The Importance of Being Sentient

New Blog

2011-07-02T09:07:00.000-07:00

As you might have guessed, I've decided to end this blog. But no worries--I will simply be at a new location: thejoykitchen.com/blog. Keeping up with two blogs is a little discombobulating, so I'm concentrating my efforts on the one. I've started a series of blogs on cold dishes for hot days, and there should be some ingredient-focused posts in the near future. Come visit!

Top of the Town: Portland

2011-05-25T11:20:00.000-07:00

For some reason or other, I have always been drawn to the Pacific Northwest. I had never visited the area before last October, but I think I just knew that it would be incredible. A mystical land of fog and forests where the coffee and craft beers flow freely. That was my vague notion of it anyway. Of course, according to J., there's no sugarcoating the intense rainy season, but I think I could put up with it because the town itself is so incredible. It's a well-known paradise for those of us who have a penchant for counter cultures, and even though Portland is a large city, it feels much, much smaller, and every neighborhood has a distinct personality.

I've only made the pilgrimage to Portland twice, so I'm no expert, but J. grew up there and has taken me to his tried and true favorite spots, so I feel confident in this list. I highly recommend visiting the city. Watch out for cyclists--most of them play by the rules, but there are those who don't.

This little guide is BY NO MEANS comprehensive. There's so much to see, do, and eat in Portland that there's no way I can cover it all, and neither can you in one visit. I recommend you pace yourself and plan on visiting more than once to really enjoy the city.

Portland Eats

broder--a Swedish-inspired restaurant with an amazing brunch and the absolute best bloody mary I've ever had.

bunk sandwiches--very creative sandwiches and a selection of local brews.

Le Bistro Montage--a really awesome spot for late-night dining. They have an incredible collection of murals on the inside, and their mac and cheese selection is impressive. The oyster shooters are memorable--so memorable, in fact, that they're a must-try. They also wrap your leftovers in foil which they turn into little pieces of "doggie-bag" art--I think they gave me a swan the last time I was there.

Syun Izakaya--the best sushi I've ever had, hands down. As with all sushi restaurants, the menu is overwhelming, but I've never had anything bad here. The okanomiyaki pancake is unbelievable, and the dried tuna flakes on top make the whole thing look like it's moving. A visual and gustatory wonder. They also have a superb sake selection--in fact, I was told that if you happen to be a sake connoisseur, they will store your sake at the restaurant for you and unearth it when you eat there. It's a bit of a drive to get there as it's in a suburb of Portland, but it's absolutely worth it. Make reservations, though. It's a small place and always packed.

Ken's Artisan Bakery--if you like French-style pastries, this is the place to go. The Saint Honore Boulangerie is very good, but Ken's is even better. Every time we go there, we get at least three pastries to share because it's so hard to choose just one apiece. The Oregonian is a particularly nice one (blackberries, hazelnut paste), but I don't think you can go wrong. Their desserts and breads look stunning, too. I haven't tried them, but as pastries are very tricky to make, and Ken's are so incredible, I can't imagine that their bread and desserts would fall short. They also make delicious macarons--slightly larger and heartier than their French counterparts, but fabulous.

La castagna--ok, so I'm going to give you a disclaimer first. I have a love-hate relationship with the idea of molecular cuisine. On the one hand, I have always felt that, as Americans tend to overdo it on the processed foods, we should steer ourselves toward whole foods prepared in an understated way. Not that we shouldn't enjoy the fruits of culinary technology, but I think that being able to decipher what's in your food is a good thing. Having said that, this place is incredible. They focus on superb local ingredients and prepare them meticulously. They lean toward molecular cuisine without succumbing to the gimmickiness that can often accompany it. I found myself utterly charmed and even thrilled by the creativity of the chefs and the immaculate presentation of the dishes. To give you a little taste--the "snacks" that were served as part of the meal included a purple carrot leather that had been folded and filled with lotus gel, fennel pollen, and hibiscus powder; another was a buttermilk "puff" (think cheese puff, but with an intense buttermilk flavor) that had been hollowed out and filled with vegetable aioli and cod roe. Truly remarkable and probably the most entertaining and fun meal I've ever had. Expect to drop at least $75-100 per person, but as a food experience it's worth the money.

Pix Patisserie--Fabulous and gorgeous French-style desserts in a bar setting. Not frou frou or boutiquey. Open late. They also make their own chocolates and ice creams, which I did not have, but that I have heard wonderful things about. One of the managers there made J's best friend's wedding cake. There's some true talent here.

Voodoo Doughnut--Okay, so the doughnuts are okay. I mean, how good can fried dough get, right? But you should go just for the spectacle of it, and the bacon maple bar is probably one of the better ideas there.

Pok Pok--Recent James Beard Award winner for best regional restaurant. When we went, the staff were very disorganized, but we went for the food, which was great. The fish sauce wings are an absolute must, and they make a great appetizer. The lemongrass game hens are also spectacular, which is no small feat, since I usually find restaurant chicken to be dry and lacking in flavor. The premise of the place is also a lot of fun--you're supposed to order dishes to share with the table, so you can taste several different things. The pork shoulder and belly is another good one, but be prepared to straight up eat fat--the most delicious fat I've ever eaten, but fat nonetheless.

Pho Hung--If you haven't had pho--Vietnamese beef noodle soup--I suggest you rectify that immediately. The stuff is magic, and it cures everything from the blues to the flu (this is not scientifically proven, but I find it to be about right). There's something about the broth that eludes me completely. J. and I tried to make it at home once. We got close, but there was something crucial missing. This is the place to go for it, though, and Portland has an astonishing variety of pho restaurants. This is one that J. and his friends prefer.

Kenny and Zuke's--A Jewish-style deli. I'm sure there are lots of New Yorkers who would take issue with the place, but we can't all live in New York, can we? It's a bit pricey, but enjoyable nonetheless. The pastrami is a must-try, the latkes are lovely, and their bagels and bialys are fabulous. I won't recommend the pickle plate, as I found the pickles were not "pickly" enough, but everything else I've had there is good. They also have a great soda selection, which is nice to have with such salty food.

Food carts!-- Two of my favorites are Potato Champion (poutine, really great French fried with lots of house-made dressings, ketchups, aiolis, etc.) and Creperie Perierra (sweet and savory crepes and the best and most creative milkshakes I've ever had). But really, there are so many food carts here that you should just walk around and sample from lots of them. I absolutely love this part of food culture, and in Portland it really shines.

Hands On Cafe--Located in the Portland School of Arts and Crafts, this is a really great place to grab Sunday brunch (which is a must-do in Portland--I think it's against the law not to have brunch on Sunday in Portland). Always crowded, you can look at the gallery while you wait for a table.

Drinks

Stumptown Coffee--A great cup of brew. On the pretentious side of things, but worth a sip.

Horse Brass Pub--An English-style pub. Very cozy and dark, and the walls are stained brown from years of cigarette smoke. Sounds disgusting, but I thought it added a distinct charm to the place, and since smoking is no longer allowed indoors, you can just think of it as a relic from a bygone era. We spent a few easy hours there, nursing our drinks and just enjoying the place. The Scotch eggs are pretty decent--I mean, it's a fried, sausage-wrapped hard-boiled egg, for heaven's sake. It's not supposed to be stellar. They also have other British staples, which I've heard are just fine as well.

Tugboat Brewing Company--Portland's oldest micro-brewery. A very welcoming place with some lip-licking beers (try the Chernobyl Stout for a real wake-up call). J. tells me that the bartender sometimes plays Planet Earth, which he creates his own soundtrack to, on the small flat-screen above the bar. Amazing.

Huber's--A very old-school cafe/bar with a stained-glass ceiling. They make a Thanksgiving meal every day, but J. says it's not very good. We went there for the Spanish coffee, which the bartender prepares spectacularly. Quite a show. Kahlua, Bacardi 151, Bols triple sec and coffee, topped with fresh whipped cream and nutmeg, flamed tableside. Stunning to watch and really delicious if you're a hedonist.

To See

Portland Japanese Garden--Peaceful, beautiful, and extremely well done. This is a great way to spend a few hours. And I actually think the garden is more beautiful when it's overcast.

The Bishop's Close--Another beautiful garden destination. Great for a leisurely walk.

Bagby Hot Springs--A fair drive outside of Portland, but absolutely worth it. The drive itself is gorgeous, and the hike-in to the hot springs is a little like walking through a fairy tale world. The springs themselves are diverted into cedar tubs of all sizes. A perfect day-trip. Take a picnic.

Cannon Beach--Located about an hour from Portland proper, this is a tremendously glorious place on earth. Not very commercialized, quiet, and one of the most dramatic coastlines I've seen, this is a perfect place to get away from the bustle. Hunt for mussels, build a fire on the beach, and check out the sea caves. There are also some good hikes around this area, and Highway 101 is a field trip in and of itself.

Multnomah Falls and the Columbia River Gorge--Yet again, another breathtaking place. Oregon has a wealth of natural beauty, and while Multnomah Falls is a little touristy, it's still an amazing waterfall. The hike to the top isn't for quitters either--the view will reward your burning thighs.

Portland Saturday Market--There's some good craftsy stuff to be found here. You'll have to weed through the kitsch and junk, but hang in there because there really is some quality handiwork. The market also gives you an excuse to walk along the waterfront.

The International Rose Test Garden--If you're of the botanical persuasion, this is a really cool thing to see. Hundreds of varieties of roses.

Powell's City of Books--I've only been here three times, and I've already spent way too much on books. It's hard not to. A great way to spend a rainy afternoon.

Okay, I'm going to stop now. If I think of anything else I'll let you know.

Portland

2011-05-21T08:55:00.001-07:00

I'm in Portland, OR, and in typical fashion I'm not taking any photos. I hate being the tourist with the camera. I guess that means I'm not destined for photographic greatness, but that's okay. We can't all be hipsters.

However, I will be prepared to deliver some information regarding Portland dining and recreation--we've hit some really fine destinations already. In any case, if you're wondering where you should vacation next, Portland is it. The city is incredible, the wilderness around here is incredible, and the people are really genuinely friendly.

Talk soon.

More Vegetable Love

2011-05-15T11:22:00.001-07:00

I know I just did a salad post, but I have another one for you, and it's really simple (just like the other salads--can a salad be complicated?). It's also the best and most satisfying thing I've eaten in a long time. Hit the spot.

Cook up a pot of lentils. French ones--they're green and also called "le puy" lentils. They cook, at a simmer, in about 20-30 minutes. All the better if you add aromatics to flavor them--carrot, celery, onion, bay leaf, garlic.

Now, roast some beets. Red or gold, either one. Or both. Cut them into cubes--not tiny cubes--about the size of dice. Roast at 400 with salt and oil until they get soft and a little crispy on the outside.

Make a balsamic vinaigrette. Don't think too hard about it because you've got lots of flavors going on here to begin with. Toss spinach in the vinaigrette.

Pile the spinach on your plate. Top with lentils. Scatter beets over the top of the lentils. Scatter goat cheese over top of the beets. Or have the goat cheese on toasts on the side.

Perfection.

Salad Season

2011-05-12T12:49:00.000-07:00

Salads.

Love 'em.

You know how kids are notorious salad-haters? When I was a kid, a special treat was when I got to drink the juice at the bottom of a bowl of sauteed spinach. Of course, I had to eat the spinach to get to the bottom of the bowl.

A whole bowl of spinach. I think my blood might run green.

And it hasn't slacked off in recent years. For all my talk of baked goods and fine French cheeses (and let's not forget those), I could not do without salads. And I mean all kinds. Everything from a simple spinach salad with balsamic vinegar and olive oil to a wilted swiss chard salad with garlicky croutons and dried cherries. If it's cold, involves veggies, and has a dressing, I'm in.

Which is why summer is so great, culinarily speaking, for someone like me. I mean, who doesn't at least like summer? I don't think you have to like the humidity or the mosquitoes, but what's not to like about long days, cold drinks on the front porch, swimming holes, red (and green and yellow and orange...) ripe tomatoes, crisp cucumbers, and more crookneck squash than you could possibly eat?

Not to mention the all-important summer vacation. Even if you just get to spend a couple days at home, revel in that. Wake up late, eat pancakes for breakfast (with whipped cream), read frivolous novels, watch silly movies, go on long walks, light lots of candles and turn off all the lights, never heat up the stove during the hot part of the day, stick your bare toes in every body of water you come to. Be alive. Be a human being, for heaven's sake.

And eat salad. Lots.

There's really no need to turn on your stove for most of the summer. Of course, you'll have to when you want fruit cobblers, crumbles, crisps and pandowdies...or pancakes with blueberries...or galettes. But all those other times? Cold food. You can do a lot with cold food.

Before I head into full-on salad season, I like to stock up on a few things. Pouring processed, mass-produced olive oil on a fresh green salad is downright insulting. I always have a bottle of really fine olive oil around. You use it sparingly and only as a garnish, never heated. Drizzled on a salad or on a finished soup, over cooked pasta served simply with some ricotta and fresh herbs, or on the quintessential tomato-mozzarella salad. A bottle of high-quality olive oil is a fine thing. Look for olive oil that has a slightly green tint. If you have the opportunity to taste before you buy, I highly encourage that. Olive oils have a wide range of flavors, from fruity to spicy. I happen to know that Whole Foods is very good about letting customers try things before they buy them. Don’t be afraid to ask.

I also love having a good balsamic vinegar on the shelf. Between the olive oil and the vinegar, you have the potential to make a very simple but strikingly delicious salad on very short notice.

The first salad I made is a grated carrot salad, or carottes rapées. I ate it often and in large quantities when I was in France. It was readily available in every supermarket and at these little shops, sort of like delis but without the focus on cured meats, where you could buy everything from salads to quiche and coq au vin. Fast food the French way.

Usually the French make it with lemon juice, salad oil (the French seem to favor flavorless oils for salads), and maybe some chives. Very simple and refreshing. But I love to make a thing my own, and so I made some alterations, but the essence is the same.

If you have a food processor, making this salad is like magic. If not, a little elbow grease will get you to the same result, if a bit slower.

Grated Carrot Salad with Pumpkin Seeds

Serves 4

Grate with a food processor or using the large holes of a box grater:

8 medium carrots

Place in a serving bowl. Add:

½ cup toasted pumpkin seeds

Juice of 2 small lemons

2 teaspoons agave nectar

Handful of dill, chopped

1 scallion, thinly sliced

(1 tablespoon whole-grain mustard—Maille is

good)

Salt and pepper to taste

Stir to combine. Refrigerate for at least 30 minutes to allow the flavors to meld.

The next salad is slightly more exotic. It’s inspired by a Molly Wizenberg (author of the Orangette blog) recipe, but I’ve made some serious alterations. Her version is great too—chickpeas, lemon juice, garlic, parsley, parmesan. Very easy and satisfying. I happen to love Middle Eastern spices though. I think I could put cumin on everything. If the pomegranate molasses stumps you, no need to fret. It can be found at any Indian, Middle Eastern, or large Asian grocery store, and in more hippie-dippy towns it might show up at your run of the mill grocery store. It’s sweet and sour and really gives this salad the kick in the pants it needs to be incredible. If you can’t find it, use a little lemon juice and a squirt of agave nectar or honey. It won’t be the same flavor, but it’ll work.

Garbanzo Bean Salad

Serves 2 hungry people, or 4 less-hungry people

Drain and rinse well:

1 can garbanzo beans

In a small skillet, heat over medium heat:

1 tablespoon safflower oil

Add and toast until fragrant:

¼ teaspoon cumin seeds

¼ teaspoon mustard seeds

2 tablespoons sesame seeds

Remove from the heat and cool slightly. Combine the beans and toasted seeds in a bowl and add:

¼ cup loosely-packed cilantro, finely chopped

½ a large English-style cucumber, chopped

1 clove garlic, minced

A knob (1/2 the size of your thumb) fresh

ginger, minced

1 tablespoon pomegranate molasses

Salt and pepper to taste

Individual Raspberry Clafoutis

2011-05-10T12:52:00.001-07:00

You'll have to bear with me on the photos, people. I'm trying to play around with diffused light, and this one turned out to be a little precious-looking. The tiny espresso cups don't help.

Let's hear it for miniature desserts. And I'm not talking about cupcakes. I guess I don't hate cupcakes. I mean, who can hate a heavily-frosted single-serving cake? But I do hate their trendiness when there are so many tast(y)ier sweets out there. And then, when I altered this clafoutis recipe, they turned out to look suspiciously like cupcakes or muffins. BUT THEY'RE NOT. Don't forget that.

There are different kinds of clafoutis out there. Some are more like a custard, and others are more cake-like. This one is cakey, but with a wholesomeness that cake lacks. I'm really starting to dig flour blends--they offer more flavor and more texture to baked goods that might lack it otherwise. Here, I used a blend of all-purpose flour, spelt flour, and cornmeal. You could probably get away with using all spelt or whole wheat pastry flour, but I'm not familiar enough with how they work to feel confident doing that yet. One day...

Salt-Kissed Individual Raspberry Clafoutis

Makes about 18

Preheat the oven to 400 degrees F. Grease two standard-sized muffin tins.

Combine in a large bowl:

1 cup all-purpose flour

1 cup whole spelt flour

1/2 cup yellow cornmeal

1 teaspoon baking powder

1 teaspoon baking soda

1/2 teaspoon salt

In a separate bowl, whisk together:

2 eggs

1 cup buttermilk

Whisk in:

1/4 cup butter, melted, browned, and cooled slightly

Zest of 2 lemons

Pour the wet ingredients over the dry ingredients and stir until just combined. Divide the batter among the muffin tins, filling each no more than 3/4 full. Drop on top of the batter:

4 raspberries per clafoutis

Sprinkle over the top of each clafoutis:

Small pinch turbinado sugar

Small pinch coarse salt

Bake until golden and a toothpick inserted into the center comes out clean, about 12-15 minutes.

The Scape

2011-05-09T07:48:00.000-07:00

Springtime is awash with all sorts of mysterious and strange vegetables. Not to dethrone summer, which is obviously the queen of produce, but spring is a fine court jester.

One of the things I find most satisfying in my cooking experiences is the ability to play with food. I like to find humor in what I cook and eat. Food humor isn't usually of the laugh-out-loud variety, but of the smug, coy, you'll-never-guess-what-my-secret-ingredient-is sort of humor. This is the one redeeming thing about molecular gastronomy in my mind. I have issues with the whole Food That Isn't Food movement--you know, pickle-flavored air and truffle foam on top of a sweet pea emulsion. I like to be able to chew my food, thanks. But I will hand it to those rogue chefs--they know how to play, and for that I salute them.

That's why springtime is so great for cooking. First, you have the utterly baffling rhubarb with its electric pink stalks and tongue-curdling sourness. Is it a fruit or a vegetable? What do I do with it? Then comes asparagus, poking wierdly from the soil and offering up the first fresh chlorophyll of the season. Then you have ramps and morels, both inhabitants of the woods and highly prized by foragers and gourmets alike. I try to take advantage of all these, but I have a soft spot for the garlic scape.

As a garlic bulb grows beneath the soil, it will eventually send up a little green shoot. This is the scape. The growth of the bulb will be hampered if the scape is left on the plant, so most farmers cut it off. Lucky is he who finds the scape at his farmer's market. If you eat a garlic scape raw, you'll notice that it has all the flavor of the garlic clove but without the sting. When scapes are in season, I use them raw and cooked. A raw scape is a nugget of flavor and has a lovely, tender crunch. A cooked scape is savory and slightly sweet with a tender bite. You really can't lose either way.

To accompany a stuffed leg of lamb that my darlin' cooked last night, I made a rough approximation of tabbouleh with garlic scapes. Instead of parsley, I used mustard greens for roughage. Blanching the mustard briefly before chopping it up removes any bitterness or fuzziness. And for those of you who aren't familiar with the grain, bulgur is a really fabulous addition to salads, soups, and yeast breads. It has a very slight crunch to it and a lovely nutty flavor. My favorite brand is Bob's Red Mill. It's slightly more rustic than the stuff you usually get in bulk bins.

Tabbouleh with Mustard Greens and Garlic Scapes

serves 6

Measure out:

1 cup bulgur

into a large bowl. Boil 2 cups water and pour over the bulgur. Allow this to sit for about 30 minutes until the water has been absorbed and the bulgur is softened and slightly fluffy-looking. If there is any water that has not been absorbed, simply strain the bulgur.

Bring a large pot of water to a boil and add:

1 large bunch mustard greens, roughly torn and tough stalks removed

Blanch briefly, about 1 minute. Drain and try to remove as much water as possible. I used a salad spinner, but a dish towel and a good arm will work, too. Chop the mustard finely and add to the bulgur. Stir in:

1/2 a large, English cucumber, roughly chopped

3-5 garlic scapes, chopped

2 garlic cloves, minced

1 handful mint leaves, chopped

1 handful dill fronds, chopped

3 tablespoons good-quality olive oil

Juice of 2 lemons

1 teaspoon kosher salt

Refrigerate until well-chilled.

Florentine Frittata

2011-05-05T12:32:00.000-07:00

Most mornings my breakfast staple is granola. And, not to be haughty, I have a pretty damn good granola recipe. The secret is mine. Granola is easy, filling, and crunchy. But then, every once in a while I make something different, and I'm surprised once again at how there's a world of simple breakfast recipes apart from granola. Honestly, if you have 30 minutes, you can make almost any breakfasty treat you like except for maybe danishes and similar pastries, but those things are really best left to the pros anyway.

Maybe it was baking thousands of scones, biscuits, coffeecakes, and muffins at the bakery, but breakfast seems a very accessible meal to me. Once you get over dirtying a bowl and a wooden spoon (doing dishes is really not that bad, people), you can whip up a batch of cream scones in 15 minutes or less. Usually, it takes me longer to decide what to make than it does to actually make it.

But now I want to talk about eggs. Insular, whole, protected, holistic. Eggs are beautiful and a little mysterious. Humorous and bizarre. Unctuous and fluffy. I can't imagine life without them. As a baker, they enable me to make almost everything I make--cakes lighter than the fuzz on a butterfly, meringues piled high on cream pies, custards that coat your tongue, and the most tender pie crusts you'll ever have the honor of eating.

But they also do magical things at breakfast. Huevos rancheros is the perennial favorite, but let's not limit ourselves. This morning, for instance, I did a little fridge-clearing jig, and came up with this frittata. Leeks, mushrooms, spinach. No crust (because there isn't enough coffee in Kenya to make most people want to prepare a pie crust in the morning). A lot of recipes tell you to finish frittatas in a 350 degree oven, but that's crazy talk. To get a browned top, run the thing under the broiler for a few minutes. You'll thank me.

Florentine Frittata

Serves 4 very hungry people or 6 sort of hungry people

In a large skillet, melt over medium heat:

2 tablespoons butter

Meanwhile, trim the tough green parts and the root-ends from:

2 large leeks

Slice the leeks in half lengthwise, then slice into 1/2-inch pieces. Fill a bowl with cold water, and place the leeks in the bowl, swishing them to remove any grit. Thoroughly dry the leeks and saute them in the butter until they start to soften and become aromatic, about 5 minutes.

Add:

1/2 pound portobello mushrooms, sliced

Cover the skillet for a few minutes until the mushrooms begin to release their juices. Add:

4 ounces fresh spinach

Again, cover the skillet until the spinach is wilted. Add salt and pepper to taste. At the last minute, throw in:

A handful of basil leaves, chopped

Remove the skillet from the heat and set a cast-iron skillet on the same burner. If your skillet is very well seasoned (and I mean very well because eggs are incredibly hard to clean off your cookware, as I'm sure you've noticed), there's no need to use any fat. I melted a tablespoon of butter in my skillet to make sure the eggs didn't stick too badly. Allow the skillet to preheat for about 5 minutes. Meanwhile, whisk together in a small bowl:

6 large eggs

About 4 ounces fresh or soft-ripened goat cheese, crumbled

Combine the egg mixture and the sauteed vegetables. Preheat the broiler.

Pour into the preheated cast iron skillet. Stir the eggs gently, making sure you scrape the bottom of the skillet. The goal is to scrape up the cooked egg, allowing the runny, uncooked egg to cook. When the frittata is firm on the bottom but still soft and runny on top, place it under the broiler until it begins to bubble and brown, about 3-4 minutes. Serve with hearty toast and fresh OJ.

1001 Nights Cookies

2011-04-30T06:23:00.000-07:00

There have been some serious technical difficulties around the house lately. The storm that flattened parts of Alabama came right through the Tennessee Valley, snapping trees and knocking out our electricity, which has not been restored up to this point. I like to have photos of the recipes I post, but this time I won't bother. These are fantastic cookies, and should you decide to make them, photo or no photo, you will not be disappointed.

I used to really have a thing for cacao nibs. I don’t remember when I first ate them, but I think it was at the recommendation of my co-farm intern/roommate Bremen. He was a slightly odd bird, wearing sarongs around the house, adamant that drinking water from a glass jar was healthier than metal or plastic, trying to get his hands on deer velvet, which was supposed to cure cancer and anything else you might find yourself afflicted with. But he was good people nonetheless.

I mostly used nibs in my granola, and why I haven’t done that lately is a mystery even to me, because they were truly marvelously good. Cacao nibs (also called cocoa nibs) are essentially crushed toasted cocoa beans. They taste like chocolate but are bitter and not sweet at all. I have eaten them on their own as part of a snack, but usually they end up in other things. At the bakery, we made a cacao nib snickerdoodle that was rolled in cinnamon sugar. Dynamite. As a side note, you can also grind up nibs and treat them like coffee grounds. You get a coffee-like, slightly bitter beverage that tastes great with heavy cream and sugar.

The recipe below is based on one in the Grand Central Baking Book. Icebox cookies are a fine thing. There’s a little lapse between when you make the dough and when you can bake the cookies—at least 2 hours. You want the dough to get really cold and firm, which makes slicing it easier. But the real magic of this waiting game is that letting the dough sit gives the flavors time to meld. Recently it has come to be known that chilling cookie dough, particularly the greatly-disputed chocolate chip cookie, for up to two or three days gives you superior cookies. Apparently, resting cookie dough works the same magic as resting bread dough—the flour particles have plenty of time to absorb the liquid in the dough, and the whole mass of dough can relax. For bread-making this makes the dough a lot easier to work with. For cookies, you end up with a better-textured end result. If you’re really jonesing for cookies, this knowledge does you no good because time is of the essence, but if you can wait, you will be rewarded with extra delicious cookies.

I don’t like to make recipes exactly as they’re printed, but here the question was how to improve upon such a sublime cookie? I mean, changing something just for the sake of changing it is silly. This cookie is dark and sweet and bitter, thanks to the nibs and dark cocoa powder, but it was missing something: a floral element. I like adding aromatic things to baked goods. Sometimes, it’s just a little extract. Other times, it’s a liqueur or herbs or citrus zest. These “floral” elements (that’s how I think of them) add the je ne sais quoi that I look for in my baked goods. My inspiration here was a birthday cake one of my best friends made for me—a chocolate rosewater cake.

A full tablespoon of rosewater (you can find it at any natural foods store, probably in the body care section) in this recipe adds a very faint whisper of flower to this cookie. Not enough to knock you down with English rose garden tea time overdose, but enough to let you know that something else, something classy and mysterious, is going on.

1001 Nights Cookies

Whisk together in a small bowl:

1 1/4 cup flour

1/2 cup Dutch-process cocoa powder

1/2 teaspoon salt

1/2 teaspoon baking soda

In a large bowl, beat until light and fluffy:

3/4 cup (1 1/2 sticks) butter, softened

1/4 cup sugar

3/4 cup brown sugar, packed

Add and beat to combine:

1 tablespoon rosewater

Add the flour mixture and mix until just combined. Fold in:

1/3 cup cacao nibs

1/2 cup dark chocolate chips

Divide the dough in half. Roll each half into a log that is two inches in diameter and wrap in plastic wrap. Chill for at least 2 hours or up to 3 days.

Preheat the oven to 325 degrees F. Grease or line two baking sheets with parchment. Slice the logs of dough into 1/4-inch thick rounds, and place the cookies at least 1 inch apart on the prepared baking sheets. Bake until firm to the touch, about 15 to 20 minutes. Let cool 5 minutes on the baking sheets, then remove the cookies to a wire rack to cool.

Tornado Warning

2011-04-28T10:27:00.000-07:00

Still morning after

whipping wind so strong

it wrapped the trees around each other and unwrapped them

faster than the flick of a mockingbird's tail.

A white pine

snapped in two, another

leaning like a dancer on stilts.

Wind so strong it sucked the fog

up the mountain,

plastered leaves on road signs,

drove robin-sized hail

into the sides of cars. And this morning

the birds poh-tee-wheated,

the trees

set out to grow bigger

and greener,

the cat climbed onto my chest in the semi-

dark, crying for breakfast.

Tweet!

2011-04-28T09:44:00.000-07:00

Maybe it's because I wanted to add one more thing to my to-do list.

Maybe it's because I've been a twitter-hater for too long.

Maybe it's because I want to motivate myself to do this blog like it deserves to be done.

Maybe it's because of Egypt--if it works for them, it might work for me, too.

Maybe it was a whim.

Now I finally have to say those dreaded words that I never thought I'd say: follow me on twitter! There's a cute little button on the right sidebar that you can click and see my one twitter post. Or you can not follow me. Do as you will.

The New Ambrosia

2011-04-20T14:21:00.001-07:00

The food world seems to have gotten incredibly meta lately. Don’t worry, I had to have that term defined for me, too. Meta basically means above and beyond, an additional level superimposed on whatever is normally there. I’ll use an illustration. When you read a novel where the protagonist (or any character, really) is aware that his or her story is being recorded in book form and speaks directly to the reader. When characters in a film look directly at the camera and address whoever may be watching. When one is aware of the absurdity of a situation one is participating in and goes so far as to address that absurdity and speak to it without interfering with it.

When Bon Appetit talks smugly about how pretentious foodies are even though their principal audience is composed almost entirely of foodies. So, I guess the new thing is to be really cool and hip while acknowledging that being really cool and hip is uncool. It’s a complicated world.

I usually try to stay on Earth with the rest of us, but I’ve been going a little meta lately as well. It might be the weather, which has been particularly frightening this year. It might be politics, which seem to be getting more and more asinine as time goes on (That’s my budget cut! No! It’s mine!). It could also be all the pasta recipes we’ve been testing lately. Carbs can do funny things to you. But I’ve gone a little meta on kitschy recipes.

I love the kitsch. I mean, in theory, what’s not to love about Jell-O salad and crazy recipes using ground beef? But in reality, Jell-O really stopped being tasty to me after the age of 10, and now I cast a scornful eye upon the substance. No, it’s much more fun to just read the recipes and chuckle softly to oneself rather than attempt or try to explain them.

But I have a soft spot for ambrosia. It’s one of those dishes that my great-grandmother made many times, and that I always thought had a heart of gold. Ultimately, every recipe has a heart of gold, and the job of the recipe developer is to find it. There are no bad recipes, just misguided ones. So, I came up with my own ambrosia. I fully acknowledge the kitsch value in the recipe, and I’m going to do it anyway, but to my own tastes. It’s very grown-up and can be served at all sorts of occasions—brunch, a nice dinner, a picnic, a potluck…it has that kind of classiness to it. The sort where it manages to look and taste classy without being fussy. You don’t need a whole afternoon to make it, you don’t need to know any crazy techniques, and you don’t have to serve it with anything although you could if you wanted to. It’s an easy-going, light recipe that isn’t light on flavor. I suspect I’ll be making this all summer long.

I can imagine substituting the tangerines with blood oranges, which are my favorite citrus fruit, but really any orange-esque fruit would work here. I can also see the logic in using almonds or cashews as a topping instead of pistachios. If you feel like it, this goes well with very lightly sweetened whipped cream and amaretti or biscotti cookies.

The New Ambrosia

Serves 8

Peel and segment, removing the white pith:

8 tangerines or clementines

Combine the fruit in a medium bowl with:

¼ cup honey

½ cup dry white wine or vermouth

¼ cup unsweetened flaked coconut

¼ cup chopped dried dates

¼ teaspoon orange flower water

Refrigerate for at least an hour to allow the flavors to meld. Serve with:

Chopped pistachios

Why I haven't been posting...

2011-04-14T10:28:00.000-07:00

Because it's spring in Appalachia. The trillium and May apples are blooming. It isn't muggy yet, the insects don't have the run of the place yet, and it isn't too hot to enjoy being outdoors yet.

I'm working on being okay with where I am, which is a beautiful place, but it's somewhere I don't belong, and I feel that most every day. I'm working on being here, being happy here, finding fulfillment in what I'm doing now. Not focusing on what I want to do, what I could be doing, the places I could be.

I'm reading books that have been sitting on the shelf. I'm writing letters to people who are important to me. I'm making art for pleasure alone. I'm eating simple meals of salads, bread, cheese, and wine. I'm working hard, sleeping hard, catching sunsets, building bonfires.

I'm soaking in life's inherent sweetness. Building up the happiness reserves. Taking the time to feel elated. Taking the time to feel steady on my fast feet.

Seasoning A Skillet With Clarified Butter

2011-03-17T07:29:00.001-07:00

I've been infatuated with my new cast iron combo cooker lately. It does so many things so well that I'm starting to question the wisdom of using anything else to cook with. I suppose it would be difficult to make salted caramel in it, though, and since there are no Puritans around here, I guess I'd better hold onto the other cookware.

The cast iron is also teaching me a degree of responsibility. Every time I use it, I clean it immediately, dry it, and rub it with canola oil. But yesterday J and I decided to make a big batch of clarified butter for all the Indian cooking we hope to do in the near future (just got the gigantic new Phaidon Press cookbook--India the Cookbook), and we immediately thought of the cast iron. Not only is cast iron heavy and thick enough to promote even melting and rendering of the butter, but we would be seasoning it simultaneously.

Clarifying butter gives it a toasty, nutty flavor, and if you do any amount of Indian cooking (and don't just limit it to Indian cooking--clarified butter can be used in any cuisine), doing a big batch at once is the way to go. It also preserves the butter indefinitely, which is the original reason for clarifying butter at all--just think: the heat of India combined with dairy products? A conundrum indeed. Thus, clarified butter was born, and a propitious birth it was.

The process is easy. Take a pound (you can do less than this, but it just makes sense to do a lot at once) of butter and melt it slowly over low heat in a heavy bottomed pan. The pan can be cast iron or enameled cast iron or something like All-Clad, just as long as it is thick and heavy so you don't burn the milk solids in the butter. Let the butter heat over low (never raise the temperature), and it will begin to foam. When the foam subsides, you can start skimming the white milk solids that precipitate out of the butter. Feel free to leave it alone for half an hour at a time, coming back every now and then to skim it. Keep skimming until all the milk solids are gone. This may take one hour or three hours, but be patient. This is definitely a Sunday afternoon sort of project. After skimming, strain the butter through a fine sieve or cheesecloth or a single layer of paper towel. Allow to come to room temperature and refrigerate. You may also wish to freeze the clarified butter in ice cube trays so that you have individual portions already prepared for use. Keeps indefinitely.

Pre-Garden

2011-03-14T15:04:00.001-07:00

I've been wanting a garden for years. There was always some reason that I couldn't have one (most notably the year we had a late cold snap, and all my tomato seedlings were destroyed), and so I've made it my mission this year to have a garden, and though the deer and groundhogs and rabbits may eat it all, I will try to make it work.

Above are my little leek babies. Most of you may not be enamored of leeks, but I have a habit to support. And has anyone noticed the ungodly price of leeks in your average grocery store? In France, these things (and shallots) are used more than onions. We'll see how hardy they are, though. The summers here are brutal.
And these are the kale babies. They already seem to be thriving marvelously. This is such a hopeful time for the garden, before the plants actually have to cope with the outdoors. Unless you're growing, ahem, the plant that shall not be named, or if you have hoop houses, having to unleash your little plants outside is a necessity for gardening, or so I'm told anyway.

I made a really simple grow-light system for my seedlings. It's basically just a frame made of PVC pipe that you can hang shop lights on. As the plants grow, you raise the lights. At first, you'll want to hang the lights very low so your plants don't become leggy and spindly. I'll do a post soon about building one of these contraptions.
And behold! The garden! As this is a first year garden, we've had to undergo all the tasks, trials, and tribulations of plowing new ground, adding lots of soil amendments, and waitingwaitingwaiting for the soil to dry out. It turns out that keeping track of farm equipment is more difficult than you might think. We had to find the tiller, which turned out to be at a neighbors house, and haul it back home. This was probably the hardest part of the whole process, which is a little sad if you ask me. I was personally hoping to be out here all day shoveling and hoeing, but everyone around here seems to have tractors and dump trucks and backhoes. I guess I should be grateful for that.

Hippie Food

2011-03-11T14:22:00.000-08:00

My favorite kind of cooking is baking, but when I'm not doing that I like to make hippie food. For me, this consists of a lot of one-pot meals accompanied by crusty bread and good cheese. Usually, there's some sort of grain (quinoa, wild rice, bulgur, amaranth), some veggies, nuts, and dried fruit tossed in a dressing. I really can't say enough for simplicity in cooking. Simple flavors can be stunning in their own, humble way, and there's nothing wrong with humble.

This salad is one incarnation of a common refrain on my kitchen table: red quinoa, whatever fresh veggies I have on hand, and a garlicky dressing. This is so easy to make, and so hard to mess up, that you may become dependent. I usually add feta to the mix, but you could just as easily use parmesan, a well-aged gouda, clothbound cheddar, ricotta salata, or something like comte (any cheese that will retain its shape and have a pronounced flavor). I've also been known to just omit the cheese altogether when I'm having vegan friends over.

For this particular version, I used a Middle Eastern inspired ingredient palette--mint,

cilantro, chopped apricots, and pistachios. You should feel free to follow your pantry on this

one. I can imagine a nice, refined vinaigrette being really charming on this salad with radishes

and celery and maybe some toasted hazelnuts. Or even a balsamic dressing with chopped

strawberries and ricotta (this version wouldn't keep as well, though).

And no, I'm not going to give you a recipe because this is too easy.

Breakfast Cornbread

2011-03-06T11:59:00.001-08:00

This recipe began its life as a corn muffin, but was transformed for several reasons. One, I do not have a muffin tin, which may be shocking as I present myself as a “baker.” The thing is, I do not have a dishwasher, and I feel sure that cleaning a muffin tin is something done in the fourth circle of hell. Besides, the “muffin” as a measurement is inconvenient. Sure, they're cute and pretty and puffy, but sometimes a muffin is too much, and sometimes, if I'm feeling gluttonous, it's not enough. And what do you do then? Cut the muffin in half and have to do something with half a muffin. Not that having an extra muffin half around is a huge bother, but I'm trying to make a case for non-muffin breakfast foods. Also, I'm constantly prowling for new and exciting ways to use my cast iron combo cooker, which is changing my life one dish at a time.

So, in my mind, as I read the recipe for Honey Corn Muffins, I almost immediately pictured it as a skillet cake. Then, because honey and corn seemed too one-dimensional to me (they would have only been slightly sweet, but sweet would have been the only flavor, and I'm not big on that kind of baking), I decided it couldn't hurt to throw in some blueberries and lemon zest. The tart zing from the berries and zest (and buttermilk) would be perfectly complimented by the mild, floral sweetness of the honey and the distinct flavor of the cornmeal. This is how a new recipe is born, kids.

I haven't had my cast iron combo cooker for long, but even so, it was seasoned well enough so the cornbread didn't stick. However, I have a Lodge combo cooker, and they supposedly come pre-seasoned, so this may factor into the seasoning equation. For those of you new to the cast iron scene, a few pointers.

Don't believe anyone who says that you can't wash cast iron. You can. You may use soap as well. The important things to remember, though, are that you should not leave your cast iron sitting in water for extended periods of time. However, if you start soaking it and then forget until the next morning and the pan is rusted, don't worry. You can save it. Use steel wool to scrape the rust off, coat the pan with vegetable oil—inside and out--, and place it in a 350 degree oven until the oil burns off. This will smell bad, you will have to open your windows and turn on fans, and there will be smoke, but saving your cast iron is worth it. If you have a charcoal grill, you can re-season your skillet on the grill, adding charcoal as necessary. This will solve the problem of turning your lovely home into a sweat lodge. I also heard one old-timer say that if you have a bonfire, you can just coat the skillet with “grease” (Crisco) and throw the skillet into the hot ashes. The method is up to you, really.
Every time you use your cast iron, wash it as soon as possible, and immediately dry it with a clean towel and coat it with oil. Not so much oil that it drips, but as much as the cast iron can soak in. I find that a teaspoon or two does just fine.
Apparently there's a myth that you should never use cast iron for eggs. Bull puckey. You can use cast iron for any old thing (and this is according to an 18th century reenactor friend of ours who does most of his cooking on cast iron in a hearth). Cobbler, quiche, stew, bread, baked apples...The important thing is to keep it seasoned and dry. Granted, cast iron may not be ideal for eggs, which seem to be the reason teflon was invented, but should you find yourself with a craving for eggs and nothing but cast iron to cook them in, don't hesitate.
I know this is common knowledge, but in the name of kitchen safety I'm going to restate it anyway. When cast iron gets hot, it gets hot all over, and it stays hot. Even though we all know this, I don't think I've met any cast iron user who has not burned him or herself badly because they forgot this rule. I think Lodge makes little sleeves to cover the handle of their cast iron pans, so if you're particularly forgetful, this may be the way to go.

Blueberry-Lemon Breakfast Cornbread

Makes one 9-inch corncake

Preheat the oven to 400 degrees F. If your skillet is well-seasoned, there's no need to grease it. Otherwise, spray or grease a 9-inch cast iron skillet. Place the skillet in the oven while it is preheating. In a medium bowl, whick lightly:

2 large eggs

Add and whisk to combine:

1 cup buttermilk

¼ cup honey

¼ cup (½ stick) salted butter, melted and cooled

zest from one lemon

In a large bowl, combine:

1 ¼ cups yellow cornmeal

¾ cup all-purpose flour

1 teaspoon baking soda

1 teaspoon baking powder

¼ cup firmly packed dark brown sugar

2 tablespoons granulated sugar

1 teaspoon salt

Pour the wet ingredients into the dry ingredients and mix just to combine. Fold in:

1 cup frozen blueberries

Pour batter into hot skillet. Bake for 16 to 20 minutes, or until the top of the cornbread is a deep golden brown color and a skewer inserted into the center comes out clean. Serve warm with butter and warmed maple syrup. There's no need to cool this on a rack. I left mine in the skillet to cool, and the crust did not burn. Any leftovers are delicious sliced and toasted.

A Musty Recipe

2011-03-04T06:59:00.000-08:00

Growing up, my grandfather often called delicious food "musty food," as in, "must have" some more of it. So here's a musty recipe for you, which your thighs will regret as soon as you take a bite, but your heart will rejoice and you will keep going back to the pan for seconds. This is the reason I have no photos--I ate it all.

Take three red (new) potatoes, and cube them very finely (as in, 1/8 inch cubes). Combine with half an onion, grated, four garlic cloves, 1/2 teaspoon salt, and 1/4 teaspoon pepper. I also like this with cayenne or chipotle, but that's your call. Heat 3 tablespoons oil (or bacon drippings if you're feeling frisky) in a 12-inch skillet over medium heat. Spread the potato mixture in the skillet in one layer and cook until the potatoes are browned. Shake the skillet occasionally to make sure the potatoes don't stick too badly.

When browned on one side, flip the potatoes. They will not stay in one piece, so don't expect a potato pancake. Just flip them to the best of your ability. Then, pour 1/4 cup heavy cream over the potatoes and finish cooking them, until they are browned. This is best served when there are about three people around, or else you'll eat them all. Not necessarily a bad thing, but that's your call.

Mexican Hot Chocolate

2011-03-02T13:55:00.001-08:00

Been really into Mexican hot chocolate the past couple days. I read about it somewhere, years ago, and quickly forgot about it (don't you hate that?). At least until John pointed out the Mexican chocolate at the grocery store. The price was right, and I decided that it had been far too long since I'd had any hot chocolate. Wow, it really has been a bad winter.

The recipe is not perfected yet, but I've made some headway. It involves coffee and a cinnamon stick. I also plan on trying some with cayenne pepper, and I want to get my hands on some Taza chocolate. Not that Abuelita isn't good, it's just got some other stuff in there that I don't usually like to consume--you know, stabilizers, emulsifiers, etc. Will get back to you.

When in Rome...

2011-02-28T10:57:00.001-08:00

Fun With Rhubarb

2011-02-28T10:32:00.000-08:00

Before I begin, I should apologize for holding out on you for so long. I've had this recipe in my back pocket for ages it seems, but out here in the country, if the wind blows the wrong way you lose your internet connection. The wind has been blowing a lot lately.

Winter is never easy for me. I suppose most people would say the same. It's hard to get out of bed in the morning when the sky is still dark and the floor is cold. It just feels a little unnatural. But winter also has an uncanny way of deamplifying everything else going on in your life, much the same way that snow absorbs sound. Things have a way of seeming surreal and distant during the winter months. At least until they finally creep up on you, and by then it's too late. This is a very mystical way of looking at things, to be sure, but I've always felt that emotions are slower to come out in the winter, hibernating perhaps. But when they do come out, they're stronger and more bitter. Harder to combat than on those golden summer days when the sun doesn't set until nine. Vitamin D is a powerful little vitamin. No mistake.

Is it any wonder, then, that we search for comfort in food? Winter is the perfect time for breaking out the bread pans, muffin tins, and that extra butter you keep in the freezer (come on, I know you do). Sometimes I feel that the only way I can function on winter mornings is to heat the oven and mix up a bowl of something sticky, preferably with the butter I thawed out previously. On most weekday mornings, I'm a steel-cut oats sort of girl. As much as I would love pancakes and muffins and coffee cake every morning, let's not kid ourselves. You aren't the only person with a figure to maintain. Besides, things taste better when you have lots of time to enjoy them. Thus, weekends are my baking days.

As it turns out, this practice is also a great way to make friends. There's a really wonderful saying that eternity is two people and a roast turkey. Eternity can also be two people and lots of scones. As much as I love those little triangular beauties, they can cause me no end of stress. They look perfectly innocent sitting blithely on the cutting board, but to me they are the sirens of the breakfast world, capable of calling to my stomach at all hours when I didn't know I was hungry. This is why they make great gifts. Let your neighbors or coworkers wrestle with the scone angel.

I can never stick with the same scone flavor. Blueberry is the little black dress of scones. You really can't go wrong there. If I'm trying to make a good impression and want to be sure of my success, blueberry is the go-to scone. But cranberry orange is pretty classic, too. A little tart, a little sweet, a little bright citrus flavor. But then, there are just endless things to be done with scones. On my death bed I'll probably be thinking about that one scone flavor I never got around to making. Ginger-apricot, raspberry-lemon, cherry-almond, chocolate-orange, golden raisin-cardamom, apple-garam masala... And I won't even start in on savory scones. But most of the time I just follow my pantry.

The other day at the abysmal produce department, I found some really lovely rhubarb. It's not really a fruit, but it masquerades as one, and towards the end of winter, who couldn't use more fruit? I had no plans for the rhubarb, but sometimes you just have to go for it and make plans later. One thing, though. I'm really tired of the strawberry rhubarb combination. It's not bad, but it's just so hackneyed. I've had one too many strawberry rhubarb pies. So I wondered to myself, “Self, what would be wrong with just using rhubarb?” At the worst, the scones would be a little tart. Nothing that a little jam can't fix.

So these scones aren't anything special. It's my go-to scone recipe (and everyone needs a go-to scone recipe) using rhubarb. These are not super sweet scones, so if you like them on the sweeter side, add a couple tablespoons sugar. I also like making my scones with buttermilk for extra tang, but half-and-half or cream can be used, to delicious effect. I call cream scones “company scones.” Also, I'm sure strawberries would be great in these, but make sure they're frozen. Otherwise, your scones will look and feel like mud. Not good, but it would probably taste okay.

Rhubarb Buttermilk Scones

Makes 8 scones

Preheat oven to 425°. Combine in a medium bowl:

1 cup all-purpose flour

1 cup whole spelt flour

4 tablespoons sugar

1 teaspoon baking powder

½ teaspoon baking soda

½ teaspoon salt

Cut in until mixture resembles “coarse meal.” (One of these days I'm going to come up with a better term for this.):

4 tablespoons (½ stick) chilled salted butter

Stir in until dough has not quite come together:

½ cup whole milk buttermilk

1 large egg

1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract or vanilla bean paste

Knead in briefly without over-kneading:

1 ½ long rhubarb stalks, chopped

Form dough into a round and flatten to form a 7-8 inch round. Cut into eight wedges. Place wedges on a baking sheet or stone, brush with melted butter, and sprinkle with turbinado sugar. Bake until golden, about 12-15 minutes. Serve warm.

I used the rest of my rhubarb for this really tasty conserve (I don't know if "conserve" is the right thing to call it--not really a jam or preserve because it contains butter) that happens to be perfect on buttermilk biscuits. It's quick to whip up if you're having people over for brunch, and the recipe makes a small amount (a little less than a pint), so you aren't committing to a day standing over a hot stove with a wooden spoon glued to your hand. I used a skillet instead of a saucepan for this recipe because the greater surface area of the skillet allows the conserve to thicken faster.

Rhubarb Port Conserve

In a medium skillet over medium high heat, combine:

3 tablespoons salted butter

1/2 cup sugar

4 long rhubarb stalks, chopped

3/4 cup port wine

3 whole cloves

1 two-inch cinnamon stick

4 allspice berries

1 bay leaf

Simmer until the conserve is thick and the rhubarb has turned into mush. Remove the bay leaf. Spoon into a sterilized glass jar and cool completely before refrigerating.

Head In A Book

2011-02-23T14:04:00.001-08:00

Out in the country, you really have to choose what your spare time will be spent doing. At least, it seems to be true in this part of the world. Most people around here have serious hobbies that usually border on careers. For many, this hobby is hunting with dogs. I don't really get it, especially since a lot of the dogs seem sadly malnourished as they run around the woods with radio collars on. For some, the hobby is antiquing, which involves mostly overpriced kitsch with a few great finds every now and then. That's how they get you.

I've always been a little bit more of a busybody, and I have to divide my time between lots of things. I'm like this with cooking. I can't just pick a ginger cooky (am I the only one who thinks we should bring this spelling of "cookie" back?) recipe that I like, and I've made a good many amazing ginger cooky recipes. I'm always looking for the NEXT ginger cooky recipe. I bookmark the ones that are good and then compare, and then...I still look for others.

With hobbies, the idea is the same. I'm antsy. I need lots of room to move around, lots of hobbies to choose from. But recently I've been absolutely buried in a good book, and it feels really nice to have no greater ambition at the moment than to finish this really great book. I wish most books weren't disappointing, but they are, so when a good one arrives on your doorstep in its demure brown box, it's a special treat. Sort of like a second slice of flourless chocolate cake for the brain.

So, this may come as a shock to you, but Julia Child is one of my heroes. I love the woman, and I feel pretty confident that we would have gotten along famously if only I hadn't been born eighty years too late. I like her style--in cooking, in talking, in writing. No fiddle faddle, no pussyfooting, no flim flam. She was utterly herself, which is more than can be said of the vast majority of people. John met her once, so I guess I sort of met her by extension. But regardless, As Always, Julia is probably the best book I've read in a long time. It's just a collection of letters between her and her friend Avis DeVoto, but how marvelously written! As an avid letter writer, it's a truly inspiring book. It really makes you think about how friendships are cultivated and how letters are just so powerful. I mean, I don't have too much against emails. It's how we are able to communicate most efficiently. But there's no charm to an email in my romantic brain. I find that as soon as I type in someone's email address, I want to speak in monosyllables and abbreviations, and I become scarily less concerned with tone and diction. Not healthy. I try to temper all the emails I have to send (since it is the currency of words these days) by writing letters. And if you think writing letters is a simple thing, try writing a really charming, thoughtful one that spans more than a couple paragraphs. It's yoga for the brain.

Rabbit trail. But, great book. It's a lovely thing, too. Great dust jacket with a photo of the gigantic Julia stirring something in a tiny pot on a tiny stove in a tiny kitchen. High-quality paper, gilt writing on the spine, silvery end papers. And aesthetics matter to book whores. This is a book for book whores. Or those of us just looking for a really good read to go with our good eats.

2011-02-18T09:29:00.001-08:00

I've learned the secret to getting a good night's sleep. It involves heavy cream, bacon, and cheese. Oh well.

The Holy Grail of Bread

2011-02-15T13:33:00.000-08:00

Once again, I must apologize for being a lazy blogger and not posting as often as I should. But usually when that happens, you should know that it means I have been kicking butt in my real life, getting things done and being busy otherwise. I've got a crock of sauerkraut fermenting and smelling downright stinky, which is how I like it. I've got a "ginger bug" going for a future batch of ginger beer--more on that later. I have seeds sprouting on the kitchen counter, and a sourdough starter bubbling away happily on the butcher block.

Which brings me to the good news, brothers and sisters. I have cracked the code of bread. You probably remember my bellyaching about how sourdough starters are a waste of time and result in only slightly better bread than a poolish or leaven. Well, it turns out that I just hadn't found the right recipe yet.

I've been baking yeast bread since I was fourteen, or something like that. My beginnings were humble--for a long time I used the whole wheat bread recipe on the back of the King Arthur Flour bag. It was a good place to start, but anyone who is passionate about good bread rarely stays put. I've done white bread--the only kind of bread that plain old tomato sandwiches should be made with (don't doubt, just believe). I've made ciabatta--the long, wrinkled loaf that immediately calls for the good olive oil that you hoard in the back of your cupboard. Then there was the occasional challah for special occasions--burnished and golden with egg yolks and butter. I can also think of a delicious cracked wheat loaf, struan bread (the best toast you'll ever eat), cinnamon raisin swirl bread, and these little Norwegian raisin buns that are so redolant of cardamom that the whole house smells like Christmas. There have also been occasional forays into pastry, but too few to really talk about.

So I've baked a lot of bread. The only problem was that none of these breads was my ideal bread. I wanted sour, but not overly sour. I wanted a deep brown crust as thick as a half-dollar coin. I wanted big, beautiful air pockets in the dough--perfect for forming pools of butter and catching runaway honey. In short, I wanted the effect that a wood-fired oven gives, but without the wood-fired oven.

I pored over baking books, searching for the answer. In most of them, the sourdough chapter is presented in such a way as to make it seem daunting. The smoke was fanned and the mirrors were polished to make sure the home baker felt intimidated. At least, that's how it seemed to me. But I tried anyway, feeding the starter religiously, keeping it warm, judiciously measuring everything by weight and not deviating one iota from the recipe. When it came time to bake the bread, however, the loaf that resulted was unimpressive at best. To have spent so much time and effort (and the better part of a bag of flour) on something so lackluster was pretty depressing. Let's not paint any rosy pictures about that.

But I'm a naturally inquisitive person, and so I continued to read about bread, biding my time until I felt up to the sourdough task again. My theory was that there had to be a reasonable method out there somewhere. After all, sourdough is the essence of rustic. I don't see paintings of pioneers carrying around heating pads and scales for baking their weekly sourdough bread, but I know they sure as hell made sourdough. As a baker, I despise the scientific baking method. The meticulous measuring by weight (in a commercial kitchen this actually makes sense, but unless you're making something really finicky at home, there's a good chance that using a scale will make you nuts), checking temperatures (of water, of flour, of the starter...), and generally making recipes more difficult than they need to be really riles me. In my opinion, those of us in the cookbook world should make baking more accessible and reasonable, not talk about another piece of equipment that you MUST buy to achieve success. Ok, the soapbox is safely stored away now.

Then John bought me a bread book. I had heard good things about it, but as with all cookbooks that double as eye-candy, I was skeptical. Then I started reading it. Beautifully written and photographed, Tartine Bread will inspire in you the immediate desire to bake bread. Every day. In fact, I seriously considered writing a letter to the author of the book and asking for an apprenticeship. No joke.

But the proof is always in the proverbial pudding (or pain, if you will), and so I tried to stave off enthusiasm while I worked on cultivating a starter. The book encouraged me to be patient. There was no time frame--feed your starter once a day (if your kitchen is very warm, twice a day) until it rises and falls predictably. The starter will rise after you feed it, climax, and start to fall slowly. By the time of the next feeding, it will smell vinegary. I gave my starter lots of time to develop. For several days nothing seemed to be happening, but I would pour off the brownish liquid that covered the starter and feed it again. Ultimately, my starter took.

I gave it a few days to strengthen and develop even further before using it. The day finally arrived. By 3:00 in the afternoon, I had two absolutely perfect loaves of bread. No, really. Perfect. Crusty, deep brown, heavily air-pocketed, gently sour loaves that rose like phoenixes in the oven. Magic, I swear.

The trick is the cast iron combo cooker. A combo cooker is a Dutch oven with a lid that doubles as a frying pan. You get the pan hot in the oven (both parts of the pan), turn the dough into the frying pan part of the cooker, cover it with the Dutch oven part, and bake it for 20 minutes. Then, you remove the Dutch oven part and let the bread brown for another 20 minutes. The Dutch oven captures the steam from the bread and results in a dramatic oven spring. The bread essentially steams itself. Taking off the cover gives the bread its crust. I am utterly stunned. I have found the Holy Grail of Bread.

Artichoke Clafoutis

2011-02-03T10:12:00.000-08:00

Any avid cookbook reader or collector will know that even poor cookbooks can serve you well in the kitchen (emphasis on the can). Even cookbooks with serious problems are often, if nothing else, inspiration for the cook who has seen it all, done it all, and has a jaded palate (I'm not talking about myself here--I still get the shivers when I eat a good BLT). Let me introduce you to such a cookbook. The Silver Spoon is a cookbook that I don't recommend unless you're really into Italian cooking, and I would also caution you against it if you don't have much experience in the kitchen because it offers little in the way of instruction. However, there are pages upon pages of food porn--really beautiful stuff. You'll want to make everything in it based on the photos, but that's made difficult by the fact that the recipes are so poorly written. But if you're only fishing for ideas, it's a great book to flip through.

We got in a shipment of artichokes from California this past week and have been scrambling to use them all. We've done Braised Baby Artichokes and Peas, Fried Artichokes, Stuffed Artichokes, and Marinated Artichokes. Before I get too much further along, I'd like to ask who in the world was the first person to eat an artichoke? I mean, it's a relative of the thistle, it has thorns, most of the leaves are too tough to eat, and when you get to the middle of one, a place where you might imagine there to be something tasty, there's a hairy, prickly little thing to choke on (appropriately called a "choke"). I imagine the first person to eat one only did so successfully after several attempts. I've seen goats try to eat thistle, and I imagine this resembles what the first person to eat an artichoke looked like--hollering and moaning while trying to choke it down.

But if you know how to properly trim an artichoke, they can be quite good, and the baby ones are especially succulent. We had some in our box that didn't even have a choke yet. But here's what you have to do to enjoy them properly: Have a bowl ready with water and the juice from half a lemon in it. Artichokes are like apples or avocados--if you cut them open and don't coat them with lemon juice, they will turn a truly hideous shade of brown. Cut the stem end and the prickly top off the artichokes. If you have large ones, you'll need to cut off more than if you have small ones. You will also need to pull away the tough outer leaves until you reach the inner, more tender ones.

When you cut away the top of the artichoke, you will expose a little purple "cap" of leaves. Pull that out to expose the choke. With a spoon (grapefruit spoons work particularly well for this) dig out the choke, and rinse the artichoke to make sure all the little hairs are gone from inside. At this point, you're ready to go with whatever method you choose to cook them. For the purposes of this recipe, you'll need to cut your artichokes in half. I wouldn't recommend using large artichokes for this recipe--they're just too tough. You want artichokes small enough to eat whole once you've peeled away the tough outer leaves (ours were about tennis ball size before we trimmed them).

The following recipe is adapted from the Silver Spoon cookbook. I adapted it because it would have had a really boring flavor profile if I hadn't. A recipe that calls for one sprig (it seriously called for one and only one sprig) of parsley as the only seasoning besides salt and pepper is not going to tantalize those tastebuds. Feel free to play around with seasonings here, but you'll probably want to keep it fresh--think green herbs. The flavor of an artichoke is fairly delicate, so you don't want to go too crazy. Also, I've been told that Pinot Noir is the only wine to serve with artichokes because they make everything you eat taste sweet. It's a strange phenomenon, but try it out. Eat an artichoke, then take a sip of water--sweet water. Fascinating.

Artichoke Clafoutis

serves 4-6

Preheat the oven to 350. Grease a ten-inch ovenproof dish with butter or cooking spray.

Half-fill a bowl with water, and add:

Juice of 1/2 lemon, strained

Trim, halve, and place in the water for ten minutes:

8 small artichokes

Sift into a large bowl:

2/3 cup all-purpose flour

Stir in, one at a time:

3 eggs

Whisk in gradually:

1 3/4 cups milk

Stir in:

1/2 cup grated parmesan

1/4 cup finely chopped parsley

1/4 cup finely chopped fennel fronds

1 teaspoon salt

1/2 teaspoon pepper or white pepper

Drain the artichokes, pat dry, and place, cut side down, in the prepared baking dish. Pour the batter over them and bake for 30 minutes, or until the clafoutis batter is fairly firm and slightly puffed.

Some Things

2011-02-01T13:55:00.000-08:00

1.) I felt really sorry for this little guy. I didn't expect to feel this way, but I had a sort of moral conflict about dropping a live lobster into a pot of boiling water. For some reason I didn't have any trouble slaughtering chickens, and lobster isn't more charismatic than chicken, so I don't know what the deal is. He's going to be very tasty though.

2.) Apparently a woman in Floriduh killed her two teenagers for "being mouthy." Fascinating. It's not funny at all, really, but it kind of is. I mean, in the wild, male animals sometimes eat their young. Can you blame them? More than anything, I think this is a tale with a moral--all teenagers should have to learn this story by heart. "And this is what happens when mommy snaps..."

3.) We've been testing soup recipes all week. This makes me feel like I'm going to a.) float away, and b.) really appreciate solid food when we get around to it again.

4.) Today we made something called "Quick Cheese Soup." Is there anyone out there familiar with cheese soup? I've heard of broccoli cheddar soup, but cheese soup? Is this a remnant of the sixties?

2011-01-27T14:43:00.000-08:00

The sponge cake sticks.

Nine eggs, separated.

A future trifle?

Food Photography

2011-01-27T13:43:00.001-08:00

I oscillate between oohing and ahhing over really beautiful food photography and gritting my teeth. My artistic side really loves making beautiful food and presenting it well. I am a baker, after all, and I get an inordinate thrill from taking raw ingredients and creating something completely new.

And then there's the other side of me that wants everyone to cook and to cook often, and I get the impression that one of the (many) reasons that people don't cook more is because food professionals make everything look difficult. If you read Martha Stewart Living or Saveur or Food and Wine or...you'll notice that all the food looks immaculate. Fresh, beautiful, and served in appropriate dishes with appropriate utensils on appropriate table linens. It's kind of disgusting, but there are important things to remember when you see really perfect looking food:

1.) The people that cook the food and stage the food and photograph the food are professionals

2.) These people don't often get to eat hot meals or must eat while scurrying around the kitchen because they have umpteen other recipes to test and photograph that day

3.) These people are often perfectionists who thrive off making things "better than" everyone else

4.) It doesn't matter so much what the food looks like as what it tastes like

I'm all for accessibility, and food is no different for me. In my opinion, you don't have to spend hours in the kitchen to make delicious, healthy food, nor do you have to spend half your paycheck for the right ingredients. I often make complex, lengthy recipes because 1.) it's my job, and 2.) I actually really enjoy it.

So I show you these photos with some hesitation. I'm really proud of the photos we've been taking the past few busy days at the test kitchen, but I also want to make sure that I don't come off as a bragging little wench parading her great photos in front of her readers. I guess my point is not to take food too seriously. Cooking is easy and can be really enjoyable. Don't stress over what the end result looks like.

Spring Rolls

2011-01-24T07:36:00.000-08:00

You know how everyone vows to change their lives at the beginning of each year? Eat right, exercise, become awesome? Well, this year I did that too. Part of it was because after spending Christmas at my parents' and being fed more or less constantly (I know, we're southern, so it's a given) I felt goutish. I was watching Planet Earth one night--the penguin episode--and imagined myself waddling like one of those cute penguins but decidedly less cute. Thus, I made some resolutions, being careful not to write them down so I won't be too liable for breaking them.

Then came a pan of New Orleans style bread pudding with whiskey sauce. Few things are more lethal to me than dairy products as those of you who followed this blog while I was on the goat farm might imagine. But a combination of dairy and bread (excuse me, bread soaked in dairy products) is perhaps the most lethal of all. There's something about unrestrained carbs and milk...

As you can imagine, not good news for my tummy. But here we are at the end of January, and I'm making good on some resolutions. I have to admit, it's a relief to be getting so much more roughage.

John and I made a trip to Knoxville the other day, mostly so I wouldn't implode from cabin fever, and we stopped by the food coop. Mint! I love mint, and think it's unfortunate that there are so few preparations that require it. Lamb with mint sauce is fine but a little stodgy if you ask me. And then it occurred to me: spring rolls!

The tricky thing about loving foreign food and living in a small southern town is knowing where to get supplies. Thankfully, Knoxville has a remarkably decent Asian supermarket. You should know that I chose this package of rice wrappers based purely on appearance (and the fact that it was ten cents cheaper than the other brands). The really great thing about Asian supermarkets is that they have superb produce. It's a little limited to Asian greens and select herbs and some strange looking root vegetables, but the quality is excellent, and who doesn't like bok choy?

I had never made spring rolls before, but it turns out to be remarkably simple and fun. All you have to do is dip the rice paper wrappers in water for a few seconds until they soften, place a little mound of veggies in the middle (we used spinach, cilantro, carrot matchsticks, mint, thinly sliced radishes, mung bean sprouts, and Thai basil), and roll them up. The rice paper is nice and sticky so you don't have to worry about the rolls falling apart. As you can see below, the first one (far right) I made is a hog leg, but after that I got better. I coerced John into making a peanut dipping sauce (I'm grooming him to be my saucier), and we ate these babies with miso soup.

Potatoes and Kale with Tahini Dressing

2011-01-21T09:43:00.000-08:00

Kale is probably the best thing that happened to vegetables since the tomato. Let's face it, tomatoes are the undisputed king of the veggies. They're juicy, they come in all colors, most prominently red, they're sweet and they have umami, and they're even more delicious because you can only get good tomatoes for a few months out of the year (we won't talk about those sorry, good for nothing excuses for tomatoes that sit blithely like toads on logs at the supermarket--sort of like eating musty water). I realize that I'm taking a chance by even mentioning kale as second to the tomato.

But every time I eat kale I feel like a brand new person. I feel like the Green Goddess herself sipping on a cup of pure chlorophyll in the sunlight of all things wholesome. In the summer when everything is growing and blooming, opportunities to feel this way are plentiful. In the winter, you have your potatoes, winter squash, canned things you might have put by during the summer, and whatever the supermarket offers. We won't go there. It's really depressing. Actually, the last time I went to the grocery store and saw the produce department looking more like an old wrinkly man than a young lithe veggie damsel, I turned around and didn't even bother picking among the ruins. It was that bad.

That's where kale delivers. Green and hardy, ready to be your nutritious dinner even on the darkest of days. I don't have a concrete recipe for you, but that's because this dish is really easy, and you can build it from step one to suit your dining needs. Cube some potatoes (or sweet potatoes, or winter squash) and bake at 400 until fork-tender (try 20 minutes to start). About ten minutes before the potatoes finish baking throw in some thinly sliced garlic.

Meanwhile, steam a big bunch of kale, curly or lacinato (a.k.a. dinosaur kale; you could also use mustard greens or collards, but be prepared to cook those longer) until the color turns brighter, but not so long that it loses its texture (about 6-10 minutes).

Meanwhile, in a large bowl, make a dressing. I used tahini (sesame seed paste; most grocery stores have it nowadays), soy sauce, sriracha, rice vinegar, and a little honey to round out the acidity of the vinegar. You could use anything you have on hand--peanut butter instead of the tahini, tabasco instead of sriracha, fish sauce instead of soy sauce, lemon juice or apple cider vinegar instead of rice vinegar... The thing I try to remember when making a dressing like this is to have a little bit of the tasty flavors--sweet, salty, sour, and umami. Mixed properly, these flavors will make a darn good dressing that is infinitely mutable.

Toss the potatoes (I like to bake them until they start to get brown and crispy) and kale with the dressing and serve over basmati rice.

Now, here's a tip for peeling garlic. I know you can buy jars of pre-minced garlic, but I defy that sort of thing. It doesn't taste like real garlic. I also love the smell of garlic on my fingers if you can believe that. The peeling part can be monotonous, though, especially if you have really short fingernails. What I like to do is lay the garlic cloves, one at a time, on the cutting board and whack them with a heavy knife. A quick whack is all that's needed. This may take a little practice because there's a fine line between getting the skin to loosen and smashing the clove to a pulp, but it only takes a couple tries to get it right. The peel should slip right off.

Cabin Fever

2011-01-18T07:27:00.000-08:00

Sure is pretty, isn't it? The problem is that I'm stuck and have been stuck for a couple weeks now. While the snow and ice have thawed for most everyone at this point, I live in a place where the sun never shines (in the pines, in the pines...), and so by the time the road crew gets here to plow and do good, they're either tired or don't care or both. Shame on them.

This is something I really hadn't bargained for when I moved out here. This past summer was a nightmarish sort of sauna experience. So hot you could hardly breathe and so humid you couldn't sweat. Little did I know that the winter would be equally as difficult but in the opposite direction.
Another problem is that I'm terribly lonely right now. My love is in Las Vegas with his father at a trade show for manly things (John's dad designs knives and has a booth at the show), and here I am holding down the fort, doing domestic things like baking bread that I don't need (I think I have four spare loaves in the freezer already, and I'm in the process of making another one).

Yesterday, I worked on a feature article for the Joy of Cooking--Saint Patrick's Day. The thing about these articles is that we have to send them out six to eight weeks early, which is supposedly how far out newspapers plan their articles. I spent the morning in the test kitchen making Shepherd's Pie and Irish Soda Bread. The soda bread recipe needs a little tweaking, but for all its faults I swear I could eat the whole loaf at once.
I also have a gnocchi recipe I want to share with you soon. It's time-consuming any way you look at it (and you can look at it several different ways), but the reward is great. This is true especially if you're just cooking for one or two, which means that you have lots left over to freeze, and gnocchi freeze like a charm. The process is also meditative, like kneading bread. So if you're into meditative cooking, this is a recipe for you. To be continued...

Snow and Feeling Old

2011-01-12T11:06:00.001-08:00

If this isn't the purdiest thing you've ever laid eyes on... This and three large pots of soup was all I did yesterday apart from feeling old because most nights John and I just sit around watching movies and reading. Not that we could go out and cause a ruckus if we wanted to, especially with six inches of snow on the ground. But I guess feeling old is better than actually being old (not to say that being old is a bad thing, but along the continuum of good and bad things...I'll shut up now).

Ooh, and I have an announcement. I'm doing some work for the Joy of Cooking over at their blog. Check us out.

A Film

2010-12-22T08:31:00.000-08:00

Two very dear friends of mine have been working for some time now on a film loosely based on/inspired by Appalachian folk music legend (I use that term loosely) Bascom Lamar Lunsford. The whole story of my relationship with them is a little convoluted, but I'll bore you with it nonetheless.

I met these guys during the summer of 2009 when I had just returned to the States from France and was working on a small goat farm in Madison County, NC. I think I met them for the first time at a farmers' market, and then I met them again at a contra dance. It was pure fate. We spent a lot of time together, and there was plenty of eating involved, mostly pancakes and ice cream. But we did all the things that renegade youths working on small farms will do, including milking goats and making sorghum syrup. I pretty much felt like Calamity Jane that summer. It was incredible, and they are truly incredible people.

They graduated from New York University with filmmaking degrees and had come to Madison County to make a film inspired by Bascom. For those of you unfamiliar with him, I'll give you a brief rundown. Bascom Lunsford was born in Madison County, NC. He ultimately became a lawyer, but what he is most known for, and this was his truly remarkable legacy, are the songs and ballads he recorded for the Library of Congress. Go to YouTube and search "I Wish I Was A Mole In The Ground"--it's one of his most famous recordings. He travelled around selling apple trees and exchanging songs with locals, and for a time, he travelled with a Cherokee beekeeper. His contribution to Appalachian heritage is remarkable. I can't really say enough about it. During a time of tremendous change in Appalachia, he preserved sounds and dare I say a certain "mountain spirit" that makes the region so culturally rich.

The film my friends have been working on is in the editing stage. The actual filming took place last summer, in and around Madison County and Cherokee County. Really, I just wanted you all to watch the trailer, which is beautiful, much as I expected it to be. Please feel free to donate to their cause (I shall vouch for them as honorable, starving artists), which is a noble one, if you choose. Or just look at the work they're doing.

Meringues aren't for sissies anymore

2010-12-16T14:15:00.000-08:00

For anyone with a penchant for making desserts, egg whites can be a problem, especially for those of you making eggnog (thanks to Brian at A Year From Scratch for bringing this to my attention). Egg whites can be a little sad-looking: pale and watery, robbed of their rich yolks. Sort of like what I imagine goldfish guts to look and feel like.

But egg whites are pretty magical. When I was in France, one thing that fascinated me was how every patisserie had a huge basket overflowing with meringues the size of your face. Upon further reflection, I decided that this must be a way for them to use up all those whites left over from custard-making. And consider the meringue on top of my delectable and unattainable grapefruit meringue pie--sheer baker's magic. You fluff them up, bake them, and attain a daintier thing than has ever entered your mouth before.

I used to pooh pooh meringue cookies because, well, they're low fat. But so is fruit, which I have no trouble consuming. This meringue cookie recipe is really perfect. Light but with a confident flavor, crisp on the outside, strangely chewy on the inside, punctuated by chocolate chips. They might even be appropriate for serving alongside eggnog, since anyone making eggnog isn't afraid of gilding the lily.

Mocha Meringues

3/4 cup sugar

1 tablespoon cornstarch or arrowroot powder

3 egg whites

1/2 teaspoon salt

3 tablespoons dark cocoa powder

1 teaspoon instant espresso powder

1/2 cup dark chocolate chips (such as Ghirardelli)

Preheat the oven to 300. Cover two large baking sheets with parchment paper. Combine sugar and cornstarch in a small bowl and set aside.

Beat egg whites and salt in the bowl of a stand mixer or with a handheld mixer (if you don't have either, you might be out of luck unless you've been working on your whisking arm) until they become frothy. With the mixer running, add the sugar mixture one tablespoon at a time until the whites attain firm, glossy peaks (when you lift the beaters, the whites should peak and not collapse). Add the cocoa powder and espresso and beat to combine thoroughly. You may need to scrape down your bowl once to make sure it is thoroughly combined. Fold in the chocolate chips.

Place tablespoonfuls of batter on the cookie sheets about one inch apart. Bake one hour, rotating sheets once during baking, until meringues harden. Cool completely on baking sheets.

Makes about 2 dozen cookies. Smaller cookies can be made, just watch the cooking time.

You might consider trying different flavors by adding citrus zest or even pulverized tea (Earl Grey would be a good one, or if you have any matcha powder--expensive but tasty--that would be perfect).

Cookbook Perusal: The Essential New York Times Cookbook

2010-12-16T12:08:00.000-08:00

The thing about reviewing cookbooks is that any cookbook will have good recipes in it. Or good concepts or good technique shots or, or, or... And the larger the cookbook, the more recipes you'll find to be useful. As you can see, I have compulsively flagged this poor book already. My main complaint with this cookbook is that, like many cookbooks from New York, it tends to be a little xenophobic, as if all cooking trends come from New York. But whatever. We'll let them have their delusions, and we can benefit from their highfalutin' recipes.

A pie you can't make

2010-12-16T11:44:00.000-08:00

Tasted better than it looked, at least in the photos. That's the trouble with shooting with no natural light. Between the white meringue and the black plate there was just no way this photo was going to turn out. But a fine pie, indeed. Too bad you can't make it. Well, I guess you could, but I'd have to redo the recipe and convert the metric measurements to US. Not gonna happen.

It was a grapefruit meringue pie, but the best part wasn't the grapefruit custard (although that was nothing to sneeze at), nor was it the beautiful pile of meringue injudiciously piled on top. It was the crust that really made the pie. Think of a brown butter shortbread flecked with vanilla grains. This is why we keep extra butter in the freezer. If the American Dream could be a pie crust, this is it.

If this post really kills you and you'd like to make the pie, leave a comment, but I recommend you take an old lemon meringue pie recipe, substitute grapefruit juice for the lemon, and make a pate sucree, adding vanilla grains from a vanilla bean OR vanilla paste. Sorry to be so withholding, but I shouldn't make this recipe again for a while.

E.T. or Yoda?

2010-12-11T09:16:00.001-08:00

Strange little creature. We like to call her "ham on legs."

2010-12-10T09:18:00.000-08:00

While eating pasta served with basil butter last night I came to the realization that if I had to pick one food group to eat for the rest of my life, it would be pasta. This is an indication of how utterly nerdy I am, and I don't take pride in it, especially since I'm supposed to be in training to become a food "authority." Just a lightbulb moment. As far as comfort foods go, pasta with butter and parmesan or a simple pesto is about as good as you can get. It only gets better from there.

The Secret of Baking Bread

2010-12-09T09:10:00.000-08:00

I learned an important lesson yesterday--you don't need a recipe to bake bread. I suppose I should have known this all along, but sometimes obviousland is just too far away for me to channel it. I blame the cookbooks. I have several bread baking cookbooks, and they are all illustrated with beautiful photos of perfect bread. Who doesn't want to bake perfect bread?

The problem is that each recipe can stretch out to 4 pages or more, so by the time you finish reading it, you're already discouraged and would rather just pay someone else to bake perfect bread for you. Well, I have tried several methods in the past few weeks and got fed up with baking mediocre bread that takes seven days for this and four days for that and two more for the fermenting and then you have to stand on your head and recite the Bhagavad-Gita and even then you're not guaranteed to have great bread...I just don't have time for this sort of thing, and I'm sure most of you don't either.

Well, yesterday I got smart. I had a sourdough starter in the fridge that had been glaring at me with its little bubbly eyes because I hadn't fed it in over a week. I took it out, prepared to throw it away, and of course it was alive and thriving so I couldn't throw it away. I controlled myself and did not reach for the bread book.

1.) I just added water and flour to make a wet starter (1 1/2 cups flour and 1 cup water) and let that sit overnight. If you don't have a starter, you can make a quick one by mixing 1 cup flour and 1 cup water with 2 teaspoons instant yeast. Of course, you can make a sourdough starter, but that will take several days to a week. It's your call.

2.) The next morning I added another cup of water and enough flour to make the dough--I did this by feel, not even bothering to measure the flour, and I added some salt and a little yeast for good luck even though there was a sourdough starter in there. I mixed it in my KitchenAid stand mixer until the dough came together, but you can do this by hand as well.

3.) I let it rise once (2-3 hours), deflated it and divided it in two, and let it rise again (about 1 hour).

4.) Meanwhile, I preheated the oven to 450 with a baking stone in the oven (never put a cold baking stone into a hot oven). A baking stone is really the best way to bake free-form loaves--it results in a nice, crispy crust and insulates the dough when you have to open the oven. You can also use a cast-iron pan for this. Make sure your oven has been preheated for 30 minutes before you put your loaves in--this ensures that the stone or pan is very hot.

5.) Then, I scored the loaves and slid them onto the baking stone on a piece of parchment paper (you can use a peel if you have one; if not, turn a large baking sheet over and place a piece of parchment paper on it--use this flat surface to slide the paper and dough onto the hot baking stone inside the oven)

6.) I quickly sprayed the inside of the oven with a mist of water (get a spray bottle that you reserve just for baking--the mist creates steam inside the oven that helps the bread rise initially--it's called "ovenspring").

7.) I shut the door for five minutes and then opened it and sprayed again.

8.) Then, I turned the temperature down to 400 and let it finish baking (about 25-30 minutes)--the bread will be a deep brown color.

9.) Make sure the loaves cool completely before you slice them. I know it's hard, but if you slice the bread while still warm from the oven you will ruin the texture of your bread--it will be gummy instead of springy and chewy (if that makes any sense at all). If you desperately have to have warm bread, toast it before you eat it.

High-Five "Pumpkin" Pie

2010-12-07T12:36:00.001-08:00

I'm going to get some blank stares for the name of this pie because it's not pumpkin. But I can guarantee that you can use pumpkin to the same end, or you can fool people by telling them it is pumpkin. The story is that I was asked to make a pumpkin pie for someone for their birthday. The problem was that I was asked about a month in advance, and in the course of that month "pumpkin" translated into "sweet potato." The birthday crept up on me, and to my horror I learned that I had my facts wrong, and there was not a stray can of pumpkin in the house.

But I had some home-grown sweet potatoes about as big as my arm and a new recipe to try, and I convinced myself that I could make sweet potato taste like pumpkin--I am, after all, a kitchen witch. Baking is the art of tastebud deception: you take flour, butter, and sugar with some odds and ends and turn it into CAKE or COOKIE or what have you. I made the pie, and not only did I fool the birthday boy, he gave me a high-five for "the best pumpkin pie ever." Apparently he is a pumpkin pie connoisseur and so fooling him felt really good.

This pie has a dirty secret. Something, in fact, that I usually call "baking heresy," but it gives the pie a je ne sais quoi that wouldn't be there otherwise, so I suggest leaving it in. I'm sure you could substitute it with some organic, vegan frippery, but that's your call. I say it's worth it.

High Five Pumpkin Pie

2 cups mashed sweet potatoes

1 cup sugar divided into 3/4 cup for the pie itself and 1/4 cup for the topping

2 eggs

1 stick butter, melted

1 cup whole milk

1 tablespoon vanilla extract

1 small package instant vanilla pudding

1 teaspoon cinnamon

1/2 teaspoon nutmeg

1/2 teaspoon cloves

1 teaspoon allspice

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Blend all ingredients thoroughly (I used a handheld mixer), reserving the 1/4 cup sugar. Pour into a 9" pie shell. Bake 45-50 minutes, or until pie is set. Cover the edges of the pie crust with foil, and sprinkle the 1/4 cup sugar on top of the pie. Broil in the oven for about 7-9 minutes, keeping the oven door open and turning the pie often to keep some spots from burning while others aren't brown at all. This part takes a little vigilance (unless you have a propane torch, in which case, light 'er up), but it's not difficult, and it's worth it. You want the top of the pie to be dark brown--like a creme brulee.

2010-12-07T10:33:00.000-08:00

Me: (while being mercilessly tickled) "Blessed are the tickled, for they shall seek revenge."

Technical Difficulties

2010-12-01T13:14:00.000-08:00

I would like to post about a number of things I've been up to lately, but I can't seem to download photos in less than a couple of hours, which I don't have the patience for. This slow and intermittent internet connection is probably the biggest downfall of living so far outside of the Real World. The closest cafe with free wifi is Starbucks, and I haven't been a Starbucks maiden in several years. Hopefully it's just the weather that's keeping me from being productive in the blogosphere (SNOW today!). I have lots to talk about--gardening, apple butter, and candied orange peel among them. Oh, and Happy Hanukkah. If you haven't done so, please make latkes--they're delicious no matter what faith you practice. I think we can all appreciate fried potatoes.

Happy Thanksgiving

2010-11-24T10:56:00.000-08:00

All pilgrim and indian jokes aside, I hope all of you have a very happy Thanksgiving. Don't work too hard, cook the things you enjoy eating (which may or may not include turkey), and don't go shopping on Thanksgiving day or I might have to ban you from this site. Cheers!

Granola for the Masses and Sourdough

2010-11-21T09:42:00.000-08:00

You might remember my approach to granola--throw a lot of things into a bowl and bake. I really should nail down a recipe, but this is basically my I-might-be-a-baker-but-I-don't-have-to-measure-everything recipe. Proof to all those who scoff that there is a time and a place for being anal. This is not one of those times.

Here are my ugly sourdough babies. They're ugly because I don't have a peel with which to slide the tender dough onto the sizzling hot baking stone. I basically had to throw them onto it with it in the oven. I guess I could have taken the stone out and placed them gently on it, but I fooled around enough with these things.

Oh, and I'm terrible at scoring dough. I tell myself it's because none of my knives are sharp enough, but I think it might have something to do with technique.

But they taste great. Sour but not too sour. Thick crust with a nice crumb. Very acceptable bread. I'm going to try fooling with my starter a few more weeks to see if keeping the thing alive gets any easier. If it does, we shall be in sourdough heaven. If not, I'm going back to my two-day method that always seemed to work so well.

Beet-Cabbage Salad

2010-11-19T09:27:00.000-08:00

If you've been following this blog for a while, you know I have a thing for fermented mixtures of vegetables. Something about semi-noxious fumes coming from big bowls of salted veggies makes me happy in ways that few other things do (it's probably partially a romantic notion, partially a food security issue). And the bigger the bowl (or vat or crock) the better. Fermented things have a way of living for a long time. I recently gave away my last jar or purple sauerkraut, which was made at the beginning of summer 2009, and the flavor was incredible. If you make a batch of sauerkraut, make it big and set aside a couple jars for later.

Now, one thing I don't do to my ferments is can them. I firmly believe that if you're going to bother fermenting something, you ought to be concerned about the little organisms living inside it. That's sort of the whole point. I mean, if you don't mind having all those good-for-your-gut bacteria cooked out of your sauerkraut or kimchi you can buy jars of it, which have already been conveniently pasteurized and sterilized. With homemade sauerkraut you can control the amount of salt, be completely sure of the origins of your cabbage, and you can add whatever you like. If you have a root cellar or a cool basement, keep your vast stores of ferments there. If not, keep them in the fridge, and plan accordingly. If you don't tend to have much expendable space in there, make only a quart or two at a time. It's easy enough to make on a regular basis.

This particular ferment is another "quick pickle." Wash and trim 4 large red beets. Boil them until fork-tender and cool until you can handle them. Reserve the beet juice. Slip the rough skins off (or use the dull side of a knife to scrape off the skins), and cut the beets into 1/4" strips. Thinly slice a medium-sized red cabbage. You want the pieces to be bite-sized or at least manageable. Also roughly chop several cloves of garlic--I'll leave the quantity up to you. Mix the beets, cabbage, and garlic in a large bowl. Sprinkle a tablespoon of salt over this mixture. In a small saucepan, bring to a boil 2 cups apple cider vinegar, 1 cup reserved beet juice, 1/4 cup sugar, 10 peppercorns, 6 cloves, 2 bay leaves, and any other additions you might like (star anise, caraway seeds, allspice berries, crushed red pepper...). Immediately take off the heat and let cool a bit--no need to let it cool all the way. Pour over the cabbage mixture and stir to combine thoroughly. Allow this to sit at room temperature for several days to a week, keeping the veggies underneath the liquid (you can use a plate that's weighted down). You'll start to smell that fermented aroma. Refrigerate in jars, making sure the liquid is above the cabbage mixture (you can add water if the liquid isn't high enough).

My Smelly Valentine

2010-11-17T10:41:00.000-08:00

This is what obsession looks like. It all starts with one clove lightly sauteed in butter, and before you know it you're popping raw cloves into your mouth like jujubes, roasting whole heads, and adding five cloves where the recipe calls for one. I don't like to think of it as a problem, though. More like a healthy infatuation.

goings-on in the kitchen

2010-11-16T15:44:00.001-08:00

The other morning I had the honor of hearing Melissa Block of NPR make a grammatical mistake. "Medal of honors" instead of the correct "medals of honor." Caught you, Melissa. Classic mistake. This has no bearing whatsoever upon my post, but you have to revel in the small things, right?

This week we're focusing on Hannukah food for the next press release for the Joy. The principle problem is that none of us are Jewish. We love Jewish food, but when you put a bunch of non-Jews in the kitchen with their presumptions about Jewish food, you end up with things like pastrami and borscht. This is Hannukah, though, so we knew better than to make a bunch of deli food. So far, however, we have made rugelach and kugel, and there are jelly doughnuts on the way to the fryer. Do you have any idea how hard it is to photograph kugel? It's like photographing chicken livers and trying to make them look sexy.

In my personal kitchen, I have a sourdough starter going. For some reason, I always have a great deal of trouble with this. I follow the directions, I measure the quantities by weight and not volume, I keep the thing warm...I feel like I'm taking care of a very needy baby, and yet it never seems quite right. It bubbles and rises and then it deflates, produces a brownish, brackish liquid, and smells like cheese on the verge of liquefying. I'm keeping it going just to see what happens. Who knows, maybe the starter is in its teenage phase when it just won't do what you want no matter what. If it makes it to the mid twenties perhaps I can actually make bread with it.

The jelly doughnuts are calling. I'll write again soon if I'm not too bloated.

Not dead, just moving

2010-11-07T10:06:00.000-08:00

We did it! We made it across the country and back, then we moved all our possessions one state over, and our relationship is STILL healthy and amiable. It must be true love. I have photos. Lots of photos. Beautiful, stunning, lovely photos. But they're all on HIS computer and HE is using HIS computer, so my only recourse is to talk about how great the photos are and to swear to you, yet again, that I will post some. Don't get your knickers in a wad, folks. For now, here are some highlights:

1.) We had some truly delicious ribs in St. Louis thanks to the immense wisdom of Jane and Michael Stern's Roadfood, which steered us to several fine establishments along the way. We knew we had really found something when we realized that we were the only white people in the place. We were not mistaken. This place, C&K Barbecue, is just a take-out joint with some benches for waiting for your food. When we opened the reassuring styrofoam take-out box, which had two layers of foil wrapped around the bottom, the ribs were swimming in a sea of sweet, molasses and tomato-based sauce (to those diehard vinegar-base people, I say, "there's more than one way to frost a rack of ribs"). Since it was pretty late, and neither of us know St. Louis, we stopped at a gas station to eat. It was an ugly affair to behold--sauce splattered all over the steering wheel and dashboard, fingers greasy and sticky--but my was it delicious. It was served with a really fascinating side dish, too. A sort of mashed potato salad with some relish mixed in. I like anything that tastes pickled, so it was right up my proverbial alley.

2.) The Rockies! Well, on the way out we stopped in Denver to eat dinner with a friend of mine who used to live in Denver but now lives in Asheville but was visiting Denver to see some friends, and we thought it funny that we would both be in Denver at the same time, so, even though we can see each other anytime in Asheville, we decided to see each other in Denver (convoluted, I know, but it's been a theme in my life so I've decided to go with it). We had Ethiopian food, which was great because you can't get that in Asheville, and I lovelovelove injera-- a fermented flat bread made with teff flour. So, being diverted and delayed by dinner in Denver, we missed sunset on the Rockies and drove through them at night.

3.) If you have the chance to go on a road trip and decide to visit Arches National Park, which is absolutely stunning and worth seeing multiple times, resign yourself to driving through Utah and probably Nevada. I was unaware that most of the country is very flat and that a fair amount of that flat land is desert or salt flat. I found it rather depressing. Some people must find it inspiring and beautiful since they live there. I like trees so I was out of luck.

4.) Hwy 101 is an absolute must. The coast of Northern California and into Oregon is stunning. When we drove through there was a lot of fog, but it was still utterly beyond comprehension. Especially when driving through the redwoods. As I said, I like trees, so forests, and especially mountainous or coastal forests, make me weepy. Organisms that old and majestic make me feel like a whippersnapper.

5.) Portland is way too awesome to describe in a paragraph. The people are so friendly, and the city has charm. Lots of charm. It feels like a city built by people, not corporations and concrete-and-steel city planners. Lots of green space along the waterfront, small businesses everywhere, rehabbed warehouses, more food carts than any city should have (share the wealth, man!), and did I mention friendly people? Gosh gee golly, the people sure are friendly there. Amazing. I would go back right now if I had the chance.

Alive and Well

2010-10-23T19:07:00.000-07:00

Where am I? What am I doing? Why am I being a bad blogger and neglecting my small but very important readership? I can't give you all the answers...yet. But in the meantime here are some teasers:

1.) Moving to Tennessee

2.) Cooking A LOT and taking photos of everything

3.) Starting a new and exciting career

4.) Being with the love of my life (aww, how sweet--there, I said it so you don't have to)

5.) Planning many future posts provided all of you haven't given up on me

Stay put, folks. I'll come up for air soon.

Soup of the evening, beautiful soup

2010-10-03T18:02:00.000-07:00

One of the truly tragic things about summer is the lack of soup. Of course, there are the gazpachos and chilled purees that pass for soup, and indeed these can be quite delicious, but they are, at best, desperate attempts at sanity when the mercury soars. Soup is, after all, a very sane thing to cook.

Soup is beautiful because it can be as simple as a good broth or it can be delightfully complex with meats and vegetables, noodles, dumplings, spices, and even pastes (think pesto or miso). Soup can be something we make to use leftovers, heal the sick, warm our bones, or simply to have something fragrant bubbling on the stove for hours. Somehow, even the smell of a fine broth is fortifying.

Now that the weather is cooler, we may rejoice in the savory bounty of soup once again. One of my favorites is miso soup. This is a real beaut. It can be as simple as a cup of boiling water with a big spoon of miso stirred in, or you can make a big deal out of it (which I recommend), adding garlic and ginger, mushrooms, chili sauce, sesame oil, thinly sliced carrots, and noodles. Heck, throw in a couple beaten egg yolks to thicken it up while you're at it, and top it off with some radish sprouts and scallion. As always, use your good judgment and make something delicious. Taste, season, repeat.

martha stewart definitely does not...

2010-09-20T06:27:00.000-07:00

put red beets into a kale and potato gratin.

since red beets and kale are perhaps my two favorite vegetables, we decided to put them together in a really delicious joy of cooking recipe. you just layer potatoes and onions and kale with some butter, salt and pepper, and then pour cream over the top and bake. easy, perfectly delicious, and pretty healthy for something with butter and cream in it.

but whoever came up with this recipe probably thought about putting beets in, and then had a subsequent thought that beets dye everything they touch a very distinctive color. namely, red. and the addition of cream sort of diluted the bright red into a really sickening bubble gum pink.

so, next time, golden beets maybe? and even though martha stewart would never put anything like it in her magazine, it was extremely tasty. i had seconds. heck, i snuck back into the kitchen while john was watching the sopranos and furtively gobbled a big forkful. good enough to make me forget my manners and lose my decorum. really good.

2010-09-17T13:05:00.000-07:00

i have a new little blog project over at tumblr. i'll keep posting on this one, but you may want to check out the new one.

tip from mom...and an easy pizza sauce recipe

2010-09-02T17:49:00.000-07:00

Mothers are wonderful. Of course, we don't realize this until we've been little whinging brats for most of our lives and finally recognize that it's a wonder our mothers didn't plug us up in a pickle barrel until we were in our 20s. Aside from giving birth to us, nourishing us, wiping the snot from our noses and all the other icky things mothers have to do (and, if you're lucky to have a wonderful mother like I do, seemingly enjoying it), they also know some downright nifty tricks.

When you go to make a tomato sauce and use whole tomatoes, the first problem you're likely to run into is that of how to best squish the tomatoes. You don't want little tomato hippos swimming in your sauce, especially if you need a smooth sauce for pizza. Sure, you can throw the tomatoes in the blender, but then you have to wash the blender. You can try to crush the tomatoes with the back of a spoon, but, if you're like me, you'll be sure to wear all white and get tomato juice all over yourself. You can crush tomatoes in many ways, but the least messy way that I have found is the kitchen shear method. Simply open your can and cut up the tomatoes while they're still in the can. Freaking brilliant, I tell you. There's no splash, no substantial dishes to wash, and shears are the perfect tomato-cutting implement. Eat your heart out.

Simple Pizza Sauce

makes enough sauce for 2 medium pizzas and some leftover for crust-dipping

In a large, heavy-bottomed skillet over medium, heat:

3 tablespoons olive oil

When oil is hot, saute:

3 large cloves garlic

for about five minutes, reducing the heat to medium-low. Add:

28 ounce can whole tomatoes, diced, and their juice

1 can tomato paste

healthy glug of port

and reduce until desired pizza sauce consistency is reached. Season with:

salt and pepper

fresh herbs

sugar, brown sugar, or sucanat

to taste. To prevent your pizza crust from becoming soggy, brush with olive oil before topping with sauce.

sugar and texture

2010-08-29T13:36:00.000-07:00

In case you're wondering why the best baked goods contain sugar and not maple syrup, honey, or agave as an alternative sweetener (and don't get me wrong--I've had many a delicious goodie made with other sweeteners...they just aren't as delicious), here's a little anecdote.

At work this morning I was neatly clipping along, baking up a storm, when I got to the lemon blueberry scones. We prep our dry and wet ingredients the afternoon before so that we can just dump them into a bowl in the morning when our brains are a little fuzzy and incapable of many normal functions. I normally take note of what the prepped ingredients look like--you can tell if someone put in sugar and leavening--but this morning I didn't have the wherewithal to do so.

As the scones baked, I could tell something was amiss. First, they weren't browning as they should have been. Second, they didn't puff up. Third, they were taking way too long to get done (something like 25 minutes instead of 16). When I tasted one to see what the problem was, I noticed immediately the lack of sugar. But more importantly, the texture was pretty horrible--tough and chewy rather than flaky and tender.

Sugar isn't just about the sweet. It tenderizes. I'm not a food scientist, so I can't tell you exactly why (it probably has something to do with keeping a lot of gluten from forming by coating proteins or something like that--don't quote me, though), but as a baker I can tell you that sugar makes for tender doughs and that beautiful browning that makes scones and cookies so appealing. I suppose you could try to make up for low sugar or an alternative sweetener by using a low-gluten flour (spelt) or perhaps some cornstarch or arrowroot in place of flour, but there's nothing quite like sugar for making a truly tender final product.

oh, buttermilk, do that thing you did last time...

2010-08-27T19:05:00.000-07:00

Buttermilk is a little funny. Most people don't really seem to get it. I mean, it's milk but it tastes a little more on the yogurty side. And then, it isn't necessarily something most people want to pour on cereal or dip cookies into. It's also not kefir, which puts it at a disadvantage among intestinally conscious shoppers who would probably get buttermilk if they thought about it for five seconds, but because they don't (is it just me or are all natural food stores terribly organized and with bad parking to boot?), they go for the probiotic emulsion with the ethnic sounding name.

But buttermilk is SO FREAKING GOOD. And not just for baking biscuits. Forget that, in fact. Go make some cornbread. Preferably unsweetened (and if you're making real cornbread it will not be sweetened). Make it in a cast iron skillet greased up with bacon drippings. Crumble a piece of cornbread into a glass and pour buttermilk over it. Eat with a spoon. You're welcome.

three beautiful things

2010-08-21T17:07:00.001-07:00

Since it's been a while, and I haven't been a responsible blog-driver, I'm offering up three beautiful things to you in the hopes that I'll keep you coming back even if I'm a bit sluggish about posting.

1.) Going to bed entirely too late last night, but feeling alert and happy all day anyway.

2.) Making two batches of ganache today. Watching the chocolate-flecked cream, which looks like an utter disaster, turn into a ribbon of shiny chocolate. The satisfying sound of the wire whisk against the stainless steel bowl. The rhythm of whisking.

3.) Running in the rain--an absolute luxury.

Spaghetti Pie for a Small Crowd

2010-08-10T15:51:00.000-07:00

I'm starting to realize that my mother knows a thing or two...or three thousand. I mean, she raised three girls (and took care of my father who, bless his heart, is a wonderful father and can't make macaroni and cheese to save his life) while working full-time and being active in her church community. And she cooked breakfast AND dinner for all of us on most days of the week. No small feat, my dears. Oh, and did I mention that she remained (and remains) almost spookily pleasant throughout all of it.

There was always a lot of good, hearty Southern cooking in my house. Substantial, tasty, solid food with little frippery and to do. Don't misunderstand me, I love French desserts and complex assemblies of fragile food, but make me a truly good biscuit and I'll love you forever. My mother excelled at the 30-minute meal long before Rachel Ray made a fortune at it, and her crock pot creations were always supremely tasty. One dish that I recently remembered and recreated was her spaghetti pie. Lasagne-esque but less fussy and easily adaptable to whatever pasta you have on hand. Thanks, Mom.

Spaghetti Pie

4 oz spaghetti or pasta of choice

8 oz cottage cheese

16 oz pasta sauce of choice (homemade preferably, but we can't all be superstars)

grated parmesan cheese, for melting on top

Preheat oven to 350. Boil pasta according to package instructions. Drain and put in a small casserole dish that has been lightly oiled with olive oil. Spread cottage cheese on top of pasta. Spread pasta sauce on top of cottage cheese. Sprinkle with parmesan. Bake until sauce is warmed through and cheese is melted and starting to brown, about 15-20 minutes. So easy you'll have time to make dessert, too.

Tapenade: the other bagel spread

2010-07-25T12:41:00.000-07:00

One of the things about a tiny kitchen is that, by extension, everything else in the kitchen must be tiny. Tiny stove, tiny sink, tiny fridge. A tiny fridge isn't necessarily a problem if you happen, as we do, to love fresh fruits and veggies: in one day and out the next. However, if you also have an obsessive love of condiments, as we do, your fridge space is drastically compromised by the sheer bulk of all those seductive, candy-for-salt-junkies spreads, add-ons, and pastes. Oyster sauce? Sure, we need that! Sauerkraut, kimchi, chow-chow, and Asian slaw...which all happen to be in quart-sized jars? Absolutely! We really just don't know how to say no.

However, true creativity can come from limitations. "John, the broccoli just won't fit anywhere...really." This is when you pull out some odds and ends and get creative. A couple containers of olives may not seem to take up much room until you open the fridge and a bottle of PBR falls out on your toes. And the great thing about tapenades is that you don't need a recipe. All you really need is olives and some various other culinary accoutrements. No need for heat--slap it in the food processor. Season, as always, to taste.

Olive Tapenade

--olives, about a cup, preferably pitted, but, if not, smash with a meat tenderizer or under the broad side of a knife (I used picholines and cured olives)

--3 cloves garlic

--1 T. capers

--juice of 1 lime (or 1 T. lemon juice)

--a drizzle of balsamic vinegar and olive oil, to reach desired consistency

Combine all ingredients in food processor and pulse until a paste is formed. Voila--a non-dairy bagel topping. Easy peasy.

**Note: I also considered using some sort of booze to add flavor to this, and then realized that I had none. Don't let this stop you from trying it. I also thought of red wine vinegar or champagne vinegar. I would imagine that countless herbs and spices would work here too.

Everything Granola

2010-07-15T14:15:00.000-07:00

This is my 200th post! Amazing. I probably should have posted a lot more by now if I were truly dedicated. But a busy lass is easily carried away by other pursuits, especially when she is involved in a wonderful relationship. Rabbit trail...

This is my basic granola recipe. You will hate this recipe because I never measure anything except the honey, so the proportions are up to you. But therein lies the magic of this recipe--you can adjust it endlessly to your mood, preferences, or pantry. It's wholesome, hearty, and absolutely delicious. Try finding anything half as good at a grocery store. There's also something liberating and texturally pleasing about throwing a bunch of ingredients into a big bowl and tossing them around. This recipe is an exercise in anti-micromanagement. I know that bakers have a tendency to want to measure everything out to the gram--myself included. Challenge yourself and live dangerously.

Everything Granola
makes as much or as little as you like*

rolled oats (proportionally, you will use the most of this ingredient)
raw pumpkin seeds
raw sunflower seeds
sesame seeds
raw nuts of your choice (walnuts, cashews, almonds, etc.)**
millet
poppy seeds
flax seed meal
wheat germ
about 2 T. whole wheat flour
salt
spices (a favorite of mine is garam masala, but other warm spices work well, too)

about 3/4 c. unsalted butter
1 c. honey
1/4 c. molasses or sorghum

1.) Preheat oven to 350.

2.) Put butter, honey, and molasses in a small saucepan and melt over low heat.

3.) Combine all dry ingredients. Spread this mixture in a thin layer on rimmed cookie sheets. You may need to use a couple or a few cookie sheets if you make a large batch. Bake 30 minutes, stirring every 10 minutes.

4.) Remove toasted granola from oven and pour butter mixture over it. Stir to mix thoroughly.

5.) Return to oven for another 30-45 minutes, stirring every 10 minutes, until granola is browned.

6.) Cool completely before storing in containers or plastic bags.

*I usually make a rather large batch of this granola, as it keeps well.
**I have used coconut with great success in this recipe, but you'll want to add it about 10 minutes before granola is done baking, as adding it earlier will cause it to burn.

Chilled Pea-Spinach Soup

2010-07-15T09:31:00.000-07:00

It's way too hot outside. As much as I love cooking, turning the oven or stovetop on in a tiny kitchen without a fan is absolute silliness. If nothing else, it's masochism. This is why cold soup exists. And cold, pureed soup is even better because you don't even have to chew. You can just lie prostrate and naked on your hardwood floor, drinking cold rose and sipping this soup from a straw. And it's healthy in addition to being tasty. We all win.

Chilled Pea-Spinach Soup

4 cloves garlic
2 cups fresh spinach, packed
1 lb frozen peas, steamed briefly to thaw, or fresh peas
1/2 avocado
1 1/2 c. buttermilk
1 t. madras curry powder, or to taste
3/4 t. salt
1 c. vegetable stock, or to desired consistency

Blend all ingredients in a blender, adding stock at the end to reach desired consistency. Chill at least 3 hours. Serve garnished with sour cream or plain Greek-style yogurt, garlicky breadcrumbs, and cilantro. I would imagine that paper-thin slices of cucumber would also be lovely.

Garlicky Croutons

2 slices stale bread, cut into cubes
3 garlic cloves, finely chopped
salt, to taste
pepper, to taste
3 T. olive oil

Combine all ingredients in a baking dish and toss to coat with oil. Put under the broiler until browned and crispy, about 5 minutes (keep an eye on them, though--the broiler can be a real dragon).

it's too hot to cook...let's bake a pie!

2010-07-07T14:31:00.000-07:00

I love kitchens. I work in one, and most nights, after work, I play in another one. But the funny thing about kitchens, industrial or otherwise--they're really, really hot. Yeah, hot as in sexy, but also hot as in sticky, sweaty, humid, nasty, and generally not a place you want to be when the heat wave hits. But then, there are all those luscious summer berries. For the most part, they're good on their own or with whipped cream or something innocuous and fluffy like that. After all, why obscure the pure tastes of summer in doughs and creams and other such frippery?

However, that said, after your hundredth handful of the little beasts, the palate tends to tire, requiring more drastic measures. Particularly in the case of wild blackberries, which are best in preserves and pies anyways, leaning towards the sour side and often being more seed than flesh. Hence, the best berry pie. Unpretentious, unassuming, simple. Blissfully simple. You will have to turn on the oven, but after your sweat and toil you will be glad you did, for the pie is perfect.

Best Berry Pie

1 lb fresh or frozen blackberries (or any other berry you have in abundance)

Granulated sugar or sucanat, to taste

Juice and zest of 1/2 lemon

Handful candied ginger, chopped

Pinch salt

3 T. unsalted butter

2 T. cornstarch, potato starch, or arrowroot powder

1 T. melted butter, for brushing
1 T. turbinado sugar, for sprinkling

Crust (From Ad Hoc at Home):
2 1/2 c. all-purpose flour
1 1/4 t. salt
2 1/2 sticks unsalted butter, cut into 1/2-inch pieces and chilled
about 5 T. ice water

1.) Make the crust: Combine flour and salt in a large bowl. Add butter and toss. With your hands or a pastry blender, work the butter into the flour until the butter pieces are no larger than peas. Drizzle the water over the top and mix the dough until it just holds together. Knead the dough until it is completely smooth and the butter is incorporated. Divide the dough in half, with one piece slightly larger than the other. Shape each half into a 1-inch thick disc, wrap in plastic wrap, and refrigerate at least one hour, or up to a day.

2.)Combine blackberries (if they are very juicy, as my frozen and thawed blackberries were, you may want to drain them a little, but I left mine very juicy and, while the pie was swimming in blackberry juice--not a bad thing--that just meant more juice for ice cream topping; and this crust is a miracle: it not only held up to the liquid, but it held up for DAYS), sugar, lemon zest and juice, ginger, and salt in a bowl. Mix until combined.

3.) Take the larger disc of dough from the fridge and dust your work surface lightly with flour. Roll it into a 13-14 inch round, about 1/8 inch thick. Roll outward from the center, rotating the dough frequently and reflouring your work surface if needed to prevent sticking. Transfer the dough to a 9-10 inch pie plate, easing the dough up the sides. Roll out the second disc in a similar manner and place on a baking sheet. Refrigerate both crusts 15 minutes. This allows the gluten in the dough to relax so that the crust doesn't shrink while baking.

4.) Preheat the oven to 375. Fill your pie crust with blackberry filling and dot with the 3 T. butter, cut into small pieces, and sprinkle with the starch of your choice. With your second piece of dough--the top--you can do something decorative and precious before covering the filling with it. Or you can just plop it on top and put some slits in it to let the steam out. Crimp the edges to seal the top crust to the bottom crust.

5.) Brush the dough with melted butter and sprinkle with the turbinado sugar. Bake for 50 minutes to an hour and 15 minutes, rotating halfway through. If you have a stupid oven like me, you may need to turn the broiler on for a quick minute to get the sugar on top to brown. After all, this is the point of the butter and sugar. As you can see, mine browned unevenly, but that's part of the homey appeal of this pie.

6.) Allow to cool almost completely. It tastes better when it's not scalding hot. Trust me. I know you're dying to burn your tongue and esophagus eating this, but you'll thank me if you wait.

Note: All ingredients in the filling are TO TASTE. Taste it, for heaven's sake, and if it's not sweet enough, add sugar. If you like an abnormal amount of ginger, add more. If it's not tart enough, squeeze some more lemon juice in there. This is your pie. Make it how you like it.

spring tart

2010-05-18T19:03:00.000-07:00

No, this post isn't about that hot young thing that runs by your house wearing her undies in the guise of jogging attire. It's about something with most of the elements that make tarts so appealing--crispy, creamy, fresh, beautiful. Asparagus tart with cornmeal-thyme crust and a ricotta filling. I wish I could take a photo and show it to you because it actually looks food blog worthy, whereas most of my cooking leans towards the "oh-but-it-tastes-so-good" genre. Fanciful asparagus strikes a lovely pose against the ricotta filling, and the crust...well, let's just say the crust is worthy. Sturdy, simple, elegant.

Asparagus Tart

For the crust:

--1 1/2 c. all-purpose flour

--1/2 c. stone-ground cornmeal

--1 1/4 tsp. salt

--4 oz. (8 T., 1 stick) unsalted butter, chilled and cut into small pieces

--1/4 c. ice water

Pulse dry ingredients in a food processor or mix by hand. Add butter cubes and pulse until mixture has a sandy texture. The butter should be in tiny pieces. With food processor running, pour water through the feed tube and process until the dough clumps together and wraps itself around the blade. Press into a 9 1/2 inch fluted tart pan (I used a rectangular one, but round works too). Chill 30 minutes in the refrigerator.

Center a rack in the oven and preheat it to 400. Bake 25-30 minutes, until golden. Cool crust completely in the tart pan.

For the filling:

--15 oz. container whole milk ricotta

--2 eggs

--2 T. lemon juice

--1 T. lemon zest

--salt and pepper to taste

--about 10-15 asparagus spears

Combine ricotta, eggs, lemon juice and zest, and salt and pepper. Beat by hand until all ingredients are well-mixed. Scrape filling into baked tart shell. Cut tough ends off asparagus and arrange the spears to suit your tastes. I laid mine lengthwise in neat rows. Bake for about 2o-30 minutes, or until the filling has set and has the faintest suggestion of browning.

Serve with lemon wedges.

Now again, with feeling

2010-05-15T13:56:00.000-07:00

When I made these scones, John promptly declared, "These aren't scones!" When I demanded to know what he was babbling about, why, of course they're scones, he said something to the tune of, "Scones don't have this much flavor." Well, as a scone-lover/fiend, I was a little bothered by this notion that scones are just slightly sweeter biscuits. Scones are distinctly different and should behave as such, no matter what the prevalent coffee-shop scone vibe insists. These scones are somewhat roguish, giving sleepy tastebuds a jolt on those sleepy mornings when cereal just isn't going to cut it. I went for broke and used a nice goat bleu, which imparts extra tang, but be aware that I'm something of a flavor junkie, so follow your gullet and improvise or adjust as you feel necessary. The basic scone recipe below is also great adapted to sweet variations. Simply, add 5 tablespoons sugar to the other dry ingredients and your flavorings of choice (frozen fruit, zest, chocolate...).

Bluesy Bacon-Walnut Scones

--3 c. all-purpose flour

--1 T. plus 1 tsp. baking powder

--1 tsp. salt

--1 stick plus 2 T. butter, chilled and cubed, plus extra for brushing

--1 c. buttermilk

--1 egg

--1/2 c. walnuts, slightly toasted, cooled, and chopped

--1/4-1/2 c. crumbled bleu cheese

--4 strips bacon, cooked and crumbled

1.) Preheat oven to 350.

2.) Whisk together all dry ingredients.

3.) Cut in cubed butter with a pastry blender or with your hands until flour mixture resembles coarse meal (this is a somewhat confusing baking term, but the idea is that you want the butter to be somewhat incorporated but still in small pieces so that during the baking process the dough becomes flaky from all the little pockets of butter that melt).

4.) Add buttermilk and egg and stir until dough barely starts to come together.

5.) Add walnuts, cheese, and bacon and knead into dough.

6.) Turn dough out onto a very lightly floured work surface. The less flour the better. Knead briefly, just until you can get the dough to come together in a ball. Flatten the ball into a thick disc, about 1-2 inches thick. This is a little subjective, though. If you like your scones flatter and with more crusty surface area, make the disc thinner. If you like them fluffier and taller, make a thick disc. Cut the disc into eight wedges and place on a baking sheet. A baking stone is ideal, as it makes them crustier and allows them to cook more evenly, but a baking sheet is fine too.

7.) Brush with melted butter.

8.) Bake until golden, about 30 minutes. If you made the scones thinner, you'll want to check on them before 30 minutes is up, but, as always, use your discretion and know your oven.

9.) Cool completely and serve solo (these scones are divas--they like lots of stage time) or with pesto cream cheese (I mixed some leftover ramp pesto with cream cheese, and it was as dank as it sounds--like I said, flavor junkie).

Lemon-Lime Curd

2010-05-02T17:21:00.000-07:00

May 2, and already the air feels...swampy. Thick. Viscous. Like you could scrape it off the sky and put it in a jar to spread on your toast in the morning. Don't get me wrong--after this winter it'll take some hellish days to get me to complain. Nonetheless, the heat and humidity puts me in the mood for something crisp and acidic, cool and sweet. Cue lemon curd.

Lemon curd seemed appropriate because, as is the way with condiments, it's versatile. It's a biscuit- or blueberry scone-topper at breakfast. It could go on the bottom (or top, if you prefer the dominant style of doing things) of some vanilla custards or panna cottas. It might be useful between light cake layers as a bright filling. I'm already fantasizing about its potential in some plain ol' Greek Gods yogurt...or on almond shortbreads...or in miniature sweet pasties with some fresh herbs perhaps. Really, there are more options than you might initially think. Lemon curd may seem limited, but only because you're not trying hard enough.

Lemon-Lime Curd

--6 egg yolks

--1 whole egg

--1 1/4 cup sugar

--zest and juice from 3 lemons (not meyer lemons) and 2 small limes

--3/4 stick butter, cut into half tablespoon-sized pieces

1.) Prep all ingredients before beginning. Go ahead and do your zesting and juicing, and separate your eggs. This should be reasonably fun and very tactile. The little ribbons of zest, the bright citrusy scent, the pleasure of cradling yolks in your hand...You'll want to do all this at the beginning because once you get the yolks heating they can curdle very quickly. This isn't complicated, but you'll want to keep an eye on it.

2.) Place your yolks, the whole egg, and the sugar in the top of a double boiler on medium heat (you'll want an easygoing simmer) and whisk to dissolve the sugar, about 2-3 minutes.

3.) Add the finely chopped zest, juice, and butter, and stir with a spatula. The curd is done when you can run your finger through the film of curd on your spatula, and it leaves a track. This sounds vague but is really quite straightforward. It should take about 10-12 minutes.

4.) Remove from heat, allow to come to room temperature, cover with plastic wrap, and refrigerate overnight. Transfer to a jar or another airtight vessel for storage in the fridge.

RAMPS!

2010-05-02T16:44:00.000-07:00

Apparently, ramps are one of the latest, hottest food items. They're super-seasonal, they aren't grown in monoculture yet by Monsanto or ConAgra, and they happen to taste amazing. Sort of like ramped-up (haha) garlic with a little leek-like sweetness. The smell is somewhat intimidating (I would say sexy, but that's just my garlic fetish talking), so if you're lucky enough to stumble across a ramp stand at the market or on the roadside (preferably announced with a spray-painted sign, but we can't all be so fortunate) and purchase some, be sure to put them in a plastic bag or container before putting them in the refrigerator, or else they're liable to stink up the whole works, and your milk will taste funny. Unless you're into that sort of thing. No haters here.

Ramps are in the onion family, but possess the charm and grace that onions lack. Whereas onions need a little time to mellow out, and even then can be abrasive to the palate, ramps are strongly-flavored but strangely delicate. They can be eaten raw fairly painlessly, and when cooked they add a little bit of that je ne sais quoi that cooks these days are so fond of. Of course, there are ramp festivals, ramp eat-offs, and even ramp documentaries for the hardcore ramp lovers, but they can also be enjoyed more casually, which is how I tend to like things.

On a drive to the Blue Ridge Parkway, John and I happened across a ramp stand and purchased a couple bundles. A little goes a long way, and so we have been enjoying the stink ever since. We did have some au naturel, the leaves raw on ham sandwiches, the bulbs fried in bacon grease on a salad (a salad just isn't the same without bacon grease...). But then, one of my favorite things to do with very seasonal items is to preserve the flavor for as long as I can so that when I can't skip down the street and buy more of the same, I still have that flavor in my culinary repertoire.

Thus: ramp-infused butter. Aha and aha. Melt your butter--salted, unsalted, cultured, you choose your preferred flavor-conductor--and add cleaned, chopped ramps. I did a coarse chopping job simply because ramps are strong, and you don't really need to mince them to extract flavor, but at the same time, I did want to expose more surface area to the butter. Let it bubble a little (I would imagine that you could even brown the butter and it would be fine, but I didn't try this). In the meantime, bring a small pot of water to a boil. Pour the melted ramp-butter into the water and take off the heat immediately. Place this in the freezer until the whole mess sets up, or at least until the butter is nice and firm. At this point, I upended the contents of the pot into a colander in the sink. You'll see that the concoction has stratified--there will be a ramp layer and a butter layer. It's a little hard to describe without photos, but when you do it you'll see exactly what I mean. Scrape off the ramp layer, as this is perishable, and you don't want your butter to mold. You'll be left with a very pungent butter than can be stored in an airtight container or, my favorite, a Mason jar.

Another trick I used for preserving the ramp flavor was infused olive oil. Find a decent olive oil, put a couple whole ramps down inside the bottle, and wait. Don't fret. You won't need to wait long before you can use the oil and taste the rewards of your ramp-hunt in salad dressings or drizzled over some foccacia. A caveat, though: when you infuse oils with perishable herbs, the oil will go rancid eventually, so use this oil as quickly as possible. I'd say, within a couple weeks, maybe more if refrigerated.

cheese, my love

2010-03-24T13:36:00.001-07:00

sometimes i really like boys. sometimes i like boys a little too much and end up getting my heart broken. the good news is that i also like cheese, and so when i do have those dreadful boy experiences i can just take out a juicy round of camembert and munch away. food really can be therapy, my dears. and even when i'm not having boy problems, which is rarely, cheese is just as tasty.

having apprenticed for a gifted cheesemaker for quite some time now, i have learned the wonders of truly great cheese. my childhood was velveeta. my twenties promises to be a really mushroomy brie...or a bleu that stinks up your car in a matter of moments...or maybe a washed rind something or other that coats your tongue with goodness. really, i can't say for sure. maybe some pure soul will create the perfect washed rind bleu brie. i think i could swear my allegiance to that.

the purpose of this post was to let you in on a few cheeses i've tasted recently that sort of blew my mind. i've gotten to the point where i can usually look at a cheese, smell a cheese, and decide whether it's for me or not. some people have a weather knee. i have a cheese nose.

"winnimere" by jasper hill farms in greensboro, vermont. beautiful orange rind produced by washing the cheese with a lambic style beer brewed on the premises. a round wrapped in spruce bark (no kidding, folks). the piney flavor of the bark is perhaps the most stunning thing about this cheese, and i definitely tasted a hint of smoky bacon flavor. the rind is fairly thin, but has a nice toothy quality to it that i can hardly attempt to describe--instantaneously grainy, slightly firm but giving way immediately to the viscous, velvet interior, which might be compared to mascarpone times two. homogenous interior (not runny around the rind and firm in the middle--consistent all the way through. RAW MILK, which is obvious because pasteurized milk cheeses DON'T TASTE AS GOOD AND THEY CAN NEVER ASPIRE TO. basically, an incredible, beautiful, fairly flawless cheese that's worth the large amount of money you will inevitably spend on it. it's only produced a few months out of the year, so grab one if you see it and guard it jealously.

"delice de bourgogne." a bloomy rind brie-type cheese (thicker than a traditional brie, though) with an aroma like really good body odor and mushrooms. indulge me a little, good folks. this cheese will coat your tongue and rush over your palate with something like pure love (mushrooms again), and then you get this little mineral bite from the rind, which is very slightly ammoniaesque, but in the best possible way, as it compliments the rich, silky interior. you will find it difficult to leave this cheese alone. on more than one occasion i found myself standing in front of the open refrigerator in the middle of the night, having been called by name by this wicked little wedge. spreading this cheese on bread makes you feel like the master of the universe, so giving is it to the edge of the knife.

"roaring forties bleu." it's a bleu. what more can i say? if you love bleu cheese, you will adore this one. if you don't love bleu cheese, i'll get back to you later about the therapy group i'm trying to start for special people like yourself. musky, sharp, bitter, salty as a mouthful of oyster brine, a little grainy--not smooth like a good roquefort. not so unusual a bleu as to be off-putting to all but the zaniest bleu fanatics, but certainly noteworthy.

"langa la tur." resembles the delice, but is smellier. the rind was what excited me. i took one look at it, and the slightly textured, white rind gave it away as something worth devouring. almost like the exterior of a walnut shell. and then the smell...through the plastic wrap i kid you not. it smelled, as the hippies might say, dank. it was a very sexy smell. and the cheese itself, texture-wise and flavor-wise, was equally dank.

there will be more, fine people. meg works steps away from a truly well-stocked cheese counter which she peruses multiple times a day, and she sees no need for willpower when it comes to something so fine.

farewell dinner

2010-03-19T19:38:00.001-07:00

i'm in the process of moving out of my apartment. the boxesboxesboxes make me a little nervous and discombobulated, and everything i own is somewhere, but damned if i know where exactly. i'm in pack animal mode again, and it's all a little overwhelming. but, determined to find equilibrium if it kills me (ha), i worked (and was fairly cheerful and engaging), came home, went running, did laundry, took a bath, and cooked dinner. it was all pretty okay (which is to say--good), but the dinner is what you'll want to hear about.

looking to use up a big bunch of collard greens, i came up with something that pretty much encompasses my greatest comfort food ambitions. preheat your oven to 400 (the way the best comfort food recipes begin). after sauteeing onions and garlic with spices (the usual suspects--red pepper flakes, cumin seed, coriander, sesame seed, salt), i added the collards, chopped finely, and allowed them to stew a little. i usually don't like to stress my veggies out, but this was an exceptional case. in the meantime i made a simple cornbread batter--cornmeal, flour, a tiny bit of sugar, baking powder, salt, milk, oil, an egg. when the collards were fairly well stewed and sweated i poured the cornbread batter over them (this is all in a cast-iron skillet, by the way--very important detail). place in the oven and wait for the cornbread to brown. amazing. next time i'll probably try to make more of a corn pudding to go on top just so it's a little more bubbly and gooey. but this was good. and the egg i used in the cornbread batter was double-yolked. lucky.

cilantro, my love

2010-03-18T12:31:00.000-07:00

as someone who believes herself to possess the ephemeral thing we call good taste, as someone who cooks every day for personal pleasure as well as for her job, as someone who loves food, good food, balanced food, i have a confession to make.

i love cilantro.

i am well aware that there are two camps of people--those who think cilantro tastes like body wash and those who buy bunches of it because the half acre they devoted to growing it just isn't enough. those who will spend 30 minutes picking every last vestige of it off a taco or out of a salad and those who guiltily nibble on cilantro sprigs as they inundate a perfectly good pad thai with handfuls of the stuff. i happen to belong to the latter camp, my friends, and it tastes really good to be here.

it tastes like spring and summer and indian summer and mornings and afternoons and evenings spent in the glory of green. it tastes right on my eggs at breakfast, my salad at lunch, and my miso soup at dinner. it suits me raw, cooked, fried, mixed in, on top, on the side. i love the way it smells on my fingers. i want to wear a sprig behind my ear. and to those haters out there--pish posh.

for those fleeting winter days

2010-03-15T18:58:00.000-07:00

now that winter is being edged out by the jonquils and forsythia, i can't help but feel a little twinge of nostalgia. even though i spent more time stressing about where to park my car this winter so as to avoid getting stuck in the snow and being unable to get to work, i am feeling singularly poetic about those sleepy, chilly winter days where, if i had the time to do so, i would have curled up under flannel blankets and had cup after cup of hot chocolate.

alas, fare thee well thou frigid old broad. the spring nymph is here. but i will indulge in one final comforting winter soup before boxing up the snow boots.

curried sweet potato soup:

in a hot oven (400?) bake your sweet potatoes. i used one large potato and one acorn squash. i would imagine that any winter squash would do just fine. bake until tender and mashable. mash them. i used a pastry blender, but i imagine this is what potato mashers are for, and in a pinch i have used biscuit cutters for this same purpose.

start sweating some chopped onions and garlic in olive oil. the finer chop the better because if you're like me you don't have a food processor or a blender (and if you have one the thought of cleaning it after an affair such as this makes your eye twitch), and this soup is supposed to resemble a creamed soup. so, let the sweating commence. go ahead and throw your spices in with the onions and garlic--curry, cumin seed, turmeric, coriander, red pepper flakes--because toasted spices have a nicer flavor, and the smell makes you salivate. oh, the anticipation!

once the alliums are transparent and maybe even browning a bit, add vegetable stock. homemade is always better (and shockingly easy to make from veggie scraps), but i'm not a teetotaler so do your thing. add a can of coconut milk (again, my preference is full-fat, but i'm aware that my youth allows me a certain degree of culinary hedonism). all quantities are subjective--basically, i made this recipe to serve three people, two of which are ravenous young men who are blissfully unaware of the concept of moderation. i probably used a couple quarts of stock and a can of coconut milk. throw in a few bay leaves for kicks. add the mashed potato and squash and bring the whole thing to a lovely simmer whereby the ingredients will all get comfortable with one another.

always, always, always add spices to taste. at this point you should taste what you've got so far and make any amendments you think necessary. i think i added a fair amount of sea salt and maybe some more curry powder. in hindsight i might've added a pinch of cloves, but that's just an afterthought. or maybe some garam masala, which is possibly my favorite spice in the world.

this soup is ideal served with some garlicky, homemade croutons. make this soup as often as possible while the chill is still in the air.

comfort food (part one of many more to come)

2010-03-12T19:24:00.000-08:00

i like to push my moods out of my head. good at ignoring, good at pretending, good at secret-keeping. if you know me, even if you know me well, you most often have no idea how i'm feeling unless i'm feeling loquacious (or tipsy). as a result, i am often able to ignore how i'm feeling too. until i sit down to eat.

anything on toast means i'm tired, probably a little sad or lonely, and unmotivated. peanut butter and jelly is one of my low-point foods. i think i ate pb&j most every day in high school, and when i was in france (forgive me, foodies) i could often think of nothing loftier than spooning peanut butter into my maw right from the jar. comfort food. simple, salty, creamy, full of fat good with raspberry preserves...what more could you ask of a food?

a new thing for me is avocado on toast. something hearty spread with strong dijon mustard (there's a local mustard company that goes by the name of lusty monk--their honey mustard is exquisite), slices of avocado, and maybe some smelly cheese. i've also done a lot of the avocado-salt-pepper combo this winter--minimal effort, satisfying. sounds pathetic, i know, but we all need something uncomplicated to soothe our souls after a day of work. the other half of the avocado is good with honey (comb and all) spooned into the depression where the pit was. don't judge me, please. try it for yourself.

apple tart and possible incarnations

2010-03-11T18:42:00.000-08:00

i love cookbooks. i've been building up a collection for some time now and have no illusions of stopping. an unapologetic book fetishist with a penchant for impossible recipes and elaborate food porn. i have an impressive collection of recipes cut from old issues of gourmet and bon appetit, in no appreciable order, with no apparent function apart from offering me amusement from time to time as i sift through what i once thought i might make.

in spite of this, i rarely follow a recipe. i don't mean that i take a recipe and modify it. i mean, i see what ingredients i have on hand (or that i can get at market or after work at the grocery store) and i go with it. i keep a healthy supply of spices and dry goods on hand (not to mention good butter and homemade veggie broth) so that my whims are usually possible. this sort of freedom from the recipe is thrilling and liberating. recipes are great inspiration, and for things like brownies and breads, recipes are pretty much must-haves (although i'm working on learning proportions--more on that later), but for everyday cooking, i find them cumbersome and restrictive. better to throw some things in a pan and hope for the best (although good judgment helps too).

this impromptu apple tart is an example of this manner of cookery. an instance of effective kitchen witchcraft.

Crust:

whole wheat pastry flour (1 1/2 cups)

lots of Amish butter (the equivalent of one stick, possibly a little less)

demerara sugar (1 1/2 T)

salt (pinch)

just enough ice water to make it come together into a blissful ball of butter-studded dough

refrigerate about 30 min. or, better yet, make the dough right before you eat your meal with the intention of throwing the tart together afterwards. the most important directive i can give you is to make this tart right before you eat it. don't get me wrong--you will enjoy the leftovers (ha) thoroughly, but you will want to eat this just out of the oven.

Topping:

slice a couple apples really thin (honeycrisp or gala or pink lady--something juicy and sexy and pink), place all artsy-like over the rolled out crust (free-form and rustic is better; who needs symmetry anyways?), drizzle some raw honey over the apples (no need for overkill--the apples should be sweet enough on their own to need little embellishment), finely grate the oldest gouda you can find (mine was 5 years old--a precocious thing just about ready for kindergarten) sparingly over the top (if cheese were an accessory, you'd want it to be a nice, lacy shawl, not a flannel cape). bake until the apples start to get a little brown at the edges and the crust is minimally done (guess: 15-20 minutes at 350).

most of all, use your common sense and do what feel right and smells right to you. basil and sage are good on this sort of tart, but lemon balm and rosemary are too. or you can be a total purist and go for the honey-lavender combo, which is so enticing this time of year. make a glaze of honey and calvados (or a fruit liqueur or brandy or...). basically, this tart is the vehicle for glory. eat slowly with a glass of rose (accent the final e) and think of all the gloriously warm days to come.

**note: my recipes are templates, vessels, vehicles. you will want to use your common sense, and please experiment.

Bacon

2010-03-09T20:25:00.000-08:00

What is it about bacon? I mean, really, it's just a cut of meat for god's sake. Compared to that vixen the filet mignon, that dandy of a sirloin, or even that gangsta link sausage sporting all the bling of sage, spice, and sea salt, the humble bacon is a thin, flabby Woody Allen next to more suave, Adrian Brody cuts (ok, so Adrian Brody is fairly thin, but I have a thing for him so bear with the bad metaphor). And yet, when bacon hits that cast iron, it becomes...food salvation.

Ever had a religious experience with food? Bacon is mine. Like something akin to having a vision, seeing the Sistine Chapel, and having hands laid on me to cure all my aches and pains. Bacon is it. That crunch oozing with fat. That savory of all savories. Svelte, sweaty, transformational. On salads, burgers (and why wouldn't you put one meat on top of another?), in quiche, ice cream...bacon is meat, but it transcends meat. It is a seasoning (!). It is a garnish, a main dish, an ingredient, but in every incarnation it is distinct. It's one of those lick your plate foods that makes everything go down easier. And the grease left in the pan afterwards? It'll make the sexiest over easy eggs you'll ever eat. Bon appetit, y'all.

where do i start?

2010-02-28T17:16:00.000-08:00

it's been awhile since summer. right now it feels like it may never be summer again, but it will be, and i will be free again.

what have i been doing in the last seven months? river swimming with great blue herons, necks crooked like tuning forks. fishing with no bait on my hook. tromping through the woods, on train tracks by the water, through dewey grass in the morning, on the sidewalk, through the snow, snow, snow. riding my bike up impossible hills. fiddling with a banjo (if such a statement can be made). drinking bulleit bourbon with club soda and three lemon wedges. cooking like the devil (all that fire has to be put to good use). listening to horses in the dark. singing with my mouth wide open. learning a lot about myself, sometimes too much, sometimes a little too late. liking boys, loving boys, despising boys, ignoring boys. looking for a job and finding a job and subsequently becoming the muffin queen of asheville. remembering to breathe after forgetting for a while. keeping rabbits for their fiber (and for the way they nudge you because they have really poor depth perception). trying to finish school with as little cynicism as possible. reading about mountains and men. and doing all the other things that humans do, more or less happily, more or less successfully, but always with a sense of wonder.

why am i back? why write again? it might have something to do with coming back up for air, which is something i have a history of forgetting to do. i know how, it just doesn't always happen. there's also the hermit in me that gets warmed up once in a while and decides to come out for some air. here she is.

choufleur violet

2009-07-05T07:49:00.000-07:00

Let's ferment

2009-07-04T15:15:00.000-07:00

I know I've posted about this before. I have vague memories of a batch of kimchi that I made in my dorm room last year that made the whole floor smell like something diabolical. It smelled great to me, but I've been known to sigh dreamily in the cheese cave where others would probably gag or at least hold their nose (although, kudos to the food bloggers who came out--they seemed to love the smell too). I also don't mind smelly hippies, but that's another post altogether.

My point is, it occurred to me today that I've been doing a lot of fermenting lately. My housemate and I have been blasting through some homemade raw goat's milk kefir, I've made a couple quarts of sauerkraut, a gallon of mead, and I'm baking bread again--sourdough and simple yeast bread. Not to mention the cheese I make every day at the farm--that's fermentation on an entirely different scale. I suppose not everyone enjoys fermented foods, and I have to say that I pity them in a way. For me, few things are as pleasant as that sour, tangy flavor from some fresh chevre or a freshly made sourdough loaf.

And then that brings me to another point. Digestion. No one wants to hear me talk about that sort of thing, but I'm going to put myself out there. It's good for your belly. Anyone with a sensitive stomach or dietary issues can relate when I say that an upset stomach--even a slightly upset one--is terribly unpleasant. For me, the solution is ferments. I notice that I digest kefir and yogurt a lot easier than plain milk. There's something about those good bacteria and yeasts that colonize, breaking down the sugars--lactose and maltose--into acids--acetic and lactic--that really aids digestion.

My favorite fermentation resource is Wild Fermentation by Sandor Ellix Katz. This guy is a fermentation rogue. He mostly uses wild yeasts and bacteria to ferment, and he applies a sort of easygoing style to this ancient food preservation technique that's refreshing to anyone who's trolled the internet and gigantic cookbooks for hours trying to figure out how to make sauerkraut (Katz's method is something like this: 1.) chop cabbage 2.) add salt and mix 3.) wait). This books talks about everything from the most basic ferments to making tempeh and miso.

In opposition to Katz's freestyle fermentation is Rose Levy Beranbaum's The Bread Bible. Obviously, you're not going to find anything about kimchi in here, but the chapter on sourdough is phenomenal and detailed. I'll admit, I've been a little more daring with my sourdough starter than Beranbaum suggests, but her work is a fantastic resource and answers a lot of questions for the new or new-to-sourdough baker.

The most rewarding thing about fermenting? Well, apart from the obvious--you get to eat the results--there's the magic of it. You feel like a wizard when you check on your mead and realize that it's getting fizzy, or when you see your sourdough starter bubbling up. Fermentation is the art of living foods, after all.

2009-07-02T13:39:00.000-07:00

"The reason that man's improved techniques seem to be necessary is that the natural balance has been so badly upset beforehand by those same techniques that the land has become dependent on them.
This line of reasoning not only applies to agriculture, but to other aspects of human society as well. Doctors and medecine become necessary when people create a sickly environment. Formal schooling has no intrinsic value, but becomes necessary when humanity creates a condition in which one must become 'educated' to get along."
-Masanobu Fukuoka

Mighty fine fiddlin'

2009-07-01T21:19:00.000-07:00

Farm tour

2009-06-29T20:50:00.000-07:00

The farm tour weekend is always an exhasuting one. You wake up feeling groggy, skip lunch in favor of half a bagel or some noxious energy bar, and finish milking with your last, sinking puddle of energy. Then you do it all over on Sunday. But there's some masochistic part of me that loves farm tour. Of course, there's the interaction with lots of people that we don't get too often out here in the sticks. But the best part is that the farm tour is an opportunity for the greater community to see you on your home turf instead of sweating in a parking lot somewhere trying desperately to keep the cheese samples from melting.

They see you at work, doing your thing. They see the goats munching on grass and grain, doing what goats do. They see the cheese in the cave and get some idea of what goes into the making of it. It's just a better representation of the process and the love of the process than answering questions in an off-farm setting. You can really explain what 300 gallons looks like with a 300-gallon vat in front of you.

This is me making ricotta--a cheesemaking demo. This was our way of sending a little practical knowledge home with everyone. Ultimately, one of the goals of the local food enthusiast is to build community food systems. This involves everything from preparation skills to trade and barter systems. I know a lot of people who are convinced that local food systems will come to be the only food systems. I, in spite of my skepticism, have come to be one of these people. Thus, the importance of teaching, not only practical how-to things, but also inspiring passion and respect for what goes into a plate of food when the ingredients list does not include high fructose corn syrup or hydrolized soy protein.

You may recall last week's post on the "gouda" type cheese we make. Well, these wheels here are the result of that hard work. We've salted them for two days now (the bigger wheels, not pictured, will require two more days of salting), and the wait begins! Today we made an epic batch of tomme in which the milk almost completely filled the vat. More on that later.

Working (and dancing) it off

2009-06-26T19:23:00.000-07:00

I had a great time in France. A lot of that was due to amazing food, namely things with butter in them or simply the butter itself slathered (doesn't that word just imply "liberally"?) on some of that crazy good French bread. Butter is wonderful, and I will never advocate the use of margarine instead of butter. The only problem with butter is that...well...it sticks to the hips. I came back from France with hips. This isn't necessarily a bad thing, but I've decided that a few pounds lighter will be good for me (and my jeans that are on the verge of not fitting). But here's the great part--my job does it for me. I eat butter and cheese and whole milk and pretty much whatever I want (I am on a no sugar kick, but that actually isn't as hard as I had imagined it would be), but working is really giving me a workout. Then there's contra dancing. All that hootin' and hollerin' and stompin' and swingin' does a body good. It's nice to be back and kicking.

In other news, we had a gaggle of food bloggers come to the farm this week geared up with their cameras and tastebuds. It's always exciting to get some attention for something you've made with your own two hands. The oohs and aahs over the cheese were especially appreciated. We always enjoy entertaining interested individuals. The bloggers concerned were Marie from Tartelette, Todd and Diane from White on Rice Couple, Jaden from Steamy Kitchen, Brian from The Food Geek, Tammy from Running With Tweezers, and Alison from The Humble Gourmand. We're very anxious to see what they say about us, but judging from all the drooling it should be largely positive.

Continuing in this vein of liveliness on the farm, this weekend is the notorious farm tour. Last year we sold out of everything and were without bloomy cheeses for a few weeks afterward. This year we're expecting even larger crowds and have prepared accordingly (a.k.a. I spent the past 12 hours in the cheese kitchen and am ready to pass out). There are a lot of new things on the farm to be excited about. Namely, the cave, but also the new deck area that makes getting to the market room less treacherous. But you don't want to hear all this rambling. Hopefully, I'll have some photos of day 1 of the farm tour by late tomorrow night. Wish us luck!

Overwhelmed

2009-06-24T20:27:00.000-07:00

This is the view from my trailer. As I've said, the place itself is nothing to brag about. It works, but only if you're willing to put aesthetics aside. The view, however... this view is what I wake up and fall alseep to. It's beyond sublime.

There are a lot of reasons why I love living here. The mountains are a big one. I drive down the highway and get the proverbial lump in my throat, mostly because I can't believe I'm lucky enough to live somewhere this beautiful. I also love the goats and the cheese, of course, but there's something else about this place that makes me blissfully happy even when I work 12 hour days and fall into bed like a zombie.

When I drove back up the mountain after five months of flat land (granted, it was in France, so that took the edge off my home sickness), I became a new human being. I hate to sound absurd. I've spent most of my life trying to get people to take me seriously. But when I came back to these hills I felt myself breathing, I heard my heartbeat, I felt everything more deeply, saw colors brighten. There's really no other way to describe it.

I've been back at work for a week. I was afraid that after being away I would have a hard time adjusting to this life again. I couldn't have been more mistaken. Life has never been more beautiful. How do you know when you find the right place, the right lifestyle? How do you not?

Gabriel

2009-06-22T19:26:00.000-07:00

Today was an exhasuting day. Any day spent dealing with 200+ gallons of milk is an exhausting day. But definetely worth it because the result is edible, gratable, sliceable, cheese-platable. The result is Gabriel. Gabriel started out as gouda, but as we tweaked the recipe and made it our own, it became...well...not gouda. So we renamed it in favor of a local landmark--Gabriel's Creek--in the tradition of some of our other cheeses: Stackhouse, Black Mountain Bleu, Bailey Mountain Tomme, etc.

We hand transfer milk from our bulk tank in 3-gallon buckets because we don't want any of those fabulous fat molecules that make the cheese taste so good to break up. When milk is cold, these molecules become more rigid and thus more susceptible to being broken if we were to use an electric pump to transfer the milk. We had about 209 gallons to transfer. Multiply that by 8.6 pounds per gallon and you have a workout.

Here's our raw milk vat. This is where the witchcraft happens. It takes up a lot of room and is a pain to clean, but we love it. This particular cheese is never heated above about 100 degrees. The reasons we like making raw milk cheeses?

1.) They have more flavor than their pasteurized counterparts
2.) They have more beneficial enzymes
3.) Our pasteurizer hold about 42 gallons; the vat can hold up to 300. When you make a batch of
cheese like this, you might as well make a big one and get several wheels of cheese out of it
as opposed to one or two.
4.) The pasteurization process takes about an hour and a half, and that's only for 42 gallons of milk.
Imagine doing that for over 200 gallons.

The photo above looks fairly innocuous, but this is the moment the magic happens--when we add the rennet and wait until the curd forms. Cheesemaking does feel like witchcraft sometimes. You throw in a little powder (bacteria culture) and a little rennet, and shortly after, you have cheese, or at least curds and whey. It's sort of fascinating to think that every cheese from the humblest chevre to the finest roquefort starts as milk. It's the handling and treatment (what kind of culture, aging period, etc.) that determines the final product.

When a home cheesemaker cuts the curd, they usually use a knife. I won't go into the details of how useless a knife would be here. We have two large curd harps--one vertical and one horizontal--that do the cutting for us. After cutting, we allow the curd to rest for a few minutes--it's fragile right after cutting. Because this cheese is a washed curd cheese, we let a certain percentage of whey drain off (this process is appropriately called "wheying off"), and then we add that same amount of liquid back, but in 130 degree water instead of whey. This is one of the parts of the process for this cheese that give it a distinct flavor and make it different from, say, a tomme or a cheddar. This also happens to be one of the tiresome parts of the process. We have to monitor the temperature of the water to make sure it stays constant, and then we have to make sure that we add as much liquid as we wheyed off.

Because this is a raw milk cheese, it must be aged for 60 days at least before we sell it, but the older it gets, the better it gets. Pair this cheese with a riesling, cabernet sauvignon, or zinfandel and figs and a hearty dark bread.

Regulation Smegulation

2009-06-21T16:01:00.000-07:00

If you have any interest in the government keeping its hands out of your food and away from your farm animals, read Sharon Astyk's post (and Everything I Want To Do Is Illegal by Joel Salatin). It's important that we all take an active interest in the plight of small farmers as worldwide economic downturn will probably result in the necessity of strong local food systems. This is impossible if the government continues to place firmer and harsher (and sillier) regulations on small farmers and artisans, which result in much higher startup and business costs. NAIS is a particularly noxious subject. Be informed and active in the agricultural sphere. We need you.

Sprouts

2009-06-21T06:15:00.000-07:00

I don't know if I've talked about my living situation yet, but in case I haven't let's just say that, first of all, it's free. Second, there's a reason it's free. It's a singlewide trailer at the top of a really big hill. The driveway is currently impassable unless you have a truck with 4-wheel drive (I don't, so I park at the bottom and walk up) because all the rain we've had lately has washed the gravel away. There is no air conditioning, which is fine with me--air conditioning is overrated--and honestly it would be pretty useless as some of the windows are broken and won't close. The washing machine doesn't work, three of the burners on the stove don't work, and a 3 foot (at least) black snake lives in the stove. We (my housemate and I) are on good terms with the snake because he eats the mice and rats, which were a problem but are not so much a problem anymore. This morning I woke up to find that all the electrical outlets in my room don't work. Having said all that, it's free living space, and there's indoor plumbing and (to some degree) electricity. What more can I ask for?

Actually, I enjoy being up here. The view is great, and this lifestyle is forcing me to think differently about how I cook. Lately, the menu has been mostly raw foods, toast with cheese, and dairy products from the farm (including raw milk and some raw milk kefir that I made this week). Thus the sprouts you see above. Sprouted seeds are pretty amazing. You put some seeds in a jar, rinse them every day, and you have sprouts. Once you make them it's hard to believe people actually pay for these things in supermarkets. They're so easy it seems like witchcraft.

A face only a mother (or an aspiring farmer) would love

2009-06-19T20:38:00.000-07:00

I've decided that it takes a special person to love goats. By special I mean eccentric. Sure, lots of people think goats are cute, but when you've been around them for any length of time, swept up their poop, had them pee on your foot, try to eat your hair or clothing, step on your bare foot with their whole weight and decide to hang out there indefinetely, had to catch them and hold them down to vaccinate them, and gotten goat hair all over your body after giving them a clipping, you know that it takes a really special person to love a goat. To look at them after all that and still think, awww...

You might remember some posts last year about 2 goats that I named Oskar and Voldemort. They were my favorites. You might also recall that we had some serious parasite issues with the herd of wethers, and by the time the season was over most of them were dead. I had assumed that my beloved goats met the same fate. They weren't puny, but they weren't particularly hardy animals, and so I figured they were probably dead. Imagine my surprise when I drove down the gravel driveway after 5 months of being in Europe, and I saw them running after my car inside their pasture. Shocked is probably a better word. At this point, they are the only remaining wethers from last year's herd. And aren't they darlin'?

It appears that they've developed quite the bond since they're the only two goats in this pasture that they share with Honeysuckle the cow. When I go to the fence to pet them, Honeysuckle gets jealous and chases them away so I can pet her instead. It's hard to imagine a cow being jealous, but this would appear to be the case.

I still think Oskar is the prettiest little goat I've ever seen (he's the one in the background with his head up). I really can't rationalize why I love goats so much. I guess you know you've found something worthwhile when you can't rationalize the joy out of it.

Cheese!

2009-06-18T09:04:00.000-07:00

Cheese kitchen photos are probably the most boring photos you can take. White cheese everywhere accented by stainless steel. But what you see here is the beginning of a glorious thing. In a short time (a matter of mere days) these cheeses will develop something called a geotrichum mold that will cover their exteriors and eventually form the white rind that characterizes all bloomy cheeses. This mold works from the outside in, creating that lovely creamy layer that gourmets and (especially) gourmands sigh over and write rapturous things about in glossy food magazines and on culinary blogs. They look so innocent at this stage, don't they?

So, I'm back. Back in Asheville. Back at the farm. And thus, back at markets. Going to markets is one thing, and I went to a good many of them in Europe, but working at a market is another. One might imagine that sitting in the same spot for hours on hot mornings and afternoons in summer could be tedious. Indeed, yesterday I was fighting a losing battle with the heat trying to keep the cheeses cold with bags of ice. But market is a completely different and wonderful experience for the vendor. Ah, the people one meets...

And the atmosphere...let's just say I've missed Asheville. Crabs and concertinas, kale and kohlrabi tucked in a bowl in the Appalachians. I feel like a brand new human being.

I'm back

2009-06-15T05:42:00.000-07:00

Look at those zany Germans in that photo. Gotta love the Germans. Any people that sups on offal, fermented cabbage, and the humble potato drowned in creme fraiche and butter has my allegiance. Although I've always been of the opinion that oars work better than hands I will defer to these guys. They look pretty intent, after all.

But that wasn't what my post was going to be about.

First of all, my apologies for the past few weeks. No posts, no photos, nothing. Not that I didn't take photos or have some experiences. I was just busy and a little stressed about exams. I don't make a habit of stressing for exams. My philosophy has always been do the work all semester, study for about 15 minutes for exams, and then sit back with a nice glass of rose and watch everyone else cram frantically. I have a small but active sadist side.
But in France, the land of C'est pas ma faute and Je ne sais pas, no one seemed to know when my exams were. Enter stress. I went to the secretary, to my profs, to mes amis, and none of them had a clue. I finally found out my exam dates and times a few days before they were to occur. I suppose the French mentality on this one is "Why would you need to know when your exams are until right before they take place?", but I confess that my American brain was in overdrive thinking, "Why would you not have the exams scheduled at the beginning of the semester?" Silly me.

But exams were fine. I'm not worried, at least. Whatever that's good for. But there it is, folks. My excuse.

Now I'm back, ready to start working on the farm again. I had a fabulous time. Would I go back? Under different circumstances, certainly. I can envision myself working on a little farm out in the French or German countryside. Who knows?

So don't give up on me. I'll be posting, more or less regularly, about my farm adventures. There will be more photos (and I do have some more Europe photos to share). Thanks for reading.

Brussels

2009-05-11T08:23:00.000-07:00

Well, I just spent a lovely weekend in Brussels (spent has two meanings for me lately: to spend time doing something, but also to spend way more money than I want to--the dollar is really killing me. Can we change currencies?). The weather was mercifully beautiful until we arrived back in Angers where it promptly started raining as if on cue. I wore my sandals and all was right with the world.

I've found that to see most cities one usually only needs a couple of days at most. This excludes giant cities like Paris where walking to the nearest metro station takes about a day in itself (j'exagere, but it felt like that sometimes). I've also found that museums, unless they have a stupendous reputation (Musee d'Orsay, Centre Pompidou, etc.), are a huge waste of time. While you could be out in the city absorbing the sights and the culture you're stuck inside this gigantic building looking at mediocre art or fossils or something. Thus, we did not visit museums and we did not go in the cathedral.

What we did do is eat and walk around and talk and just look at everything. We took it easy, didn't hurry ourselves, and made sure we were having fun first and foremost. Have you ever been on vacation and noticed how so many people on vacation act like they're SO STRESSED OUT and in SUCH A HURRY to go EVERYWHERE and see EVERYTHING that they forget to HAVE FUN? Well, I saw a lot of people like that this weekend, and we were determined not to follow suit.

Let me first say, yes the waffles are amazing. The one in the photo was a " gauffre Bruxelles." I also tried a "gauffre Liegeois" which I preferred. It had a thicker, more-cakelike consistency and was covered in a thin layer of slightly crusty sugar. I don't know how they do that, but I'm determined to figure it out and replicate it. They give you these little ridiculous plastic forks with three tongs that you're supposed to use to eat the things. After discovering how futile this is, I tossed the fork in favor of my fingers, which are more fun to use anyways because you can indiscreetly lick the powdered sugar off them afterwards.

Brussels was, as are most European cities, quite beautiful. And Brussels has the added benefit of being the capital of the European Union. We walked around the EU parliament building, and it was what most modern buildings are--big, shiny, and impressive, but totally not worth the time it would have taken for us to wait in the line to get inside. I know I'm probably uttering some profanity by saying this, but big, shiny, impressive buildings are not my thing. I'd rather sit in a park any day of the week.

The thing that struck me the most about Brussels was how lively the city was. Granted, it's a major tourist destination for Europeans and foreigners alike, but you get the sense that Brussels has a pretty involved community. This is probably at least partially due to the money that pours into the capital of the EU and which enables the city to have all manner of festivals and initiatives. While we were there we constantly saw stages being set up and taken down, fireworks going off at night, and posters everywhere for upcoming festivities. There was street music everywhere (good street music; not dirty hippies banging on guitars), and I couldn't help but feel charmed by the small city appeal that Brussels has.

And yes, we had the chocolate and some pretty fabulous Belgian beer, which is infinitely superior to French beer. One thing that bugs me about France is that you can get French wine (great) and French beer (not so much), but I have yet to see any Italian wine or Belgian or German beer here. It seems a little silly. I mean, there are some really great Italian wines and some really great German and Belgian beers. Why not import them? It seems a little chauvinistic to me, although it could just have something to do with the rules they impose on food products here. In any case, don't come to France looking for great beer, folks. Try Belgium instead.

A month and a week

2009-04-27T02:09:00.000-07:00

Yes, I'm still alive and in France. I haven't died of butter over-consumption yet. Actually, for a change, I've been pretty darn busy, and so blogging got pushed further and further from the front of my mind. I've been doing all sorts of other important things like tasting all the desserts I can get my hands on, lounging at cafes with friends, and trying to come up with a thesis statement for one of my final exams.

That's right--exams are a mere few weeks away. My last class is next Wednesday afternoon, and then the nightmare begins. I have two oral exams to give and one written. Written exams are a piece of gateau for me--I might not be able to talk my way out of a wet paper bag, but I can write my way out provided I have the right type of writing utensil. I've been known to come up with some terribly attractive turns of phrase, and although I tend to drift into purple prose mode (Virginia Woolf ruined me at an early age), written exams do not scare me at all. Oral exams, however, tend to be frightening, and taking oral exams in your second language isn't exactly something you look forward to. But after discussions with my professors about the particulars of the oral expose, I feel a little better, if only for the fact that they sound as if they will take pity on me

The tricky thing about these exams is that the French have their own way of doing things, and there is one specific way that one should give an expose. In the states, I go to a nice, open-minded liberal arts school where giving a presentation has no structure, and pretty much any way you do it is fine so long as your point is well made. Power points are great. Overhead transparencies are great. No visual aid is great. It's all just great. Here, that is not the case. There is a method. There is a class given to help you learn this method, which I unfortunately missed because it was given last semester. So I've tried to learn by gleaning and watching the other students give their exposes, but it's just not that simple, and I tend to be a little rebellious when someone tells me that there is only "one way" of doing something. Whatever.

The first two photos in this post are from Strasbourg. I was there the day after the G20 summit, so I missed the riots, unfortunately (hey, can you really blame me for wanting to see them? history in the making my friends), but I got to see and be intimidated by the hundreds of cops wearing full-body armor and carrying shields around town. I don't know what it is about cops, but they generally scare me. I don't care who you are. If you carry around a gun, you scare me.

But Strasbourg. Strasbourg is a beautiful city. It's small enough to be walkable (although the tramway is pretty cool, and while I didn't use it it looked straighforward and efficient), but big enough to be worth a couple of days there. We (my boyfriend J. and I) did not have the traditional choucroute garnie or a flammenkuche, but we did see the cathedral pretty much all the time (it's hard not to see the cathedral all the time), and we enjoyed the canals, which are great for taking long walks. Any city with canals has an undeniable charm.

Yesterday my friends and I (all from North America) were talking about the things we miss about home, the things we will miss about France, and the first things we will do when we get home. Apart from sleeping (how do people sleep in second class on planes?), I will probably take my car for a little spin. Honestly, I don't miss my car here. Walking everywhere has been wonderful, and you certainly see more when you walk than when you drive. And yet, I do miss my car. That ability to go wherever you want whenever you want. Rolling down the windows and letting the wind whip some life into you. Ah, yes, I do miss that. I'm also going to practice my parallel parking when I get back. I've watched so many French people do it perfectly that I feel I might be able to imitate them. I'm a terrible parallel parker.

I will also eat a sausage biscuit and buy some root beer. I will wear my pajamas to the grocery store. I will get dirty. I will go back to work and love it. But then, of course, there are things I will miss about France. I will miss the good bread, the good pastries and desserts and the macarons, the little old women and men carrying their baguettes under their arms, the cathedral across the street from my house, the endless conversations at cafes, the TGV...

I will not miss French boys. The French people--wonderful, friendly, great people. French boys--overrated. I've been yelled at, honked at, whistled at, stared at more than I care to think about. I'm constantly on guard when I go out, and I pretty much never go out alone after 9 p.m. Maybe I should be flattered, but really I'm just irritated and wish they would all just back off. I think that in the states women are more aggressive, and so guys don't try their luck by making crude advances. There are also probably a lot more sexual harassment laws and regulations. Whatever the reason, I don't have trouble with this in the states. I could probably count on one hand the times I've been honked at, and to my recollection I've never been yelled at. Here, it's a daily thing, and while there are plenty of guys who don't act like complete fools, there are enough for it to be annoying.

The short story is that I only have about a month and a week left. I'll miss this place, but I'm ready to get back to my real life--goat-wrangling and cheese slinging.

The best baguette in Angers

2009-04-01T07:41:00.000-07:00

There are lots of boulangeries here. I haven't visited all of them by far, but if there's a better baguette than this one I'll eat my hat (and yes, I have a hat). Luckily for me, the boulangerie that makes this amazing, crispy, beautiful piece of heaven is less than a minute's walking distance from my house, meaning that I can saunter over in my pajamas to buy a still-warm (that's right: still-warm) half-baguette for 50 cents in the morning. Or the afternoon or evening for that matter--pajamas should be all-day clothing in my opinion, and also in my opinion, the baguette is an all-day sort of food. This is probably why most boulangers make multiple batches of this miracle-bread every day so they'll be super-fresh. Lots of hyphenated words in that paragraph.

If you've never had a genuine baguette before (and if you live in the states and not in a major city chances are you have never had anything like a real baguette before no matter what they call it in the supermarket), I would highly recommend it. It should be crunchy on the outside (it will probably cut the roof of your mouth when you eat it, but it's so delicious you won't mind the pain), and perfectly soft on the inside. I also prefer baguettes that are cooked to a nice deep brown with perhaps the first hints of burning on the ridges, but this is personal taste. I often hear customers at the boulangerie asking for baguettes "pas trop cuites" (not too well-done).

Spread this sucker with butter and jam, tapenade, dijon mustard with chicken breast, or goat cheese and you have a meal fit for princes provided they haven't been guillotined.

Pas de Pub SVP

2009-03-31T04:26:00.000-07:00

So I've been quiet for a while. No worries, though. I've been quiet because I've been keeping busy, not because I'm on the brink of despair. My homesickness seems to be conquered. I think joining the gym was one of my better ideas since getting here (other than eating all those pastries and chocolates, that is). I've not only been kicking my butt into shape again, but I've also learned a lot of new vocabulary that you would only learn in fitness classes.

You're probably wondering what these photos are about. Well, how about I tell you? Most everyone here has mail slots, and to avoid unwanted junk mail, a lot of people post stickers or signs near the slot to announce that they don't want any "pubs" (ads) "svp" (s'il vous plait). I love the diversity of the signs, and so I decided to do a little photography collection. I just carry my camera around as I make the rounds and try not to look creepy as I photograph mail slots.

Just think of this as my quirky little gift to all of you who have been expecting great things of a blogger in France. I have no good excuses other than that I've been busy doing things besides blogging. I hope you'll forgive me.

So here's an interesting tidbit for you. As amazing as the French are with pastries and chocolates and food, I have to say I've been gravely disappointed with their coookies. The cookies here just aren't...well, let me just say that I've been an understudy of the Cookie Monster since I was a child. Cookie jars are not safe around me. And I don't discriminate either. Chocolate, chocolate chip, white chocolate macadamia, oatmeal raisin, cranberry, peanut butter, shortbread...they all work for me. But here cookies are just not quite right. I can't even say what it is that makes them inferior. They just aren't cookie-y enough or something. They don't have that butteryness that makes eating a cookie so amazing. They tend to be neither crispy nor exactly moist, lying somewhere in between.

My friend Val and I got nostalgic for cookies, so we bought a box mix. That was our first mistake. The cookies were ok, but we both agreed that we could do infinitely better. And then we discovered that allrecipes.com has a metric converter, at which point we both got way too excited. Now the problem is what kind of cookie to make. Please leave some suggestions in the comments if you like.

Just so you know, there will be some interesting posts coming up. On Sunday I will be leaving to meet my boyfriend in Strasbourg. We'll be staying there a couple days and then going to Paris. I know I've already been there, but it's Paris, and you can't see everything in one visit. Besides, he wants to see the Pompidou Center, and I'm not about to argue with that.

I'm hoping we can go up the Eiffel Tower at night. I still haven't done that, and talk about the perfectly stereotypical romantic thing to do in Paris! How can I resist? I may also try to get back to Laduree for some more macarons. I am obsessed with those things. Hey, I guess macarons count as cookies, so I have to amend my judgment of French cookies. Macarons: amazing. Other cookies: just get the macarons instead.

Ok, so there's a Star Trek movie coming out here (I just saw the preview so I don't know if it's actually French or if it's American dubbed in French--I hate it when they dub movies), and I am very excited. This is a confession, I guess. I really like Star Trek. I am absolutely not a Trekkie, but there's just something about Star Trek that pulls you in in spite of yourself. Let me also say that I've read almost all of Virginia Woolf's and William Faulkner's writings, and I am currently reading Moby Dick thank you very much.

It's coffee time for me. Man, I love espresso.

Can I eat that?

2009-03-26T06:17:00.000-07:00

One of the more frequent questions I get when I work at farmers' markets is, "Can I eat the rind on that cheese?" The question is usually in reference to a bloomy cheese (a cheese with white mold covering the outside, like camembert). My stock answer is "Well, it's a matter of taste, but yes, you can eat it and many people consider the rind and that little gooey layer just beneath it to be the best part." I then mutter something under my breath about "death and pestilence to those who throw away the rind." But seriously, my point is not to attack everyone who finds the thought of eating the moldy casing of a cheese disgusting.

My point is that I generally prefer the French approach to food over the American (with a few exceptions that I will talk about later). It has been my belief for years that Americans have no idea how to eat or what to eat. When it comes to old-fangled foods we are especially silly, pooh-pooing the idea of using lard in our biscuits or of eating eggs produced by real, live chickens that peck around in a field and lay brown, blue, speckled eggs as opposed to white ones. The fact that we have come to value processed, artificial, convenience foods over traditional foods bothers me immensely, and particularly since I started working on a farm I have viewed it as my mission to educate people on the values of real food. I can be preachy, but if you want my opinion the future of our planet, our governments, our economies, our lives, relies on food, and therfore, in my little mind, I feel justified.

But since coming to France one of the things I've noticed is that people here get food. They understand it. They don't shrink from it. They look it in the eye. I never hear French people talking about going on diets or replacing butter with margarine (although I have no doubt that both of these things occur; I simply think it's less common here), and I often see svelte women munching pain au chocolats or drinking rich hot chocolate. But the difference does not lie solely with the fact that they eat richer foods in general and are, in general, slimmer than Americans (a fact that should make you think twice about where obesity comes from).

The French are also very aware of what they eat. When you buy a chicken at the market, chances are it will still have it's head on. Same for fish--you buy them scales and all. Liver and tongue are sold raw by the kilo, and all right before your eyes, not wrapped in plastic or concealed in hermetically-sealed jars. I personally find this honesty refreshing. I think it's important to know what you're eating, and if it's fresh enough to still have its head, all the better. Nothing a swift, sharp knife can't remedy.

You should understand that I used to be a vegetarian. Thus, it might strike you as odd that I would prefer to see dead chickens with their heads than without. I defend my position, however. I think that if we are going to eat meat (and we are omnivores, like it or not, as a species), we should approach it as it is, and animals generally have heads and blood, which is something you're not going to find at your supermarket. I'm in favor of raising the animals yourself if you can, but I realize that to do that you need land and know-how among other things. The next best thing is to buy your meat from a direct source, which is a farm, which means your meat probably won't be doctored up, injected with red coloring to simulate freshness (yes, fyi, this is a common practice), and there might be a couple feathers sticking to that chicken.

And yes, you can eat the rind.

Bon appetit!

Who's afraid of the big bad wolf?

2009-03-23T03:09:00.000-07:00

I like to imagine what traveling must have been like a hundred years ago. No extensive, high-speed train networks that are always on time. No internet with which to make reservations. No detailed, interactive maps and tourism offices with staff that speak several languages. Steamer trunks instead of rolling suitcases. Thinking of this makes me very grateful that I can book train tickets online months in advance and have them mailed to my door (even if the SNCF website is a little capricious at times). But there are also unpleasant things that have to be dealt with that I imagine were not an issue 100 years ago.

Namely, the degree of bureaucracy on both sides of the pond (if you've ever had to apply for a visa you know exactly what I mean here). The number of papers that need to be filled out in triplicate, the reference numbers, the dossiers...all of this is almost enough to make you want to just stay at home. But I didn't stay at home. I ran the obstacle course and apparently did something right because here I am.

Which brings me to today. On April 8th I will have to register for my courses for next semester. This is a bit funny to me as I have only recently experienced the French style of registration which involves not registering until March for classes that you have hypothetically been taking since January after figuring out whether these classes actually exist, and if they exist when and where they occur, and then there's the nasty business of figuring out the course numbers, but we won't go there. I don't want to stress you all out too badly. It's Monday, after all.

So I'm trying to figure out what classes I need to take, and it turns out that I have precious few classes left. As in, I could probably get done in one more semester. Ah! The real world! Shut your eyes, my dear child, the light is far too bright! So, I'm planning on making my remaining classes last two semesters so I can graduate with most everyone else, and at the same time continue to work on the farm. But here I am, on the verge of my senior year at college, looking into the abyss of, gulp, adulthood, and yet I'm really really happy.

I'm happy that I have a job I love that will be waiting for me when I get home, where I am needed and (hopefully) wanted. I'm happy to be part of a grand experiment--starting a small business (this will no doubt be a slow process, and I will probably be working on the farm where I am now for a few years at least), a small farm. I'm excited about everything I have left to learn. Will I succeed? That's what I have to find out. It's strange that I feel so confident and sure of myself as I approach the end of my college life, but since I've discovered my passion I feel unshakeable.

For all practical purposes, college is like a constant party. I don't mean literally, although I do know some people who try to, literally, achieve that. But, honestly, you live on a campus, attend club meetings, swing by the gym, laze about in the afternoons, write some papers and do some research, have lunch at the caf, sleep until noon on the weekends, hang out in between classes with friends. It's a pretty luxurious life. Leaving the college nest is a bit frightening because right now we all like to sit around and theorize. We have our morals and our big ideas of how things should be and how people should live, but I imagine that things will change pretty quickly once we're out in the reality of things.

You should understand some things about my aspirations. I want to be a cheesemaker, first of all. I want goats and maybe eventually some cows and sheep. I would also like a substantial garden (maybe even enough to start a CSA), beehives, fruit trees and bushes, llamas and alpacas, rabbits, turkeys, chickens, pigs...I'm leaving some things out, but you get it. I want everything. I know it can be done, and I've always been stubborn, so I think I will succeed, but then there's always a grain of doubt in my mind. What if....? Right now I'm just thinking about it, reading helpful blogs about farming and books about farming and talking to actual farmers. But when I get out there on my own, what will happen? Drought? Flood? Late frost? Dogs to eat the chickens? Parasite problems in the goats? No doubt all of these things will happen. Therein lies the danger of farming--you have all the forces of nature working against (or for) you.

But that is also what attracts me to the profession. Always something to keep you guessing, to keep you reading, to keep you learning, to keep you moving, to wake you up at 4 a.m., to keep you up until 3 a.m.. In short, I am a woman obsessed and ready for anything. Bring on senior year!

Printemps

2009-03-20T04:03:00.000-07:00

It would appear that spring has come for good. After a week of glorious, sunny, warm weather I find myself being mostly happy with where I am and what I'm doing, even if it gets a little boring sometimes. But the good news is that I joined a gym, and so I'm hoping that my health will blossom along with the camellias and forsythia. I'm planning on trying out a yoga class this afternoon (at least I think that's what it is--they have enigmatic names for their classes here: Bodybalance is the one I think is yoga). If it is yoga I will be one happy Ashevillain. I realize that I've gotten spoiled with things like that--my home university has 3 free yoga classes a week not to mention yoga classes that you can enroll for (and Tai Chi and meditation and...).

I've been doing yoga more or less consistantly since I was 13, so naturally I miss it when it's not there. Granted, you can do yoga alone and in pretty much any space, but I find that when I do it in my room I get distracted easily. It helps to be in a studio where's there's nothing to compete with the poses for attention. There's also something therapeutic about doing yoga with other people--you feel more energized for some reason.

It's about time for me to register for classes for next semester. I can't believe it: I'll be a senior! Thank goodness the enrollment system is simpler for my home university than it is here. Online registration is something I took for granted until I came here and had to deal with paperwork. If you've ever seen L'auberge espagnol (The Spanish Apartment in English), the opening scene shows this guy in a gigantic office building running from office to office trying to figure out where to go to get information about such and such a dossier or such and such a form. The scene is in fast-forward motion, and it's pretty disorienting, probably to highlight the difficulties of French bureaucracy. Well, that scene is not an exaggeration, as I have come to find out. Signing up for courses here was a little what I imagine running a marathon to be like, and I'm not entirely convinced that, even though I've filled out all the paperwork and turned in the forms, I am indeed officially registered for anything. I would not be surprised if, at the end of my semester, they told me that they'd lost the forms and that I am not on the record as having taken any classes. Hopefully that won't happen because that, my friends, would be the day of my nervous breakdown.

But we'll not think of that right now. After all, it is a glorious day.

Le mal du pays

2009-03-17T04:22:00.000-07:00

My blogging has been a bit spotty lately, and for that I apologize, but to be honest my day to day life offers up little for the blogosphere. And, I have to come clean, I have been hit by an attack of the homesickness. I was pretty sure that of all the things that would happen to me in France, homesickness would not be one of them. But then, I guess what I've come to realize through coming to France is that I have a pretty great life in the States. Nothing luxurious or spectacular, but I have a job I love, a family that loves me and would probably do anything for me, I'm happy with the university I chose, I have good friends and fresh air and mountains and contra dancing and a million little things that really makes my life quite rich. All of that just came back to me and hit me like a mad billy goat this past weekend, and I've had a really hard time shaking the melancholy of it.

Part of the problem is that I have too much free time. If you know me, you'll know that I'm a workaholic. I can't sleep past 8 a.m. even when I want to. I prefer to have a full schedule and have often been known to find things to keep myself busy rather than have to sit down and relax. At home, I have a million little things I do to occupy my time--everything from spinnning wool to making handbound books to baking bread. Here, I have been stripped of all those things. I can't even bake a batch of cookies because my host family has a pretty meagerly-stocked kitchen, not to mention you can barely turn around in it.

So, essentially, I can do a handful of things with my time. Usually, I go to the library and stay there for hours on end reading, compulsively checking my emails, and writing blog posts whenever I have something I think I can rattle on about for a while. The problem with this is that I've almost run out of things to read for my classes. Remember those giant Victor Hugo tomes that I talked about earlier? Yeah, they're done. I've read everything except two tiny Victor Hugo books that should only take me a day or two to finish.

Now that the weather is glorious, I can spend more time outdoors, but, as much as I enjoy walking around, I'm in a city. I'm used to being in the country, or at least in a fairly rural area where you can pretty much roam the fields and trails as it were. Here, you can roam the streets and try to avoid the dog poo. This gets old fast. I mean, Angers is a really beautiful city, but I'm feeling claustrophobic. Remember how I said I could never live in Paris? Well, I'm not so sure I could live here either. It's just too much, too big, too many people and cars and buildings that block out the sun.

Another issue is my health. In the States I live a very healthy life. I know how to enjoy a good slice of pound cake with whipped cream, but in general I eat lots of organic fruits and veggies, whole grains, raw milk and farm fresh eggs. I've been able to find those things here, but it's difficult to stay on a budget and eat healthily. Not to mention the allure of the chocolates, pastries, etc. that I have to walk past no fewer than 10 times a day. I also have a pretty physical life in the States. My job is very physical, and I'm used to going to the gym about 3 times a week. Here I don't work, and I would go to the gym, but it's prohibitively expensive (the universities here aren't all-in-one packages like they are at home--no campus gym). So, apart from a few little exercises I try to remember to do in my room, there's not a lot of activity. True, I walk everywhere. This has been my saving grace, but it's just not enough to suit me.

Getting sick twice has also made me realize how a change of scenery and lifestyle can affect your health. At home, I have an immune system of iron. Here, I feel weak and sickly and tired way more often than I'm comfortable with. In short, this isn't the lifestyle for me.

I'm feeling a bit more optimistic today. I have some social activities (yay, St. Patrick's day!) to keep me occupied and the promise of a box with some peanut butter in it and my spindle and some wool (thanks, Mom). The day is nice, which means a promenade this afternoon and possibly dinner outdoors. Nothing like moving overseas to make you appreciate what you have at home.

Tuebingen

2009-03-12T09:15:00.000-07:00

I didn't bother writing another post until I got back to Angers because, without photos, blog entries are just, well, too much like op-ed pieces to catch the reader's attention. I feel like I should be giving you something refreshing to look at while I ramble on about whatever it is I find interesting. I'll admit, many a time I have skimmed (or skipped) a blog entry to get to the photos or the recipe or whatever it is that attracted me to the post in the first place. Thus, I bring you photos. Let the blogging commence.

Tuebingen is a nice enough city. To be up front with you, I'll go ahead and say that I prefer Angers. Why? Well, for one, French drivers, who have a reputation as being really aggressive, are not nearly as aggressive as German drivers. French drivers will stop to let pedestrians cross the street even if it's their turn to go through the intersection, and if you cross the street in front of a car, they will stop (provided, of course, that they see you--this is always important). They will not blow their horn at you or make insulting gestures at you. In Germany, heaven help you should you cross the street when the pedestrian light is red. In fact, come to find out, you can be heavily fined for crossing the street when it is not your turn. I don't even want to know what the penalty is for jaywalking.

Also, I find Angers to be more pleasant architecturally-speaking. Not to mention the fact that we have a lot less graffiti here. I'm a huge fan of street art provided it is well-done, but nonsense spray-painted on every surface does not appeal to me at all. I mean, really, no one cares that your name is Bob.

But I digress. I think another reason I found Tuebingen a little less than stellar was that I spent most of my time there being sick. It was creepily timely, too. I get there--bam! My boyfriend J. gets sick with something akin to a sinus infection (colds and sinus infections have a somewhat nebulous quality to them--there are so many varying symptoms that you're not sure what exactly you're sick with). Naturally, I begin to have similar symptoms shortly after, and find myself doing more napping than sight-seeing, hunting down cough drops instead of cuckoo clocks, and sipping lemony tea instead of, well, what else is Germany famous for if not bier?

So, my experience was skewed somewhat by illness. Before this is over I might just have an illness to correspond to each trip I take. Paris--food poisoning; Germany--sinus infection/ear infection (yes, ear infection--I didn't even get ear infections when I was an infant; I had to come to Europe to get one). What next, I wonder. Switzerland--conjunctivitis? Austria--shingles? This is humorous to me because in the states I rarely get sick.

But really, Tuebingen is, as are all European cities I've visited thus far, charming. The half-wood houses are beautiful and rustic, and I couldn't help but imagine myself as a goatherd living on top of a mountain somewhere in one of them. Hey, I could learn German if I really wanted to... And that brings me to another point. French and German are about as different as water and fire. I could not for the life of me get the pronunciation down, even though German is pretty much completely phonetic. I've been so used to speaking French, where half the letters are vowels and the other half aren't pronounced anyways, that German, with its gutteral, consonant-studded sound and solid cadence gave me quite a fit. J. repeatedly tried to help me pronounce things, but the words felt so absurd and clunky in my mouth that I would just end up giggling. Not the best way to get German people to like you.

But most Germans, as it turns out, speak English. I would think that since Germany and France are neighbors, Germans would speak French and the French would speak German. I mean, it makes sense, right? But that is not the case. I have to wonder if there's some deep-seated animosity or resentment between them. I could also just be overanalysing again--it might just be that English is a more practical language to learn in general. But all this has me thinking I should take a German class or two. Why not?

The snowdrops and crocuses were in bloom while I was there, and that was really breathtaking. They just pop up everywhere like fairies in the grass. It was even more incredible to see them popping up under the snow that blanketed the ground one day. They look so fragile and ethereal but have the constitution of a Norwegian (I don't know what that's supposed to mean--excuse my silly, stereotypical metaphor). They reminded me a lot of the mayapples that bloom during the spring in Appalachia--just smaller, with pinnate leaves.

Now that I'm back in Angers, it's evident that spring is coming. Today was glorious. I shed my winter coat and took a long walk this afternoon, which inevitably led me to the bookstore, which inevitably led me to buy a book (I am weak), which means that I will have to transport this book overseas somehow. I couldn't have an easier, lighter weakness, could I? It had to be books and not, for instance, bookmarks or thimbles or those little spoons. Oh well. But yes, spring is coming, and I sense Angers will be magnificent in the springtime. The forsythia are already in bloom (question: there's a children's book about a mother taking her baby for walks in his stroller, and they go see the botanical gardens for the first time when the forsythia are in bloom; I think it's told from the baby's perspective--if you know the name of this book I would love to know), and lots of trees are budding. The grass is already lush.

Isn't it funny how we long for spring by the end of winter, and how autumn's crisp mornings are just what we want after the interminable, scorching days of August? I'm definetely a 4-season type of girl. I enjoy each phase of the year for different reasons. Spring is especially nice because you literally get to watch the world transform itself and burst into life again. You get the feeling that you could sit and watch the flowers bloom before your eyes. And there are few things as hopeful and alive as a light green shoot pushing up from the still-cold soil.

Am I allowed to miss something?

2009-03-05T11:01:00.000-08:00

Ok, I know, I'm in Europe having the time of my life, seeing massive cathedrals, walking where great and powerful kings walked, eating incredible food, and in general being overwhelmed by how wonderful it all is. And I really mean that. I'm having way more fun than I can possibly relay to you.

But there's something I really miss. A lot. And as soon as I say it, you're probably all going to moan and think, "what an ungrateful little wierdo." But here goes: I really miss working.

Newer readers of my blog may not be familiar with what I do, and the short version is that I'm a cheesemaker on a small goat farm. I pasteurize, mould, salt, wrap, sell, deliver (there are too few of us to have division of labor, so we all just do everything) cheese. But the important part is that I LOVE my job. Love it. Absolutely, completely love it. I'm going to risk sounding really strange and tell you that at this point, not only do I miss the early mornings, carrying 3-gallon buckets of milk from the bulk tank to the pasteurizer, standing at markets for hours selling cheese and explaining each type about 300 times to customers, but I even miss cleaning the pasteurizer. I miss getting down on my hands and knees and scraping cheese gunk out of the corners (hey, the stuff gets everywhere). I (gulp) even miss making 300-gallon batches of cheddar and not being able to sit down properly the next few days.

Europe is great. Cheesemaking is amazing. Now if I could only combine the two...

Deutschland, naturlich

2009-03-04T08:33:00.000-08:00

So, I'm in Germany. I love being able to just be in a completely different country lickety split. Different country, different language, different architecture, different food... It's quite exciting. It's also kind of fun to be able to say to all my friends back in the States, when they ask me what I did today, "Oh, not much, you know, I just went to Germany, that's all."

But in all seriousness, Germany is nice. Mostly because my boyfriend is here, and before yesterday I hadn't seen him in a couple of months. Needless to say, I was very anxious to see him. But Germany is nice for other reasons as well. I love the architecture here. Half-wood houses have a very homey look about them. I would show you photos, but I left my USB cable for my camera in France (zut alors!).

Where I am, Tubingen, the terrain is also quite lovely. As much as I love Angers, I miss the mountains. I am defienetly a mountain woman ( I would like to think that someday people will refer to me as the "mountain woman who makes goat cheese," and I will have the crazy hair and gnarled hands befitting a mountain woman), and having hills around is like being in a cradle for me--protected, secure. There's also a little river flowing through town, and there are mallard ducks that paddle up and down it (I even saw some swans on the train yesterday. I've heard they can be a nuisance and even an environmental problem if they become too numerous, but they're so darned pretty...). In short, another hopelessly picturesque European town. None of my photos will do it justice, I'm sure.

The only thing I don't like about being here is that I don't speak much German. a.k.a. I can say hello, good morning, good night, goodbye, thank you, and a handful of other words. When someone lets loose a string of German at me, I just smile and try to look charming and either attempt to speak French or English, which, mercifully, most Germans seem to know, and then I thank them profusely afterward. I've made a resolution to take some intensive German language classes when I get back to the States.

German is actually quite a nice language, I think. French is beautiful, elegant, poetic. German, while hardly beautiful, is interesting and sturdy, and the pronunciation actually makes sense. In French, the words are inundated with vowels, half of which are not pronounced, making reading French and speaking French two different battles. German is phonetic and loaded with consonants, all of which are somehow pronounced. I suppose German and French are opposites in a sense. Obviously, I'm partial to French, but I think German has a nice cadence to it.

Well, this morning Jacob had class (Wow, someone who actually has classes. Go figure.), so I was left to explore Tubingen on my own for a few hours. I had a lovely, liesurely breakfast in a cozy cafe where I read Victor Hugo (I'm on page seven hundred something and am still going--the man was a genius, but those romantics knew how to pile it on thick). Then, I set off for my stroll. I walked along the river for a ways and then made a big loop and headed back to the center of town through the older quarter of Tubingen. Beautiful houses with colorful wooden shutters, whimsical cottage gardens, cobbled streets, lovely, lovely, lovely. And then, wouldn't you know it, I found a market! As you might imagine, I was thrilled. It was small, but comprehensive, and everything that I have come to expect from European markets--super fresh veggies and fruits, amazing breads, beautiful cheeses, and assorted odds and ends (this market had a spice vendor and an organic olive oil vendor). I bought salad fixins for a nice dinner for J. and I, and didn't have too much trouble with the language barrier, although German numbers tend to throw me off, since I've gotten so used to French ones.

Observation: coffee here is actual coffee and not espresso. In France, ask for a cafe and you can expect a tiny little cup of espresso. Here, order Kaffee and you get a cup of coffee. I have to say, I've become attached to espresso, but it's nice to have a cup of coffee for a change. You feel like you're getting more for your money, and a cup (you can't really call it a "cup") of espresso doesn't do much to drive the cold from your bones, whereas a Kaffee or a Milchkaffee (coffee with milk) is perfect for these cold mornings.

Oh, and do I even need to tell you that the bread here is fabulous?

Saumur...c'est trop fort!

2009-03-02T03:03:00.000-08:00

Just so you know (it kind of ruins the joke to have to explain it, but since very few people who read this blog speak French I feel obliged), "c'est trop fort!" is an expression that means something like "that's too cool!" It's just a funny little phrase that my friends and I use when we're being facetious. But really, Saumur was pretty fabulous. In fact, I think I preferred it to Nantes.

For one thing, the day was beautiful. I've gotten in the habit of wearing layers every day because the weather can be a little erratic, and I never know if I'll be too cold or too warm. Well, I ended up ditching my coat and my jacket in Saumur. The temp had to be in the low 70s, and it was amazing. We spent a large chunk of our afternoon laying in a field. It's been a long time since I've been able to soak up the vitamin D. If you know me, you will know that I am naturally very pale. Well, I don't know if I've gotten paler than usual, but lately people have been remarking on it incessantly. I went to a boulangerie the other day to buy one of their fabulous tarts (framboise et pistache--raspberry and pistachio, mmmmm), and the woman behind the counter said something like, "You're so pale! Is that your natural skin color?" as if I were pulling a Michael Jackson or something. Yes, this is my natural skin color. In short, it was nice to feel the sun on my skin for a change (beneath a layer of spf 40 sunblock).

The chateau de Saumur was, unfortunately, closed for the winter, but you could still walk around it and benefit from the amazing view of the Loire River. In any case, I will be going back to Saumur for sure, so I'll probably have a chance to visit the chateau again. Saumur is famous for its mushroom caves, wine, and horseback-riding school (nice combination). I really wanted to see the caves, but I don't know exactly how to get there a pied (on foot) since I think they're a little ways outside the main part of town.

I did, however, find a nice bottle of sweet, white wine produced in Saumur and some fromage. When it comes to cheese I'm really hopeless. I always, always have to go in any fromageries that I find even though I know they're probably pretty similar. But the smell...oh, how I love the smell of stinky cheese, and the colors--bright blue spots and veins in the bleu cheeses (of which there are always no fewer than 5 varieties, making it impossible to choose between them), orange mimolette, pure white goat cheeses, grey bloomy cheeses coated in ash. If you've never paid any attention to the rinds of cheeses, I urge you to do so because it's really fascinating. And I'm not talking about the waxed cheeses. Don't get me wrong, wax is a great preservative for cheeses, but a sign of a cheese that has been babied is a beautiful natural rind. One of my favorites is the tomme de Savoie--a sort of soft brown colored rind. This time I bought a sheep's milk variety that tastes a lot like the liesel we make at the farm--subtly pungent with a little stinging sensation on the back of the tongue after you swallow it.

Another interesting thing I've noticed here are the promotional posters for careers in farming. The one above says "Agriculture. Jobs (metier implies "life calling" or "passion") that are in style." I've seeon others around, but this was the first time I've had my camera available to snap a photo. There's probably some sort of promotional campaign in the States for farming, although I haven't seen it. If not, there should be. Encouraging the next generation to go back to the land is important for any culture, particularly in the States, where more and more food is being (usually unsustainably) imported. One thing that France rightly prides itself on is its domestic food production. Most of the veggies and fruits, even at the supermarket, come from France (although at market this weekend I did see some grapefruits from Florida).

Here's another one. Oh, by the way, there were strawberries at market this week! Strawberries! And they were amazing. Perfectly ripe and red. I felt like a new person after eating them. Amazing how really good fruit can do that to you.