watch them count down.

While I’ve found it true that “a watched pot never boils”, a watched bean certainly roasts, and roasts fast. By four minutes, they had become a light brown, and most had lost their skins, an attribute that wasn’t even visible when examining their raw state. By six minutes they were a milk chocolate color. By seven minutes they began to sweat, releasing a greasy residue on the sides of the glass and were beginning to turn a dark brown. This looked perfect I thought, before realizing I still had another four and a half minutes to go. The beans continued to get darker, and then smoke was angrily billowing out of the machine and filling the apartment. I opened three windows and the sliding glass door, turned on the hood vent above the stove and began wildly flapping my arms. The cats were now exchanging worried glances with each other and had taken cover under the couch.

And then the sound abruptly changed, still a hairdryer but muffled, and the readout was counting down a different time and alternated flashing the word “Cool”, as if to say, “It’s all good Jackass, you didn’t burn your apartment down.”

Once it stopped I had what looked like roasted coffee beans! They were almost black in color, but smelled rich and complex (burnt? I hoped not). The coffee (liquid version), I had the next morning tasted better I think because of the adventure I had embarked upon and survived the night before. It still lacked something though, and in looking over the instructions on roasting for the first time I came across the phrase “every second can alter the flavor of the bean. Choose your time wisely”. Well that was intimidating, but also heartening, that my adventure in roasting had just begun.

Measuring the Miles in Meals

2009-04-15T10:41:00.000-07:00

One of my favorite things to do when traveling is to visit a local grocery store wherever I am staying. Particularly when outside the U.S., but really anywhere other than where I live will do. The differences (and similarities) are fascinating.

It was the first thing I urged my brother to do when we got to Dublin (his first trip outside the U.S. with a passport). He came back full of all kinds of revelations about where we were--I felt particularly vindicated.

Sometimes it feels like as our supposedly “global” community is homogenizing all the world’s cultures. Is it good that we all have more interest in other parts of the world? Yes. Does being aware of other cultures benefit humanity? Clearly. Do I want to travel and eat only foods that remind me of home? Not even a little bit.

(As a side note, having never lived abroad I can only speak to the vacationers palate. My ex-pat friends all have specific food indulgences that help ease homesickness-the availability of those items in what one friend called the “American grocery store” was a crucial survival tool.)

Part of the appeal of traveling for me is to be somewhere unlike where I live-and a huge piece of that is food. I describe trips by the meals eaten and drinks imbibed. Even when simply traveling back and forth between my newly adopted hometown of D.C. and the concrete jungle I called home for nearly a decade in New York, I still measure the miles in meals.

I love that you can find great ethnic food in most major cities all over the world, it helps fill cravings and exposes people to new foods. But I also love that quality New York pizza is still impossible to find outside the metro-area; that Guinness really does taste better in Ireland; that most local items I’ve eaten in Italy were a revelation. Those differences are to be savored, and provide a great lure to push us to travel.

There is, of course, a flip side. It’s awesome that I can find quality Italian, Greek, Indian, and Japanese food in markets. The level and quality of genuine Chinese ingredients available in Chinatown in New York make you feel like you’ve stepped into another country. The Ethiopian restaurants in D.C. have allowed me to try a cuisine I may never have the chance to try on its home turf. Clearly, the availability of all these different foods is wonderful. I just hope we can strike a balance. If EVERYTHING I can get abroad is available at home, if all cultures resemble each other too much, where’s the fun in traveling?

And beyond just the fun, I think it’s good for us to travel. The physical distance from home, pushing literal and figurative boundaries when we visit new places, is so amazing for the people, the sights, the perspective, the history…. And of course the food. For my part, I will continue measuring the miles in meals, and in the meantime remind myself how wonderful those meals were with whiffs of something similar at home.

2009-01-07T09:17:00.000-08:00

They say that pictures are worth a thousand words, in this case lets hope they're worth just a few piles of drool. Tag Liza, your it.

2008-12-22T21:48:00.001-08:00

Liza!!! We got it!!!