A Different Kind of Love

Valentine's Day has always been a mixed bag filled primarily with slightly overly bedazzled expectations brewing since the My Little Pony Dream Castle days. This bag pretty much remains overstocked well after Valentine's Day passes like the unsold candy hearts Now On Sale!/Half Price! at drug stores. And to be honest, if anyone genuinely managed to 'satisfy' those expectations (except my dad's always adorably, and unknowingly, cheesy gestures or my friend's adorably, knowingly, cheesy gestures, I probably wouldn't dig them so much.) I guess at the core I'm really just not a dozen red roses and heart-shaped box of ooey, gooey chocolates kind-of-girl.

This morning, while shuffling into the kitchen and wiping sleep from my eyes, still clad in my buttons-now-popping-at-the-seam-around-the-belly union suit, Fred had a song playing on the stereo while he made us coffee. It sounded familiar. I had heard it before. And I knew that voice. Then, as he looked at me and started lip syncing to it with his air mic, I realized it was the song he wrote for me, about me, and played for me the on our first Valentine's Day (also as I shuffled into the kitchen for coffee in my much cuter, and nicely fitting jammies) on our first trip away together at his family cabin in Inverness.

Wait. That is so ooey, gooey, My Little Pony Dream Castle days daydreaming material. Oh, baby.

Oh, baby. And yes, then there's that. This brand new, different kind of love happening. It's true, and I feel funny admitting it, but this morning, before I rolled over and kissed Fred, or even said good morning or Happy Valentine's Day, for that matter, I put both of my hands on my belly for a long moment. Every molecule of my being swelled with a huge, red, heart shaped love for this little girl I'm - we're - making. Just think, next year all three of us will be in the kitchen in our jammies listening to the song daddy wrote for mommy when they first met and fell in love.

Another, and also different kind of love (perhaps fondness) has been growing in me since last Valentine's Day. This is an unlikely love; kind of like King Kong and Ann Darrow (the Fay Wray version, of course). If none of you have noticed, I've been baking a lot. But have any of you noticed how much I've been baking with fruit? Well, I have. I've even been making my own smoothiesfor the past few weeks. Granted, I'm only brave enough for two fruits intermingling thus far – banana and orange with some yogurt and bee pollen. Baby steps!

Oh, baby. There it is again. And speaking of her. And fruit. It's a good thing I'm inching my way out of my fruit issues, because I'm likely going to be knee deep in the stuff. The ooey gooey worst kind of the stuff, too: applesauce. Oh, lord. I can't. I just can't. Not yet.

But, for this Valentine's Day, I made a baby step forward, away from my fear of cooked fruit, for our dessert tonight (after grilled lobster tails in the snow by the fire pit in the backyard!) and for our little baby girl's future nasty, sticky, messy meals that I promise I will relish every moment of making and feeding to her. When the time comes.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

But today, Fred, these words are for you. 

In case you thought I didn't remember the first Valentine's Day in Inverness when you nervously stood in front of me with your guitar and sang your heart to me, I didn't. And in case you thought that that moment, and every beautiful moment with you, and from you, gets overlooked, it hasn't. I love you and I love us, all of us. Happy Valentine's Day.

Love,

Elliott

Cheddar Apple Heart-in-Hand Pies

Makes 8 hand pies

Cheddar Pie Dough 

(from Martha Stewart)

2 1/2 cups all-purpose flour

Salt

2 sticks cold unsalted butter, cut into small pieces

1/4 to 1/2 cup ice water

1 cup shredded sharp white cheddar cheese

1 egg yolk beaten with 2 tablespoons of water

Turbinado or regular granulated sugar for dusting

Apple Filling

1 1/2 pounds (about 3) apples, peeled, cored, and cut into small cubes*

2 pounds (about 5) Opal apples, peeled, cored, and cut into small cubes*

½ cup brown sugar

1/4 cup sugar
Zest and juice of one lemon
3/4 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1/4 teaspoon freshly grated nutmeg
1/4 teaspoon salt

*I think you could basically use any combination of crisp-textured apples. And you will have extra apple filling here. Use the rest to fry up and put in oatmeal or on top of pancakes. Wax creative...

Preheat oven to 350 degrees.

Pulse flour and 1 teaspoon salt in a food processor until combined. Add butter, and pulse until mixture resembles coarse meal, about 10 seconds. Drizzle 1/4 cup water evenly over mixture. Pulse until mixture just begins to hold together (dough should not be wet or sticky). If dough is too dry, add more water, 1 tablespoon at a time, and pulse. Add cheese; pulse until combined.

Shape dough into 2 balls, and wrap each in plastic wrap. Refrigerate until chilled, about 30 minutes or up to overnight.

Make the filling: Stir together apples, sugar, flour, lemon juice, cinnamon, nutmeg, salt, and cloves.

On a lightly floured work surface, roll out one half of the dough to 1/8-inch thickness. Roll out each piece so it's big enough to to fit your heart. Cut eight hearts out of the rolled dough. Transfer the circles to a parchment-lined baking sheet, and place in the refrigerator to chill for about 30 minutes. Repeat the rolling, cutting, and chilling process with the remaining half of dough.

Put four hearts on a parchment-lined rimmed baking sheet. Spoon a couple of scoops of apple filling in the center of each heart. Using your finger, brush a little cold water on the inside of the circumference of the cutouts and top each heart with another heart. Seal the edges together with the tines of a fork.

Lightly brush with pies the egg yolk wash and poke little holes on top. Sprinkle sugar lightly over the pies, and place pies in the oven to bake.

Bake pies until golden, about 30 minutes.

Serve while hot and I strongly suggest with a scoop of rich, delicious vanilla bean ice cream (Fred makes the best).

Printable recipe.

One year ago: Mimi's Baked Broccoli

Two years ago: Grilled Oysters with Garlicky, Lemony, Buttery Sauce

Three years ago: Celeriac Soup with Sunchoke 'Croutons'

Four years ago: French Red Pepper Soup (Potage Aux Poivrons Rouges)

Six years ago: Yang Chow

The Office

Being back home has been a lot of a lot. A lot of memories-slash-skeletons uprocking in my face and a lot of me choosing whether or not to accept the dance. I'm much more selective with my memory-embracing dance card if Fred is with me, of course. I don't need to tell Fred that little anecdotal tale of that time that crazy thing happened at that party in that house we're walking past right now, right? Sure was a good story, though. You get the idea.

But really, the main a lot of a lot that has been happening in the three months since we landed in our new home, the reason for the absence of a lot of a lot of writing and sharing stories with you is that I'm pregnant. Fred and I are having a baby! And we are a lot of a lot of everything ranging from elated to petrified.

From the first months of my physical fragility, fear, nausea and hormonal tsunamis (poor Fred), to the last few weeks of genetic tests and waiting for results, I haven't been able to think, focus or mentally commit to much, especially with concentration for writing. And, of course, this is all I have wanted to talk about. But couldn't. Not yet. I'm relieved to be able to put it out there now.

When we moved into our new apartment, we discussed the smaller, extra bedroom being an office-slash-photo studio. Mostly, it became the room where we crammed all of the things we didn't want to look at or deal with until later. But then it became the mystery room that neither Fred nor I knew what to do with. Was it going to be an office or a nursery? We didn't want to treat it as either until we had some solid news. And so it sat, unattended to.

A week ago, in one of my OCD fests, I couldn't take it any more. I had to do something with the extra room. For some reason it had become my albatross and it kept staringat me, taunting me – even through the closed door. So I went to setting up sort of a mini office on one side of the room. An organized and tidy place for Fred or I to do work. But also something that would be able to stay and become part of the nursery, or could possibly expand and be a straight up office. Depending, you know?

Yesterday, Fred and I finally received the call that had had us emotionally upended during the wait, the definitive enough results of the genetic tests. And a bonus, the news of our baby's gender - she's a girl! Though all sorts of unforeseen events can happen in life, and one ultimately never knows, we had decided that this was our GO point. Game on. Hey world, we are having a baby!

So, I guess I will have start working on the nursery part of the extra room. And man, I don't know how or where to begin. I guess we have to get stuff. Advice is welcome. We're new here.

To tell you the truth, as far as my kitchen and its goings on, you haven't missed much. The most entertaining food things with me have involved my cravings that primarily require bringing outside things in. Most notably, my newfound sweet tooth-related items such as ice cream, donuts, very specific chocolate, mainly Rolos (absolutely nothing fancy – the trashier the better). But there was also the carrots-dipped-in-ranch-dressing phase, the extra-toasted-bagel-with-cream-cheese phase, the butter croissant phase, the cold sandwich phase (which was limited as I'm not supposed to eat cold cuts), the completely-void-of-seasoning-in-all-food-phase (think something akin to elderly people cafeteria food), and the spicy soup phase. In a bizarre turn I have not craved my usual salty crunchies: no chips. Until last night when I housed a family sized bag of the salt and vinegar variety. Following a dinner of New England clam chowder and a salad. What can I say?

The recipe I'm sharing with you today is from the spicy soup phase. It's Winter. Everyone loves soup. And I'm guessing you don't want a recipe for homemade Rolos. Wait, that's not a bad idea, actually...

Well, until then, let's celebrate with this soup and Thai one on.

Tom Kha Gai

Makes 6-8 servings

Ingredients

1 1” piece ginger, peeled

10 kaffir lime leaves or 1 Tbsp. lime zest and ¼ cup lime juice

6 cups chicken stock

1½ lb. skinless, boneless chicken thighs, cut into 1” pieces

8 ounces of mushrooms of your choice, stemmed, caps cut into bite-size pieces

2 13.5-oz. cans coconut milk

2 tablespoons fish sauce 

1 tablespoon sugar

2 stalks fresh lemongrass, tough outer layers removed

Chili oil, cilantro leaves with tender stems, lime wedges and sliced jalapeño (optional) (for serving)

Directions
Cut the lemongrass stalks into 1-inch pieces and smash them with the side of a large knife, a pestle, or any heavy object lying around in the house; do the same with the ginger. Bring lemongrass, ginger, lime leaves, and broth to a boil in a large saucepan. Reduce heat and simmer until flavors become married, 8–10 minutes. Strain broth into a new saucepan and discard solids.

Add chicken to broth and return to a boil. Reduce heat, add mushrooms, and simmer, skimming occasionally, until chicken is cooked through and mushrooms are soft, 20–25 minutes. Mix in coconut milk, fish sauce, and sugar. We added more fish sauce as the recipe progressed. It's really up to you.

Serve with cilantro, chili oil and lime wedges. And maybe a slice or two of jalapeño peppers if you're feeling wild and crazy.

Printable recipe.

One year ago: Bagels

Two years ago: Chicken with 40 Cloves of Garlic

Three years ago: Cremini Mushroom & Meyer Lemon Risotto

Four years ago: Chicken Pot Pie

Six years ago: Oyster Stew

Don't Harsh My Mallow... It's Christmas, Man.

I feel like I haven't been here much lately. And that's because I haven't. So much life stuff is happening. I have a lot to tell you. I know, I'm sounding obtuse again. Things will come clearer soon enough. Truth be told, it was a big challenge to pack up, move clear across the country and then unpack and get settled in our new world with a new climate, new sights and smells, new people, new markets, new restaurants, new routine, new everything and then have the wherewithal to share it all.

But that changes now. So let's catch up.

We left off with the road trip trajectory in Atlanta. From there we drove to Charleston where we spent a couple of fantastic nights. A lot of very cool stuff is happening there right now. Especially in the culinary realm. We had our most favorite, most memorable, and surprising meal on our first night at The Ordinary – which was anything but. In fact, in addition to the cocktails, wine, oysters on the half shell, tempura battered okra with sambal, Capers inlet clams Meunîere with pan con tomate and fresh sea salt potato chips - all of which were extraordinary- I tasted, quite possibly, the most remarkable soup of my life. And that's saying something. It was a pumpkin, blue crab and miso soup with chives and brown butter – and it blew my mind. Our lunch the next day at Xiao Bao Biscuit was equally distinctive with an amalgam of dishes pulled willy-nilly from across Asia and tweaked considerably with Southern accents. We had a somewhat disappointing experience at our much anticipated visit to Husk. You win some, you lose some.

We spent a few hours in Asheville and an early tapas dinner at Curate, a restaurant that about half a dozen people insisted we check out if we had only one meal in Asheville. And this was yet another great call. A couple glasses of albariño, an order of pan con tomate (twice in one trip!) with manchego, some iberico ham, boquerones, and a few other odds and ends and we were ready to take the dogs on a breathtaking sunset stroll through the heart of picturesque Asheville, nestled in the Blue Ridge Mountains. All this smack in the middle of the peak of fall beauty. Yes, it was only a few hours, but it was memorable.

And then we were on the road again. After two and a half weeks of travel, we were getting anxious to anchor down in our new home. With a short night's sleep at a (creepy) motel in nowhere, North Carolina and brief stop in another tiny town the next day for a classic meat 'n three, Carolina BBQ lunch (pulled pork sandwich, collards, mac 'n cheese and hush puppies), we were in the final stretch.

We were so close, we could just about tune into the Richmond Folk Festival on the radio. I remember it was raining, but through the windshield wipers, I could just begin see the city come into the horizon and I took a big, anticipatory breath and looked over at Fred. He was sound asleep. As the buildings got bigger and my home town began to envelope us, all of the familiar exits and landmarks whizzing past, as the beautiful sounds from the folk festival hummed on the radio, I was relieved I was sort of alone for that moment. Because I realized that for a very long time, many more weeks than we had been on the road, months, maybe even years, I wanted to come home – and here I was. And in that very personal moment, reflecting on everything in my rear view mirror and everything that lay ahead, I burst into tears of elation. I was finally home. And my family was with me.

We have been here for two months now. A stunning and colorful Fall complete with an intimate and delicious family Thanksgiving has come and gone, leaving us with Winter and the holidays right on our doorstep. A lot of important things have happened, some of which will unfold right here in the weeks and months to come. One pretty big zing, however, is that all of these years of writing about life, the universe and everything food-related right here, with you, has yielded something exciting – I will be writing for our monthly magazine beginning in the new year (!!!!). 

There has been a shameful amount of cooking that I lament not sharing with you – especially considering it has been filled with all of the big, robust dishes of the colder months that I so love. But, as I said, we will catch up.

For now, it's Christmastime. And I've been doing more than my share of holiday baking and the like, including two different batches of the ever-tedious gingerbread men. But, something new also... something wintry, holiday-y, sweet and smile-inducing: big, fluffy, sproingy marshmallows to bob around on that steaming hot mug of decadently chocolatey hot cocoa. Make them with your love, your best friend, your mom, and enjoy and toast their completion over that cozy cup of happy – together.

Better yet – what a great idea for a stocking stuffer?!

Fluffy Fun Time Holiday Marshmallows
(Recipe adapted from Smitten Kitchen)

Makes about 20 assorted holiday cookie cutter shaped marshmallows.

About 1 cup confectioners’ sugar


3 1/2 envelopes (2 tablespoons plus 2 1/2 teaspoons)

unflavored gelatin
1 cup cold water, divided
2 cups granulated sugar

1/2 cup light corn syrup


1/4 teaspoon salt


2 large egg whites


1 tablespoon vanilla 

Oil bottom and sides of a 13- by 9- by 2-inch rectangular metal baking pan and dust bottom and sides with some confectioners’ sugar.

In bowl of a standing electric mixer or in a large bowl sprinkle gelatin over 1/2 cup cold cold water, and let stand to soften.

In a 3-quart heavy saucepan cook granulated sugar, corn syrup, second 1/2 cup of cold water, and salt over low heat, stirring with a wooden spoon, until sugar is dissolved. Increase heat to moderate and boil mixture, without stirring, until a candy or digital thermometer registers 240°F, about 12 minutes.

Remove pan from heat and pour sugar mixture over gelatin mixture, stirring until gelatin is dissolved.

With standing or a hand-held electric mixer beat mixture on high speed until white, thick, and nearly tripled in volume, about six minutes if using standing mixer or about 10 minutes if using hand-held mixer.

In separate medium bowl with cleaned beaters beat egg whites (or reconstituted powdered whites) until they just hold stiff peaks. Beat whites and vanilla (or your choice of flavoring) into sugar mixture until just combined. Pour mixture into baking pan and don’t fret if you don’t get it all out (learning from my mess of a first round). Sift 1/4 cup confectioners sugar evenly over top. Chill marshmallow, uncovered, until firm, at least three hours, and up to one day.

Run a thin knife around edges of pan and invert pan onto a large cutting board. Lifting up one corner of inverted pan, with fingers loosen marshmallow and ease onto cutting board. Coat a 1- or 2-inch holiday-shaped cookie cutter with oil or cooking spray to prevent it from sticking. Cut out as many individual marshmallows as possible; coat cutter with more spray as needed. Use marshmallows immediately or store in an airtight container at room temperature up to 1 week.

Printable recipe.

One year ago: Kathy's Deviled Ham Salad

Two years ago: Sunday Cassoulet

Three years ago: Linguine with Pancetta Mushroom Cream Sauce

For years ago: 2009: The Year of the Food Truck

Hot Stuff in Nashville.

Nashville is hot stuff right now - it's quite the culinary darling, actually. In addition to our hefty list of restaurants to visit, one of my closest friends from LA, Chris, is from Nashville, and his family all live there. His brother-in-law runs a restaurant that I had been hearing about for some time.

Unfortunately for me, somewhere between New Orleans and Nashville I acquired one super nasty cold (that fortunately – and bizarrely – only lasted twenty-four hours). But we had reservations at Rolf & Daughters, and by gum, we were sticking to it. Even through a super hero dosage of cold medicines, I was able to appreciate the atmosphere, service, food and wine. As per usual, I ordered the chicken. But alas, we were not long for the world that night, and right after dinner, hurried back to the hotel to rest up for the next few days in town. And our next stop was going to be Chris' brother-in-law's restaurant; Fido.

In 1993, way before local, sustainable, organic, farm to table took root (think Pearl Jam-era), Fido was launched as part of the unofficial Bongo World and consists of a wholesale coffee roasting company and four cafes – each having a unique identity and menu. Their coffee is 100% organic and bought directly from Fair Trade small-farm co-ops. Fido is both coffee shop and restaurant, nestled in Nashville’s Hillsboro neighborhood. Well known for their fish tacos, the Local Burger and their sweet potato fries, and with dishes like a grilled Tennessee cheddar and country ham sandwich and baked cheese grits, Chef John Stephenson offers a fresh, local menu which simultaneously breaks away from, and pays homage to, traditional southern fare.

Fido got its name from the pet store that previously occupied their space and is, no surprise here, dog-friendly. This was a huge plus for us traveling with two of our canine boys, Eduardo and Byron. Right around lunchtime on a recent weekday, the four of us laid claim to one of the precious tables outside before we went in to peruse the menu and place our order. And out popped Chris' brother-in-law, Chef John himself – lucky for us he was manning all of the food coming out of the kitchen that day. So we ordered a lot: the Local Burger with sweet potato fries, the last of the season heirloom tomato salad with fresh figs and blue cheese, tomato-basil soup with focaccia, grilled salmon with polenta, mache, berries and feta, the special plate of the day which had a sampling of a couple Southern staples: green bean casserole, succotash, and finally a hefty slice of pumpkin cheesecake.

Their most popular dish is the Local burger with sweet potato fries, is fantastic. It's made with Tennessee beef and local lamb, Swiss cheese, pickles, onion strips and a zesty sauce. The meat was seasoned with a beautiful blend of spices. The bread was an ideal texture and there wasn't too much of it to eclipse the meat. The sweet potato fries were grilled, made from sweet potatoes on site, were tender, soft and delicious.

We saw John and his family quite a bit during our three nights in Nashville. We hit the hotspots and the nightspots and the old tried and true spots. We heard rad, live music, went to a farmers' market and I even bought a beautiful, new handbag from a local designer that Chris' sister, Katherine, turned me on to. But culinarily, two things in Nashville really stood out to me; Fido and another joint Katherine and John sent us to: Hattie B's Hot Chicken. It was my first Hot Chicken experience and it was memorable. We sat outside (again with the pups) and stared down at our massive platters of Nashville-style fried chicken: marinated in buttermilk, breaded, sauced using a paste that had been heavily spiced with cayenne pepper, then pan-fried and coated in 'damn hot' sauce. It is served atop slices of white bread with pickle chips with traditional Southern sides like collards, black-eyed pea salad, fried okra, pimiento mac n cheese, and tea so sweet it hurts your teeth. Fred, of course, ordered his hot chicken as hot as he could and was on fire after two bites in. But we loved it. We felt so Nashville.

The food we experienced in Nashville – all of it – was solid, satisfying and fresh. We appreciated that we were also able to experience the new school and the old school. None were necessarily bells and whistles places. More, I'd say, salt of the earth, with just the right amount of salt.

We use this salsa for many things at Fido, but mainly it is the star ingredient in our Huevos Cubano.  Add it to soft scrambled eggs, with some nice sharp cheese and you have a wonderful breakfast item. Place in a blender with some of your favorite hot sauce and you have a tangy green hot sauce. Serve on pork loin, tacos, or just eat with chips! 

~ Chef John Stephenson

Fido Roasted Tomatillo Salsa

Ingredients

1 red onions finely diced

1 poblano finely diced

1diced jalapeño

1 lemons juice and zest

1 tablespoon garlic minced

½ cup chopped cilantro

¼ cup chopped parsley

2 teaspoons cumin

1 teaspoon paprika

1 teaspoon salt

1 teaspoon ground coriander

½ cup olive oil

¼ cup rice wine vinegar

2 teaspoons brown sugar

salt & pepper to taste

4 quarts tomatillos

Directions

Preheat oven to 400F.  In a large bowl filled with water, place a few tomatillos at a time in and remove stems and paper husk from tomatillos. Place on large sheet pan. Place the sheet pan with all tomatillos, a little olive oil, and a pinch of salt in the oven and roast for 15-20 minutes until soft. Remove and cool for 10 minutes.

Place the tomatillos in a blender and pulse until chunky. Pour into large mixing bowl.

Put all other ingredients in bowl with tomatillos and mix together until combined. Taste for salt and pepper.

Printable recipe.

One year ago: This Bud's For You.

Two years ago: Short Rib Stew with Mushroom & Parsley Dumplings

Three years ago: SugarFISH

Four years ago: Scallops with Wild Mushroom Risotto & Rosé Fonduta

Movin' On - New Orleans City Limits.

Another long day in the car making it the rest of the way through Texas and into some more familiar territory. Things went from arid to humid pretty fast as we rolled into the swamp lands of Southern Louisiana. And, although I had been enjoying myself immensely, wide eyed and fascinated with the new places I was experiencing, I was eager to return to climates, time zones, cities and cuisines that were more familiar. Louisiana was the first stop on our trajectory that fit the bill. Hello, N'awlins!

Sure, we had a list of restaurants to visit, but the highlight of this stop was to be an evening with my really good friend, Sarah, and her family. Sarah moved to New Orleans right after college and fell in love with it. She remained even after Katrina hit, and now lives in the Lower 9^th Ward with her husband, Simon, little boy, Robin, and a host of cats. Both Sarah and Simon are educators: he teaches the second grade; she is Director of the Greater New Orleans Writing Project and an English instructor at the University of New Orleans. They are also hugely active in the politics of the City and their own neighborhood.

Needless to say, they're quite busy.

So, Fred and I decided to spend a day foraging for all of the local ingredients to make a big batch of chicken and smoked andouille gumbo for Sarah and family. After calling ahead to find out which kitchen 'fossil fuels' they had on hand (oil, rice, flour, cayenne pepper, etc.), we threw back a couple of cups of chicory coffee at our bed and breakfast, and hit the streets of the Big Easy. We picked up our produce - onions, celery, bell peppers, green onions and parsley – at the historic French Market in the Quarter. Then it was off to one of my favorite places in the city, the Cochon Butcher, to pick up our chicken and andouille sausage. We also grabbed some boudin to grill up and have as snacks for all during the long gumbo-making process. After a quick stop at a small, corner market to procure the file powder, we had only one last stop: wine, cheese and bread. That means Bacchanal. Sarah and Simon were actually married at Bacchanal and I was their wedding photographer. How could I not pick up the most important provisions there?

We arrived at their house a skosh early and busted in on Simon taking a shower. Sarah was apparently at a doctor's appointment and was running a few minutes late. While Simon finished up, Fred and I began unloading and getting organized. We prepared a cheese plate and opened a bottle of wine. As the cork popped from the bottle, Sarah walked in. Jokingly I asked, “Did you get a clean bill of health from the doctor?”

“Yes. I'm pregnant,” she replied. At first I thought she was putting me on, but as I looked from Simon to Sarah then Sarah to Simon, I knew they knew. It was for real. I was so filled with emotion and happiness – and thrilled about my really great timing to be there right at that moment.

We cooked and talked and snacked and sipped into the night while listening to classic Creole music. By the time the gumbo was ready it was late, but that was just fine. Simon ate with us while Sarah gave Robin his bath. Sarah ate with us while Simon tucked Robin into bed and then headed that way himself. We could tell it was Sarah's bed time as well. As I mentioned, this is one busy family.

Dinner was delicious. Sarah and Simon both loved the gumbo. The roux, the spice level and the consistency were all on point from the perspective of these New Orleanians. And though we were in a city with some of the best restaurants and night clubs in the country, if not the world, I couldn't think of a better place to be than in that little house by the levee in the Lower 9^thWard with Sarah and her family.

Post script: I just spoke with Sarah asking permission to mention her doctor’s appointment. She approved and said she heard the baby's heartbeat a little earlier in the day. Insert smiley face, here.

Chicken & Andouille Gumbo
(recipe adapted from Emeril Lagasse)

Serves 6-8

Ingredients
1 tablespoon plus 1/2 cup vegetable oil
1 pound andouille sausage, cut crosswise 1/2-inch thick pieces
4 pounds chicken thighs, skin removed
1 tablespoon Creole seasoning
1 cup all-purpose flour
2 cups chopped onions
1 cup chopped celery
1 cup chopped bell peppers
1 teaspoon salt
1/4 teaspoon cayenne
3 bay leaves
9 cups chicken stock
1/2 cup chopped green onions
2 tablespoons chopped parsley leaves
1 tablespoon file powder

Directions
In a large Dutch oven, heat 1 tablespoon of the vegetable oil over medium-high heat. Add the sausage and cook until well browned, about 8 minutes. Remove the sausage with a slotted spoon, drain & set aside.

Season the chicken with the Creole seasoning and add in batches to the fat remaining in the pan. Cook over medium-high heat until well browned, 5 to 6 minutes. Remove the chicken from the pan, let cool, until ready to use.

Combine the remaining 1/2 cup oil and the flour in the same Dutch oven over medium heat. Cook, stirring slowly and constantly for 20 to 25 minutes, to make a dark brown roux.

Add the onions, celery, and bell peppers and cook, stirring, until sweating, 4 to 5 minutes. Add the reserved sausage, salt, cayenne, and bay leaves, stir, and cook for 2 minutes. Stirring, slowly add the chicken stock, and cook, stirring, until well combined. Bring the mixture to a boil. Reduce the heat to medium-low and cook, uncovered and stirring occasionally, for about 1 hour.

Add the reserved chicken to the pot and simmer for 1 1/2 hours, periodically skimming off any fat that rises to the surface.

Remove the pot from the heat. Using a slotted spoon, remove the chicken thighs from the gumbo and place on a cutting board to cool slightly. Remove and discard the bay leaves. Pull the chicken meat from the bones and shred, discarding the bones and skin. Return the meat to the gumbo and stir in the green onions, parsley, and file powder.

Serve over white rice.

Printable recipe.

One year ago: Acorn Squash Ravioli with Sage Browned Butter

Two years ago: The Blue Goat (restaurant review)

Three years ago: Pecan Shortbread

Four years ago: Fishlips Sushi Truck (review)

California, Here We Go.

We've been plotting and planning for close to eight months. We've been roommates with boxes and bubble wrap for about as many weeks. Address changes, car selling, new banks, lists and lists and lists, goodbye breakfasts, lunches and dinners, goodbye glasses (that turned into bottles) of wine – all of this, leading up to a moment. The moment we drive away from the City of Angels towards our new home, three thousand miles away in Richmond, Virginia. And that moment happened last Thursday.

It was so hurried and frenetic, nary a moment for goodbye tears or nostalgia. Which suited me just fine. Fred, Eduardo, Byron and I all loaded up in our little car, loaded with our life for the next few weeks - not without grandma Janie's cast-iron skillet and my bacon drippings. Ahead warp zillion! Ahead first to Phoenix, Arizona, where we were set to meet up with the legendary Chris Bianco, creator of what is purported to be the greatest pizza on Earth outside of Italy. And then what next? We were not certain. And that is the beauty. We are like Hansel and Gretel, eating those breadcrumbs all along the trail across this great country to find our way home.

After experiencing a wonderful dinner at Chris' newest iteration of Pizzeria Bianco (which you will be able to read and see all about on TasteSpotting soon!), we popped up bright and early to meet up with him at his cafe and 'test kitchen' of sorts, Pane Bianco. This is where his brother, Marco, bakes the loaves of bread and also where the mill lives. Yes, they grow their own wheat, have their own mill, and bake their own bread with their very own flour.

After a tour of the kitchen, dining room and mill, with tastes of biscotti here, and gelato there, Chris sat with us and talked about love and the beauty in everything, and what inspires him (of which food is but a slice). He talked about rectangles, triangles and circles (everything in Pane Bianco is on wheels). He then sent us on our way with hugs, a bottle of chilled rosé from his restaurant (the label is from a painting his father gave his mother ages ago, of a rose) and told us to pick out one of the loaves that had just come out of the oven – to pick the one 'that spoke to us.'

And on the road we went. To infinity: The Grand Canyon. Where we went to watch the sunset, crack open the bottle of rosé, and eat that beautiful fresh bread with some Italian cheeses we picked up in Flagstaff. And yes, the bread was remarkable – mouth-injuringly crusty on the outside, yet moist, airy and filled with beautiful air pockets on the inside – fundamentally satisfying in every way. I suppose Marco was right, it 'spoke to us.' All this while watching the sun disappear into the canyon. How remarkable was it? So much so that I have goose bumps even writing this.

The next morning we were up bright and early to get on the road again. We needed to make it to Albuquerque, at least. Which shouldn't have been too much of a challenge, but Fred wanted to amble. So we stopped at Meteor Crater, walked the dogs, looked around, took pictures. And then we were off again. Well, for about thirty minutes. When I noticed the car slowing considerably, I looked up and found that Fred had pulled off into a small town. And we were driving down the main drag: Route 66.

Fred turned to me and flatly explained (as though it was quite obvious), “I want to be standin' on a corner in Winslow, Arizona."

Oh, of course. Clearly.

We pulled over, leashed up the pups and went to find The Corner. It wasn't hard to find. After Fred posed for his obligatory picture, we began to wander and stumbled across none other than the 15th Annual Standin' on a Corner Festival. What are the chances?!

So we found a vendor selling Navajo Tacos on Fry Bread, wandered back to the car and had our lunch. As we sat in the sun, noshing this new kind of taco, I looked around and thought about Chris' words from earlier. I ruminated on unexpected beauty, I looked down at my pizza-shaped taco loaded with meat, cheese, tomatoes, green onion, lettuce and salsa with the fry bread confidently glistening with hot oil, I relished the love of Fred and our dogs on this singular adventure. I then looked up and saw a bird fly over (how amazing would it have been if it was an eagle?).

Take it easy? No problem.

And just think, only fort-eight hours prior we were watching the City of Angels disappear in our rear view mirror.

Navajo Fry Bread
(recipe adapted from The Pioneer Woman)

Makes 6 breads

Ingredients

3 cups All-purpose Flour

1/2 teaspoon Salt

3 teaspoons Baking Powder (slightly Rounded Teaspoons)

3/4 cups Milk

 Water As Needed To Get Dough To Come Together

 Vegetable Shortening Or Lard For Frying

Directions

Stir together flour, baking powder, and salt in a medium bowl. Stir with a fork as you pour in the milk; keep stirring for a bit to get it to come together as much as possible. Add just enough water (about 1/4 to 1/2 cup) to get it to come together. Cover the bowl with a dish towel and let it sit for 35 to 45 minutes to rest.

When you're ready to make the fry bread, heat about 1 to 2 inches shortening/lard in a large skillet over medium-high heat. Grab a plum-sized piece of dough (or larger if you want larger fry bread) and press it into a circle with your fingers: place it on a clean surface and begin pressing in the center and work your way out, stretching it as you go.

When the circle is about 4 to 7 inches (however big you want it) carefully drape it into the skillet. Allow it to fry on one side until golden brown, about 1 minute, then carefully flip it to the other side using tongs. Fry it for another 30 to 45 seconds.

Remove the fry bread to a paper towel-lined plate and allow it to drain while you fry the other pieces.

Serve warm!

Printable recipe.

One year ago: Ham Hock & Lima Beans

Two years ago: Chocolate Sea-Salt Pie

Three years ago: Chicks with Knives at Test Kitchen, 2010

Four years ago: The Marked 5 Truck

It's like, a heat wave.

My word. June strutted out with a lasting impression. We've got a full-on heatwave out West. It's that kind of heat, that muggy, oppressive heat that crosses over into kind of sexy. I mean, you just can't help it if it's so hot that you must walk, or rather, sashay, around in nothing but a slip and and something cool to drink in a glass beaded with sweat. You may even have to put said glass up to your forehead or the side of your neck to further assist in cooling off. I'm just saying...

Or you could grab your bathing suit, an exceptionally cute looking, breezy throw over, and call your friends with a pool. Then you are able to do all of the above, but while sporting a bikini under an exceptionally cute looking, breezy throw over in lieu of the slip, and actually be cool – while acting sultry.

And so, yesterday, that is exactly what Fred and I did. The only thing is, unlike Fred - and most people - I don't really care much for pools. Unless they are about as hot as a bath would be. And I also realized that it had actually been a couple of years (three) since I had put on a bikini. But, I figured, it was that hot and I would be spending the afternoon with good friends - very good, old friends. So I threw the bikini and my impossibly perfect and exceptionally cute looking, breezy throw over into a canvas bag, grabbed my just-so worn-in, flouncy straw hat, and my fancy sunglasses and hopped in the car with Fred to head over to Kisma and Jonathan's place for a beat-the-heat poolside, backyard picnic.

The backyard picnic is great, as it can be as ornate or pared down as you want it to be. Why? Because a kitchen is right there. You don't have to pack cleverly or concisely. Fitting everything into a basket or back pack is a non-issue. And another fun possibility with a backyard picnic: games! Backgammon, chess, croquet, volleyball, Yahtzee, water polo... if you have the game, you can play the game. But all the fun picnicy parts are all in place: blanket, lots of snackies and noshables, any number of drinks (even the adult variety) and, of course, the flies. It seems no picnic would feel like much of a picnic without flies, ants or mosquitos, so just man up and deal with it.

After a quick dip in the pool, some laughter while recalling the debacle that was the end of my birthday last week over a glass of wine, and oogling and googling with their baby, Jones, we all got into our various places in the kitchen and grill to begin cooking, slicing and assembling everything for our picnic. We had a cheese and charcuterie plate with rosemary crisps, some homemade pickles, roasted almonds, cornichons, an orzo salad with fresh veggies and herbs from the garden, blanched and chilled haricot verts with minced garlic, lemon and purple basil flowers, grilled bratwurst with lavender and thyme sauerkraut and brown mustard, grilled haloumi, celery stalks and homemade bleu cheese dressing for dipping, fresh strawberries and blueberries with candied ginger, a couple of watermelon and lime water cocktails and some chilled wine. But what ended up being the star of this glorious spread was actually all Fred's. He has made this dish a handful of times, now with much success: grilled then marinated Summer vegetables over grilled rustic bread topped with burrata. It can be a snack, it can be an appetizer or it can be lunch. It's fresh, seasonal, robust, bright, and has a medley of shapes, colors, flavors and textures. You can use whatever veggies you happen to have at a given time, making it versatile, fairly easy and extraordinarily delicious.

After our massive festival of grazing food and sipping drinks, we all jumped back in the pool for another cool down before some more lounging in the grass, a little more grazing and another glass of so and so. Next thing we knew it it was seven o'clock. You have to love these long, Summer days.

And so, with the end of June comes the end of our picnic posts (for this year, anyway). And I can think of nothing more perfect with which to close out a month of picnic ideas that this recipe for Fred's grilled, marinated veggies. And, likewise, I can think of no recipe more perfect which which to usher in July.  

P.S. Thanks to Kisma and Jonathan for hosting this picnic and Kisma for styling the shoot!

Grilled, Marinated Summer Vegetables over Rustic Toast with Burrata

Serves 6

3 summer squash or zucchini (about 1 lb.), sliced on a diagonal 1/2" thick

3 red, orange or yellow bell peppers, cut into 1" strips

1 bunch of asparagus, trimmed

4 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil, divided

Kosher salt & freshly ground pepper

2 garlic cloves

2 tablespoons Sherry or red wine vinegar
1 small shallot, minced

4 sprigs oregano

1 loaf of rustic bread, sliced into large chunks and brushed with oilve oil, lightly grilled or toasted.

1 lb. burrata

Place squash, pepper and asparagus in a large bowl with 1/2 tablespoon olive oil, salt & pepper and toss to coat. Spread out in a single layer on grill, turning peppers skin side up.

Roast until tender, turning squash once, about 15-20 minutes. Let cool slightly; remove skins from peppers.

Whisk garlic, shallot, vinegar and remaining olive oil in a large bowl; season with salt & pepper. Add vegetables and oregano; toss to coat. Cover and let sit at least an hour.

Portion burrata evenly onto slabs of grilled bread and top with marinated vegetables.

Printable recipe.

One year ago: Sausage, Egg & Fontina Cheese Pizza

Two years ago: Yerp: Part 4 - Les Sentiers Gourmands

Three years ago: Rustic Cherry Tart with Almond Ice Cream

Back to the Future

Prohibition Era Vibe Meets Post Modern Cuisine at Belmont Food Shop

I was back in my old stomping grounds last week. Spring in Richmond is breathtaking. Dogwoods, daffodils, azaleas, and zillions of tiny inchworms falling from the sky onto everything. Falling onto everything. That was a new one for me. I thought they were sort of cute and endearing and the whole thing seemed very biblical, or like the end of Magnolia, but with inchworms not frogs. Then I Googled 'inchworm' and changed my tune. Take a macro look at one of those bad boys and then see how cute one is inching its way up your sleeve. But still, Fred was way girlier about it than I was.

On our first night in town, my dad booked reservations (for three, of course) at the Belmont Food Shop. From my research in the world of social media, and hungrily reading everything food and drink related coming out of Richmond Magazine and Style Weekly, and whatever else I could get my eyeballs on months in advance, this was the restaurant I was most anticipating. Plus it is smack dab in my old neighborhood, literally one block from Dad's house. And since our flight had just arrived a few hours prior, it seemed perfect to be able to walk to and from dinner on a beautiful, warm evening.

Well, first off, this place is precious. Richmond has and always has had the market cornered on charming, intimate bistro environments, but this one takes the cake. A ye olde, prohibition-era looking cake that houses a mere five tables. And a sweet little bar with a handful of seats. At the sweet little bar a sweet little mixologizing is going on – with house made sodas. Just opened this past September; owner-chef Mike Yavorsky has created an enchanting atmosphere.

A few non-palate related things I like a lot about Belmont Food Shop:

They have three seatings each night – five o'clock, seven o'clock and nine o'clock. Simple. Makes sense. Everyone can own their table for two solid hours. And whomever deals with the reservations has a pretty straightforward system to work with.

The seasonal chalkboard menu's pricing is structured very intelligently – appetizers are $8, entrees are $20 and desserts are $6 (there are a few exceptions here and there (like foie gras(!))). And there is also the crowning glory of an option: the prix fixe. $36 will get you all three-courses plus a glass of wine, or one of those house-made sodas, or a beer. This pricing structure forces the diner to select what they really want to eat, not based on the dollar amount. 

As we sipped our bubbles/martini/artisanal cocktail, an amuse bouche, of sorts, appeared: a trio of gougéres. My dad will not put a bite of food into his mouth during martini o'clock. He will not do it. So Fred and I ate ours and his. They were a lovely touch, a beautiful, ephemeral texture, but a skoch under seasoned and/or under cheesed.

They boast a confident selection of Virginia wines that I was very curious to try. Dad wanted a Pinot Noir. The bartender let us taste the Virginia malbec which Dad quite liked, so we ordered a bottle. That's when he realized he thought he was tasting the Pinot Noir. I felt like we pulled the old smell the apple bite the onion trick from science class. And hopefully it opened up my dad's eyes a little about his wine options.

We started with the Crab and Avocado with Orange Gelée and Black Pepper, the Duck Confit with Orange and Fennel and the Foie Gras with Sally Lunn and Rhubarb Chutney. When our server arrived with our starters I was slightly surprised by the plating. And the plates. I was expecting modest, confident, simple, almost rustic looking food, but was presented with the whole small food, big plate thing. With lots of smears, droplets, and tweezer-placed elements. I was expecting far less composed dishes. I guess I'm just a little bit over that food aesthetic.

Coming from California, which now has the foie gras ban, I was elated to look down at that plate of foie. I found it so, so very, very clever that he made it Southern with the Sally Lunn roll, and I also appreciated the play on the varying levels of pedestrian and fancy pants by having them on the plate together. My dad was so pleased with the crab and avocado that Fred and I barely got our tastes in. It was bright, cool, colorful and refreshing. The confit came at us in salad form, and admittedly, we pretty much cherry picked the rich, succulent shreds of duck meat out and left the greens behind. And the dollops. There were dollops artfully dolloped across the plate reminiscent of a Man Ray photograph. Chestnut, perhaps?

Next up came Tuckahoe Veal with Bok Choy and White Beans. This was like a giant veal steak, and it had been thoughtfully braised for some generous amount of time. My dad was very impressed and said, more than once, that he had never had veal prepared in that style before. Fred's order of Seared Scallops with Peas, Mushrooms and Parsnips was simply beautiful. The colors were so saturated and lustrous it hardly looked real. This was an inspired dish with bold flavors and topped with beautifully, carmelizey-browned-to-a-crisp-on-the-outside, scallops. Me, I ordered the Chicken with Mushrooms, Greens & Fingerlings. I almost always order the chicken when dining out. It's my litmus test. Some folks think it's the throwaway dish. I think it can be the star. And my reasoning is, if the chef pays as much attention to the chicken as the more, shall we say, elevated dishes, then you'll end up eating some of the best chicken you've ever had. My chicken tastedgood. The skin was crisp and seasoned well. It was white meat, which is not my favorite, and was a little overcooked. I found myself taking each bite and dredging it through the pan sauce to bring some moisture back into the meat.

The service was attentive and kind, the food came out at a nice, leisurely pace, allowing us to really enjoy and savor those two hours during which the little table by the window was ours, all ours.

Chef Yavorsky clearly has a way with food. It's obvious he is putting forth a great deal of effort and thought into what he is serving. The space is beautiful, the cocktails are solid, the pricing is smart, the food is nice and I dig the wine list. I personally look forward to walking in again, bellying up to the bar, sampling the wines by the glass and having a couple of small plates.

One year ago: Zebra Tomato, Pistou Basil & Burrata Crostini

Two years ago: Classic Tuna Salad

Three years ago: Orzo Salad with Tomatoes, Feta, Spinach & Mint