Extravagant Gifts.

For M.F.K Fisher, a good holiday was characterized by “lots of books for Christmas, stockings, candy, and nice gloves.”

I can’t help you find the best assortment of candy and charms, but if you’re still shopping for books, you’re in luck. Here, some ideas for the hungry-thirsty-globetrotting (M.F.K. Fisher loving) readers on your list:

An Extravagant Hunger: The Passionate Years of M.F.K. Fisher

{The biography about the hidden life of the woman who was considered “the finest writer on food now using the English language.”}

Love In A Dish, And Other Culinary Delights

{A beautiful pocketbook sized collection of lesser-known Fisher works -- it makes a great hostess gift!}

M.F.K. Fisher: Musings on Wine and Other Libations

{New in June 2012, a gorgeous hardcover book with lots of photographs!}

If you’d like a signed copy, email me at writtenbyaz@gmail.com to buy one directly from me. If you like, I’ll even wrap and mail it to the recipient. Or, buy these books in store (from your local bookseller!) or online.

May you have the happiest of holidays and thank you for supporting books, bookstores, authors, and me!

xoxo

Anne

P.S. Looking to up your creative quotient in 2013? I’m teaching nonfiction book writing at Stanford this winter (it's online, there's no excuse not to sign up!) and an afternooncourse on food writing in at Book Passage in Marin on January 12^th. Share! Sign up! Write!

Coming to My Senses

The reason I decided I wanted to write a book about M.F.K. Fisher wasn't because I was obsessed with food and wine. It was because I related on the deepest and most cellular level to how M.F.K. Fisher used food as a metaphor to write about her happiness and loneliness and desire and love.

That piece in Serve it Forth about eating bread and chocolate on a cold hillside? Sure it's about the way a piece of dark, salty chocolate melted into a chunk of crusty baguette and how delicious it is to eat something decadent and unexpected after a long hike. But it's also about getting to the top of that hill. About standing with strangers while your husband (who you don't really get along with anyway) stays at home with his books and his poetry. It's about taking the bread and chocolate from an old man's hand and eating it as the chilled wind whips around your face and you stare off into the distance, alternately happy to be on top of a French hillside taking in the view, and sad because you never wanted to be there without him. It's about realizing that the old Frenchmen standing beside you have been through war and famine in recent years. And yet they are still hiking and laughing and sharing food with you, a young American girl who they can't really talk to and who they have nothing in common with except for this small shared snack.

Those people who think M.F.K. Fisher is just a food writer have it all wrong. 

When Alyssa Harad wrote to me and told me about her book, Coming to My Senses: A Story of Perfume, Pleasure, and an Unlikely Bride, and asked me if I'd read it and consider offering a blurb for the back copy it seemed a random request. I don't even wear perfume. 

But that's the point. Alyssa's book isn't about perfume. It isn't about a fancy bottle or the familiar heady smell that hangs in the air at the mall or a celebrity's newest fragrance. It's about scent. It's about familiarity and treading into the new. It's about discovering who you are and pushing the boundaries  of who you want to be. 

Just like M.F.K. Fisher doesn't simply write about food, Alyssa Harad doesn't just write about perfume. She writes about scent and our sense of smell and how those two things are intimately tied to the people that we are and the women we want to become. Her book is beautifully written and evocative and deeply personal.

I loved this book. In the couple of months since reading it I've found myself picking up small vials of scent and ordering little round jars of solid perfume from artisan producers. Some days I wear nothing at all, others I tuck a little bit here and there and observe how the perfume changes over the course of the day, and how I change when I'm wearing something earthy or exotic or intensely floral.

I'm at the very beginning of my scent journey, that's certain. But just like learning more about food and taste is a lifelong quest, so is this scent business. I love the idea that no matter what my favorite perfume is now, it will change. And that someday, when I look back at these foggy, tomato and basil scented days, ripe with peach juice and mid-afternoon sunshine and sweat, it will remind me of this. August. 

Do you have a signature scent? What is it and how did you discover it?

Green Pea Soup

A few weeks ago I made pea soup for M.F.K. Fisher. It sounds kind of silly, but I like to celebrate her birthday every year. I feel sort of like she's my kindred spirit/fairy godmother and to honor her birthday just feels right. I typically make a big, three course meal, drink lots of rose or Champagne, and then ease into the 4th of July celebration. It works. 

This year I was feeling a bit more retro in my approach. Maybe it was because I had just finished reading The Help and was seriously obsessed with the idea of making a layer cake. But it was also because as I've gotten a bit older, I've begun to think of Fisher's creative life a little differently. 

After I turned in the manuscript for An Extravagant Hunger, I got to work curating pieces to include in two new books of Fisher's writing: Love in a Dish and Musings on Wine and Other Libations. Both are collections of "lesser known" Fisher pieces. The books include a lot of pieces that she wrote for magazines like House Beautiful, Holiday, and House and Garden. These are not the lyrical wanderings of a girl eating bread and chocolate on a French country hillside. This is the work she did for pay. The articles with menus for June bridal lunches helped get food on the table and care for her two little girls. 

I've long believed that Fisher felt alienated by the prissy, ultra-feminine, domestic culture that was so prevalent in the Post World War II 1950s. The magazine pieces she wrote during that time embraced the zeitgeist, but they don't really reflect how she felt about food and nourishment. In fact, I think that culture (in addition to her family responsibilities) may be why she didn't publish more during this time. 

I understand more than I used to how hard it is to write for pay versus writing for love. And maybe that's what I was trying to honor with this menu -- Fisher's creativity and talent, her ambition and her hard working attitude. Because there is a difference in the work we do for love and the work we do because we need to work. 

We began with pea soup, followed by chilled chicken-tarragon salad and greens, a cheese plate, and a towering chocolate cake with strawberry icing. Note: I don't really think Fisher was a layer cake kind of gal. But I do think she was a woman of convictions, and I was convinced I needed to bake a cake. Tout suite. 

The pea soup was, of course, a direct homage to Fisher who wrote several times about peas grown on a Switzerland hillside:

"But what really mattered, what piped the high unforgettable tune of perfection, were the peas, which came from their hot pot onto our thick china plates in a cloud, a kind of miasma, of everything that anyone could ever want from them, even in a dream. I recalled the three basic requisites, according to Fanny Farmer and Escoffier... and again I recalled Sidney Smith, who once said that his idea of Heaven (and he was a cleric!) was pate de foie gras to the sound of trumpets. Mine, that night and this night too, is fresh garden peas, picked and shelled by my friends, to the sound of a cowbell."

{From P is for Peas, from An Alphabet for Gourmets by M.F.K. Fisher}

Is this soup heaven? Who knows. But it sure seemed perfect that night.

Fresh Pea Soup

From the Barefoot Contessa At Home

Ina notes: This soup can be served hot or cold. If served cold, allow the flavors to chill in the fridge for a bit. If you can't find fresh peas, frozen are just fine. 

I note: Who wants to shell 5 cups of fresh peas? Frozen are fine.

2 Tablespoons unsalted butter

2 cups chopped leeks, white and green parts (2 leeks)

1 cup chopped yellow onion

4 cups chicken stock, preferably homemade

5 cups shelled peas or two 10 oz packages frozen peas

2/3 cup fresh mint leaves, loosely packed

2 teaspoons kosher salt

1/2 teaspoon fresh ground black pepper

1/2 cup creme fraiche

1/2 cup chopped fresh chives

Garlic Croutons, for serving

Heat the butter in a large saucepan, add the leeks and onion, and cook over medium-low heat for 5 to 10 minutes, until the onion is tender. Add the chicken stock, increase the heat to high, and bring to a boil. Add the peas and cook 3 to 5 minutes, until the peas are tender. (Frozen peas will take only 3 minutes). Off the heat add the mint, salt, and pepper

Puree the soup in batches: place 1 cup of soup in a blender with the lid on top and puree on low. With the blender still running, open the vent hole and slowly add more soup until the blender is 3/4 full. Pour the soup into a large bowl and repeat till all the soup is pureed. Whisk in the creme fraiche and chives and taste for seasoning. Serve with garlic croutons. 

Garlic Croutons

1/2 loaf good bakery white bread (French, Italian) sliced 1/2 inch thick

1 large garlic clove

2 tablespoons good garlic oil

Kosher salt and black pepper

Remove crusts from bread slices and cut into 1/2 inch thick cubes. 

Crush the garlic with the side of a large chef's knife and discard the peel. In a medium sautee pan, heat the olive oil over medium heat and add the garlic. Cook for 1 minute until the garlic starts to brown, and then discard the garlic. Add the bread cubes, sprinkle with salt and pepper, and cook over medium heat, tossing occasionally, until browned on all sides. 

Wine and Pizza

This pretty little book has gotten some pretty nice press in the past couple of days. Did you see it in T: The New York Times Style Blog or The San Francisco Chronicle? I'm so proud. 

What's your favorite wine to drink in summertime?

Last night I had a glass of Pey- Marin Riesling while I was making dinner. Crisp and dry and lightly floral, I think it would be perfect with oysters. Instead it helped make my job of tackling homemade pizza a little easier.

Here's what I learned last night: if I want crispy, thin crust pizza, I can't make it at home. But if I want doughy, bread-like pizza it may be worth it to wrangle the sticky dough, spread it as thin as possible with oil-slicked fingers, and pray as I'm topping it with homemade tomato sauce, fresh mozzarella, and basil.

It's also good to remember that if it turns out the pizza is a little too flabby in the middle, I can always stick it back in the oven while I focus on eating pizza numero due, which is spread with a mint-fava bean puree, sliced zucchini, and lumps of fresh ricotta.

But the real lesson is that pizza tastes good almost any time, even if it isn't perfect. Also, wine helps.

Here's what I think we're having for dinner tonight. You?

Winner: M.F.K. Fisher Musings on Wine & My Richness

There's nothing like having your disorganization and procrastination splayed wide for the whole wide world to see. Case in point: I'm an entire week late in picking the winner of a copy of M.F.K. Fisher: Musings on Wine and Other Libations. It's totally my fault and I have no good excuse. It feels a little like I invited people over for a dinner party and then chose not to clean up (something I would never actually do, by the way). Guests show up and there it is: my mess. The pile of ironing on the couch, the kitchen that needs to be swept, the stack of mail and bills to pay.

But, as Pema Chodron says, "all this messy stuff is your richness." And so it is. And so it's not too late to announce a winner.

There were so many nice comments about lovely glasses of wine that it became impossible to personally pick the best one. So I made someone else do it. And Elizabeth, of the lovely Ring Them Bells, won with her description of Pinot noir from Lemon Creek Winery in Michigan. I'll be looking for a glass of this soon.

I plan to be back shortly with a roundup of things that have been keeping us fed in recent weeks. In the meantime, here's a reminder that not everything that looks messy is messy:

Musings on Wine and Other Libations

It's out! It's out! My newest book is out!: 

M.F.K. Fisher: Musings on Wine and Other Libations 

"One of the greatest 20th century food writers, M.F.K. Fisher has graced us with a legendary body of work that contains many references to wine. Her passionate declarations of the pleasures of good food and drink were culture changing, and she elevated the status of wine in the United States. But a collection of Fisher's writings about wine and other libations has never before been published in one place until now. 

The pieces and excerpts in this engaging anthology -- edited by acclaimed biographer Anne Zimmerman -- span Fisher's notable writing career, from her indulgent, wine-drinking days in 1930s France to her years as a gastronomic grande dame living in California in the 1960s, 70s, and 80s. 

'M.F.K. Fisher is the best kind of wine writer. Not only does she make you more knowledgeable about and interested in wine, she makes you want to drink it.'"

Now enough of that fancy book-jacket copy! 

Here's the real scoop: You can win a copy of M.F.K. Fisher: Musings on Wine and Other Libations by leaving a comment below telling me about your favorite wine.

It doesn't have to be a glass from an expensive or important bottle. Sometimes the best glasses are drunk on in the park, at the beach, or with someone special. 

So -- Tell me about your favorite wine and enter to wine a copy of M.F.K. Fisher: Musings on Wine and Other Libations, out May 1st from Sterling Epicure.

Cheers!

* The details: I'll pick a winner Wednesday, May 9th. One book will be mailed to a winner in the United States. 

** If you don't win, buy An Extravagant Hunger, Love in a Dish, or Musings on Wine from your favorite book seller. Pretty please?

Candied Orange & Anise Scones

Have you ever spent Christmas away from home? M.F.K. Fisher did in 1929. This was long before she was the famed food writer who composed evocative prose about the exquisite pleasures of the table. Then, she was a young bride who had just moved to Dijon, France with her new husband, Al.

The two traveled South for Christmas, to a little town on the Mediterranean Coast called Cassis. On Christmas Eve, the couple drank rum punch and waited sleepily to go to Midnight Mass at a little church on the top of a high hill.

Fisher would describe it as an evening that rang like crystal in her memory: “Midnight mass, with fishermen playing wild sad songs on oddly shaped hautbois and windy flutes, over the bleating of two sheep by the alter glittering with candles; a new human baby wailing in its modern cradle trimmed with blue satin bows, and filled with Christmas straw; all the short square women dressed in black, with shawls over their heads.”

When Mass ended, instead of going to sleep, Mary Frances and Al joined a crowd of village revelers for a traditional French holiday celebration. She was handed a plate piled with an anise flavored bread, a piece of sweet nougat, and a glass of pale pink wine.

The seemingly random selection was, in fact, thoughtful. It was a few of the Thirteen Desserts, an array of sweets -- fresh and dried fruits, nuts, bread, nougat, and candies -- that are traditionally served after Midnight Mass and signify the 13 participants in the Last Supper.

An essential part of the 13 Desserts is a sweet bread made from olive oil and flavored with anise, orange water, and candied citrus. Similar to an Italian panettone, the bread -- called gibassier (or pompe à l’huile) -- must be torn with the hands when served to insure good luck in the new year.

That night, she and Al were strangers at the holiday feast. She was far from home and family, but the gift of food and wine soothed her soul.

I prefer my 13 desserts to be of the chocolate variety and like to have gibassier for breakfast. When I wrote this piece for The Kitchn, I made "real" gibassier (you can find the original essay that recipe here). But I also wanted to share an easier version of gibassier, something that could be easily made up on a busy pre-holiday morning, but that still shared the same lovely flavors of anise and candied oranges. These scones are very easy but, like the original gibassier, are best warm, smothered with butter and honey, beside a mug of bitter black coffee.

Happy Holidays, one and all!

Gibassier-Inspired Scones
2 cups flour
1 Tbsp baking powder
1/2 tsp salt
1/4 cup sugar
1 1/4 cup heavy cream
1/3 cup chopped candied orange peel
1 tsp anise seeds
1/2 - 1 tsp orange flower water

1 Tbsp melted butter for brushing the tops
sugar for sprinkling the tops

Preheat oven to 425 degrees. Line a baking pan with parchment paper.

Sift or whisk together the flour, baking powder, salt, sugar, lemon peel and anise seeds in a mixing bowl. Add the cream and orange flower water and stir gently with a fork. Stop mixing when it starts to come together and the cream seems fairly absorbed. Be careful not to overmix. The dough will look loose and lumpy and not like a finished dough.

Pour the mixture onto a lightly floured work surface. Using a very light touch, begin to gather and gently pat into a 9” circle, taking care to press the edges into a solid border. It will come together just enough to look like it might work. Do not handle very much to achieve maximum tenderness!

Using a lightly dusted bench scraper or sharp knife, cut into 8 scones. Use the bench scraper or a metal spatula to lift the scones gently onto the baking sheet. Be careful as they are very soft and delicate to handle. Brush the tops with a bit of melted butter and a sprinkle of sugar.

Bake on the middle rack for 15 minutes or until they are golden. Serve immediately. These scones are best warm.



This recipe was adapted from one found on the blog Bread Baby.

Pretty and Ugly: Anchovy Onion Tart

When it comes to writing, one of the things I struggle with most is pretty versus ugly. I want to be honest in my work. But the truth is, it takes skill to produce writing that reveals both the bad and the beautiful. Often it's easier to be glib than it is to invest the time needed to write words that artfully convey the frantic, sugarcoated malaise that is often life.

It's a lot like the conversations most of us have every day:
"How are you?" They ask.
And I say. "Great." "Fine." "Super."

But really, it's always more complicated than that. There are disappointments, and scuffles, and funny things that make me laugh but that nobody else would understand, and stories that are just too long to tell because they require sitting and listening, something we don't do enough of these days.

Already I sound malcontent. But I promise, I'm not. Like everyone, I'm just tired of trying to do it all.  I'm tired of eating out; I'm tired of cooking. I'm tired of laundry and a cluttered house, but who wants to clean up? I'm tired of deadlines and being chained to my computer, and hugely embarrassed that almost every day this week I've worked in my pjs till 3PM.

And so, instead of trying to make it seem like all is easy and perfect in my world, I'm going to be honest. I've been working a lot lately. We've been eating out more than usual, and the rest of the time Sean's been in the kitchen. I've been demoted to breakfast and lunch service (and as we all know, my lunch is usually pretty monastic).

A couple of Sundays ago I did make an onion-anchovy tart. It was inspired by this recipe and article I wrote for FoodShed, but this time, instead of filo, I used the pre-made pizza dough from Whole Foods. You know the stuff -- it costs less than two bucks and all you have to do is plop it on a floured surface, roll it out, spread on the toppings, and bake.

To me, this is the perfect pretty/ugly meal. It isn't exactly a beautiful, but one bite of this intensely savory, salty, and sweet combination will make you realize what a quiet stunner this dish is. It's a meal made for those who feel like they don't have enough time, but it satisfies enough to instantly transport you to Southern France. 

"Hey," you might think. "I really can do it all."

And maybe you can. Or maybe its best if we all (myself included) gave up trying?


***
You can find the Recipe for Anchovy-Onion Tart here. I made the topping as directed, dumped it onto a pre-made pizza crust that had been rolled to 1/4 inch thickness, and baked it in a hot (400 degree) oven for about 20 minutes.

My San Francisco Kitchen Tour

In late Spring, The Kitchn came over to check out my kitchen. We toured the dishes, the pots and pans, even the dark little cupboard corners.

The result was a peek into my Real World. Unless I'm writing, the kitchen is where I hang out most of the time, and I consider it a surprisingly intimate space. So today I feel a little bit like the whole world just got a look at the lingerie drawer in my bedroom. Funny, huh?


You can see and read more here.

P.S. I'm reminded today of this blog post by the amazing Bon Appetempt about the subtle pain of art and exposure (and chicken with hot-sauce butter). If you're in the business of creativity, make some time for this, too. 

Lost and Found

Have you ever lost something you are fairly sure is hiding somewhere in plain sight? You can picture it, perched on a bookshelf, or tucked away in the corner of your purse. You've spotted it a million times when you've been looking for something else: your keys, the packing tape, the lid to your medium sized pot. But now that you need it, want it? Gone gone gone.

So it is with my camera and more seriously, my morale. The camera I know is somewhere, sure to be found when I'm not looking for it. But my morale? It's a bit more MIA. Turns out it's a lot of hard work to publish and promote a book. Writing, in comparison, is easy: coffee and toast, lots of immersion in words and pretty things. But selling and promoting this little piece of me is hard.

I haven't felt like myself all week -- ok all year. I've been indulging in lots of sugary treats, now I am trying to eat healthy, meditate, and go to yoga. It's all in an effort to feel more like myself while schlepping through the world and selling my Extravagant Hunger. It isn't really working.

But I keep trying to hold steady. Do things like make dinner, celebrate, relax. Which is what I was doing on Monday -- Valentine's Day -- when Sean took this picture of me in total M.F.K. Fisher mode. An apron covers up my little black dress, there's a 1950s O'Keefe & Merrit stove in the background, and a glass of vermouth by my side as I slice ricotta salata into big chunks.

I look at this photo and think "there she is!" and "I can do this!" Maybe my morale isn't gone forever. And I just might find it in the place I least expect.

What was I making on Valentine's Day, you ask? I had grand plans for an entirely pink and red themed meal using salmon and red cabbage. The thing is, red cabbage is really purple, and becomes even more vibrant when cooked. My red and pink meal turned into a rainbow dinner of salmon pink, royal purple, and accents of green. It was good, but the cabbage and barley salad would have been far better matched with something meaty and wintery: sausage, roast chicken, even a nice cut of red meat.

No matter. I was most excited about the cabbage and it didn't disappoint. We've been eating it all week: over greens for lunch, with takeout sausage from Rosamunde's for dinner. I think you'll like it too.


Warm Grains with Red Cabbage and Ricotta Salata
From Food + Wine Magazine
1 cup walnuts
1 tablespoon butter
1 tablespoon olive oil
1 medium red onion, finely diced
1 pound red cabbage, cut into 1 inch pieces
2 Tbl red wine vinegar
salt and pepper
1 and 1/2 teaspoons chopped fresh thyme
1/2 cup water
2 cups pre cooked barley
4 ounces ricotta salata cheese, cut into chunks

First you'll want to cook the barley according to directions on the package. You'll need 2 cups cooked -- this step can be done earlier in the day, or even the night before.
Preheat oven to 350. Spread walnuts on a pan and toast until golden, about 10 minutes. Let cool then chop into coarse bits.
In your largest skillet, melt the butter and oil. Add the onion and cook over high heat until softened. Add the cabbage and the vinegar and season with salt and pepper. Cook until the cabbage is wilted -- 6 minutes. Add thyme and water, cover, and cook over low heat until cabbage is tender and water has evaporated. This will take about 20 minutes.  Stir in barley, and after it is warmed through (if pre-cooked) add ricotta salata and walnuts.
Serves 6 -- great as a side or served over greens as a meal.

Daily Soup: Curried Lentil

I've had a huge craving for vegetarian food lately. Maybe those out of control sugar cravings I spoke of last week are finally relenting, balanced by a return to humble and healthful meals, chock full of greens and grains.

The urge is so deep, that last week I went out at 5PM  just for a carrot and a can of chickpeas so that I could make this soup. First spotted in Molly Wizenberg's column in Bon Appetite, I next saw it remade on Megan's blog. After that, I could not get this soup out of my head (kind of like a cute boy or a catchy Justin Bieber song) and by the time the dinner hour rolled around, there was no mistaking it: I was not making the pork chops with sauteed apples and onions that were on the menu. I was making soup.

I won't re-post the recipe -- it was just in a recent issue of Bon Appetite, and in honoring that, I'll let the printed word win, at least for today. Plus, the recipe I made incorporated Megan's small, yet perfect tweaks. I can't imagine doing my own riff just yet, because this soup was perfect: spicy, comforting, soul warming.

We ate it with naan and a big green salad, and again the next day for lunch, and then again and again. It's that kind of soup. I'm even hiding some from Sean, tucked away in an inconspicuous yogurt container I'm sure he'll never open. It's been a great one bowl lunch for quite a few days.

Sometimes, when you're feeling reliably anxious about things entirely out of your control (like reviews of your book), your food should ground you. This soup did that. And for that, it'll be on my favorites list for a long time.

P.S. Want to know more about how I met my book agent? See a photo of me before the big meeting, and read about it here!

Drinking Chocolate

I think this drinking chocolate would be perfect for an anniversary or Valentine's Day. It might even be perfect for an ordinary Friday night -- the kind of Friday night that hits you after a long, hard week. The kind of Friday night where you want to eat pasta dripping in olive oil, with fat chunks of roasted squash and fried sage. The kind of Friday night where you watch mindless tv because it feels so decadent, and make drinking chocolate, and pull shortbread cookies from the freezer only because the meal you had just wasn't enough (even though it should have been).

I find myself craving sugar and caffeine all the time right now. I'm completely restless with stress and excitement over the book (I got my first review!) and I'm working very intensely on three big projects. I'm trying to cut it out, to quit thinking about new things to bake and my mounting cake craving. Sometimes it works, other times it doesn't. But I'll tell you what, when there's a mid-afternoon chocolate beast that must be filled, this drinking chocolate -- served hot or cold -- sure hits the spot.

It's called drinking chocolate, because it makes regular old hot chocolate seem like a silly gateway drink. This stuff is a mix of heavy cream, milk, melted chocolate, vanilla, and a pinch of salt. The day after I made it, when I was scooping it, spoonful by spoonful, from the fridge I though it tasted just like melty chocolate ice cream. Then I realized it is, essentially, melted chocolate ice cream that just missed the freezing step.

Next time I might add cinnamon, or not. I'm really trying to focus on what I've got, and remember that no matter what happens next, this is more than good enough. 

1/2 cup sugar
1/8 teaspoon salt
2 cups whole milk
1 cup whipping cream
6 ounces semisweet chocolate chips
1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
1. Combine sugar and salt in the top of a double boiler. Slowly whisk in the milk, scraping the bottom and sides with a heatproof spatula to incorporate. Place over gently simmering water and stir occasionally. After about 10 minutes, when the milk is warm, but not boiling, add the chocolate. Continue stirring for about 2 to 4 minutes, or until the chocolate is melted and smooth and the drinking chocolate is warm but not scalding. Remove from the heat and stir in the vanilla.
2. Strain through a fine-mesh strainer (or skip this part and serve straight into individual cups.)

P.S. Are you interested in a book giveaway? Or perhaps a gift that comes with proof of pre-order? Say yes, please in the comments and I'll get to work.

Southern Butterscotch Pie

After M.F.K. Fisher became a mother, she occasionally had to turn down writing gigs because juggling two girls and writing was too much. Other times she made it work, writing outside the lines in typically grand Fisher fashion.

For instance -- she was once asked to write a piece about dining in San Francisco, but she hadn't been to San Francisco recently, and a trip wasn't in the cards. Instead she wrote a piece about all the places she would eat in San Francisco if she were there: dumplings in Chinatown, crab on the wharf, an Italian restaurant tucked away in North Beach.

Smart woman, M.F.K. Fisher. And I happily steal from her playbook.

Things have been kind of crazy here and it feels like we've been eating out a lot. In just the past week I've had meals at Bar Tartine, Bar Agricole, and Local (brunch and dinner). And then there was last night.... We had dinner at a neighborhood restaurant that shall remain nameless, but wins the award for the worst meal I have ever had in San Francisco. Ever.

I feel it in my bones, it's time for some home cooking: a relaxed weekend culminating in a lazy Sunday supper, eaten a little on the early side, so as to have time for a stroll around the neighborhood and a big old slice of pie.

Here is the recipe I would make. I found it on The Kitchn, but the recipe is originally from a book by Nancy McDermott called Southern Pies. I made this pie in December and it won second place in Sean's work party/holiday bake-off. It is the quintessential southern dessert: sweet, and a little boozy from the addition of whiskey to the whipped cream (my tweak).

The mere thought of it makes me feel like unpacking my grandmother's fancy china, finding a white lacy tablecloth, and summoning everyone to the table.

Join me?

Southern Butterscotch Pie
For the pie crust: I used a Joy of Cooking recipe for an oil based pie crust. It was quick, simple, and is perfect for custard based pies or pies that don't spend too long in the oven (cooking the oil for too long can impart an "off" taste).
Preheat oven to 425 degrees
Combine:
1 and 1/3 cups flour
1/2 teaspoon salt
Mix in a cup until creamy:
1/3 cup plus 1 Tablespoon vegetable oil
1/4 cup cold milk
Pour the oil mixture over the dry ingredients and stir with a fork until blended. Combine dough into a ball. Roll the dough between two pieces of waxed paper then flip the dough into a 9 inch pie pan, using fingers to crimp the edges. Prick the sides and bottom with a fork. Bake until the crust is golden brown, about 12 to 18 minutes. Remove from the oven and let cool.

 For the filling
1/2 cup (1 stick) unsalted butter
1 cup plus 2 tablespoons dark brown sugar, packed (make sure it is dark brown, it will give the filling that deep brown color you want)
1/4 cup cornstarch
3 tablespoons flour
1/2 teaspoon salt
1 (12 ounce) can evaporated milk
1/2 cup milk (I used 2%)
4 egg yolks, lightly beaten
1 tablespoon bourbon whiskey

For the whipped cream
1 cup heavy whipping cream
3 tablespoons confectioners’ sugar
1 tablespoon whiskey (or to taste)

To make the filling
In a medium saucepan, melt butter over medium heat. Cook until lightly browned, stirring occasionally, approximately 10 minutes. Add brown sugar to butter and cook until sugar is melted and a paste is formed.
Combine evaporated milk and regular milk and pour into the butter/brown sugar mixture. Bring to a simmer and stir until it is smooth and the sugar is completely dissolved.
In a separate bowl, combine cornstarch, flour, and salt. Pour 1/ 2 cup of the milk/butter/sugar mixture into the cornstarch mixture and whisk until smooth. Pour the smooth cornstarch mixture back into saucepan, stirring constantly. Cook for approximately one minute, until just thickened (cooking the cornstarch much longer can actually cause it to lose its thickening ability).
Stream 1/2 cup hot milk/butter/sugar mixture into the egg yolks, stirring constantly. Pour this mix back into the saucepan. Cook for approximately 30 seconds to one minute, and then remove from heat. Stir in whiskey. Allow to cool until warm, about 10 to 15 minutes. Strain filling through a fine mesh sieve and then pour into cooked pie crust.
Press a piece of plastic wrap directly on the surface of the pudding in order to prevent a skin from forming. Chill overnight, or until firm.

To make the whipped cream
In a medium-sized bowl, whip the heavy cream with an electric mixer until foamy and starting to thicken. Add confectioners’ sugar and bourbon whiskey and continue to beat until soft peaks are just formed.
Top with whip cream, slice and enjoy.

Fudgey Brownies for when Baby has the Blues

 

Book writing is a challenging, isolating job to have. I spend hours alone, usually in my pjs or yoga clothes. Inevitably, just when I think I'm done with a task, another email arrives telling me to tweak this, or that, or toss it all and begin again.

I love it, though, and most days I can't believe my luck. I am thirty-three years old, about to publish my first book, and doing exactly what I dreamed of as a little girl. Still, there are bad days. And on those days, there's nothing I want more than Mom: her dinners are healthy and delicious, there's always milk in the fridge and a pantry stocked with snacks, and in a pinch, she knows that chocolate cures everything.

Just the other night she made me a pan of brownies at 10PM. It had been a day filled with BS (Book Stuff) that left me exhausted and, for the first time, wondering why I'd ever believed being an author was a fun idea.

A brownie topped with vanilla ice cream didn't fix it, but it did make me feel better, which, I think is the point of both mothers and rich, fudgey, just-a-little-salty, brownies.

This isn't my mom's recipe, but it is my favorite brownie for a bad day or (hypothetically) the week where you just can't find your camera charger or a clean set of sheets. In fact, these dark things are aptly called "Baby's Got the Blues Fudge Brownies," in one of my all-time favorite cookbooks: With A Measure of Grace: The Story and Recipes of a Small Town Restaurant.

With a lot of chocolate and a kick of salt, these little things will cure anything. Just like mom. 

Baby's Got the Blues Fudge Brownies
Adapted slightly from With A Measure of Grace: The Story and Recipes of a Small Town Restaurant

4 ounces (4 squares) semi-sweet chocolate
8 tablespoons (1 stick) unsalted butter
2 teaspoons vanilla
1 cup sugar
2 eggs
1/2 teaspoon salt -- use fleur de sel if you can, or fine sea salt
1/2 cup flour
Preheat oen to 350 degrees. Grease and flour an 8x8 pan (grease and flour it very well, brownies tend to stick)
Melt chocolate and butter in a heavy bottomed saucepan over low heat, stirring constantly until mix is smooth.
Remove pan from heat and set aside to cool.
Add vanilla, sugar, eggs, and salt to the chocolate mix and beat until combined. Next add flour and stir till mixed.
Scrape batter into prepared pan. Bake for about 40 minutes, until top is dry and a tooth pick inserted into the middle comes out clean. Do not over bake these brownies -- !
Let cool, then cut into squares.
Makes enough for one very bad day.

Spiced Pecans

I've been working from my mom's house all week, camping out at her kitchen table and watching the snow fall. I've had my coffee, my NPR, and my neat little piles: a tiny red notebook to jot down ideas, a small address book (I'm always meaning to write more letters), a copy of the book catalog, a bound galley, and lists. Lots and lots of lists.

Yesterday I decided to abandon the lists. Baking sounded indulgent; relaxing; vacation-like. I made my neat little piles of spices, and prepared to roast some nuts.

Spiced nuts scream southern hospitality. They are perfect to wrap up for little hostess gifts or have on hand in case people stop by unexpectedly. I like them best with a glass of bubbly, but I like anything best with a glass of bubbly.

This recipe is nothing fancy, or hard, but it made me feel productive, like I was doing something worthy of a big fat mark of accomplishment. Shortly after I pulled the fragrant nuts from the oven, all hell broke loose. I spent hours on the telephone with my agent. The knots in my neck tied themselves into ever deeper coils. I thought about throwing something across the room.

Instead when my stomach screamed, I grabbed a handful of nuts and poured myself a very large glass of wine. These kicky, spicy, savory, bits totally hit the spot, even if I did feel like a 1950s angst filled writer, noshing away on salty nuts and pink wine before 5PM.

Later, my mom baked me brownies and served them warm with melty vanilla ice cream. But that's a whole other story.

Spiced Pecans
2 teaspoons kosher salt
2 teaspoons freshly ground black pepper
1/2 teaspoon cayenne pepper
1 1/2 teaspoons ground cinnamon
1 1/2 tablespoons light brown sugar
5 cups pecan halves
4 tablespoons unsalted butter, melted

Preheat the oven to 350°. In a small bowl, combine the salt, black pepper, cayenne, cinnamon and brown sugar. Toss pecans with melted butter and spices till nuts are well coated. Spread the pecans on a large, rimmed baking sheet and toast for 10 minutes, until fragrant. Stir, than toast 5 to 7 minutes more. 

Cannelle on The Kitchn (Again!)

I was coasting around on the internet this morning in search of recipes, new fall boots, and writing inspiration, and was pleased to discover that my photo and blog post about baking cannelle was featured in a Kitchn round up about French recipes you should be cooking this weekend. 

Can I tell you how long it took to get the perfect cannelle shot? And how hot it was in my kitchen as I baked cannelle at 400+ degrees during a random summer heat wave in San Francisco? It's a badge of honor I proudly flaunt. 

Speaking of the oven, I've been away from it for a bit. There were two trips to Southern California (Los Angeles and San Diego), one late September heat rush in San Francisco (one week were we ate only salads and I got several mosquito bites), and edits, edits, edits. For more news about the book, please check out my new author website. I'll be updating it more and more as my manuscript inches closer to publication.

Meanwhile, it's lunchtime. There's a loaf of Acme walnut bread, a ripe avocado, and a super crisp, tart apple. Apparently it's fall. Am I the only one who thinks 2010 has gone way too quickly?

P.S. If you're in need of cooking inspiration, here's a few things on my list: lentils with caramelized onions, chunky apple sauce, and sweet potato and black bean burritos. It looks like I'm craving autumn.

Peaches + Pleasure

I have been thinking a lot about pleasure lately, and how it is connected to food. Sure, we eat because we have to. But we also eat because it tastes good. This is especially true in summertime, when the produce is popping and the colors at the market stun with their rainbow hues.

But a cold summer in San Francisco has taught me a lot about how food pleasure is intimately tied to our other senses. It's been cold here. My sweaters and jeans are lined up on my closet shelf, and there's always a scarf in my handbag. Last week I found myself eating tomato soup and grilled cheese on a Monday in July. I've never been a fan of exceedingly hot temperatures, but the injustice of a wintery meal on what should be a warm summer night was too much.

The next day I visited the farmer's market stand and bought pounds of peaches, white corn, a huge bunch of basil and a bag of arugula. I would bring summer to San Francisco with a meal that screamed hot days and equally warm nights. We would eat salad for dinner, even if we had to freeze doing it.

I felt a little guilty as I sliced peaches and tore basil leaves on a cold, gray night. It was almost as if I had paid to have extravagant treats shipped from warm corners of the world, not purchased produce from just a few miles away.

But as it all came together: peaches, corn, basil, arugula, bacon, feta, onions and rich balsamic and olive oil, I got more and more excited. The peaches were juicy, and the corn slipped off the cob. It was summer, somewhere, and we were going to feast.

I don't know how to describe the sound that left my date's mouth when he took a bite of the salad. Let's  just say it was indecent -- the sort that got M.F.K. Fisher sent away from the table as a very young girl.

It reminded me that sometimes we should eat what we want to eat -- tomato soup and grilled cheddar cheese -- and sometimes we should eat something delicious and extravagant no matter what the cost and inconvenience.

Eating peaches, basil, and corn hardly seems revolutionary, but on that night, it was. It was cold outside, wintery gray with a brisk breeze. The food brought indescribable, decadent and summery pleasure.

This is what food and cooking (and being human) is all about, I think. And it's how I want to eat and live every day: like I deserve to really enjoy the food I put in my body.

I found the recipe for this savory peach salad at Pithy and Cleaver, one of my favorite sites. I only made a few decadent tweaks:

1/2 small sweet onion
2 tablespoons balsamic vinegar (the best you've got, it's worth it)
1 tablespoon red wine vinegar
2 tablespoons olive oil
juice of 1/4 lemon
3 ears of corn, shucked
3 peaches (large)
small bunch arugula
1/2 cup torn basil leaves
4 strips of bacon
3/4 cup cubed feta
salt and pepper
Slice the onion in quarters and cut into very delicate rings. Place in a small bowl. Add vinegars, olive oil, and lemon juice to the onion bowl, stir and let sit while you prepare the salad, stirring occasionally. Cut corn kernels off the cob into a large salad bowl. Cut peaches in one-inch squares and add to salad bowl. Wash arugula well and add, along with basil leaves. Cook bacon until crisp and crumble or dice. Add bacon and feta to the salad, then the onions and their liquid. Toss well. Add salt and pepper to taste and serve immediately.
Perfect for 2-3 as a main dish, or more as a side. 

Notes: Use the best ingredients possible: farmer's market produce and great balsamic. It makes a difference.
I didn't use all the dressing and found it kept in the fridge nicely and was perfect for a salad redux the next night.
I upped the bacon and cheese. Decadent, I know, but that was the point.

Arugula and Lentil Salad with Goat Cheese

Like Maggie, my meals in recent weeks have been composed of salad and take-out. I make the salad; he orders the take-out. This loose system has helped me to get through another stretch of book editing well-fed yet nourished by the fresh produce that taunts me when I walk through the market.

It's a shame, really, to be working so hard during the summertime. My dreams of berry cobblers and jams have passed along with the months of June and July. And thanks to the cold and glum weather in San Francisco, we ate tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches last night, not homemade tomato sauce over ribbons of fresh pasta from Luca's. At least it's good weather for staying in with a cup of tea and a pile of papers.

But then there are the days where it all comes together: I wake up early and get a lot done before noon. I have time to think about dinner, get to the store, and I remember my list so I (amazingly!) get everything on it. Then I cook and cook and cook.

This salad was a particular bright spot during a time where I have constantly felt tardy and under prepared. So French, so Southern French with its lentils, and goat cheese, and dots of colorful tomatoes. Thanks to the legumes it's hearty. All you need to make it a meal is a bottle of rose, a crusty baguette, perhaps a hard sausage to slice into chunks and gnaw. 

Good eats. No takeout required.

Arugula and Lentil Salad with Goat Cheese, from the May 2010 of MS Living.
I love lentils so I actually doubled the lentils. This allowed me to stretch dinner into a lunch or two -- a beautiful thing.
1/2 cup dried French green lentils, rinsed, drained, and picked over
1 small red onion, halved
3 tablespoons red-wine vinegar
3/4 teaspoon Dijon mustard
1/4 cup plus 2 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil
Coarse salt and freshly ground pepper
4 ounces baby arugula (6 cups loosely packed)
12 ounces cherry tomatoes, halved if large
3 ounces goat cheese, crumbled

Place lentils and 1 onion half in a medium saucepan; cover with cold water by 2 inches. Bring to a boil. Reduce heat, and simmer, partially covered, stirring occasionally, until lentils are tender, about 20 minutes. Drain; discard onion half. Transfer lentils to a medium bowl. 

Chop remaining onion. Combine vinegar and mustard. Pour in oil in a slow, steady stream, whisking constantly until emulsified. Add chopped onion. Season with salt and pepper. Toss lentils with half the vinaigrette; let cool. 

Arrange half the arugula on a platter. Spoon half the lentils on top. Top with half the tomatoes and half the goat cheese. Repeat with remaining ingredients to form another layer; drizzle with remaining vinaigrette.
Serves 8 or so.

Strawberries in July for M.F.K. Fisher

July 3rd was M.F.K. Fisher's birthday. This year she would have been 102.

I celebrate the day every year, or at least I have for the past five years, ever since my interest in her and her life turned from passing fancy to full-blown obsession.

The first year I made vanilla ice cream. It was a hot summer day in Portland, and we topped the melty vanilla mounds with fresh blueberries, oohed and ahhed with every bite, and then went to a baseball game.

The next year I made a caprese salad mixed with fresh pasta. It was a simplistic ode, because I'd spent all day getting lost in M.F.K. Fisher land. We drove through the yellowed hills of Sonoma, scooting along old highways until I spotted the outline of her house,  her "last house" in the distance. The sign outside read: Trespassers Will Be Violated. I stood on the side of the road with goosebumps that had somehow cropped up in the hot July sun.

In subsequent years I wrapped white fish in thin strips of zucchini and made a rhubarb lavender crisp. There were bowls of freshly shelled peas, gently steamed, and dressed in lots of butter and salt. There was plenty of wine, all French.

Each celebration has been good, and each passing year has seemed to mark the evolution of what was, once, a small interest in M.F.K. Fisher, and is now a book. An Extravagant Hunger: The Passionate Years of M.F.K. Fisher will be published by Counterpoint Press in February 2011.

This year I made dinner for friends. Compared to previous years it was a haphazard party, with last minute guests, and an entire menu developed mid-afternoon while watching a World Cup game.

But the evening was perfect. It was a magically warm San Francisco day. The chicken roasted in the oven, there were green and bean salads, bread, cheese, and tiny French olives. There was champagne, then pinot noir, and then finally another bottle -- what was it?

It was good. But the part everyone raved over was dessert: strawberries with vanilla syrup.

Make this soon, before strawberry season is over. It was so easy, and so divine. It was pretty amazing for breakfast, too, which is when this photo was taken.

Strawberries with Vanilla Syrup, adapted from the June 2010 Martha Stewart Living Magazine
1 pound strawberries (halved if large), stems left intact (optional)
1 cup water
1 cup sugar
1/4 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
3 strips (each 2 inches long) lemon zest
1/2 teaspoon whole black peppercorns, lightly crushed
Combine strawberries, water, sugar, vanilla, lemon zest, and peppercorns in a small saucepan over medium heat. Bring to a simmer, and cook for 1 minute. Let stand until cool, about 15 minutes; refrigerate till ready to spoon over whole milk plain yogurt.

Where I've Been

For the past two weeks I have been buried in a deep literary hole, surrounded by love letters, secret journals, and old books. Oh the things I have discovered. I'll return with more news soon.
In the meantime, I think spring might be here. I'm so excited. And you?