The Perfect Dessert?

We had a little dinner party last night. This is what we served:

Butter lettuce and watercress salad with pears

Garbanzo beans, chorizo sausage, and squid

Manchego, kumquats, and muscat grapes

It was a lovely night. We ate early, watched the sun set and the lights of the city come on, and didn't turn on the lamps until the last possible moment.

But it is the dessert I keep thinking about: the sweet, tart, bitter of the tiny orange kumquats and the over-the-top floral ripeness of the plump grapes.

Spring is here and I think it is divine.

Weekend Find

Royal Market & Bakery
5335 Geary Blvd.
San Francisco

We woke up early yesterday and were out the door before most people were out of bed. Maybe it was the sunshine and the blue sky, but we were inspired to knock some errands off our list. We stopped for bagels and coffee then bought toothpaste and looked for new shoes.

We strolled by a medium sized market with bright yellow awnings. M. said we should go in, "I've never been in this one," he said. I followed, thinking, "do we have to go in every single grocery store we pass?"

But this one is special. It is a bright, shiny Russian market. The bakery counter is stacked with creamy pastel unidentified confections, the shelves are loaded with jars and boxes and cans with unreadable names. Russian rap plays loudly over the loudspeakers. We wandered up and down the aisles. There were huge bins of golden raisins, plump dates, and perfect walnuts for $5.99 a pound. M. picked out some deep purple plum butter and a huge container of Russian yogurt. we eyed the bottles and bottles of vodka.

For a moment, I felt like I was in Europe. The store wasn't busy yet but the people there were old Russians, busily doing their Sunday shopping before things got too crazy.

I feel like I've discovered a new secret source for pretty and unique things.

Searching for Inspiration

I don't feel like cooking. I don't feel like eating. I don't feel like doing much of anything at all.

Instead of worrying about cooking, and eating, and creating, (like I do most days), I'll do this:
re-heat leftovers, pack my water bottle and my mat, head down the big hill to yoga.

Here's to hoping my inspirational mojo will return soon...

Weeknight Cooking Adventures

Last night I was in need of some major food simplicity. I did not feel like cooking, much less going to the grocery store. I wanted to sit in my clean, quiet, house, stare out the window at the setting sun, and drink a cup of herbal tea.

But alas, there was the hungry growl of two stomachs to worry about. So, in the late afternoon, I did what I often do when dinner looms and there is no inspiration -- I turned to my pile of magazine clippings and then to the web.

I love the fact that the web is so searchable. I can go to a food site, limit my search to soups, then search even more by the random ingredients I have. Last night was a particular challenge. I wanted a light soup, perhaps Asian or Indian inspired, quick, to be served with a big leafy green salad. Maybe I could use the open container of buttermilk in the fridge?

This is what I found, Rajasthani Buttermilk Curry Soup, from the blog 101 Cookbooks:
http://www.101cookbooks.com/archives/001407.html

This was my first foray into cooking from this blog and it was a moderate success. The soup was easy and delicious. M. ate it over rice, I dipped in chunks of pita. I think I'll make it again.

There were, however, two very small drawbacks: the recipe did not make very much. I stretched it a bit by upping the buttermilk and adding in some extra spice.

And about that spice... Not only did I stain my fingers and the wooden spoon with the bright yellow orange turmeric powder, I had quite the adventure with the mustard seeds. First the mustard seeds popped and sputtered over the stove like adventurous popcorn kernels. So I covered the pot (not rocket science, right?)

But the sputtering seeds managed, somehow, to stain the top of our le cruset pot. It is now stained with a lovely spray of brown freckles that don't appear to be going anywhere. It is quite the disappointment.

Even everyday cooking can be an adventure.

And Then There Was Quiet...

I am always a little sad when house guests leave. The quiet is disarming and the mess is never as fun to clean up as it was to make.

In spite of the fact that I should be craving fruits and veggies to get my body back on the healthy track, there is a tiny part of me that wants comfort food. Food that is cozy and warm and helps create the goodness you feel when dear friends are around. Food like the blistering hot bowl of white beans that were served to us at a boozy and chattery dinner over the weekend at the restaurant A-16.

Luckily, I found the recipe today.

Braised Cannellini Beans with Garlic, Marjoram, and Oregano
2 cups dried cannellini beans
2 teaspoons kosher salt
3/4 cup extra virgin olive oil, plus more for finishing
2 cloves garlic, smashed with the side of a knife
1 bay leaf
1/4 teaspoon dried oregano
1 tablespoon fresh marjoram leaves
1/4 cup fresh bread crumbs, toasted

Rinse the beans well in a colander, picking out any broken beans or debris. Transfer to a bowl, cover with plenty of cool water, and soak for at least two hours.
Drain the beans, transfer to a 3 quart pot and add water to cover the beans by one to two inches. Place the beans over high heat and bring to a boil, skimming off any foam that rises to the surface. Adjust the heat to a slow simmer and cook uncovered, skimming as needed, for two hours or until tender, adding water as needed.
Remove from heat, stir in the salt, and let the beans stand in the cooking liquid for 30 minutes. Drain the beans, reserving 3/4 cup of cooking liquid.
In another pot, heat the olive oil over medium heat. Add the garlic, bay leaf, and the oregano and cook for three minutes, or until the garlic begins to soften. Stir in the beans and the 3/4 cup cooking liquid and simmer, stirring gently, for about four minutes or until the beans achieve a creamy consistency. The beans should not be as thick as mashed potatoes, but they should hold their shape. If the beans are too thick, stir in a little water and continue to cook. Stir in the marjoram, taste for seasoning, and add more salt if needed. Remove from heat. At this point the beans can be cooled, covered, and refrigerated for up to one week. Re-heat before serving.
To serve, pour the beans into a warmed serving bowl. Top with bread crumbs and a drizzle of olive oil to finish. Serve immediately.
Serves 6
Recipe from the new A-16 cookbook.

Spring Begins

My little blog is supposed to be about food. But there are other things in life besides food -- aren't there?

It is a very sunny-with-blue-skies warm day in San Francisco. We have three house guests coming for a long weekend later tonight. I have been cleaning, baking up a storm, making a festive welcome banner, and drinking lots and lots of water.

Today at Target: a new dress! It is a sassy short-ish spring shirt dress made of 100% cotton with big, blooming, blue green paisley all over it. And only $21. Kind of helps take the sting out of the bill the tax man delivered the other day.

Does life get any better than this?

The Wearing of the Green

Come to find out that M. doesn't like corned beef. Admittedly, corned beef is not my very favorite either, but once a year on St. Patrick's Day? Absolutely.

My mother always made a large Irish meal every March 17th: corned beef and cabbage, Irish beef stew, soda bread. Maybe she was trying to make our childhood in Salt Lake City more cross cultural; it's more likely that it was a Catholic celebration of my brother Patrick's Saint Day.

As an adult I have spent one memorable St. Patrick's Day in Dublin, have married friends who met twice on St. Patrick's Day (it's a long story), and a dear, dear friend who turns thirty today. I don't rush to the store for green garlands, but I do have a small bit of sentimentality about this springy holiday.

And I was looking forward to starting a new tradition of a bang up Irish meal in our new home. M. loves cabbage and potatoes and an Irish feast seemed very, very logical. Until we hit the corned beef snag. No matter how much I tried to convince him, he wasn't going to eat corned beef.

But this afternoon I donned my green sweater and decided my mini-celebration of St. Patrick's Day was not going to be stopped. There might not be corned beef, there might not be cabbage, but there would be soda bread, by God there would be soda bread.

And it turns out we might make a tradition yet. As I write the soda bread cools, the potatoes boil, the Irish music spins on the cd player, and we're drinking... pinot noir.

And in my head? Fond memories of St. Patrick's Days past play again and again.

Irish Soda Bread, based on my mother's recipe.
2 cups whole wheat flour
1/2 teaspoon baking soda
1 and 1/2 teaspoon baking powder
1/2 teaspoon salt
1 tablespoon brown sugar
1 stick butter
2 teaspoon caraway seeds
2/3 cup buttermilk
2 tablespoons milk

Combine flour, baking soda, baking powder, salt and sugar in a large bowl. Cut in the butter until the mixture is well combined and the butter is the size of small peas. Stir in currants and caraway seeds and add buttermilk slowly. Mix until dough is uniformly moist and liquid has been well incorporated into dry ingredients. Knead by hand for one minute.

Shape the dough into a round loaf and place on a greased and well floured baking sheet (or on parchment). Cut an X into the top of the loaf and brush top of loaf with milk. Bake in a 375 degree oven for 40 minutes.

Serve for breakfast or tea.... or if you simply can't wait, toast a small slice and eat it for dessert.

The Broth Will Cure You

Our small household has been waylaid by a cold for the past week. There's been lots of sniffling, glasses of juice and cups of tea and endless episodes of House. M. got it first. As he was leaving for work last Monday, looking very wilted and ill, he requested chicken soup.
"No problem." I said.

But there was a problem. I've never actually made chicken soup. I'd been confronted with this lack of culinary training before. Early in our relationship M. got sick. I went to work moaning about how I didn't know how to make chicken soup and my boss told me she'd talk me through her recipe some day. But then M. got better, no chicken soup needed. I was off the hook.

Now things were a little more complicated. We live in the same city and state, so if he requests chicken soup I need to come up with some. The canned variety would never do, and I am just honest enough that I could never go to Bryan's (a gourmet grocery that makes very authentic looking chicken noodle soup) and purchase soup to pass off as my own.

I spent Monday morning looking through cookbooks for the perfect chicken soup recipe: simple and good. I nixed Ina Garten's recipe that called for stock that was begun 48 hours in advance using three full chickens. I stayed away from anything too exotic with additives like chipotle or curry or the like. It might be curative but I wanted something simple and good. We could always doctor it up later.

I settled on what I thought was the perfect beginners chicken soup recipe. I went to the store and bought organic chicken, carrots, celery and onions. I made the soup and it was so good. I was so impressed with myself and my ability to whip up a pot full of curative chicken soup with no prior experience.

The soup continued to get better and better every day and it was very adaptable. We added spinach one night, lime juice and fried tortilla strips the next. Even better? The soup worked its magic and now we are feeling WELL.

Amish Chicken Noodle Soup
Adapted from the Hay Day Country Market Cookbook
4 pounds chicken pieces
3 quarts water
2 teaspoons coarse salt
1 large pinch saffron threads
1 large onion, peeled and chopped
2 cups thinly sliced carrots
2 cups chopped celery
2 cups egg noodles
Additional salt and pepper to taste

1. Rinse chicken pieces and trip off excess fat. Place chicken in a large soup pot and cover with water. Stir in salt, saffron, onion and bring to a simmer over medium high heat. Adjust the heat and continue to simmer (do not allow broth to boil) skimming off any foam that rises to the surface, until the broth becomes rich and golden and chicken is cooked through, about 45 minutes. Using a large slotted spoon, remove the chicken and set aside until cool enough to handle.
2. Add carrots and celery to the broth and bring to a simmer, uncovered, cooking for 15 minutes. Meanwhile pull the chicken meat from the bones, discarding the skin and bones. Shred or cut the meat into large bite sized pieces and add them back to the soup.
3. Add noddles, simmer until al dente, season, and serve. You can also keep the unfinished chicken soup in the fridge, return to the stove top to heat, add noodles and cook until al dente, and season and serve the next day.

Books & Blogs

I went to see Molly of Orangette fame read from her new book, A Homemade Life, last night at the Ferry Plaza Book Passages.

Book Passages is the most beautiful bookstore. If you've never been, you get to watch your favorite authors read their own words while standing in front of huge windows that look out to the dock, the Bay Bridge, and the little ferry pulling in and out taking the commuters home.

Molly was completely charming -- the kind of person you want to be friends with. Has anyone read the book?

I'm Writing You a Love Letter

M.F.K. Fisher wrote letters. Lots and lots of letters. Sometimes four or five a day. Because she was such a prolific letter writer she got lots of mail in return. Often these letters aren't very exciting. They detail the weather, the mood of the writer, inconsequential daily happenings. But some of the letters are windows into friendships, love affairs, and adventures.

M.F.K. Fisher received one letter, from her husband at the time, that ended with I love you.

I love you.

I love you.

I love you.

This went on, single spaced declarations of love, for twenty-nine lines.

Sitting in the library at Harvard I began to think about how we communicate and what future biographers might mine for information. Will they use e-mails? Blog posts? Twitter musings? It is going to be a whole different writing game, and I imagine much of the most important details in our lives may be lost if everything we hold dear is stored on a computer that might or might not explode, or be stolen or lost.

So -- write a letter. Write lots of letters, especially to the people you care about. Remember how nice it is to get a letter? We should all send them more, and if you get a special letter, one that makes you glow, save it. You never know who might find it interesting some day.

Souvenir

According to M. there was only one acceptable souvenir from New York City and it was cured fish from Russ & Daughters. So last Monday, amidst snow and wind that blew the snow sideways across my face, I walked to the Lower East Side.

I was the only person inside the small shop that is normally teeming with so many people that you have to take a number and walk sideways, squishing yourself between other customers in order to peer into the cold cases full of pink sides of salmon, marbled pieces of white fish, and rows of prepared salads.

I bought my sablefish and my Scottish Lox and a small bag full of dates for the plane. I chatted with the counter guy who nicely wrapped the fish with a little cold block to make sure it survived the flight and any possible layovers. I looked carefully at all the stuff I normally can't stare at, least I appear touristy or get in someone's way.

Last Tuesday we ate the perfect souvenir, drank a split of champagne and talked (for the first time in weeks, it seemed) about travels and adventures.

It was definitely better than one of those snazzy I Heart NY t-shirts splattered with neon pink and orange I saw for sale in Times Square.

My First Meal on the West Coast

I hardly consider myself a California girl. But the entire time I was toiling away in Boston I was dreaming of the Bay Area's bounties. Fresh, good food was hard to come by. I went into a local market and found bruised bananas, apples that cost $2.50 a piece, and miles of cafeteria style overcooked veggies doused in glistening brown sauces. This is the food that feeds the minds of students at one of our nation's oldest and most well respected universities.

All day while sitting in the library I dreamed of salads with lots of fresh, perfect vegetables, citrus fruits, yogurt, sushi, won ton soup, and kombucha. At the end of the day I'd eat a ho-hum dinner followed by an better than average hunk of chocolate. My body felt tired and out of whack and my mind hummed.

This is why I was so glad to come home to a nearly empty fridge that was stocked with three very important things: plain yogurt, frozen organic blueberries, and amazing apple juice brewed from the fruit that grows adjacent to a Sonoma coast vineyard.

I don't often fancy smoothies but on that morning -- after a seven hour flight and taxi ride home at 2:30 AM -- a simple, sweet-sour blueberry smoothie was just what I wanted. And in the few days since I've become a near smoothie addict. I'm sure my liquid diet will end soon; I am starting to get hungry for other things. But in the meantime, I am relishing the blue sky, sunshine, and California treats.

How I Survived My Four Extra Hours in JFK Airport

Every hour, all day, I phoned the airline. The automated voice told me repeatedly that my flight was leaving on time. I was skeptical -- there was snow all over the city, school was cancelled, and the news reported horror stories of hundreds of cancelled flights. But again and again the chipper voice claimed my flight was leaving on time, so I gathered by bags and my gastronomic goods and made my way to the airport.

Shortly before the flight was to begin boarding they pushed the departure time back. First it was twenty minutes, then an hour, then two hours. I stopped paying attention to the departure board. I got a JFK Special Pedicure from the quickie spa. I ate my mozzarella and roasted vegetable sandwich purchased at an Italian bakery on Clinton Street earlier in the day. I read a magazine. I tried to keep myself busy and happy. It had been a great trip, after all, and I didn't want to sour it by getting down in the dumps about seemingly inevitable delays.

But then I caved. I was tired, restless, and bored. Most of all I was ready to be home. I remembered the cookies in my bag. They were a special Momofuku Milk Bar treat. One for me on the plane, another to be shared with M. after I arrived home. There was a Compost Cookie, chewy and stuffed with chocolate and oats and walnuts. There was a Cornflake Marshmallow Cookie -- the cookie that was always sold out, day after day, till I stopped one last time before picking up my bags and heading to the airport.

I decided it wouldn't hurt to have just a bite of both. But then they were so good, I had to have another. It was an experiment -- I was trying to decide which cookie I liked better. The Compost Cookie was an early favorite, I already knew it was chewy-chocolaty-divine. But the Cornflake Marshmallow cookie turned out to also be stuffed with chocolate and was even chewier, crunchier (thanks to the bits o' cornflake) and chocolatier than the Compost Cookie. But the Compost Cookie now seemed to have pretzel bits and a hint of coffee I didn't notice before.

Back and forth, back and forth. I think this is called mindless or stress eating, the sort you're not supposed to engage in. I didn't care. I got down to the final bites, decided I liked the Marshmallow Cornflake Cookie best (for the moment) and then began to feel mildly guilty about not having any sweet treat to take home to M. But then I remembered the bag of Australian Ginger Bears in my suitcase and the steward called out and said we could board the plane. And then I gathered my bags and stopped feeling bad at all.

Snow in the City

What a beautiful, cold Monday it was: I woke up early and had to get out in those flurries! I had coffee and Irish soda bread in a deserted cafe, stood in Russ & Daughters alone ordering smoked salmon and sable fish to take home, smiled at well wrapped babies in an Italian babies while waiting for a sandwich to-go, bought a pair of red & gold sparkly earrings from my favorite ny shop, warmed up in the cozy back aisles of The Stand, and finally made my way towards the airport. The time always goes to fast. But a day in the city was the perfect way to start and end my book research adventure.

How I survived a week in Cambridge

The first time I went to Cambridge, in February 2007, it was so cold I was amazed that people continued to live and thrive in this bitter part of the country. I don't remember much of what I ate, but I remember I was always hungry. The extreme cold, combined with the brain power I was using doing the initial book research, made it so that I was constantly running to the Hi-Rise Bakery across the street from the Schlesinger Library at Radcliffe College for cups of soup, pieces of gingerbread, or dried cherry chocolate walnut cookies.

This year, I visited Hi-Rise only in the early morning for a cup of coffee and a quick check of e-mail. I survived for six days on H&H Bagels. They were a special NY request from the woman I stayed with. "H&H makes these great bagels," she said, her voice trailing off wistfully.

I stood in line at H&H last week and decided I should get a dozen... six everything, three salt, three sesame, and a cinnamon raisin to round out my bakers dozen. I'd never had an H&H bagel before and this would give me something easy to grab and munch on throughout the week.

And how. These bagels are good. I know, everybody knows that. I am very late to the party. But not only are H&H Bagels good, they are the perfect brain food. A bagel and cream cheese or a schmear of peanut butter kept the brain focused and alert all weekend long. And the taste and texture was divine. My favorite concoction was a toasted salt bagel drizzled with olive oil. This is what I will remember and crave, now that I am back at home, toiling away in my own private library.