Beef: Go big or go home

I know! I know! I can hear it now.  What about Forks over Knives?!  What about eating less meat?   What about... ?   Let me just say this: SHUT UP!   Is that not a gorgeous, sexy hunk of beef?  Did I eat beef that night? Listen, you are not the boss of me. I savored every bite. I savored every moment of a beautiful evening in the lap of luxury cooking like a very wealthy caveman. 

My friends have an outdoor fireplace (situated right next to their outdoor wood-fired pizza oven) it all just  makes me want to camp. Those who know me know my motto is "I love NOT camping". So, that gives you an inkling of how wonderful that outdoor fireplace is. Or maybe it's the great company that is always around that fireplace. I always feel rich in the company of friends there.

When I think of packing it all in and getting out of rainy Dodge and heading somewhere the sun isn't afraid to show its face everyday, I think of the gatherings of friends. Oh, it's not so easy to let go of this embarrassment of riches called friends. It's not just my friends, and the food, and the landscape of this great Pacific Northwest. It's the idea of being landlocked. I don't want to be landlocked. 

I ponder the thought of making new friends somewhere sunny and warm. (not for long mind you). I have some pretty amazing friends right here. But even then, I cannot imagine replacing the beautiful waters and dramatic, constantly evolving skies of Puget Sound. Plus, I'd have to make a new friend with a boat and suddenly, I wake up from the dream and realize it's just all too much to think about today Scarlet. Besides, as I type this, the sun is out and suddenly I fall prey to that condition known as Seattle Amnesia. 

"What rain?", I say. 

And it's time to plan the next gathering. Just like that! I'm off on another subject. Since I'm sort of alluding to food for a crowd today let me tell you about that half a cow in the picture at the top of this post. 9.4 pounds of Prime Rib. It's turning and turning with the help of a kitschy piece of machinery shipped here from Italy. It's a manual (spring loaded) Rotisserie and on this particular night it was the Italian Stallion of cooking equipment. The apparatus in the fire that allows the wood to be stacked high for optimum heat was designed and constructed by my friend who owns the whole shebang. He's no slouch.  When we couldn't get near the meat to check its temperature we decided to check that beast of a fire with a laser thermometer. 

Holy fires of Hell Batman! 900 degrees!  

That roast was done in about an hour and a half. 

 I've shown pictures of the wood-fired pizza oven here before. But who can grow tired of this?

This, this is the Hemi engine of heat-producing structures. This innocent looking little cove leaves 900 degrees in its dust.  I tried baking bread in it one time (after the pizzas were done and the fire began to die down). I was not successful. It's all a part of that rules-are-guidelines philosophy. I just jumped right in and promptly fell on my ass. I would attempt it again. Different day, different dough and a new, 

shiny pair of shoes. 

Same home, different spot for cooking with fire. This place is amazing I tell you. This was dinner for a crowd of artists. What provocative conversations erupted around this pot of seafood. There were mussels, clams, shrimp, butter, wine and herbs.  

The finished product, along with oysters, fresh off the grill and a variety of grilled vegetables, met up with some hot sourdough rolls and I don't know how to say this delicately... It was pigs to trough after that. . This is the stuff that dreams are made of.  Friends around the table, the campfire, the elegant outdoor fireplace, breaking bread and sharing stories or songs... Oh, and there SHOULD be wine. 

Cheers!

For Starters....

I’m wondering if I’ve ever started one of my posts here with the line “Now why don’t she write?”…
It is a line from Dances with Wolves. The wagon carrying Lt. John Dunbar (Kevin Costner) to his post has stopped on the prairie where the skeleton of an earlier traveler is discovered. The unsavory wagon driver leans over the bones and chortles “Someone back east is sayin’, “Now why don’t she write?”..
That line stuck with me.

Why DON’T I write? Certainly, it’s not for the same reason as the unfortunate westward traveler. Though, I don’t have any clever reason either.

So, let’s just get on with this..

While I am working at a fever pitch (not at all) to perfect the techniques and recipes for gluten free wonders in preparation for teaching others. While I’m in the midst of that religious experience (and if you’ve worked with gluten free products you will appreciate the SARCASM with which I refer to the GF dough and concoctions) .I am also having a love affair with my sourdough starter. Not gluten free.

I tried making a starter a few months ago and it failed. What?! Yes! I used the pineapple juice method someone referred from someone who got it from someone and it was linked to a link to another link on the internet. I’m sure it was something I did or did not do. After a week or so, I unceremoniously poured the failed “glue” down the garbage disposal, shook the flour off my feet and moved on. I gave up.

Until, about a week or two passed and I arose shaking my fist at the flour in my pantry and tried another recipe. This one, from my own library: Macrina Bakery and Café Cookbook. I found a link here on the internet where someone else went to all the work to tell you how to make the starter with organic grapes. I followed this recipe and method and I am the proud, proud parent of a bubbly baby that lives uncovered in my refrigerator part time and now and then comes out for a feeding and a little warming up.

Since I’ve had a successful starter I’ve been up to all sorts of shenanigans. I discovered the lazy baker’s method of no-knead Dutch-oven sourdough. I’m bringing sexy back. Too much?

Well, let me tell you right now that I have not suddenly become the recipe toting responsible, chefie that I should be. If you’re like me at all, you’ll LOVE that about this sourdough bread recipe. If you’re not like me then you can spit in my general direction. In the words of Popeye “I yam what I yam”…

This no-knead dough is made somewhere between your last cup of coffee and after you do your lunch dishes. Or whenever the hell you feel like making it. But you won’t be baking it until after your first cup of tea the next morning. If you HAVE to go to work, toss this dough into the refrigerator and bake it when you get home from work the next day. Easy enough?

Amounts here are sort of general and that’s just how I roll. There are thousands of exacting recipes out there in recipe hell.

Sourdough Bread

1 cup of your most awesome starter
2 cups of room temperature (filtered) water
¼ tsp yeast
2 tsp. salt
1 cup Whole Wheat Flour
3 cups All-Purpose Flour (maybe a little more)

Start with 1 cup of room temperature water. Sprinkle ¼ tsp of yeast over and give it a little stir. To this, stir in 1 cup of room temperature starter. Your starter likes to be stirred. I don’t know how I know this but I do. You are making your starter happy when you stir it. Now stir in the next cup of water, stir, stir, stir until you have a happy mixture.. this should not even be as thick as a batter.. it’s very liquid.
Add 1 cup of whole wheat flour. More if you like. I have found I like the texture of the bread when I use just about a cup of whole wheat. Stir, stir, stir. Add the salt now and then start adding the all-purpose flour a cup at a time. This dough is nothing you could ever begin to knead and/or shape into a loaf. It’s a thick and sticky glob of goo. Sexy goo! But goo.

When everything is combined (this process might take 10 minutes from beginning to end) cover the bowl with plastic wrap and just walk away. For a long time. Maybe 6 hours. That bubbly mass will grow and grow. I like to stir it down one more time and re-cover and then I usually go to bed or watch a movie or something that takes quite a few more hours. If I were going to be leaving in the morning and didn’t have time to bake the bread I would stir it down and re-cover it and put it in the refrigerator until I got home. Then I’d bring it back to room temperature before baking.

Heat oven to 450 degrees and put your Dutch oven (with the lid on) into the preheating oven. Leave it there for about 20 minutes and then take it out and sprinkle a little cornmeal in the Dutch oven to prevent the bread from sticking. Pour in the dough as though you could care less what the outcome will be. Do not fuss over this. Put the lid on, put it in the oven and set your timer for 30 minutes. Go put on something sexy like mascara and a bib for the melting butter that drips when you’re eating a hot slice of sourdough.

After 30 minutes remove the lid to the Dutch oven and return it to the oven for an addition 15 minutes to finish browning.

After 15 minutes turn the bread out onto a cooling rack and resist the urge to rip it open and start eating.

The bread will be moist and dense and yes, sexy.

I recently found a cheese at Trader Joe's that is a blend of Gruyere and White Cheddar, please, please, please rescue me from this cheese! It just begged to be paired with this bread for a grown-up grilled cheese and some roasted red pepper and tomato soup. Go ahead Spring, act as though you're winter. I've got my game on here.

When you have too much Saffron

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!

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

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....

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!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.