Sunday Dinners

When you have too much Saffron

2012-01-31T06:41:00.000-08:00

This is what I’m talking about! This is the thing that Sunday Dinners are made of.
Not that Sunday Dinners have been infrequent. In fact they have been more and more frequent. I just haven’t been living in the present and viewing our gatherings with an eye to share them with you.

The last few weeks I have felt like I’ve emerged from a deep sleep or a heavy fog. I’m getting back on track and holy laugh-until-it-hurts Batman; I’ve got some funny friends!

I threw a big post-holiday bash and was amazed at what a great blend of friends I have. Most all of them are foodies in one way or another, even if being a foodie just means appreciating great food. So many of them are just carrying around a pent up chef waiting for the right occasion to wow their friends and a post-holiday bash was just the thing to scratch that itch.

I went to a pirate party with my best friend, who was festooned as a wench.

She took to the stage (yes, there was a stage) and belted out a Buffet song like she was born to wear a corset and sing while doing so. I was kissed on the lips by a very OLD pirate. And I picked up a few pirate tips and lyrics that will find their way onto Spill the Wine, the love of my life, when we sail again soon.

There were nine of us this night as we converged on Chris and Nancy’s house for a meal that we once again deemed, “The BEST dinner ever”… We say that every time. But it doesn’t matter!! At that moment it is the BEST dinner ever. It does get loud and raucous and there is a lot of wine consumed. Wait, and this is a problem?

Chris roasted chickens on his big green egg. Perfect! Beautiful! I dare you to not want to take a bite! Moist and tender and perfectly cooked. He has quite the geek system with computer and probes and fans and … well, if I didn’t know him as well as I do I’d consider him the nutty professor of grilling. Whatever he makes is always the star of the show and these girls were no exception. Dressed to the nines in nothing but bronze they made you want to stand up and sing.

I had to refer back to my own post in 2009 when I made Saffron Pappardelle. I wanted to make it again for this dinner. I learned that not only do I not like to use recipes but when I do I don’t record important information like yields and amounts. Anyway, it all worked out and it was fun making the pasta. Nancy had just purchased some mushroom base for me at Big John’s PFI (Pacific Food Importers) in Seattle. I used that along with a hefty amount of crimini mushrooms, sherry, shallots, garlic and a little kiss of cream to make a sauce for the pasta. Unfortunately, my intention had been to reduce the sauce
down but the saltiness of the base forbid me to do so. I made a slurry and kept my fingers crossed that the saltiness would balance out when combined with the pasta. I personally couldn’t get past the saltiness but no one complained. A lesson learned. If you’re going to go to the trouble of making pasta by hand you might want to use a stock for the sauce that you’ve also made from scratch. If you want great results you MUST use great products. Sigh.

We tossed some cauliflower in olive oil that had been infused with saffron and dusted it with kosher salt and pepper. That roasted about 20 minutes at 425 degrees and what emerged were golden nuggets of sweetness. So yummy.

Finally, Peter made a wonderful salad of spinach, candied bacon, red onions and hard cooked eggs. It was simply delightful tossed with a slightly warm vinaigrette that he had also made. We moaned, we laughed and laughed and laughed some more.

Chocolate!

2011-12-29T10:02:00.000-08:00

I have made this chocolate pave recipe numerous times. Mostly for holiday events. And because there is one more holiday coming up I thought I'd share a little chocolate love. Bonus!: It doesn't require baking!

This is a Thomas Keller recipe that was given to me by a pastry chef where I used to work. It's beautiful, simple, decadent and elegant (and gluten free!). And did I mention it doesn't require baking? I have never taken the time to take a picture of this but it doesn't hang around long for the camera either. The recipe says it serves 14 but I say it serves twice as many. With a quenelle of fresh cream a tiny slice will more than do.

One last note: The recipe calls for a 12x4x3" terrine mold. If you don't have one I'm sure something else would suffice. I have a beautiful red cast iron enamel mold that was a gift. I enjoy every chance to use it.

Chocolate Pave

12 Ounces Bittersweet Chocolate (64% Guayaquil suggested)

8 ½ Ounces Unsalted Butter (Plugra suggested)

8 Large Egg Yolks

4 Egg Whites

1 1/3 Cups Powdered Sugar

1/3 Cup Dutch-Process Cocoa Powder

4 ½ Ounces Heavy Cream

2 Tablespoons Granulated Sugar

· Spray a 12x4x3” Terrine mold and line with plastic wrap. Take the time to press all the air bubbles and creases out of the plastic.
· Sift powdered sugar with the cocoa and set aside
· Whisk cream to soft peaks and set aside in refrigerator
· Whisk egg whites to soft peaks adding granulated sugar gradually, set aside.
· Melt chocolate and butter in a bain marie, remove from heat and cool slightly until warm to the touch
· Stir whisked egg yolks into the chocolate mixture until well combined
· Stir in cocoa powder and powdered sugar until well combined
· Fold in whipped egg whites until well combined
· Fold in whipped cream until well combined
· Pour into prepared terrine mold, cover with plastic and refrigerate.

The terrine can be frozen at this point. If not freezing then refrigerate for 8 hours. Unmold the terrine and dust with cocoa powder. Score with marks for cutting. You can decorate with ganache rosettes if you like.

Speaking of Chanterelles

2011-10-13T14:46:00.000-07:00

I haven’t met a mushroom I didn’t like. I have met some mistreated mushrooms, who, out of no fault of their own, ended up slimy as a result of poor preparation. But those are the few, and hopefully forgotten.

After my disastrous fail with mac n’ cheese I’ve walked lightly and thought carefully about what I want to cook and how I want it to turn out.

I ran across some recently foraged Chanterelle mushrooms at my local market yesterday. What to do… what to do.

I am finding I need to plan a little ahead when it comes to cooking without meat. I need to busy my knife skills and soak beans or grains the night before. So when the fancy strikes I’m in the ready. I soaked some barley overnight. I’ve never done that before but had read somewhere that it was a good thing to do.

I decided to let those Chanterelles star in the show with the barley. It sounded like a perfect match. I’m happy to report it was! Barley-Mushroom “Risotto”. Comfort food wearing no disguise.

I used Crimini, white and Chanterelle mushrooms and cut them large and chunky. I added them to some finely diced onion I had sautéed in olive oil. I threw in a couple of cloves of minced garlic and some fresh thyme. I let the magic get all worked up in that pan over a moderately high heat. When the color and texture became caramelized I removed the mixture and set it aside. Then I added more finely diced onion to the pan with a little olive oil. I cooked the onions to translucent and added a cup of drained barley. I “toasted” the barley over the same moderately high heat for a few minutes. Then I lowered the heat to about medium and added a cup of white wine, stirring until it was almost all absorbed by the barley. Then I began feeding the grain a ladle at a time of warm mushroom stock. I added some fresh thyme leaves and red pepper flakes to this mixture and decided to start a pot of veggie soup between stirring and adding stock.

When I got to the end of the cooking process (about an hour later) I added the mushroom mixture back in along with a couple of tablespoons of fresh chopped parsley. I topped mine with a tiny bit of vegan parmesan. I needed that zing. If you prefer to use cheese be sure to use a good Reggiano.

I do love fall. But I long for summer and in Seattle summer hardly remains long enough to build a friendship. Wrapping my mind around fall is made easier in the presence of good comfort food.

Cheers!

In the absence of cheese....

2011-10-09T15:55:00.000-07:00

There’s no gentle way to put this. I gave up meat. Animal products actually. That’s right. I can’t candy-coat this one. All these years I’ve said how much I love vegans and that they taste like chicken … now… here I am.

I’m still holding out on eggs though. I mean it’s un-American isn’t it? To deny a farm fresh egg every now and then? You are not the boss of me. If I want an egg I’ll have an egg.

I want to write a word about Tofu Mac n’ “Cheese”.. that’s why I came here today. And I’ll get to it in just a minute. I just want you to chew on that thought while I’m telling you how I got here on this Sunday afternoon with a steaming bowl of Tofu Mac n’ “Cheese” wafting up in my face… not providing the LEAST resemblance (smell, taste nor aesthetics ) of anything cheesy.

I’m a big documentary watcher. Almost to the point of being obsessive. I knock out a half dozen or more documentaries every week. I’m trying to find a little balance there but it’s how my brain is wired. It takes a lot for me to escape into a drama or a comedy. I find myself saying, “This isn’t real”! and that’s that. Biographies over novels, documentaries over dramas. You get the picture.

So, about a month ago I watched a documentary called Forks over Knives. The knife in this title is played by a scalpel. The upshot of the program is that we are an obese, unhealthy nation and we are filling our graveyards at an alarming rate through diabetes, heart disease and cancer. Having lost both of my parents last year to cancer I pay attention to messages that get down and dirty about where this rotten disease thrives and conversely where it is conquered.

I recommend the video. I bought it for myself. I don’t collect DVD’s so that says something. After viewing the program and hearing evidence that studies show in the absence of (or at less than 5%) animal products (not just meat but dairy) that these diseases ceased to exist. I’m in! Well, we still have the issue with eggs but other than that. I’m in!

That’s the long story short. Let’s get back to our tofu mac n’ ‘cheese”. I address this because outside of baking, I typically do not follow a recipe. But I’ve never driven on the tofu highway before and I thought a road map might be a good idea.

So, I bought the Happy Herbivore cookbook. I cannot speak to the other recipes in the book because I haven’t tried them. But the Baked Shells and Cheese with the enticing picture of a fork full of creamy looking seashell pasta with crispy breadcrumb topping; let’s just say I’m going to dog-ear that page all the way over.

Deep inside I think I knew it was impossible to make tofu sing in mac n’ cheese like Martha Stewart makes Gruyere the star in her 3 cheese mac n’ cheese. But I really, really wanted this recipe to prove me wrong. Ugh.

Back to the drawing board.

I know I shouldn’t. But I’m posting a picture of this stuff before it heads for its next destination: my garbage disposal. It’s not the texture so much, I could tweak the recipe to fix that. It was the taste! Yikes! Enough said. I’m moving on. I’m over it. I have a problem sleeping at night and I do NOT want to have tofu nightmares. Get thee behind me tofu!

I commenced healing right away with roasted cauliflower and Brussels sprouts and sautéed mushrooms with fresh green beans. Don’t get me wrong. I am not giving up on tofu. I’m just giving up on THIS recipe. If there’s one thing I do know how to do it’s to make food taste good. The challenge is on!

Life without cheese must go on.

Aloha!

2011-07-12T18:51:00.000-07:00

It has been a month of an embarrassment of blessings, a wealth of love, letting go and growing up and becoming comfortable in my own skin and not being afraid of the voices I hear. I’ll explain the voices in a minute.

I feel like my Winnie the Pooh little black rain cloud is gone. Just like that. Gone.

I made the trek to eastern Washington where I met my brother and together we buried our parent’s ashes. It was a beautiful place and a healing experience. It was finally closure for both of us. I knew it was time to let go. I’d nearly cried myself to death in the last 9 months. I just didn’t know that the letting go process would lead to such immediate inner peace. Who knew? There is not a manual for such things.

Now I’m on to the next chapter. And I can’t lie. I’m liking the direction this story is taking.

I’m sitting here in the tropical breeze of Hawaii listening to the ocean waves pound against the rocks. Everywhere I look I seem to find something or other that I’ve never seen before in my life! I’ve never been here before and let me just step right up and introduce myself: Hi, my name is LuAnne, and I can be a real elitist snob sometimes. I don’t know where it comes from. I guess it’s that strong-opinion thing. Whatever it is, I never really wanted to travel to Hawaii. It wasn’t a passion or a goal even. Not that I would turn down a trip if it fell into my lap (which it did!). But I’m just not a tourist-y sort of gal. And in my limited knowledge (heavy on the limited part) of Hawaii, I thought it was ALL a big tourist snare. I would like to happily admit how wrong I was.

My friend and ex-sister-in-law, Joey, sent me an email a few days ago that said something like: “Please, please, please go to Hawaii with me. I’ll buy your ticket.” SHUT UP! I am NOT kidding you. The part that’s hard to admit here: I said “no”. I KNOW! Get thee to a nunnery! I hit send on my reply email to her and heard a voice.. (I have been listening to ‘that’ voice a lot more closely lately. I have to quiet my own loud voice to really hear it.) I know I don’t need to tell you what that ‘voice’ said to me. I sent a second email right on the heels of the first. The rest is minutia. Here I am in Kapoho on The Big Island of Hawaii so happy and so comfortable with the fact that I hear voices!!

Now, I am in a beautiful vacation house surrounded by an ocean view, coconut trees, geckos and Coqui frogs that sing the night away. I guess the frogs are unwelcomed guests that snuck in on a produce shipment from Florida and the results were population ballistic explosion. They propagate quickly in paradise. But they sing a lovely nighttime tune.

Joey and I woke up early the first morning and hit the local farmer’s market in Pahoa, about 8 miles away. We had no boundaries when it came to trying something new. We ate dragon eyeballs and regretfully indulged in a little Kava drink. Unlike the bubbly cava of Spain (which I love!) this looked like it was skimmed right off a dairy farm mud puddle. When they say you taste with your eyes first I’m here to tell you it’s just true. Nothing, and I mean nothing could convince me that this was anything other than mud puddle water. The vendor assured us it was the magical elixir that would add years to your life, length to your penis and stop diabetes, depression and poverty right in their tracks! But still, think mud puddle. I took one sip of Joey’s 75 cent investment and told the vendor I’d rather have diabetes thank you very much. Or as they say on the island mahalo nui loa!

Joey kept feigning misplacement of her Dixie cup of mud water at the nearby produce tables. Each time she would walk away and someone would chase her down and return her ‘magic elixir’ to her. She was too polite to gag and pour it on the ground.

We asked where we could buy fresh fish and were told to go to the boat launch at Pohoiki. Which we determined to do right away. We quickly found out in our excitement that flying by the seat of our pants will catch our pants on fire… AND we’ll get distracted, a little lost and several hours later the fishermen will have taken their catch to Hilo. So we had chicken for dinner with all of our fresh market veggies and fruit. It is all Ono grinds (tasty food).

Anytime you are buying your food at the source you are likely to find happiness in your tummy. When you buy your food at the source and the source is a tropical climate. You are in what they call paradise. What is not to love about pineapple right? But when the pineapple is picked ripe or when it’s a local delight called white pineapple. Well… you just want to rub it on your body, stir it in your coffee and roll around on the floor making moaning noises with it. I think if you’ve been here you know what I’m talking about. The best. No, really. THE BEST pineapple I have ever tasted.

I am only 3 days in so I have a few days left. I will write more about this beautiful oasis later.

Aloha!

When good karma comes knocking

2011-06-06T16:33:00.001-07:00

My weekend started right with a friend sending me what she thought was a coaxing text message:

“Play hooky tomorrow and come with me to see U2”…

Hooky wasn’t necessary … I was all in.

We took the commuter train into Seattle and along with 65,000 others we converged on Qwest Stadium. I crossed one thing, one great concert off of my bucket list. Pinch me!

Though we were too far from the stage to catch one of the flowers Bono tossed to the audience while singing “Where have all the Flowers gone”, we were close enough to “feel” the enrapturing presence the band sent through the crowd. At many times I found myself completely unaware of the masses that surrounded me and fully aware of the near “religious” feeling of being in that crowd. It was memorable and inspiring.

Back to that karma… I was offered up the entire month of June on a silver platter recently when some good friends who just HAPPEN to have the greatest home on earth asked me to house sit for them.

They encourage entertaining. In fact they designed their house around it.

So, Sunday dinner it was, around the glowing warmth of their outdoor wood-fired pizza oven. The fire was started, stoked and fed for 6 hours before the guests arrived. Twelve of us pooled together a thoughtful but un-orchestrated spread of toppings and salads. We roasted fresh, local asparagus in the 800 degree oven and ate the still-crunchy, perfectly smoky spears with our fingers as we watched our pizza toppings bubble and sizzle in the oven.

I was going to make the dough myself but the after-effects of a rock concert running until midnight convinced me that pre-made flat breads were going to be just perfect for the occasion. And they were! I made a red sauce and a white sauce and we chose from a myriad of toppings to create the most colorful and yummy pizzas.

Among the toppings were caramelized onions, homemade pesto, sautéed mushrooms, crispy bacon, Andouille sausage and crispy pepperoni. There were fresh roasted Anaheim peppers, jalapenos, red and green bell peppers. Cheeses included fresh mozzarella, smoked mozzarella, feta, and chevre. There were spirals of mozzarella and prosciutto. Fresh heirloom tomatoes, basil leaves and crispy garlic.

There was a salad of hand-massaged kale with almonds and currants. There was fresh fruit and of course there was also wine. There was music and laughter and some colorful story telling made easier by the recent antics of Sarah Palin. She brings guaranteed laughter, to any table. Really, you MUST laugh when you’d rather cry when it comes to Sarah Palin.

I wish we could all have a wood-fired pizza oven on our patio. Even if we can’t have everything we can have friends around our table. The table isn't even necessary! There are plenty of Sarah Palin jokes to go around. Listen my friends and you shall hear about the midnight ride of Paul Revere.

Memorial Day

2011-05-30T12:08:00.000-07:00

Bonnie Wiles April 16, 1937 - September 30, 2010

No recipe today. Unless it’s my mother’s recipe for pulling yourself up by your bootstraps and getting on with it.

She would never have said it that way. Even her sternest admonishment would have had a loving and positive tone. I don’t think I’m overstating it when I say so. She was one of the most positive people I’ve ever had the fortune of knowing.

Boy do I miss her.

I’ve been talking to her a lot lately. Not in a crazy sort of way. My voice is the only one I hear. But I can remember hers and I know what she would say if she were here. “Sis, why don’t you write?”

Writing is my way of cleaning house and rearranging the furniture in my mind. When I write I feel like I’ve opened the doors and windows in the house and let the fresh air blow through and renew everything.

So, why don’t I write? I could lay out a laundry list of reasons. Mostly it’s time. I just haven’t taken the time to let myself be still and listen to my heart. To be honest, my heart still hurts from the crushing loss of my mom. She was my best friend.

I’m doing better day by day and have big plans to keep moving in that “better” direction. It just takes time.

I’ve visited this blog many times. I just sort of stood there at the door looking around in silence not knowing what to say. There are still dinners with friends and I’ve come a long way from my frazzled Lean Cuisine days. I just put a stop to those in short order.

It’s a discipline that I set aside. I replaced it with a myriad of UN-disciplined activities. I was talking to mom this morning and I heard my voice say, “I’m going to do it mom!” so here I am. It may only matter to me. I’m not so full of myself that I think it has to matter to anyone else. I know it mattered to mom and so for her and for me. I’m going to get it done. And I plan on having fun doing it!

One of my mother’s favorite poems was written by Edgar A. Guest. She gave me a copy of it when I was about thirteen. She reminded me of it often during my difficult years. Every time I dramatically threw my hands in the air and declared defeat she would gently remind me that it could be done.

I had the poem printed on the back of her memorial program along with a picture of her, suntanned, beautiful and proud, I’m sure. She is standing next to a little Cesna that she learned to fly, soloed in and got her pilot’s license. What a great woman.

It Couldn’t Be Done

Edgar. A. Guest

Somebody said it couldn’t be done

but he with a chuckle replied

That, “Maybe it couldn’t”, but he would be one

Who wouldn’t say so till he tried.

So he buckled right in with the trace of a grin on his face.

If he worried he hid it.

He started to sing as he tackled the thing that couldn’t be done,

And he did it!

Somebody scoffed: “Oh you’ll never do that! At least no one ever has done it.”

But he took off his coat and he took off his hat and the first thing he knew he’d begun it.

With a lift of his chin and a bit of a grin,

Without any doubting or quiddit,

He started to sing and tackled the thing that couldn’t be done,

And he did it!

There are thousands to tell you it cannot be done.

There are thousands to prophesy failure.

There are thousands to point out to you one by one,

The dangers that wait to assail you.

But just buckle in with a bit of a grin,

Just take off your coat and go to it.

Just start in to sing as you tackle the thing

That “cannot be done” and you’ll do it.

So, thank you mom for all the good advice and the amazing example you gave me in the way you lived your life. I can’t thank you enough. And mom. I didn’t want to tell everyone else because they might think I’m nuts, but I can hear your voice and what a comfort it is.

Love,

Sis

Ugly Tomato

2010-07-26T04:22:00.000-07:00

It's the holy grail of summertime food. That first ripe for-real tomato.

We talk about them and in fits of foodie rage we try pretty red specimens over and over from January to July. Always ending up disappointed with that metallic-acidic hothouse impostor.

I've been so busy but I made it to my local Farmer's Market a few weeks ago and stumbled on a red beauty and grabbed it up as though I hadn't had one in .. oh... say A YEAR... I brought that baby home and..... forgot about it. Shame!

I was sitting at work days (many days) later and I remembered that tomato and hung my head when I came to realize that even if I did locate it. I'd probably refrigerated it (unforgivable) and it was too far past its prime to be called my "first real summer tomato".

What is the matter with me?!

Then, last Tuesday night I went out sailing with my friends. I had stuffed some bratwurst and sauerkraut and a few hoagie rolls into my insulated bag to call dinner. As we started preparing dinner my friend pulled out this beauty (which is actually named Ugly) and I had catch my breath briefly.

Then by some miracle I found good sense and grabbed my phone for a picture. That was the most beautiful Ugly tomato I think I've ever seen.

When tomatoes are in season and you can get your hands on a real one. Not the hothouse impostors - Celebrate the occasion with a lovely Panzanela Salad or a spicy bowl of Gazpacho. Or a shaker of salt and a movie.

My Friend the Camera

2010-02-04T22:26:00.001-08:00

I used to be almost religious about keeping my camera on my person at all times. For years! Then, it seems like it happened almost as fast as my life transition of recent. The battery ran down on the camera and I didn’t bother trying to find which box I’d packed the charger in.

Finally, I didn’t put the camera back in my purse.

Then, ever so slowly the habit of snapping a picture of something breathtaking (usually food) slowly faded out.

There was that inner voice that I have skillfully learned to tune out. The guilty whisper….”Hey, this might be something special! Why don’t you grab your camera?” I pretended not to hear.

Now I’m just mad at myself. I have been letting life's pictures pass me by. I should have taken a picture of that flaming cheese in the Greek restaurant last Sunday when we all shouted “OPA” in unison. Unfortunately it was just another afterthought.

I did have my camera with me a few weeks ago when I was walking through the kitchen and a young culinary student was working on these.

I couldn’t help myself. I moved in close and whispered reverently. Those are stunning! What are they made of? "Cracker dough", the student answered without looking up from his skillful maneuvering of the small very sharp knife. He was preparing for a national competition.

He left on a plane this morning with several other talented culinary students and I’ve been thinking about those kids off and on all day. I was so thankful that I had taken this picture to help seal those incredible cracker dough feathers in my mind.

I’m sending positive thoughts in the direction of those kids. And I’m packing my camera back into my purse.

Just as I was about to post this entry I received an email from a friend. The first line said, “A death certificate shows that we died…. Pictures show that we lived!”…

Sometimes timing is everything.

Personal Hurricane

2010-01-18T14:49:00.000-08:00

You know how you put off something until tomorrow and tomorrow runs into next week and finally next month and you are no longer putting it off but running from it and the “it” becomes epic? Well, that’s what happened with this blog. Epic I tell you!

I tried to shut my eyes tight and pretend that I had actually posted since November. I have a pretty colorful imagination but even I couldn’t convince myself.

December was pretty busy. Really. I had quite a few catering jobs because of the holidays. I was house sitting and enjoying an extended visit with some dear friends up north. Then all of the sudden (have I mentioned epic yet?) I had a personal hurricane.

I had a series of events that started on December 5^th and ended on the 31^st. That’s right, happy New Year! I found out about a job that was a perfect fit for me. I applied, interviewed and got the job. I know! SHUT UP!

As soon as I got the job (and here the term “as soon as” means literally within hours) I was moving into a new home. Well, really it’s an old home. A place I used to live. If I wasn’t telling this story I wouldn’t believe it myself.

But I am telling it and it’s all true. Since I made that shepherd’s pie I’ve moved and started a new job! We’ve had a couple of Sunday dinners since that last posting. I’ve actually whipped up some pretty impressive stuff.

However, what I’m telling you about now is this:

That’s right. Lean Cuisine. That’s what life is about right now. Cardboard boxes and Lean Cuisine and being able to clearly see the light bulb in the back of my refrigerator. Time to start collecting condiments!

Lean Cuisine does NOT define me. But it does sustain me when I’m exhausted and searching through poorly labeled boxes for a fork to call my own.

I’ll be back. I will. I’m sorry I haven’t taken the time to tell this story until now. Like Betty Davis I was pining for a dramatic entry.

Bon Apetit!

Anything But Turkey

2009-11-29T08:42:00.000-08:00

I should say that Thanksgiving was outstanding and the turkey was beautiful and I even ate a piece (twice). I stopped having traditional Thanksgiving fare several years ago. My daughter will tell you this led her straight in to counseling.

I've never been fond of turkey and pumpkin pie is nothing short of disgusting if you ask me. I spent years trying to make both in a more interesting way. But you can dress a turkey up in a cheesecloth gown if you like. It's still going to emerge a turkey.

Enough said. I had a great Thanksgiving with turkey, pumpkin pie and sweet yams mashed. So when friends decided to get together for dinner following the holiday there wasn't a moments hesitation. We will have anything BUT turkey.

When the weather changes noticeably from fall to winter; When the skies turn dark at 4:30 pm and when wind and rain greet you every time you venture outside; And when the first thing to greet you when you start your car is Christmas music (especially if this sort of thing bothers you). Then I say get your comfort food on! The only way I know how to fight back is through comfort food.

We had Shepherd's Pie.

A rich, red-wine & veal demi sauce filled with heirloom carrots, onions, mushrooms, parsnips and tender braised lamb. Topped with creamy, comforting mashed potatoes. It was so emotional there wasn't a dry eye in the house. Okay. that's a lie, but there wasn't an empty belly and the weather outside went unnoticed.

I still can't look at this picture without my tummy hurting. It's never good to head right into a Shepherd's Pie with Turkey rebellion in your heart.

While we labored (not) in the kitchen. Chris was in the garage producing Nancy's dream design of the perfect Christmas tree.

Perhaps you are not a visionary. Perhaps you've forgotten the transformation of Charlie Brown's mournful Christmas tree. I'll bring back a photo when this tree is all adorned.

In the meantime I think the big ride has left the station. The holidays are officially here. Remain seated with your restraint device securely fastened and keep your arms inside the ride at all times. Try to enjoy the scenery.

August 19, 1980 - November 14, 2009

2009-11-21T13:51:00.001-08:00

It’s been difficult, even for me, to find the balance in life lately.

My friend recently had to say goodbye to her 29 year-old son.

For four weeks he lay in a coma after his vehicle was struck by another in an intersection.

We all waited and prayed and wished we could take away the agony my friend was experiencing. We longed to will Jared to wake up and be okay again.

The doctors gave hope and then something would go wrong and the hope would be deferred. Finally, they had to make the choice to unplug the machines that kept their son, brother, grandson, friend, and nephew alive.

My heart would ache for this family no matter what. But I knew this young man, Jared. He was friends with my daughter of the same age when they were both teenagers.

My head understands (though it protests this injustice). But my heart cannot rest with its laundry list of questions, what if’s and why’s.

As we approach these holidays where we gather around the table and break bread together with those we love I plan to embrace longer, listen more closely, truly study the faces of my loved ones, and say a few words about this incredible young man that touched so many lives. He will not be forgotten.

Posole

2009-10-28T05:44:00.000-07:00

As much as I pine for the warm days of summer that invite me out doors. I have a special place in my heart for these slow-stewing-soup-making-comfort-food days of fall.

The chilly dark days seem to invite us into the kitchen to leisurely chop and dice and play with dough and yeast and listen to NPR and hardly look up to see where the day has gone.

I grew up in a much colder fall and winter climate. I have fond memories of opening the door to the house to the warm embrace of dinner's aroma greeting me like a lover returned from a long journey. All was well in my world.

I love to try and recreate that memory not only for myself but for others. After all, life's best memories are those we share with the ones we love.

I had some fresh posole that a friend had brought back to me from New Mexico. So posole it was that starred in our Sunday night dinner this week.

Posole is made from nixtamalize cacahuazintle corn (hominy) with meat. (usually pork, chicken, turkey, pork rinds, sardine, chili pepper and other seasonings and garnish) It's a traditional pre-Columbian soup or stew from Mexico.

In reading the history of posole I found a fact that made me giggle. The ancient Mexicans believed the gods made people out of cornmeal dough. Let he who has not winced when biting the head off a gingerbread man cast the first stone!

Like most stews and chili dishes, this one benefits from being made a day ahead.

I freshly ground ancho chili powder and I can't stress enough how that flavor rises to the occasion. The recipe I used as a guideline called for canned hominy. I was blessed with fresh so that's what I used.

There were 9 of us for dinner on Sunday and there was enough posole for 4 more people. We topped ours with finely shredded cabbage, chopped avocado, cilantro, lime wedges and jalapenos. We passed creme for those interested as well.

I made fresh corn tortillas to soak up the broth. They were wonderful but the hominy had pretty much done the dirty work of soaking up the broth before the pot of posole ever made its way to the table.

Day one: before the posole opened up

Day two: I like to call this "piggy goodness"

On my plate with all the toppings and a fresh soft corn tortilla

Fresh corn tortillas

Pork Posole

4 medium onions, divided

7 tablespoons canola oil, divided

4 tablespoons ancho chile powder, divided

2 tablespoons plus 2 teaspoons dried oregano (preferably Mexican), divided

1 6 to 61/2 pound bone-in pork shoulder (Boston butt), cut into 4 to 5 inch pieces, some meat left on bone

5 cups or more chicken broth

4 7-ounce cans diced green chiles, drained (I like to chop my own)

5 large garlic cloves, minced

4 teaspoons ground cumin

4 15-ounce cans golden or white hominy, drained

4 limes, each cut into 4 wedges

chopped white onion

fresh cilantro leaves

chopped avocado

shredded cabbage

Mexican Creme or sour cream

Method: Preheat oven to 350 f. Thinly slice 2 onions. heat 4 tablespoons oil in heavy large oven proof pot over medium-high heat. Add sliced onions to pot and saute until onions begin to soften, about 3 minutes. Add 1 tablespoon plus 1 teaspoon ancho chile powder and 1 tablespoon plus 1 teaspoon oregano; stir to coat, sprinkle pork with salt and add to pot. Add 5 cups broth. Bring to boil, cover and transfer to oven.

Braise pork until tender enough to shred easily, about 2 hours. Using slotted spoon, transfer pork to a sheet pan and strain liquid.

Slice remaining onions, Heat remaining oil in large pot over medium-high heat. Add onions: saute until soft, stirring often, about 7 minutes. Add remainig 2 tablespoons plus 2 teaspoons ancho chile powder, remaining 1 tablespoon plus 1 teaspoon oregano, diced chiles, garlic and cumin. Stir 30 seconds. Add pork, reserved juices and hominy. Bring to a boil. If making a day ahead of time remove from heat and refrigerate then cover after it has cooled.

On day 2 remove the fat that has risen to the top and congealed. Reheat slowly and simmer until (if using fresh) hominy has opened up.

Serve with toppings and tortillas.

Gnocchi

2009-10-12T21:52:00.000-07:00

I have been wrestling with a couple of obsessions lately. One of them is a landmark birthday which I seem to wrestle with in the middle of the night, in my dreams and during those hours set aside to lay awake and obsess. And the other is gnocchi.

The thing about wrestling with gnocchi is that you can't really "take it out on the gnocchi" (like you can on bread dough). Gnocchi requires a gentle hand.

My first attempt at making gnocchi wasn't so bad. I really had nothing to compare it to. I'd never tasted it before. No really. I'd seen packages of it in the deli section of my grocery store but I wasn't naive enough to believe that those little lumps were going to provide me with the best example of what to shoot for in a finished product.

Having to resort to a recipe was really difficult! However, if you look at most gnocchi recipes (like bread recipes) the amount of flour varies significantly. It is a "by feel" method of preparation. I'm totally comfortable with those sort of guidelines. So, how does one prepare something by feel if they've never felt or tasted it before? BWAHAHA you thought I'd have an answer to that didn't you? It's just crazy...that's all I can say. I made gnocchi the first time for a friend who'd traveled to Italy numerous times and consumed copious amounts of gnocchi in his travels. That's how I did it. You can try it out on children if you like. Just try it out. It's fun and it's wonderful (even if you don't get it right). (Trust me, I have done it wrong plenty of times it still gets eaten.)

I read a lot before I made gnocchi too. I tried to get a sense of what it was that made good gnocchi good and in turn what constituted bad gnocchi. (It's a mystery to me how anything made with potatoes can actually be "bad") It was my understanding that gnocchi should be a "soft pillow" not heavy or "gummy". I wanted to make potato gnocchi but there are other kinds of gnocchi, ricotta for example.

In my first attempts I used Yukon Gold potatoes and steamed them. Later, I moved to good old russet potatoes and I baked them. I scooped the warm flesh out of the baked potato and riced it onto a cookie sheet to cool.

I treated the riced potato as though it were the "00" flour I used to make pasta dough. I heaped it up into a mound once it had cooled and made a well in the center. I used 3 baked potatoes (medium size) and 2 egg yolks and 2 teaspoons of kosher salt and a generous fine grating of parmagiano reggiano cheese. Finally, I added a few turns on the pepper grinder and gently mixed in 1 1/2 cups of all-purpose flour until just blended.

In this particular batch I was feeling feisty and full of success so I added a couple of finely minced scallions. They called out to me and assured me that they were the perfect match for my russet potatoes.

After blending in 1 1/2 cups of flour and reserving another 1/2 cup I used my pastry cutter to divide the dough into about 6 parts. I dug deep for all the Play-Doh skills I'd developed as a youngster and gently used some of the extra remaining flour to roll out "snakes". They were about 3/4" wide and 12" long. Then I cut them into approximately 1/2" pieces.

After that it was simple. I brought a pan of water to a gentle boil (be sure to keep it a gentle boil). I added a generous amount of salt and added enough gnocchi pieces to keep them from sticking together and waited until they were floating and removed them with a strainer to a cookie sheet. Then, because I wasn't using them right away I drizzled them with some melted butter.

When it came time to cook them I chose to sear them and drizzle with a red wine and veal demi reduction. I adapted a recipe from epicurious.com for the gnocchi. Because I hacked the recipe so badly I don't feel it's fair to even print it. I'm done obsessing about gnocchi. I feel like I can successfully make it now.

Now for that landmark birthday and all that it represents.... I like to treat it pretty much the way I do gnocchi: with a gentle hand and a kind heart. I have a dear friend whose motto is "Be kind to yourself". I recommend you try making gnocchi and I also highly recommend my friend's advice. Be very kind to yourself.

Potato Gnocchi

3 medium sized russet potatoes, scrubbed and poked

2 egg yolks

2 teaspoons kosher salt

1 teaspoon black pepper, freshly grated

1/2 cup finely grated Parmagiano Reggiano cheese

2 cups flour

Method:

Preheat oven to 400 f.

Rinse and dry potatoes and poke a hole in each. Place in preheated oven and bake until tender. Check after one hour.

Set baked potato aside until you can handle it. I use a folded paper towel to hold the potato while scooping out the flesh with a spoon.

Cut potatoes in half lengthwise and scoop out flesh.

Press potato flesh through a ricer onto a sheet pan to cool completely.

When cool, make a mound with riced potato with a well in the center. sprinkle 1 1/2 cups of flour, the grated cheese, salt and pepper over the potatoes. Put egg yolks in the center well and with a fork gently mix everything together. The dough should be slightly sticky.

Separate the dough into 6-8 pieces with a pastry cutter and using the leftover 1/2 cup of flour roll the pieces out into "snakes" about 12"x 3/4" x 1". (remember... no hard and fast rules!)

You can roll the gnocchi on the tines of a fork for the traditional ridges if you like. I just wanted little pillows.

Bring plenty of water to a gentle boil and toss in a generous amount of kosher salt. Drop the gnocchi in batches and wait until they float. Remove with a strainer or slotted spoon.

Be sure to drizzle with olive oil or butter so they don't stick together once they cool.

These cooked gnocchi can be frozen for later use or stored for several hours (probably overnight as well) in a container in the refrigerator.

Fall

2009-10-01T11:36:00.000-07:00

It's here. It's really, really here. Fall.

One day you're sprinkling a little salt on a warm slice of just-picked tomato and turning your face to the sun and the next day you're preheating the oven for an all-day braising session. It happens just like that!

I love fall almost more than spring (it's a toss up). But sometimes my love of fall is stolen by the dread of pending winter. You never know with winter. It's the unpredictable teenager in the family. It can either sit day in and day out without displaying a sign of life or personality or it can shout obscenities at you as though you've been enemies for life. Sometimes there is just no love in Winter's cold heart. But that's not why I'm here. I'm here because it's fall and things are changing outside in such a beautiful way.

Living urban, one can miss the memo that harvest is taking place on farms everywhere. People think that summer is the source of produce's bounty but fall is where it's at. Just when our seasonal farmer's markets close for the year a few miles away the farms of eastern Washington are pounding out an embarrassment of riches.

For months the oven sits unused. Watching me as I pass from the refrigerator to the grill and back again. The oven, with hands on hips seems to say, "Oh, you'll be back. I know you'll be back soon." That's just what happened. Last weekend I dug out the cast iron Dutch oven and offered up some beef short ribs and a bottle of wine for braising to my oven.

The house filled with warmth and the aroma of comfort and richness. I tried again, my hand at the elusive tender pillows of potato called gnocchi. I finally got it right. I adapted a recipe online and everything I've done wrong in the past and the memory of the perfect gnocchi that I had earlier this year at Art of the Table in Wallingford. The planets were aligned for me because I finally found success.

Wine Braised Beef Shortribs with Potato Gnocchi

Start a day ahead.

For Short ribs

5 lbs bone-in beef short ribs

1 tablespoon olive oil for browning

2 teaspoons kosher salt

2 teaspoons freshly ground black pepper

4 medium carrots, cut in 1" pieces

1 medium onion, cut in 1" pieces

3 celery stalks, cut into 1" pieces

1 head garlic cut in half crosswise

4 tablespoons tomato paste

2 cups dry red wine (I used Zinfandel)

4 cups brown veal stock or 1/2 cup good veal demi and 31/2 cups water

4 large sprigs of fresh thyme

1 bay leaf

1 tablespoon balsamic vinegar

Preparation

Heat oven to 325 F.

Pat beef dry. Heat oil in a wide, heavy pan (I used a 5 quart cast-iron Dutch oven) over moderately high heat until hot but not smoking.

Generously season each rib with salt and pepper and brown on all sides, turning with tongs, about 8-10 minutes. Transfer to a plate and hold.

Add carrots, onions, celery and garlic to oil in pot and cook over moderate heat, uncovered, stirring occasionally, until they begin to caramelize a little. Stir in tomato paste and "cook" for a minute or two. Add wine, and boil over moderately high heat for about 8 minutes until sauce is slightly thickened. Add veal stock, thyme, bay leaf and vinegar. Bring to a simmer. Add browned ribs and any accumulated juices on the plate and cover the pot with a tight fitting lid. Liquid in pan should cover or almost cover the meat.

Transfer to oven and braise until beef is very tender, 3 to 4 hours. Check at 3 hours. If meat is tender and falling off the bones it is done.

Remove meat from braising liquid and hold in a bowl. Strain the braising liquid through a medium mesh strainer pressing on the solids and then discarding them. Pour the sauce over the ribs, cover and refrigerate over night. (meat needs to be completely submerged in juices in order to remain moist).

On day two remove ribs from the refrigerator. There will be a layer of solid fat on top of the dish. Remove the fat and then remove the meat of the ribs from the bones. Discard any fat and gristle from the meat leaving the meat in large pieces. Bring the braising liquid to a boil in a heavy saucepan large enough to hold it comfortably. Boil until liqiud is reduced to about 4 cups and has thickened slightly. Taste for seasoning and pour it over the ribs and hold while you brown the prepared gnocchi.

I adapted a Gourmet recipe for gnocchi and seared it in clarified butter before adding it with the rib meat and sauce.

Since I didn't know I was going to finally "get it" with the gnocchi I didn't take pictures of the process. However, because I finally "got it", I'll make it again soon and come back with some pictures of the process.

In the meantime, dust off your Dutch oven and show your oven a little love.

Paradise

2009-09-21T18:37:00.000-07:00

I have come to call my friend’s island getaway on Orcas Paradise. That’s how it feels when the days slowly evolve and curling up in an Adirondack chair with a good book evokes no guilt whatsoever. Bloody Marys and fresh crab from the waters just down the sloping lawn for breakfast.
Looking back down at the boat after arriving at the house. On Monday morning before we left, we spotted an Orca Whale at the distant shore. That was jaw-dropping amazing.

We left Seattle early Saturday morning under a downpour that was unrivaled so far this year. Something about the dampness that accompanies that kind of deluge made it easy to leave town.

As we drew closer to Anacortes where the boat is moored we saw patches of blue sky with puffy clouds. It seemed too much to hope that we’d actually have nice weather. We were prepared to graciously accept anything short of a rain bath. How pleasantly surprised we were to encounter blue skies and sunshine that accompanied us to the island and revisited daily until our departure on Monday.

The boat is launched with this ancient looking contraption from overhead. Kathleen and I agreed that the sight of your boat being hoisted through the air is just... well, creepy.

After arriving we situated ourselves in the sunshine at varying spots and the guys set crab pots and motored to the store near the ferry landing.

What followed was a lazy day of banter, music, wine and reading (and in my case a nap or two). Even Bernie (L) and Bruce (R) lazed in the warm afternoon sun.

Trips up and down the sloping property to unload luggage and supplies are made easier with the "gator" appropriately adorned with a hood ornament of ... a gator.

The guys grilled steaks and local corn that we'd picked up at a farm stand in Anacortes.

Dinner was nothing short of amazing. Fresh crab, perfect steaks, grilled sweet corn (oh the season is almost over!) and some rich, rich gratin potatoes.For me personally, that crab was the show stopper. We all ate too much that night but we were wise not to complain of our own folly.

Sunday morning I got up to see the early morning sun rise over the water. I sat in the quiet enjoying a cup of coffee and when I'd fully embraced the decadence that was paradise, I crawled back in bed and fell fast asleep. I woke to the sound of the gator below my bedroom window. The guys had brought in more fresh crab and I had to take a moment to wipe the sleep from my eyes, stretch and then pinch myself before heading downstairs to join the others.

We call it the breakfast of champions. A spicy bloody Mary and fresh crab.

Actually, Steve made great bacon and egg breakfast sandwiches for everyone. Lest anyone think that we went tearing into the vodka bottle early in the morning. And if you did think we tore into the vodka bottle early in the morning guess what? You're not the boss of me. It was at least 9:30 or 10:00.

There were more naps to be had, more reading to be done and more eagles to watch in the skies overhead.

Chris perched on a nearby boulder and strummed his guitar, Kathleen worked in her little garden and Steve pulled weeds and looked far busier than me. I read and napped until we took Chris and Nancy to the ferry dock and said farewell.

We roasted a chicken and made mushroom risotto for dinner followed by a crossword puzzle that I made quick work out of learning how to use the Internet to cheat on. That's right. I cheat (except when I play Scrabble) (Cheating at Scrabble would make me too discomfortable)

I hope I get invited back. It really is paradise.

Paella: It's crack

2009-09-13T21:18:00.000-07:00

How much am I giving away if I confess (as I did early on in my blog about brisket) that I've never made paella? There you have it. I just can't formulate a clever enough lie to cover up the fact! I've eaten a lot of it (and a lot of BAD paella I might add), read a ton about it and talked and thought and dreamed and planned...but no.. I'd never made it until tonight.

I used to visit Seattle's Spanish Table all-things-Spain store near the Pike Place Market and drool over the paella pans. I have sought out Spanish chorizo for years and again, read and reread paella recipes and grew a little more intimidated (I like to do things authentically and having tasted bland and pedestrian paella on so many occasions I figured the real thing MUST be difficult to make) I've read about its origins, and various family and regional twists. I consider myself a bonafide arm-chair paella expert. Until tonight when I put the Barca-lounger to rest and stepped up to the hot paella pan.

Sunday dinner saved my paella bacon! I have Vivian to thank. It was enough that Vivian and Kevin arrived in their full-on kitsch vintage Le Mans convertible complete with Kevin's kilt. That was enough!! But Viv brought her massive paella pan and her paella spoon. I was balls out in.

Nancy had shopped earlier for the best of the best shrimp, Penn Cove mussels, Spanish chorizo and fresh chicken at Whole foods (actually the chorizo had come from another source). We had busied ourselves chopping, marinating and readying ourselves for the arrival of the paella master.

Vivian produced paella the way she does just about everything else I've witnessed her do - with the toss of her hair and an ease that comes from an inner peace and genuine joy of life. I was so thrilled to be making paella for the first time with Vivian! I knew it was going to be great when Vivian didn't even glance at the recipe on the counter near the mis en place!

We started with a hot paella pan over a wood fired grill. A generous dose of Olive oil and then the chorizo.

Okay, here's another great thing about Viv: She laughs in the face of high heat! That's right. She was so aware that the action hitting the bottom of that paella pan was not to be disturbed. And together we respectfully watched as chorizo gave up it's fat and sizzled away over the heat of the coals.. little stirring and much less fussing all together. Then we added the chicken and waited for that perfect golden brown crust to develop on it.

Then the red onions, Piquillo peppers, sliced garlic, the rice, stock, tomatoes, saffron and smokey paprika.

Vivian measured NOTHING! She waved her magic paella spoon over the whole conglomeration and closed the lid and picked up her wine glass without skipping a beat finished her story. After about 15 minutes we opened the lid, tasted the rice, added a little salt, some mussels and shrimp and truly, the best paella I've ever had emerged from that effortless dance!

I ate all this (and I have to admit...a little more).

It was great to learn from someone who cooks with a natural ease. The elusive crusty rice that forms on the paella pan is called "socaratt" and has been the missing element in almost every rendition of paella I've had thus far. It was not only present here but Vivian informed me that in Spain it is the prized part of the paella and saved for the elderly members of the family.

Fortunately there was enough to go around our table even though we are all still youngsters.

I need a magic paella spoon of my own (and a pan to go with it). Off to The Spanish Table.

The Whisper and Waistlines

2009-09-08T12:19:00.000-07:00

So okay, I get a little carried away in the food preparation department. I try to control it but I really either don't know how or refuse to learn. I guess feeding people is just too much of a temptation for me and I constantly go overboard.

Well, in defense of myself I should say this. I made some (a lot) of chicken enchiladas about a week ago for my daughter and her family. So many in fact, that her freezer could hold no more so I took one of the 8x8 pans home with me. On my way home I stopped by the house of some good friends conveniently close to the dinner hour and offered up enchiladas. There were only 3 of us but the enchiladas disappeared too quickly and my friend tipped his plate to me in the is-there-anymore? gesture and I had to say "no". I felt a failure and every time this happens (which isn't often) I gird up and start cooking for an army-even if it's only an army of 3.

For our little excursion to the San Juan Islands I made chili for at least 12 (really), clam chowder, lasagna (two pans!) and assorted other side dishes and salads. Being out in the weather always gives you an appetite and I didn't want to be caught short not knowing exactly where we'd anchor. The end result: We've eaten like pigs day after day. We are all on food overload yet I think we loved every bite.

My favorite (and probably the most fattening) was the Clam Chowder with fresh-baked focaccia bread. Shut up! It was smack-your-mama good.

One day I made nachos with the chili. Again, the guys looked at the pan of nachos as it came out and asked who else was invited to lunch. The crabs ate well that day.

I'm not sure if it was the waistline gods that were with us or what. We ran out of water after our showers so there would be no dirtying of the dishes said the captain.

Today: peanuts and beer.. so much better for the waistline.

House Call

2009-09-07T19:35:00.001-07:00

Rodney's new glasses.

On Sunday we left Friday Harbor for Roche Harbor with only one incident. The Jib line got hooked up on the fore hatch and provided us with a little piece of hell. Lesson learned.

Chris has a patient who lives on San Juan Island on the very north end. He had ordered new glasses and Chris thought it would be wonderfully unique and unexpected to deliver the glasses in person. He did phone ahead of course.

We motored in close to the house and Chris took the dinghy to shore while Teddy and I circled slowly in wait for his return. Mission accomplished and everyone has a great story to share about above-and-beyond house calls.

The house-call hand off.

The volunteer photographer did such a great job of catching both guys and the Whisper beyond them.

Rodney escorted Chris back to the beach and waved us all good-bye.

We continued on to Roche Harbor from there and anchored out away from the marina for a restful afternoon and evening. We grilled steaks and finished the last of our wine while watching an instant-watch Netflix movie with Teddy's air card. We learned to appreciate all the buffering for its opportunities to visit, pour more wine or tell a short story. It was a great movie. Peter Sellars in Being There. We noticed a roaming message on the air card today and wondered if it was there last night and perhaps we should call Being There a $200.00 movie. We'll see soon enough. It was worth it.

We motored into Roche Harbor Marina for provisions (wine). Okay, we bought eggs too and set sail for Cattle Point where we are anchored tonight amongst a group of impressive commercial fishing boats.

We watched a small sailboat come collect crab pots earlier this evening and counted no less that a dozen crabs make their way into buckets on board. Teddy tried waving the boat's captain over to our boat where we'd devise a plan to schmooze fresh crab from him to no avail. The man, a local it appeared gave us a friendly wave and headed to shore.

We will eat leftovers tonight. They're all good.

I found my fear factor

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

After the better part of a day fighting the waves and winds through the Strait of Juan de Fuca I’m rethinking that open-water-sailing dream. Not really, but I did encounter my fear limit today.

We started out from Elliot Bay Marina at about 6:00 PM on Friday night and followed the full moon as to Port Ludlow where we anchored in a cozy little bay. Somewhere around 6 this morning the rumble of the anchor being raised jarred me to life. It had rained hard last night and the wind had tossed us around significantly.

I got up briefly but went right back to bed. I really don’t think I should be up before the sun. It’s a personal thing.

I got up around 8:00 and made some breakfast and when Chris (captain) had eaten I said I felt confident to keep watch for awhile while he rested.

We were nearing Port Townsend on our port side and the Strait of Juan de Fuca lay ahead of that.

With auto-pilot it’s not really sailing. Chris instructed me that I was in the shipping canal and to watch for freighters both coming and going. The sun was peaking through the clouds to the west but to the east the cloud cover was too heavy to reveal the sun. I saw a Dahl Porpoise right away.. a sign I thought. As the guys slept soundly below I entered the strait and felt the immediate tug on the jib which was the only sail that Chris had left up. I watched carefully and as the jib snapped loudly under the pitching of the boat and the gusting of the wind I began to formulate how I would handle disaster. Aside from screaming for Chris to come on deck.

The boat did begin to pitch a little more violently and the wind grabbed the jib and threw it to the port from starboard side in no time at all.

From then on it all happened so fast. Chris was donning his foul weather gear and climbing up on deck and Teddy who had been asleep but awakened by the snapping jib and the pitching boat also came up.

We found ourselves in a situation where the sails needed to be completely cut and the motor was our only hope for some resistance to the weather.

We scrambled to bring in the jib against the raging winds and then… THEN.. we put on our life vests and saw a first aid kit floating in the water. It was not ours but some other unfortunate boat weathering the same small-craft-advisory pleasure cruise.

We gained control and our winds dropped from 30+ knots to 20 or less and then Chris was confident that we could put up some sail again.

Let me be honest here.. there was hurling (barfing) involved in this trip through the strait. But we arrived safely if not exhausted and ready for a nap at Friday Harbor, San Juan Island…

It’s been a wonderful evening in one of the last slips available in the marina. We had a nap, a stroll through the touristy town and guitar serenade on the deck of the boat.

All in all.. it’s still magical.. despite the fright factor.

Tomorrow: Roche Harbor and more sailing.

My Maiden Voyage

2009-09-04T09:47:00.000-07:00

Though it is true, I have my finger back-it's a shadow of the finger I used to have. The ability to bend your finger at the joint is not overrated. So, though I can type I cannot properly grip my chef's knife. I called for a referral to a specialist and so let the therapy begin.

In the meantime I will be sailing to the San Juan Islands from Seattle beginning this evening. I am beside myself with giddiness. I have great friends but having a great friend with a sailboat is almost good-karma overload. This is an opportunity of a lifetime for me.

I sailed for the first time (with this same friend but in another boat) one Indian-summer October evening about 8 years ago. Wow! I can't believe it's been that long! The boat was moored on Lake Washington at the time and I'd had a gruelling day at the office (I used to be a Systems Manager) and the "systems" were giving me fits. It looked to be like a long night at the office. I called to bail on the commitment to go sailing for the first time in my life.

My friend dished up a hilarious comment about those who foolishly choose work over pleasure and I was all in. I've never regretted that decision. That night as we drifted lazily along the glass-smooth waters of the lake (very little wind) and laid back to gaze up at the moon and stars I knew I was hopelessly destined to love sailing.

My friend recommended a book that he'd read years before called Maiden Voyage by Tania Aebi. I had the book in my hands the very next day. The book is the story of a New York City teen who is the youngest person to circumnavigate the globe. Her voyage was done in a 26 foot sloop with only the company of a cat. I was ready for my own circumnavigation of the globe by the following week.

I haven't made that trip yet (and it's not really on my bucket list) but sailing some distance in open water has been on my list and this trip really feels like a dream come true for that reason.

I'll attempt to post pictures along the way and let you know what we're eating, seeing and singing. (The captain plays his guitar and sing-a-longs have been known to happen).

Bon Voyage!

Soaring through the air

2009-08-24T13:42:00.000-07:00

And then I landed. I have some great photos of a recent wedding I catered. But those will have to wait until I have my fingers free to type. Ouch!

Lessons in Torture

2009-08-13T11:16:00.000-07:00

Recently I stretched my culinary muscles. I re-entered a large-scale commercial kitchen to help out a chef friend of mine. I’m here to tell you that my muscles got a lot more than stretched.

Day One: I am excited and nervous. Will I know how to use the equipment? Will I understand the terminology still? Can I still keep up? There’s a reason I no longer work in the restaurant industry. On the first day I am told my friend, who is the executive chef will not be there. I have to admit. I did lose a little sleep with the added pressure that I might have to prove myself. I was transported immediately to that first day at a new school and reliving the nightmares of failure and embarrassment. I was really getting myself all worked up.

Proving yourself is the nature of this industry. Unless you’re packing your James Beard award or a hefty resume (of which I have neither) then you will be watched and you will be proving yourself. So I had to administer some serious self talk. This is not my primary employment and I’m just doing a friend a favor. I have nothing to prove. I began to feel like Stuart Smalley, Al Franken’s SNL character who used to turn towards the mirror and gaze at himself saying.. “You’re good enough. You’re smart enough and dog gone it, people LIKE you.”

I ended day one without incident of blood or tears. I count that a success. I had made arrangements to meet some friends for a cocktail party that evening. Instead I took two prescription-strength Motrin and crawled into bed. I woke up 4 hours later and took two more Motrin and tried not to make eye contact with my feet as they screamed up at me.

Day Two: I tried a different pair of shoes on day two, expensive shoes. This day my friend the executive chef would be there. Don’t think that gave me a ton of comfort. He can be brutal. (But he wasn’t!) But still he can be brutal. Thankfully, the Sous Chef had given a favorable report of my progress on day one. So, I was warmly greeted and then put to work. There would be a late dinner, 9:30 PM, for 145 people. There would be several catering events, two for 50 and another for 240. The kitchen was abuzz with activity when I arrived 2 hours after most of the crew. Feeling more comfortable if not a bit stiff, I put my head down and began to work on my project.

In his book, Kitchen Confidential: Adventures in the Culinary Underbelly, Anthony Bourdain describes the very unglamorous process that is working in a restaurant kitchen.

“What most people don’t get about professional-level cooking is that it is not at all about the best recipe, the most innovative presentation, the most creative marriage of ingredients, flavors and textures; that presumably, was all arranged long before you sat down to dinner. Line cooking- the real business of preparing the food you eat is more about consistency, about mindless, unvarying repetition, the same series of tasks performed over and over again in exactly the same way. The last thing a chef wants in a line cook is an innovator. Chefs require blind, near-fanatical loyalty, a strong back and an automaton-like consistency of execution under battlefield conditions.”

I made several hundred crostini, debearded 10 pounds of mussels, steamed and shucked them, then I tried making a gallon of Vanilla Crème Anglaise. I made vanilla scrambled eggs and went home with my very sore shoulders slumped.

Day Three: I woke up and was sorry I hadn’t died in my sleep. I got into the car and hoped for the viaduct to collapse underneath me as I made my way back to the kitchen. Shoes just didn’t matter anymore. I’d taken two pain pills the night before. They didn’t begin to touch the pain. They just distracted my mind from caring anymore.

I walked in the kitchen and the chef looked at me and without a second’s hesitation, not “good morning”, not “good to see you” but “Make Anglaise!” I’d be lying if I said there wasn’t a bit of pressure. The “real” chefs were starting to roll out the stories of a previous “retarded prep-boy” who made scrambled eggs every time he attempted Anglaise. There was no sympathy at all. I had the heat so low under that Anglaise it was warmer in the room than it was in the pot I was stirring. I had lost my best chef’s knife the night before. I had dropped it somewhere. If I knew where it wouldn’t be lost. I told the chef that if I failed on the Anglaise again I would fall on my own chef’s knife but I didn’t have one anymore … could I borrow his? That Anglaise owned me. That crummy sauce was going to determine whether or not I’d be picked on in the halls for the rest of my very short career. It turned out fine. But there was no atta-girl. No “good job”, “way to go”. I was done with that and on the next task.

Day Four: I refer back to Bourdain’s comment above. Repetition! Mindless repetition. A good friend had told me the day before that her dad used to tell her (regarding work) when she was a teenager: “Go there, put your head down and work.” Not so glamorous but that’s what I had to do for day four. I started off helping with a catering job for 670. 700 crostini later, I was in the groove and getting the hang of the flow. One thing I came away from those four grueling days with was the sense of camaraderie that hangs heavy in a commercial kitchen. No one person sees all components of a dish from beginning to end. It’s a well choreographed dance that requires precision, timing and exactness from several people. If one person misses a step the house of cards will come tumbling down. A harder working group of loyal, good-to-the-core, conscientious people I’ve never encountered before.
This was a pan of olive-oil poached tuna.

Later it became a Salad Nicoise.

Soon to be baked wild musroom tarts.

A mess of Penn Cove Mussels.

Location, Location, Location

2009-08-06T10:58:00.000-07:00

My family was of the camping ilk when I was a child. Not the tent kind of camping but the camper with fish decals kind of camping. My father built our first camper himself. Now if this conjures up visions of an out-house-shingled looking affair with a chimney perched atop an old ford pick up truck then let me set the record straight. My dad was quite the craftsman. I was never embarrassed to step into or out of that camper.

One of our early campers (pre-motor home camping) sported an 8-track tape player and speakers that dad would bring out and mount on the outside of the camper once we’d settled. We would listen to Johnny Cash, Buck Owens and Charlie Pride while we sat around the campfire. Camping, was our family’s all-inclusive resort vacationing.

As an adult I am no longer a camper girl. Hanging from the rear-view mirror in my car is a picture of a platinum blond in front of a high-rise hotel in a 50s era cartoon with the statement “I love not camping”. It’s true now, I love not camping. As a child I didn’t really have a choice and I didn’t know anything else. Besides, camping was the only time we got to eat junk food and drink soda. Also, camping was the only time my dad made his beer pancakes.

I like pancakes about as much as I like camping now. But when I was a little girl and I sat at that little table in our hand-made camper, smelling the mixture of propane and perking coffee while my eyes tried to adjust to the morning, I was happy. I knew that my dad was going to make breakfast. Dad only made breakfast when we were camping. There was something so exciting about the novelty of watching my dad tackle a task that was completely foreign to anything he would have done at home. It was as though I had a different dad when we went camping. I had a breakfast-making dad. It was like magic. Dad’s culinary repertoire was short and sweet. He made beer pancakes. That’s it. After breakfast my culinary father disappeared and my mom was back in charge of all things food.

Dad’s beer pancakes were, in fact, legendary. Part of what made them so special wasn’t just that they were my chef-dad’s only specialty but it was the location. I think that even a bologna sandwich tasted somehow perfect surrounded by the canvas of nature. I am pretty sure my dad used a box of pancake mix and modified the “recipe” on the back of the box by using beer instead of water. So, I’m not offering up a recipe for dad’s famous beer pancakes here. I’ve given enough of the secret away already.

Today my version of camping is sailing. I have a friend who owns a beautiful 42’ sailboat that he moors in Elliot Bay near downtown Seattle. We often sail in the evening and before returning to the marina we throw something on the grill and call it dinner. There is no snobbery involved here. It seems no matter how simple the fare it serves up fit for royalty when we are out on the water.

Recently we grilled some sausages and sautéed some peppers, mushrooms and onions and served up dinner in a hoagie roll. The star of this dinner was the blue cheese coleslaw. My friend Nancy found the recipe in the Seattle P.I. (R.I.P.) a couple of summers ago. It hails from The BBQ Queens Big Book of Barbecue. The recipe calls for Napa cabbage but Nancy says she’s used Savoy cabbage before with great success.

Coleslaw has such a muddy reputation. This isn't coleslaw's ugly sugared up-mayonnaise-wearing step-sister rather her sophisticated cousin visiting from the city. This is the coleslaw you want to take home and introduce to the family. It plays well on the plate with a number of things and at almost anytime of year. But it really shone next to the grilled sausages with peppers, onions and mushrooms.

I've enjoyed this coleslaw several times before and maybe it was location, location, location but it tasted better than ever the other night on the boat. Nancy says the recipe claims to serve 8 but she's sure it would feed more like 18.

Blue Cheese Coleslaw

2 pounds Napa cabbage, cored and shredded

8 ounces blue cheese, crumbled

1/4 cup chopped green onions

Dressing:

3/4 cup Vegetable oil

1/3 cup cider vinegar

2 TB sugar

1 tsp celery seed

1/2 tsp ground white pepper (Nancy says she uses black)

1/4 tsp dry mustard

2 cloves garlic, minced

Toss cabbage, cheese and onions together. Just before serving, whisk the dressing ingredients together. Pour over the slaw and toss to coat. The slaw will wilt after dressing so serve right away.

A Gathering of Different Lights

2009-08-01T15:18:00.001-07:00

No food pictures today. No dinners, no snarky weather-related remarks, just a quiet church situated in an urban paradise.

I visited the Chapel of St. Igatatius on the Seattle University campus today. I had heard downright ethereal descriptions of its architechtural design. Truly, it's a piece of art and so much more.

Architect Steven Holl's concept of "a gathering of different lights" is a metaphor describing Seattle University's misson of educating the whole person, to professional formation, and to empowering leaders for a just and humane world. Steven Holl makes me wish I were an architect.

I couldn't help but feel slightly irreverent each time the sound effects on my digital camera made the "shutter" noise. I couldn't stop myself from trying to capture the essence of this sanctuary in bits and pieces and small frames. It was impossible to do.

Let me start at the beginning. Approaching the chapel there is a reflecting pool and a bell tower.

As we approached the entry I asked my friend to place her hand on the door before I snapped the picture.

Then I read that Holl commented, "Doors are the place where you touch the building. They are something special... the portal, the threshold." That made me shiver. The doors are different sizes. One large representing a ceremonial entrance and the smaller more of a private feel. Both are constructed of hand-carved Alaskan yellow cedar and are accented with reddened bronze. There are seven glass lenses set into the door at different angles and they radiate light throughout the day.

From inside:

From outside:

Upon entering I was struck by the silence. There were other people in the chapel but no sound. Perhaps this is why my camera suddenly sounded like a jackhammer.

And why I felt I was being scolded.

I think this is Latin for "shush up your camera shutter".

I was so intrigued by a small room called the Blessed Sacrament Chapel. Of course I took in everything visually before I read the literature. Later I discovered that the walls are coated with beeswax and the "prayers" that I found embedded in the walls are made of gold leaf.

The room contains a Madrona tree which reaches up towards the light and holds a beautiful amber glass candle lamp. The tree, says the literature, symbolizes the struggle of life.

Throughout the chapel the shadows and glow of natural light that is cast across the angles create the very ethereal descriptions that were delivered to me by others who have visited this marvelous structure.

Finally, there was a beautiful statue named "Gratia Plena" which honors Mary. The statue was created by artist Steven Heilmer who carved it out of a single piece of Carrara marble.

Whether it's a perfect plate of food that offers up healing comfort or a painting that makes me want to dance or architecture that makes me hold my breath, art is moving and inspiring. As we left I turned one last time in an attempt to "capture" the beauty of this piece of art. Like the superstitious beliefs of some tribes it seemed an imposibility to photograph the soul of the Chapel of St. Ignatius.

Hot enough?

2009-07-28T21:14:00.000-07:00

I WISH I could take the high road and not lament about extreme weather conditions when they occur. In fact, I'd like to keep the negatives regarding weather on the down low. You know what mom said: "If you can't find something nice to say....." Right now the only nice thing I can think of saying is "good grilling weather". Am I right? There's no way "cooking" is finding its way into the sweltering day's schedule!

The last few days have been spent with one friend or another at a pool, on a deck, laying low and moving slow. Opening bottle after bottle of refreshing bubbly Prosecco and eating cold slices of sweet Hermiston watermelon.

Eventually, the brutal sun fades away and the notion that something more substantial than a piece of fruit and a glass of bubbly should round out my diet for the day.

Not far from where I'm staying is a local produce stand combined with a lovely meat market called Shawn and Ted's. When I head home to the city, Shawn and Ted's is the place I miss shopping the most. The people are friendly and helpful but really, it's the best meat I've found in a long time. The butchers like to chat with you about what you're going to do with the meat you're buying. They will butterfly a leg of lamb for you, trim and cut your kabob meat while you wait, offer suggestions. It all feels very personal, almost to the point where there's that moment of silence and you're sure you should extend a dinner invitation to the butcher.

Some chicken, some lamb, some marinade and some skewers became our larder during the heat wave. Vegetables, fresh from the field were also cut and marinated. Fresh, sweet sugar dot corn had made its way from the eastern side of the state with one of our dinner guests. We peeled the husks back and removed the delicate silk. Then we spread a fresh Poblano compound butter on the corn and pulled the husks back up to provide protection from the flames while the corn roasted happily inside.

These ingredients spread out over three evenings.

When the mercury rises but our energy doesn't having food ready to rock and roll is music to live by. There is a lot to be said about siestas and good books and water misters and friend's pools and not having to think about what is for dinner.

I've been roaming. I've done some form of house sitting or pet sitting since May. I cannot believe so much time has passed since I started living out of a suitcase. It has been the most interesting summer in that way. But now I'm ready to go home to my familiar roommates and my urban nest and unpack for a while.

I have allowed myself to be stretched this summer in regards to having "my" things around me. My comfort zone has had to reside within me not in my surroundings. Though my schedule that has looked suspiciously like a middle school girl on summer break it has been a memory-making, journal-worthy experience.

I've enjoyed the fun, the hospitality and the company of a variety of great friends. Now I'm ready. Ready for change.

5-spice is so nice

2009-07-19T21:55:00.001-07:00

An impromptu Sunday dinner. I was in a foul mood and lacked imagination or inspiration and honestly, money. But that shouldn't stop friends from gathering around the table should it? I decided on the ever-economical chicken but what to do with it. This time I heard a voice in my head (this is not unusual) whispering 5-spice is nice. 5-spice is nice. So, I concocted a rub with 5-spice, brown sugar, garlic powder, onion powder and a little smokey paprika. I butterflied the whole chicken and rubbed it all over with the spices.

I grilled low and slow for about 45 minutes and held the chicken in a warm oven while I grilled eggplant, sweet onion, zucchini, mushrooms, red and orange sweet peppers. I cut those into bite-size pieces and drizzled with balsamic vinegar.

What's a dinner off the grill without the addition of sweet corn when it's in season? I grilled corn with jalapeno, red onion & sweet red pepper. I cut the corn off of the cob and tossed the grilled ingredients together with the juice of a lime and some fresh, just-picked basil.

My friends brought lovely wines and delightful conversation and we marveled at the view. There were even a couple of hot air balloons to polish off a perfect evening.

Sunday dinner is always the right thing to do.

I call this the sea of evergreens.

Planking Salmon

2009-07-18T17:25:00.000-07:00

A great day? When the sun is shining (but not too much) and friends find the time to get together for dinner midweek. A group of friends were recently able to pull together a last-minute Wednesday evening dinner together. Though the food was great the stellar setting was outdoors on the patio with the comforting trickle of a nearby fountain and a view that reached across a sea of evergreens to Mount Baker and beyond.

We grilled a fillet of wild salmon on a cedar plank then topped it with a relish of seeded and chopped heirloom tomatoes, orange, yellow and red, avocado, cucumber & red onion in a dill-Dijon vinaigrette.

The crisp, creamy freshness of the relish complemented the smokey warm salmon perfectly.

We grilled some baby yukon gold potatoes and some bread as well. Our hosts had recently returned from a trip where they'd gleaned some fresh Dungeness crabs. We enjoyed the fruits of their labor along with a tender herb salad.
We even celebrated the decadence of a mid-week gathering with a fresh fruit tart for dessert. (compliments of a local bakery) We get by with a little help from our friends.

Finally, I must add this picture of my sweet Bernie (the dog) who continues to grow! I've pleaded with him to stop but alas, nature wins every time. He's still the cutest and the best. Don't you just want to grab him and hug him?

Tailgatin'

2009-07-10T14:05:00.001-07:00

I considered titling today's post "The Season's First". Because the season's first corn was the inspiration for the bizarre tailgating session I recently conducted. And really, doesn't the season's first (anything!) sweet corn, perfect tomato, juicy strawberry, just get you excited? There is no substitute for that fresh from the vine, bush, tree or dirt piece of produce that transports you to another place.

I love to cook. I can visit only so many restaurants on a road trip and I have to find a place to cook SOMETHING! It's just who I am. I usually carry my chef's knife with me in my trunk at all times. Along with my Turkish coffee grinder that serves as my pepper grinder and some kosher salt. (Often you'll find fresh garlic in there too). What can I say?

I didn't have any of those things with me on a recent road trip because I knew I would not have a kitchen to work in. I was foolish and won't make the same mistake twice. From now on it's a hard and fast rule. Getting in the car? Take your chef's knife.

So, I was wandering through this amazing mercantile loaded with fresh, FRESH produce and house-made sausages, salsas, enchiladas, and sauces and I crossed paths with the season's first sweet corn. Local of course. There was a microwave in my waterfront hotel room but that just seemed criminal. I had other criminal designs on that sweet corn.

They included an open flame in the parking lot of a hotel that probably wouldn't approve. Let me just say right now that I have a life motto that says "rules are guidelines". I believe when the sign says "no food or drink allowed inside" what they are REALLY saying is "don't spill your drink or get food on anything". It's all about common sense isn't it?

Now, I don't know that what I was doing was illegal. Really, I don't. I imagine I was breaking a rule somewhere. My common sense told me to be careful and cautious and try not to start a chain of car fires in the hotel parking lot just so I could have a little grilled sweet corn. So, please don't try this at your next resort vacation destination.

That said, we went to the store and picked up a 15 dollar grill, some foil, olive oil and kosher salt. That's it kids! The rest we commandeered from the restaurant in the hotel. silverware, plates, napkins. Any flat surface can provide the space to create your mis en place. In this case I used the desk in the room.

From the market we had fresh new red potatoes, Walla Walla sweet onions and Anaheim peppers, fresh garlic and the corn. We had the house-made jalapeno-cheese sausages and some pilfered silverware. Oh, and of course the lovely stemware for our wine.

This was truly some of the best fun I've had in ages! It was clandestine, it was filled with hilarity and it was just awesome food!

We soaked in the full moon and view of the nearby suspension bridge (best seats in...er..outside the house!)

At one point we involuntarily offered up a sausage to the parking lot gods. This struck us with laughter that nearly incapacitated us.

First there were two:

And suddenly, only one:

Does this make you laugh just a little? Because it put me over the top!

Everything was wonderful! If I'd cooked it in my own backyard it probably wouldn't have been as spectacular. But then, maybe it would. That corn came through with an outstanding sweetness that forced us to proclaim over and over "what a wonderful meal"!

I love the phone cord in this one. Composition is everything!

Lengua

2009-07-09T13:59:00.001-07:00

I recently paid a visit to the Tri Cities for the holiday weekend. My host invited me to try what he jokingly calls "dog tacos". We drove to an out-of-way taco truck parked in a dirt parking lot next to a car wash stall in Pasco. I'm ashamed to admit that this was my FIRST taco truck experience.

I've been longing to try and then I get all widgetty about hygiene and running water, soap and the general eeew factor. Leave me alone! I'm a germ-o-phobe! Or I should say I WAS a germ-o-phobe. I'm really getting over it.

I decided to go long on this taco truck adventure and try the lengua (tongue) tacos. I'd had a few people recommend them and I'd watched Rick Bayless drive it home on Top Chef Masters with his tongue tacos. So, I was in. I think my host was horrified.

Even though I went long, I was not ALL in. I ordered one carne and one lengua. Though both were truly the most outstanding tacos I've EVER had the pleasure of eating. I was never really certain which was which. I had to assume that the one with a little more fat evident in the meat must be the beef.

As we sat at the dust-covered table in this industrial area our conversation fell by the wayside for a few moments. I stared at my 3.00 lunch in total amazement and wondered if perhaps I'd stumbled upon my new "death row meal". It's in the running, that's for sure. We disposed of our paper plates (which had been cleaned of every morsel) said Gracias to the lovely woman and what appeared to be her son. I wish I'd said MUCHO GUSTO! I just gave the universal smile and off we went.

The Last Supper

2009-07-08T12:14:00.000-07:00

I know I've mentioned my recent month-long stay in paradise. I'm still thanking paradise for the memories. I had one final Sunday dinner there before packing my suitcase again and heading out. There were just three of us there but it was perfect in every way.

Conversation was intimate and thoughtful and there was no competition for the floor.

We made a trip to Pike Place Market for some fresh, sweet and succulent scallops. I seared them and served them with a citrus beurre blanc. We opened a bottle of New Zealand Sauvignon Blanc and took a deep sigh of satisfaction.

We had fresh eastern Washington asparagus that had been grilled the evening before. We added that to some risotto and tossed together a salad.

Then we opened a bottle of red. A Pinot Noir I believe. Oh, the memory is fading.

As usual, there was a little too much food which meant warmed risotto for breakfast the next morning.

Things could always be worse.

Living Large

2009-06-30T11:11:00.000-07:00

We threw stabs at eating healthy this week for Sunday dinner. Perhaps the Mediterranean diet is the answer to our ever-struggling waistlines. Each of us had a story of over-indulgence to bring to the table and therefore we did at least eschew butter for this meal and attempted to bring on the healthy.

We started planning on Saturday when we attended a wine tasting event at Esquin in Seattle. Nancy and I spend every summer on a quest for the perfect dry Rośe. It's a very fun quest! For our dinner of Lemon-Oregano Grilled Chicken, Sundried tomato and feta orzo and Greek Salad though, Nancy picked up two incredible whites. A Marchetti Verdicchio Classico and a Marchetti Verdicchio Superiore.

Both wines were perfect with the meal and before the meal.

David is slowly getting settled into his newly remodeled home and his personality is really beginning to surface in his art and belongings. He has a great eye for lines and textures. I couldn't help but snap this shot of one of his pieces of blown glass and a new bench that he'd recently acquired.

Chris came armed with his guitar and a special song to commemorate my recent transition from house sitting in paradise back to "real life". Nobody Knows You When You're Down & Out....
He serenaded me with words of woe while Nancy and David finished up the orzo in the kitchen.

I always say our Sunday dinners are a group effort. Dining together is communal and if one person were always in charge the joy would diminish quickly. It's so nice to just be responsible for one component of the gathering... music is a component.

Helena brought this wonderful salad to the table.

Horiyatiki Salad or Greek Village salad makes its way to our dinner table often. It's hard to beat the flavors and textures of cucumber, sweet peppers, kalamata olives, feta & tomatoes. Normally there's red onion in the mix but we have one no-raw-onion diner and who wants to exclude someone special from enjoying a part of the meal? It's a wonderful salad with or without those onions.

I would show you pictures of the chicken laying atop its bed of dreamy orzo and sun-dried tomatoes. But as I've said before.. some foods just don't photograph well.

I'll show you a plate with all of the components of dinner...but don't say I didn't warn you!

Maybe I haven't mentioned how I feel about looking/photograhing food on a blue plate. Blue plates should be reserved for diner specials. There is nothing special about trying to make food look appetizing on a blue plate. That said: David has blue plates. It's his favorite color! So, when our Sunday dinners are held at David's house.. the photos will reflect that fact.

Hey, dinner was great! It just didn't translate into pictures all that well.

And that wine! Did I mention that wine? It was wonderful! Get down to Esquin and pick some up!

Queens

2009-06-27T10:42:00.000-07:00

Recently I had a dream job house sitting a beautiful home in what I like to call Paradise. I was there for a month and every day, every hour of every day, was surreal in its perfection.

There wasn't a spot that wasn't peaceful and magical in its ability to induce relaxation. It was a very good month.

The home was designed for entertaining (be still my heart!) and the owners encouraged me to do just that.

I had friends and family over for dinners on the patio mostly. The patio was warm and inviting with a view stretching over 26 acres of wooded perfection. This Golden Chain tree was the star of the show though and everyday I watched with amazement as it grabbed the sun at different angles and displayed its golden beauty.

Leaving, was always an effort. It was like being on vacation for a month. I did make my way out to the solstice parade in Fremont where I encountered these lovely "queens" who seemed to have fashioned their elaborate gowns from newspaper print. They were a royal sight to behold!

Later I hosted a solstice party for a few close friends (making sure to invite those who play musical instruments).

We stayed warm with an outdoor roaring fire against a chilly first evening of the summer.

There was food of course! There was wine and there was plenty of laughter and music too.

There wasn't a fancy menu for this event. We made brats and salads and appetizers. Nothing highbrow or pretentious. It was about celebrating the company of others. I count friendships as my richest commodity. Time in paradise was appreciated and certainly enjoyed but time with friends (anywhere) is really life's treasure.

Fish Tacos

2009-06-16T20:57:00.000-07:00

I know I've mentioned them before but they are so good I have to bring them back to the table again. And again. And again. Fish Tacos. The meal that cannot help but to whisper the promise of summer into you ear.

It's fun to use different types of fish. This balmy evening we dined outdoors and grilled Mahi Mahi, Wild Alaskan Salmon and Halibut.

The components here are what create the best end product. We had crema with lime juice and cilantro, fresh pico de gallo, guacamole and shredded cabbage with yet more cilantro. Creating the perfect bite was definitely not a chore.

And what better than a cold cervesa to wash it all down with!

Flavors of Greece

2009-06-14T11:37:00.000-07:00

I have this go-to summer salad that combines the flavors found in the classic Horiatiki Salata (Greek village salad) with orzo (rice-shaped pasta). There is something about these flavors and textures that bring summertime home to rest.

The combination of fresh, ripe, vibrant red tomatoes, yellow, orange and red sweet peppers, crispy cucumbers, kalamata olives, feta cheese, sweet red onion, fresh dill and orzo pasta create a mardi gras in your mouth. Dress the salad with either an olive oil, fresh lemon juice dressing or a red-wine vinaigrette. This salad has personality to spare!

Sweet Basil & Tomatoes

2009-06-13T14:43:00.000-07:00

A culinary marriage if ever there was one. A perfectly ripe tomato and a sprig of sweet, fragrant basil.

Lately, I've been making food for groups rather than the intimate Sunday dinners. It's graduation season and I'm thankful for the jobs when they come up.

This client asked for some classic bruchetta. Some people just have good taste.

This is truly one of those dishes with so few ingredients that every component better be of the best quality.

I chose some ripe, on-the-vine Campari tomatoes, local fresh basil, garlic and a splash of fruity olive oil. I know I'm always mentioning chevre. I can't hide my love for the stuff. That would be good crumbled on top or a shaved aged Pecorino cheese would add nothing but personality to the dance.

Next weekend is the solstice and summer's arrival will be official. It is difficult not to be perfectly happy right now.

Technology

2009-06-12T20:41:00.000-07:00

At some point my recent technological problems became absurd comedy. I would hear from a few blog readers, "Hey!? Why aren't you posting on your blog?" Well, first I had camera problems (really) And my words just aren't fancy enough to fly without a few pictures. Then, I got the camera working and the card reader to upload the pictures went kapoot. I got another card reader and just then, my son came for a visit and asked me to bake him a blueberry pie.

It was one of those magical mother-son connection times. He sat at the kitchen counter while I rolled out pie dough. He had brought his external hard drive over to load some things on my computer that he thought I'd like to watch. While I fidgeted with the pie he began to fidget in a something's-not-quite-right sort of way.

Right about the time he started to tell me how he'd just found a virus on his own computer (but not to worry! It was quarantined!) He said, "Wow, now YOUR internet is freezing up too." Then, the words. Oh those horrible words. "oh oh, this looks like the same virus I had on my computer!" I reached over, ignoring all the rules of disable before removal and yanked the cord connecting his hard drive to my laptop. It was too little too late. Just when I'd regained the ability to post pictures, I lost the ability to access the internet.

We still had pie. But it was a sad computer night.

I used to work with computers for a living. I wasn't all that good at it then. I was really kind of glad to walk away from the stress of viruses and glitches. I notice my brain really rebels against being called back up to process technical information. I rebel. I just stared at the computer screen for a day or so hoping that virus would decide there wasn't anything of interest on my silly laptop and take a hike. I slept on it. Two nights I slept on it. Each morning I'd return to the laptop and there would be the monster that had taken up residence in my life.

This morning I found my resolve. I found my guts and my determination and I came out swinging. I'm happy to report that I won!

In celebration I want to post a picture of some beets I recently worked with. They look like a bowl full of jewels. I was so enamored of them I wanted to marry them. I settled for a picture instead. After all this, I roasted them with sherry and when I removed them from the oven I splashed some really nice sherry vinegar on them and when they cooled I topped them with some crumbled chevre. I don't care if you don't like beets. You'd like these beets. I promise! A handful of fresh chopped chives, parsley and Marjoram would be delightful added to the mix after it has cooled as well.

Steak attack

2009-05-29T15:29:00.001-07:00

Etiquette be damned!

Who, aside from the non-carnivorous among us doesn't love the perfectly grilled ribeye on a warm almost-summer evening?

I had a significant stint in my life, where meat was not a part of my diet. (Then I went to culinary school. Back then they’d have none of that nonsense.) I am aware that we eat TOO much meat in this country. The truth is that our consumption of meat and gi-normous portions has become so epic that it's difficult to sit down and really wax eloquent about chomping on a big fat ribeye. But I stared that challenge down and got out my wax.

Now that you know it is with careful conscience that I talk about grilled fatty meat, I must warn the faint of heart to turn away now. Because I'm not protecting anyone and I'm telling it like it is. Fat is flavor baby. It is! Yeah, yeah, there's flavor elsewhere too. But the subject here is a big-fat ribeye. Not garbanzo beans with harissa. Oh, hold me back.

I have an aunt who I just adore who told me one time that she could hardly keep her hands off of the crispy glazed and cooked fat of a ham. I was floored! Not by what she was saying but that she had the gonads to admit it out loud! Who admits to slicing off a hunk of fat and eating it? That inspired me. I love that kind of in-your-face honesty. I aspire to it. No, she wasn’t overweight and this was YEARS ago and she’s STILL pretty darn healthy. So there.

I’m not insinuating that the food pyramid (as un-balanced as that thing is) should have a new charred fat area or anything. I’m just asking. Has the all things in moderation guideline gone by the wayside in order to make room for soy milk and flax seed? It’s okay isn’t it? To LIKE the taste of charred fat on a perfectly grilled ribeye? Of course it is!

Go ahead, if you must. You Oprah-Dr.Oz-following nay sayers. Cut off those fatty parts and pretend you just enjoyed the perfect steak. I say once a year, thumb your nose at the timid and when the weather is right, fire up the grill and don’t compromise your fat content.

Brisket

2009-05-23T13:32:00.000-07:00

I don't know why but I've never cooked a brisket before. I know! I've made corned beef but not a simple brisket.

Sunday dinner fell on Friday this week. Family visiting from out of town and Sunday-dinner folks leaving for Italy on Monday brought us around to a Friday night Sunday dinner.

There was a request for brisket so I obliged. There were 6 for dinner but I'm afraid there was enough brisket for 20. I think it earned the name roast beast. I tried to sear the meat before roasting but it was too big for the largest saute pan I had. It was draping over the side of the pan as I browned it.

I topped the beast with sliced shallots and a few dashes of this and a glug of that and poured a beer in the pan, put it in the oven and said.. "forget about it!"

Some 4 hours later the house smelled wonderful and dinner was ready. How easy is that?

Calls for a celebration!

Best friends and birthdays

2009-05-19T12:08:00.000-07:00

I don't want to give anything away here...but birthdays for my close friends and I.. well.. they're landmark birthdays for the most part.

I was honored and thrilled and over-the-moon (almost) about celebrating my best friend's (yeah...39th.. that's right.. that's the ticket) birthday.

I've got that whole "flash photography" thing going on so I didn't take a lot of pictures. But how I wish there was sound here to go along with THIS photo:

Nancy and I sang our hearts out! We didn't stop at just Happy Birthday To You... we went for Bab's and People Who Need People... and a more out-of-tune duo you've never encountered. We had some volume going on too.

Denise and I go back (cough, choke) 24 years! Holy Cow! That's right kids! Avert your eyes! That's almost the silver anniversary of friendship!

We celebrated with a fantastic dinner and Cosmopolitans. Mostly we celebrated with deep and meaningful (BWA HA) conversation and SECRETS! That's right. We told secrets. But I digress.

Those pretty but horrid cupcakes are NOT what brought me to the blog this morning. It was these little gems.

Fresh Garbanzo beans. Amazing! Nancy called me from the market the other day and asked if she should buy them. You would have thought I'd just won the lottery! I was elated. Of course buy them! Now, I'm telling you, go get some of your own! The season is very short for these delightful bites.

We tossed them with a little olive oil and some smoked sea salt and roasted them in foil on the grill. They're reminiscent of edamame only better.

I finished them off cold and straight out of the serving bowl for lunch today.

Two salty thumbs up for these gems!

And Happy Birthday Denise!

Grill your greens

2009-05-18T09:50:00.001-07:00

It has been a couple of weeks of serious contemplation. Thinking, thinking, thinking and frankly, I’m tired of thinking. Though, most of that thinking has led to a sense of gratitude and gratefulness, I’m still ready for some mental down time.

Sunday dinner was spectacular! Maybe because I didn’t have to think much about it. Time spent enjoying the perfect weather and the company of good friends. It was enough. We talked late into the evening and didn’t turn on any lights! I love defying the clock. Rules be damned!

There was the rhubarb. I am not a fan of the taste of rhubarb. I don’t care how many strawberries you tuck in with it or how much you sugar it up. It has a big “ick” factor for me. But it’s pretty! And pretty goes a long way where dessert is concerned. And where my friends are concerned, leftovers to take home are just a Sunday dinner bonus!

The weather called for grilling and I would almost go so far as to say I made grilling the theme. I grilled everything but the risotto. And even the risotto had grilled asparagus in it. The sweetness of grilled asparagus and the creamy risotto with the tangy chevre was a match made in heaven.

I grilled the romaine for a grilled Caesar. I grilled the croutons. I even grilled an avocado. Shut up! I did! And if you think the perfectly-ripe cold avocado is dreamy. Try grilling one. Seriously. You’ll be transported.

I apologize for the “washed out” look on some of my photos. Suddenly, my camera stopped obeying me and I can’t turn the flash feature off. The only thing I hate worse than rhubarb is flash photography.

So, after the grilled dinner and lots of inappropriate banter and subsequent gut-wrenching laughter... I got all sentimental about Tom’s car. This is what he showed up in. Don’t you think this is the quintessential Sunday-dinner ride?

Okay, back to the salad.

Seriously, you need to try grilling your Caesar salad! I think you’ll love it. I just brushed the split hearts of Romaine with a little olive oil and sprinkled with kosher salt and pepper. I split the avocado and removed the pit. I put these on the grill until a nice char developed.

As for the croutons, I sliced some wonderful roasted garlic crusty bread and brushed it with olive oil and again, salt and pepper. Once it was charred from the grill I raised it up on the top rack to get crispy.

I made the dressing using an emersion blender. Roughly, it was a clove of garlic, a coddled egg and about ¾ cup of olive oil. To that lovely garlic aioli I added the juice of half a lemon, a healthy dash of Worcestershire, cayenne, Dijon, salt and pepper and a little balsamic vinegar.

I chopped the salad ingredients, topped with some shaved Parmigiano Reggiano (don’t even think about buying that krap in the deli cup) and drizzled with the dressing.

Try it!

Hanging with Bruce the big brown dog.

2009-05-16T18:43:00.000-07:00

This is Bruce. Bruce the big brown dog. I'm rooming with Bruce while his people are off to Honduras giving eye exams and delivering eye glasses to those in need. Bruce and I shared a moment in the sun while I enjoyed a glass of dry Rose.

I'm sorry I've been scarce. It seems I've had little time to do more than open a box of crackers or a bag of chips. Little food preparation or even thought of food as a creative outlet has crossed my mind in the last week.

That is all about to change though. There will be a Sunday dinner! Even if it's on Monday. My best friend is celebrating a birthday and there will be a girl's night to write about!

I was told that another of my friends was able to find some fresh garbanzo beans so those will be on the menu. I have never even seen fresh garbanzos so I'm excited! I have heard them described as "little green brains". I'm sure that description has little to do with flavor and more with aesthetics.

I understand they are to be roasted. Don't worry, I'll take pictures and post them here. So, thanks for stopping by. Stay tuned and I hope you're enjoying the promise of summer!

In other news: I recently made this gem of a salad. I used spring greens but the original recipe called for Arugula. Arugula would be perfect! The spring greens weren't too shabby though.

It's just greens, watermelon and feta with a little red onion and a simple olive oil vinaigrette. Happy warm weather!

Cinco de Mayo

2009-05-05T22:29:00.000-07:00

I remember warmer days in May but this one showed a little playfulness in offering up a myriad of conditions. It rained sideways this morning and the winds (and the wind chimes) were howling a tune in unison.

It was hard to get excited about anything. Then Nancy mentioned Tequila. hmmmm It is that one day when a well-made margarita, much like a party dress, is just called for.

I mentioned fish tacos and Nancy trumped me with guacamole and like a couple of hungry, celebration-seeking gringos we waited for the first sign of blue skies and headed out for Whole Foods.

Armed with all the right ingredients we started a fire in the fire place and like all the Whos in Whoville, we started singing... yahoo doray, yahoo doray (okay, we didn't really sing). But we DID refuse to let the chill sway our resolve to grill fish and make our annual fish tacos.

And then-as though some cosmic bandoleer-wearing weather warrior moved on our behalf- the sun came out and made our margaritas sparkle.

I'm telling you kids it's true! That's just how it happened! One minute we're warming our hands by the fire and the next- poof! We're peeling off layers of clothing and drinking shiny margaritas! This crazy Pacific Northwest-Don't go trying to figure her out.

Oh yeah, it's all fun and games until someone tries to eat two of these.

In all honesty, Bruce the big dog came to my rescue and finished the job I started.

Then, like a true dog-friend, Bruce took us for a walk and we rid ourselves of the self-inflicted pain.

We strolled down to Lake Washington and marveled at the view. After a day of sideways rain, little warms the body, heart and soul more than the sunshine dancing across the waters of Lake Washington.

We headed up hill towards home and I ran across this beautiful Dogwood tree in bloom. It made me smile.

Then, I ran across this scene that reminded me of both the power and peace of springtime. Just yesterday (before the winds and the sideways rain) these cherry blossoms were enjoying their glorious perch on the brances of the tree. In a day their job was done. And what a lovely exit they made.
There's really no telling what tomorrow will bring. Whatever it is, I hope to embrace it. I think that there can even be beauty in sideways rain! Really!

Opening Day!

2009-05-04T13:16:00.000-07:00

I know, I know. Where have I been?

Wherever it was I went without the equipment that allows me to get my photos off of the camera and onto my computer. So what is the sense in trying to tell you about rhubarb crisp without showing it to you?

The great thing about crisps (in my opinion) is the-baking-without-hard-and-fast-rules factor. I know I've mentioned it before and I'll probably say it again. I really don't like following recipes. A crisp really doesn't require a recipe. Just instinct. A little of this and a little of that a little lemon zest and some butter and you're on your way!

This one had fresh-picked rhubarb, blueberries & strawberries.

This weekend marked Opening Day for boaters! I don't recall if there was begging involved on my part or just a little clever banter and flattery. Whatever trick I pulled out of the hat worked and Chris took a break from his busy schedule and ignored the northwest squall and took the Whisper out to strut (or sail) her stuff on Puget Sound. We experience a little of everything (except snow). The rains were not to be ignored when they showed up. At times it rained sideways. But our sailing spirits were not dampened.

Wind is always welcome when the motors are cut and there wasn't an abundance of that either. But we managed to have a great time despite the calm waters. We saw a few Dahl Porpoises in the distance and more than a few sea lions who managed to rival Bruce's big-dog bark.

We had lunch and prosecco and marveled at a bright cloud or two. It was an awesome day.

A day spent with friends is never lost on me. A day spent on the boat with friends? Well, that's just a little slice of paradise.

An Embarrassment of Saffron

2009-04-29T08:17:00.000-07:00

Last summer Costco announced that it would be selling a limited amount of coveted saffron from the Castilla La Mancha region of Spain. I paced their doors for a few weeks determined not to miss the unveiling.

Since that time, I've felt rich with saffron, GOOD saffron, THE BEST saffron, and I am often considering different uses for it.

I've been playing with homemade pasta for a few weeks now. Most of my attempts have not been as successful as I'd hoped. I could just feel it in my bones that this time would be different.

On a recent visit to Big John's PFI (Pacific Food Importers) in Seattle I found some "00" flour (no, not licensed to kill like Bond) Doppio zero in Italian. It's a finely-milled flour recommended for making pasta. They say all-purpose flour is a good substitute. My devotion is to "00" flour now.

Armed with some quality ingredients, I decided to try my hand at a Saffron Pappardelle.

I will try to contain my over-the-top-squealing-like-a-school-girl elation but I'm just tellin' ya!

Maybe the planets were aligned right the day I whisked my eggs and prepared to pour them into their little "00" well. I don't know. Maybe I got lucky. If so, it warrants a happy dance and a post on the blog.

I started with a bowl. I know they say just pour your flour on the board and make a well. That hasn't impressed me. So I poured my flour into a bowl and made a well in the center. Then I sprinkled in a little kosher salt and then into the well went some of the saffron water that had cooled after the saffron had steeped out its beautiful vibrant color. Then the eggs joined the saffron water. I used a fork and slowly incorporated the liquid ingredients into the flour. The dough was sticky but held its shape. So I turned it out onto the board and began to slowly incorporate the remaining one cup of flour. Things were looking very promising at this point.

I didn't end up using the whole cup of flour remaining. Maybe just a half cup. I didn't pay close attention to the amount of flour left in the cup. I was focused on the feel of the dough. When it no longer stuck to the tile I was kneading it on I knew it was ready.

I cut the dough into four pieces, wrapped them in plastic wrap and refrigerated them overnight. In the morning I unwrapped a jewel-toned disk and dusted it with a little flour and proceeded to roll through the cylinders of the pasta machine.

I could have strained the saffron threads out of the water before I put them into the flour but that's just not how I roll. (HA!) I like boots over loafers, jeans over slacks, calloused hands over......wait, I'm talking about pasta aren't I? I think rustic is beautiful and I loved the way the saffron threads melted into the pasta creating unique patterns.

This dough was VERY well behaved! If it were a guest it would definitely be invited back for another visit.

And the rest is history! These jeweled ribbons were honored guests at our Sunday Dinner.

Saffron Pasta Dough

4 cups "00" flour (or all-purpose flour if you don't have a local source for "00")

4 fresh eggs, beaten

2 teaspoons kosher salt

1 generous-I-feel-rich pinch of saffron

1/4 cup water

Bring the water to a boil in a small pan and add the saffron. Allow it to steep and then cool.

Put 3 cups of flour in a bowl (or if you want to be a real Italian Momma on a board) and make a well in the center of the flour big enough to receive the saffron water and the eggs.

Using a fork work the eggs gently and slowly into the flour. I suggest you sing while you're doing this. It requires patience and you won't likely notice you've even been patient if you're singing a song you love.

When the dough forms a sticky-ish ball turn it out onto a floured board. Keep singing that song you love while you knead in bits of the remaining cup of flour. Don't ask how long this takes but I suggest you bring another favorite song to the games.

When the dough "feels right" you're done! What is "feels right"? Trust your instincts! It won't stick to the counter but it won't feel like a weapon either. Pliable but firm.

I cut this ball into 4 pieces and wrapped each one individually in plastic wrap and tucked it into the refrigerator over night.

In the morning I opened one package at a time and rolled it out on the pasta machine. Starting at #1 on the dial and rolling it out twice on each number, up to #5. I don't know what #6 is used for but I haven't reached that skill level yet. Twice through on #5 made a perfectly whisper-thin sheet of pasta.

I cut those long sheets into lengths about 7 inches long or so and rolled them up to cut into 3/4-1 inch pieces (pictured above).

I'm thinking anyone who wants to tackle homemade pasta knows better than to boil it in water that isn't seasoned with a hefty dose of kosher salt.

I was busy singing and didn't pay attention to how long I cooked the pasta. Just a couple of minutes I'm sure.

Cheers!

Man-skirt

2009-04-27T11:55:00.000-07:00

This week's Sunday Dinner was the inaugural dinner at David's newly remodeled house. We still had to navigate around waiting-to-be-hung art and boxes but that did little to deter us from enjoying the company of each other and the great food.

Chris and Nancy arrived in their vintage convertible Cutlass with the top down and Chris had donned his utilikilt for the occasion. It felt like summer.

Because it was a special occasion, David opened a wonderful bottle of Leonetti wine.

Of course there were other bottles that made their appearance as well.

Dinner was Chicken Marsala with wild mushrooms, handmade saffron pasta primavera, fennel & blood orange salad and Helena's chocolate chip cookies with sauterne for dessert.

I'll post a recipe for the saffron pasta another day. For now, the pictures will have to do.

I really need to throw in one shot of the view from David's house. There are still new-window decals on the glass but you get the idea.

Sunday dinners are typically a concerted effort. Many hands cover a multitude of jobs.

These hands? Not so much help.
Conversation rarely lags in our company and seldom is there not an interesting topic to be discussed.

Our words and laughter carry us past the sunset and into the evening glow. It's always hard to say "The End".

But for today, I must.

Tasting a Memory

2009-04-25T04:41:00.000-07:00

I love cooking for my adult children. They get so excited about food and the idea of recreating a memory through a meal. I sometimes wonder if we can ever recapture the taste that we remember as children. As adults, I think some of our taste memories have been ‘enhanced’ over the years. Just recreating the food doesn’t recreate the memory.

I might be over thinking it, but this has been my personal experience when revisiting my childhood favorite meals as an adult.

My daughter wanted something with pesto in it for dinner. When the kids were young, I knew an Italian woman who had a small farm for a back yard. It was an unusual suburban scene. Every summer I would show up to buy basil from her. I think my daughter’s memories of pesto come from this place.

We would pile several paper grocery bags full of fresh picked sweet basil into the car and drive home with the intoxicating smell surrounding us. I would have several friends over and we would form an assembly line to make and freeze our years worth of pesto. Inevitably the house would be filled with laughter and the sweet smell of basil and garlic.

Tonight, when my daughter opened the container of pesto I’d made and brought along to make pizza with, she closed her eyes and sighed deeply. I could almost feel her being transported in her mind to a summertime supper table of her past where a plate of angel hair pasta with pesto rested just beneath her nose.

I think we all felt young again in the shadows of the setting sun with sweet basil and garlic dancing on our tongues. Even better, the one who still possesses the zeal of youth, danced interpretively, between bites.

When things heat up

2009-04-21T19:08:00.000-07:00

It’s difficult to miss the looks of elation and anticipation (summer is coming!) on Seattleites’ faces these past few days.

I used to listen to an album (yes, vinyl) when I was in college. It was by a local artist named Brian Bowers. I think he played an autoharp. I was a little blue-grassy at the time. Anyway, there was a song on this album called The View From Home. The lyrics, as I remember them in part, went something like this:

Up north lies Alaska our last true frontier

Out west lies the ocean, and Olympics so near

Back east lies madness, say what you will

Say that I'm a maniac singing on a hill

Out on the road, we tell all the turkeys

Yes, it's always raining and the sun never shines

But all the natives know when the mountain lifts her skirts

The view from home will flat out melt your mind

Even though I’m not so much blue-grassy anymore. I still love that lyric.

When I drive across the I-90 bridge and the waters of Lake Washington literally sparkle against the back drop of a snow-covered Mount Rainier. The view from home does flat-out melt my mind.

Warm weather, even if it’s only a few days in a row, beckons us outdoors to dry off our wings. I like to throw together salads to keep in the refrigerator and if the notion to grill something moves me, I am all set for side dishes.

I will just say it now. I’m sorry I am TERRIBLE about following recipes. I am of the belief that everyone likes me but I am certain there are things they don't like ABOUT me and not having a recipe handy is one of those things. So, I am here with an “almost-recipe”. This is a salad I’ve made for years. I have changed it over the years but it remains a favorite.

A little spicy, a hint of sweetness but certainly summertime comfort food.

I found the original recipe years ago in a cookbook from Pasta & Co. I’ve changed it only slightly over the years. My adult son still asks me to make this for him, even in the winter.

Always use the best ingredients you can afford.

Asian Noodle Salad

1 pkg. Angel Hair Pasta, Cooked according to package directions, drained but not rinsed.

½ cup sesame seeds, toasted

1 cup green onions, sliced thin

Dressing:

¼ cup sesame oil

¼ cup Tamari

2 TB sugar

2 TB hot chili oil (less if you’re sensitive to heat)

2 TB Balsamic vinegar or Black vinegar

Combine the dressing with the cooked pasta and finish with the sesame seeds and green onions. Chill & enjoy!

Be Still

2009-04-19T15:04:00.000-07:00

Now we will count to twelve

and we will all keep still.

This one time upon the earth,

let's not speak any language,

let's stop for one second,

and not move our arms so much.

It would be a delicious moment,

without hurry, without locomotives,

all of us would be together

in a sudden uneasiness.

I'm pretty sure Pablo Neruda wasn't thinking of Sunday Dinner when he penned these words that enveloped me in comfort today. But today WAS a day without hurry. A day for languishing, laughter and friendship. Letting my coffee turn cold as I read poetry and words of wisdom written long before I made my way to this place I love so much.

I'm thankful every day. Really. But today, I felt a deep sense of gratitude for my life. Where I am. Who I've become. The rich, rich friendships that surround me. How much I love and am loved. These things are present every day but today, I felt the stillness around me and I basked in the richness of just being.

Then, I roasted a chicken....and we had Sunday dinner. Amen.

For the love of Bernie!

2009-04-17T10:46:00.000-07:00

The sun is out and I can't stay here as long as I might like. But I had to drop in and brag about Bernie. He's growing! Darn it! His little hind legs kept falling off of my lap. I feel like I need to keep taking pictures of the little pint so I can remember these precious puppy days.

I went to a wine tasting with Bernie's people last night.

The featured winery was Bergevin Lane out of Walla Walla. I love their wines.

Annette Bergevin and Amber Lane are the owners and were pouring at last night's tasting.

There was, what seemed to be an arena of food to pair with the wines but this little dish is the one I brought home to the blog.

Cioppino is just fun to eat! It's sport and food all in one. I love the back drop of linens and china juxtaposed with having to (I really don't need to be coaxed) get my fingers involved in my food. Even if daintily, I like wrangling sea shells..there's something organic and if you'll just indulge me: rule-breaking, about it. The cioppino was good, as you can see it was loaded with little critters. I was pretty sure it was begging for some red pepper flakes but it could have just been the voices in my head. They're always begging for spices.

There was some too-loud-for-a-country-club laughter coming from our table.(guess who?) Steve's cousin Gary and I 'went there'. I kept waiting for the giant cane too come hook around my neck and pull me out to the lobby for a talking to. Somehow we escaped without retribution. Imagine my surprise when my name was announced from the microphone! I was sure this was it. But I won a beautiful bottle of 2006 Cabernet Sauvignon!

And a package of golf balls! (HA!).. I gave the golf balls to Steve so he can use them when he's watching paint dry. I kept the wine. I'm saving it for a special occasion. Like the next time I decide to open a bottle of wine. What time is it?

Tax Day!

2009-04-14T23:23:00.001-07:00

This is my friend Steve. He’s in his element here the night of his birthday party a little over a week ago. I like this picture because I know that for Steve, the moment that this picture was taken, he was in the eye of the storm.

He’s a Tax Accountant (It’s taking every ounce of restraint I have to keep from typing all the accountant euphemisms!) and right now, this very moment, I bet he feels like he’s trying to find a comfortable spot to stretch out in a powered up woodchipper. This is TAX DAY!

So, my homage to my good friend: Pictures of a happier day.

Steve is a golfer. (Those who watch paint dry for sport {woops!}) Steve has a tradition on his birthday of playing golf with his buddies. My assignment, should I accept it, was to have food waiting when the.. Exhausted? Elated? Energized? Golfers arrived after their game. They arrived happy and hungry!

I can find no better time to seque to BERNIE. Bernie is Steve and Kathleen’s new addition. I’m Bernie’s Auntie but we bear no resemblance to each other. He is MUCH cuter than me. This is Bernie napping in Kathleen's arms before the hoopla. We could learn a lot from Bernie.

Well rested and full of charm, he really doesn't have to do much to gain attention from everyone. He just looks cute. It’s working for him. Plus.. and I'm not just a proud Auntie.. he really IS intelligent. I MEAN it!

After some wine, some laughs and plenty of Bernie cuddling, it was dinner time. There was cedar-plank grilled salmon, grilled vegetables and roasted fingerling potatoes.

Truly, a great time was had by all.

Even though this was Steve's 39th birthday (I KNOW!) he and Kathleen have been married over 30 years! For such a young man he has SO MANY accomplishments.

Kudos to you my friend! April 16th.. we'll break some bread and drink some wine.

Providing warmth

2009-04-13T11:46:00.000-07:00

There were no chocolate easter bunnies to bite the ears off of. No Peeps, no foil-wrapped-parafin-laden chocolate eggs. But we had these!

And this

Last year at this time, I was in eastern Washington. I had moved there temporarily to take care of some family business.

Prior to relocating I had decided that I was NOT going to subject myself to the never ending dark and dreary that is Seattle. One way or another, I was outa here. ( oh and when I make up my mind... )

When I was in the where-will-I-escape-to phase of the process I would attend our Sunday dinners and find my friend David looking at me seriously and asking in a number of different ways: "How can you just pick up and leave your friends behind?"

Maybe I am overly idealistic or maybe I just don't take the time to consider all the details (especially after I've made up my mind). Not maybe, I AM overly idealistic. Period. And details schmetails. I told David that "I can make friends ANYWHERE!" Oh, it hurts to even TYPE that now.

I was working with only one or two details. #1. I need to get someplace where the sun actually visits for more than one month out of the year (exaggeration) and #2. I can make friends ANYWHERE! I didn't stop to consider much of anything else. Really.

I'm back now. I was gone for about a year and a half. I am the epitome of Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz. There's NO place like home. There's NO place like home. I'm so happy to be back. More on this life-lesson another time.

So, the frigid April temperatures are not something I'm willing to complain about. Sideways rain cannot shake my resolve to be grateful that I live here. Even if Seattle has another June-uary I will be the one with a smile on my face while wearing fleece. Well, all of Seattle wears fleece year round so you might not be able to spot me in the crowd.

Before the move, I would have attended yesterday’s Sunday dinner. But back then, I would have sat on the couch while we were visiting and gazed out the window and inevitably would have made some snarky comment about the blackened skies to the north. Yesterday I found those skies beautiful, full of power and personality. Not just because I was sitting close to the fire but because I was basking in the warmth of my very close friends.

And the little lamby did nothing to hurt my Pollyanna resolve either.

No matter what the skies to the north were saying, it was spring time and our table would reflect that truth from the buttery roasted fingerling potatoes to the tender, threateningly-green beans.

The salad was not original but was an idea that had originated at Porcella Urban Market (R.I.P.) where Owner Kelly Gaddis and Chef Noah Mellich were constantly inspiring and delighting with their profoundly simple but intelligent kitchen concoctions. This salad was a combination of baby arugula (Rocket), hard-cooked eggs, crispy pancetta and shaved, aged Pecorino cheese. The dressing:an earthy truffle vinaigrette.

Nancy had marinated the racks of lamb over night and Chris worked his MacGyver magic on the fire in his grill to bring that lamb to bloody perfection! There were a few squeamish (end piece) carnivores, but for the most part: moan-worthy lamb

Meanwhile, back in the house... We labor not.

I think it’s a sign of great food or abundant wine or stimulating conversation or maybe just really comfortable dining room chairs when dinner and dessert have been cleared away and everyone remains at the table to linger and visit. This is often the scene at our Sunday dinners.

And in the midst of appreciating it all….

The sun paid us a beautiful Easter Sunday visit!

Breaking Bread

2009-04-11T19:36:00.000-07:00

For me, the simple definition of breaking bread is to share food. The meaning may have its roots Biblically, though I believe it is a spiritual experience; joining together with friends, or strangers, or family and sharing food, laughter, conversation, ideas, philosophies, advice, dreams, sorrows, love and almost always wine.

Somewhere around 2004 a group of friends and myself slowly started regularly ending our weekends with a Sunday dinner together. It began as a focus on the food. We were foodies for the most part. Well, let's be honest, it began as a focus on the food AND the wine. We started out with themes. Sometimes featuring an ethnic cuisine or an ingredient. A whole dinner centered around lemons or asparagus.

At times our Sunday dinners simply provided a platform to welcome various family members to meet all of our friends. If one of us had a relative that we felt was difficult to entertain for an extended (or even short) visit, we called our Sunday dinner "Operation Dilute". The theory that even a difficult relative can be tamed with numbers, great food and, of course, wine.

Over the years, we've shared weddings, births, deaths and a miriad of personal changes. We've grown in numbers and at times reduced in numbers but the constant has always been.. the food (and to be honest wine IS food right?).

I have long been considering blogging. I have been stymied for months (or years probably). Trying to figure out exactly what to blog about. I knew it would be food in some form or another. I wanted more than an online food diary. I wanted something that would grow with me but allow me to remain focused in a direction. I needed a "theme". It occured to me that Sunday dinners.. (and they may occur on Monday or Saturday by the way) provided the platform I was looking for.

So, I'm speaking to the vast emptiness right now. Here is my blog! Hopefully I will feed my soul and perhaps yours. Inspiring myself and possibly you to open our homes and our hearts and invite others to share in the incredible experience of breaking bread with you. I know of little else that provides nourishment of both the body and the mind than to share food (and wine) together.

To my dear friends who have shared my table, their table, our food, our hearts (and mostly THEIR wine): I thank you for the inspiration you continually provide to me. I cannot imagine my life without any of you! With that: I ask you to hold my spot at the stove and the table as I share with the world some of our stories.