Thanks and Giving.

Thanksgiving has come and gone for 2012. This one was probably one of the best in my (not so great) memory. It wasn’t huge and crazy, and it wasn’t teeny tiny, but it maintained both social and intimate qualities, friends and family. I didn’t go too far overboard with the menu (some may argue that), but there was still enough for the all-important turkey sandwich fixins leftover. Most importantly, I was - and still am - quite cognisant of all that I am thankful for. During the toast, I looked over the room - the beautiful, beautiful room, filled with some of my favorite people in the world, filled with wonderful food and wine, our dogs, a fire in the fireplace - and tears welled up in my eyes. I was warm with love and happiness. And a calm that I rarely experience.

Of course there were minor dramas. Of course some people wouldn’t or couldn’t eat or drink certain things on the menu. Of course there was that frenetic energy in the kitchen right as all of the food was coming out to the table. Of course some people didn’t want to be seated next to certain guests and there was also that mysterious adjustment to the seating chart. Of course there was a monumental mess to clean up. 

Of course, of course, of course. 

But then there also were these moments: The moment Maggie showed up, before she began to decorate and turn the living room into a dining room - we both plopped down and took a breath to reflect on our previous Thanksgivings together and toast with a glass of sparkles. The moment Fred made me take just thirty seconds of time to dance with him in the hallway before we went to sit down at the table to eat. The moment I looked across the table, all decked out in my grandma Janie's ruby china, and felt so proud. The moment my mom was so into our game of charades that she was excitedly shrieking her guesses for both teams. The moment Nadia traded her five-inch black Gucci heels for my knitted socks and Crocs to go on an after dinner hike with the gang. The moment we all sat down in the den, after the meal, after charades and after the hike, to bask in the pleasure of a wonderful day and finish it off with Home For the Holidays and one more glass of lambrusco.

The turkey, the stuffing, the potatoes, the gravy, the pie - yes, they were present and delicious. But what I will remember about this Thanksgiving, what stands out from the turkey, the potatoes, the gravy and the pie, are those moments shared with those people. And that can never be duplicated. Not the moments.

And for that, for what we all gave one another, I am so very thankful.

*In addition to the very traditional menu we served this past Thanksgiving, there were a couple wild cards in there. A couple of dishes where I felt the urge to flex a bit. Usually this comes in the form of a soup. And though I heard a little hemming and hawing about this soup being on the menu, and how it would make everyone too full to truly appreciate the presumed star of the meal, the turkey, I made it anyway. As we all began to eat something pretty awesome happened: I immediately got three or four shouts from the other end of the table about how amazing the soup was. And the praise kept coming. Go figure.

I’ve already got the Christmas menu pretty much planned. The soup for that one will be an oyster stew, but this chestnut soup would be just perfect for your Christmas dinner.

Chestnut, Celery & Apple Soup with Sage Oil

Makes 6 to 8 servings

3 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil

1 medium onion, peeled, trimmed and thinly sliced

1 shallot, peeled, trimmed and thinly sliced

3 small McIntosh apples, peeled, cored and cut into 1/2-inch cubes

4 celery stalks, chopped

1 bay leaf

1 sprig thyme

Pinch of freshly grated nutmeg

Salt and freshly ground white pepper

3/4 pound peeled fresh chestnuts (from about 1 1/4 pounds chestnuts in the shell) or dry-packed bottled or vacuum-sealed peeled chestnuts

2 quarts chicken stock 

1/2 cup heavy cream

2 tablespoons of cream sherry

8-12 fried sage leaves

2-4 tablespoons sage oil

Heat the oil in a stockpot or large casserole over medium heat.  Add the onion, shallot, apples, celery, bay leaf, thyme, nutmeg and salt and pepper to taste and cook, stirring occasionally, for about 10 minutes, or until the onions and leeks are soft but not colored.  Add the chestnuts and chicken stock and bring to the boil.  Lower the heat to a simmer and cook, skimming the surface regularly, for 35 to 40 minutes, or until the chestnuts can be mashed easily with a fork.  Add the heavy cream and sherry and simmer for 5 to 10 minutes more, then remove from the heat and discard the bay leaf and thyme.

Puree the soup until smooth using a blender or a food processor, and working in batches if necessary, then pass it through a fine-mesh strainer.  You should have about 2 quarts soup.  If you have more, or if you think the soup is too thin -- it should have the consistency of a veloute or light cream soup - simmer it over medium heat until slightly thickened.  Taste and, if necessary, adjust the seasoning.  (The soup can be cooled completely and stored in a covered container in the refrigerator for 3 to 4 days or frozen for up to one month.  Bring the soup to a boil before serving.)

Serve topped with a couple of fried sage leaves and a drizzle of sage oil.

Printable recipe.

One year ago: Divinia's Tea Sandwiches

Two years ago: Sausage over Creamy Lentils

Three years ago: Bouchon Beverly Hills

Being Sweet But Craving Savory

I’m not sure why, but I have been baking like crazy lately. And I don’t mean biscuits or chicken – I’ve been baking dessert-appropriate stuffs. I’ve been home a lot in the past week. Maybe it’s that. I’ve been trying not to go out and spend money. Maybe it’s that. Fred’s out of town. Could be that. I have also had a windfall of all-things-citrus growing in my canyon. So much so that I don’t know what to do with it all – and y’all know how I hate to waste a thing. Oh, and I have recently just reorganized the kitchen and discovered all sorts of baking-related tools I had forgotten that I had. I guess I thought it would be fun to put them to use – finally.

So I guess I’ve answered my own question as to why I’ve been on the baking jag.

Let’s see, I think it started with apple crumble muffins last week. I noticed Maggie had some apples in the crisper of the fridge that had gone unnoticed for some time and, I felt, were in dire need of saving. They turned out okay – or so I heard. I don’t eat the cooked fruit, so I didn’t have one. But I heard they were nice and moist.

Then I deigned to make my Mom’s lavender cupcakes. I have always loved them. The Portsmouth icing is so sweet and decadent it hurts my teeth (in a good way). That sweetness coupled with the cupcake’s simple, clean lavender-ness work really nicely together. I think. I gave most of those away, too, but I had a few bites here and there. They were delicious, if, perhaps not the most beautiful cupcakes I had ever seen.

Then Maggie and I teamed up to make an orange cake. I worked the cake part whilst Maggie worked the fruit part. It turned out all right but not great. We both thought it was a bit dry, but were confident we could get it right next time ‘round. It sure was pretty, though. And we had loads of fun doing it together.

Then a couple days after that I found a recipe for a grapefruit pound cake that I had to try. No, grapefruit was not growing in my hood, so I did have to do a little shopping for this one. I’d say this was my biggest success to date. The cake came out perfectly and it looked beautiful. Maggie, who had tasted everything thus far, agreed. In fact, I do believe she’s had at least three pieces already today.

Then today, I stumbled upon a recipe for orange-walnut cake. I had some black walnuts from the salad course of the last Dinner at Eight, and clearly I have oranges. Done. But when I needed to grease the cake pan, I remembered Maggie had left it in her car. And she wasn’t home. So orange-walnut muffins it was. I think these guys turned out pretty great. I would do a thing or two differently next time, but I’m not awesome at riffing in the baking department yet and the cake-to-muffin switcharoo at the last minute threw me for a loop. I made so many that I made Maggie take two thirds of them to work with her to share.

I’ve been baking something new practically every day for the past week. And nothing has been too shabby either. That makes me feel pretty good about my kitchen prowess.

But what’s ironic is that I haven’t been eating any of the stuff I’ve been baking. I’ve just been baking to bake.

But you know what I’ve been craving to eat? Oysters. I mean, I always crave oysters, so that’s no shocker. But about six months ago I discovered the bliss that is the Grilled Oyster. I was at Salt’s Cure. Ever since, I order them each time they are on the menu and ooh and ahh before and after every single bite. They are just barely cooked, you see. They still maintain their raw-ness, but not in essence. They are warm and they embody a sultry smokiness.  Grilling oysters over high heat really just saves you the trouble of shucking them first, since the intense heat forces the shells open on their own. They are nothing short of magic, I tell you.

Then, about a month ago, Fred took me to his family cabin in Inverness for a weekend. I loved it there. Everything about it. But one of the most amazing things that we did was buy a couple dozen fresh oysters from a guy with a stand between our road and the water. We then went back to the house and, though it was rainy and blustery - and now dark - Fred lit the charcoal grill out on the patio. While the coals got going we whipped up a salty, garlicky, lemony, buttery sauce. He put that on the grill in a little saucepan to keep it warm and, as each oyster popped open to tell us it was ready, he yanked it off the grill, forked it out of its shell, dunked it in the butter sauce and popped them into one of our mouths. It was so cold out that steam came out from our faces as we slurped away.

All of this with champagne, mind you.

Afterward, we went inside and built a fire.

I loved it there.

Hell, I guess I do miss Fred.

So, although you probably thought I was going to share with you a recipe from one of my baking adventures, I am really here to help you to have grilled oyster night all on your own. Just don’t forget the champagne.

Grilled Oysters with Garlicky, Lemony, Buttery Sauce

Serves 2

INGREDIENTS

12 fresh oysters

2 cloves garlic, finely minced

3 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil

3 tablespoons unsalted butter

1 tablespoon Meyer lemon juice

1/2 teaspoon chili pepper flakes (or substitute with dashes of Tabasco)

1/4 teaspoon salt

cracked black pepper to taste

1 tablespoon finely minced parsley

DIRECTIONS

Heat a small sauce pan over medium-low heat. When hot, add the olive oil and the butter. Add the garlic and saute until fragrant, about 30 seconds. Add the lemon juice, chili pepper flakes, salt, pepper and parsley. Turn off heat.

Scrub oysters under running water; discard any that are open and do not close within a few seconds.

If you can find large, fat oysters, you can place the oysters directly on the grill grates. It's best to wear long, sturdy BBQ gloves so you can handle the oysters by hand instead of using tongs, spoons or spatula. However, if the oysters are small and flat, you'll run the risk of spilling its valuable, flavorful juices as well as the garlic-butter sauce.

Put oysters flat side-up directly on the grill when coals are pure white hot.

Remove with tongs when shells begin to open, about 5 minutes.

If you are a good shuck:
Shuck the oysters, spoon a little sauce in each oyster. Place oysters on a very hot, preheated grill, cover and cook for 5-6 minutes or until the edges of oysters curl slightly.

If you are a bad shuck:
Place the oysters, cup side up on a very hot, preheated grill, cover and cook for 1 minute. The oysters should now be slightly open. Quickly remove the oysters. Hold an oyster with an oven mitt and use a shucking knife (or a clean screwdriver if you don't have one) to pry open the oyster. It should easily open. Spoon sauce into each oyster and return oysters to the grill. Cover and grill 4-5 minutes.

Printable recipe

One year ago: I Left My Heart in San Fran-Cheesy; Part 2
Two years ago: She-Crab Soup with Avocado-Crème Fraiche Puree
Four years ago: Yang Chow

Yerp: Part 1 (of many).

May 11 & 12, 2011

I’m doing this. I’m on the plane. I’m running on three hours of (wine-induced) sleep, two Xanax, a quarter of a bottle of water, and three quarters of a cup of coffee from the La Brea Bakery stand next to airport terminal 21. I’m listening to Explosions in the Sky and I’m pretty loopy. Loopy in the good, euphoric way.

It was a stressful stretch from waking up this morning up until this point. I fell asleep irritated about something tremendously trivial, woke up fifteen minutes after I was supposed to have walked out the front door, endured the cacophony of my disco car’s sounds during the teeth grinding ride to the airport, all after those tiny three hours of sleep. I have about twenty-four hours of travel to work through before I arrive where I’m going and I look like hell in a hand basket (whatever that means). But now I’m here. Here, at this point. On my way. On my way to vacation. My European vacation.

Against all odds I feel pretty good.

My mission for this here vacation:

Read.

Take naps (gasp!).

Drink wine.

Eat.

Write about it.

Take pictures.

Go to markets and purchase food stuffs I have never seen or prepared before.

Cook said food stuffs.

Wander.

Drink wine.

Eat.

Read.

Write about it.

Sounds pretty reasonable to me.

  

I have made it to Munich at this point. I have the final stretch in front of me: the brief flight from here to Barcelona. And then there’s the two-hour drive from Barcelona to Armissan, France. 

I awoke at five this morning. By the time I arrive at my final destination it will be after six in the morning on LA time. Twenty-four hours. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, this is why God invented Xanax.

And that was the first, last and only thing I actually wrote on my trip. My ten (10) day trip in the south of France and Barcelona. My trip to Yerp. 

Until today.

So, yes. After three years I took myself a vacation. Emma and I (via Los Angeles) were to meet Dad and his girlfriend, Dale (via Richmond, VA) in the Barcelona airport to then drive immediately to Armissan, a small town in the south of France, to meet Chris and his dad (and a host of other characters which will all be introduced soon enough) in time for a big welcome dinner at the house where we were staying.

The drive was a blur. A champagne-filled blur.

But we made it just in the nick of time. There everyone was, at the dining table of Midge and Jean-Jacques, our gracious hosts. With the addition of us four, I believe we made the group around twelve. Dinner was grand. We had lamb tagine, rice, asparagus, a salad from the garden and fresh strawberries and cheeses for dessert. It was a blur. A champagne, food and winewinewine-filled grand blur.

I believe Emma and I capped off this evening with a bottle or two more bottles of wine while laying in our beds, sighing, giggling, and taking stock of the last few hours, the whirlwind, of our adventure. 

I made it. I'm on vacation.

Stay tuned...

Salt's Cure: The Little Kitchen That Could (And Does) - Parts 1 & 2

Part 1:

I am a saltaholic. I always crave salty over sweet. I salt everything. I carry my own salt in my bag so I don’t feel like a jerk asking for it in most restaurants. Almost no one can share my popcorn at the movies because of the almost comical abundance of the stuff.

I also like snackables. I love to graze. So you can imagine my delight upon hearing about the opening of Salt’s Cure this past August. Owners, Chris Phelps and Zak Walters, formerly of Hungry Cat, have created a simple, neighborhood café with a simple menu concentrating – but not limited to -  local, in-house cured meats, pates, rilletes, terrines and an assortment of pickled items. They are open for brunch, lunch and dinner, offering a compact and ever rotating menu of smalls to ginormous entrees that upon hitting the palate are anything but simple.

Finally, last Sunday, a mere five months after their opening, I had my first experience at Salt’s Cure over brunch with Brandon and his friend, Jeffrey. Interestingly I had been driving and walking past this building forever and never really noticed it. It’s an old, white garage-y looking space occupying the corner of  Santa Monica and Vista. And their signage is so small (and so very cute: a salt shaker!) that I had doubly missed it. But there Brandon and Jeffrey were, sitting at the table right by the large, almost floor to ceiling front window (not at the bar, sniff).

The room is small, modest, warm and welcoming. There are only a handful of tables and a bar that looks over their little kitchen. I’m guessing they can seat about 35 folks in the whole place (perfect). And always in that kitchen you will be sure to see Chris and/or Zac, cooking away.

Chris P., working away...

After the French press arrived ($5) and my mimosa, served just the way I like it: with one eye droplet of juice ($9), all three of us ordered the same thing for brunch that day. And how could one not? The 2X2X2 – bases loaded - two eggs; sunny side up, two homemade sausage patties (lamb when we went), a biscuit and two slices of thick-cut beef bacon, a ramekin of fresh plum preserves, and a couple of chunks of heirloom tomatoes in a bit of oil and vinegar ($13). We also ordered a plate of roasted potatoes for the table ($4). 

Delicious. Fantastic. Titanic in flavor. This was a perfect plate of brunch-ness. Even the tomatoes were reminiscent of the Hanover variety I vividly remember from Virginia – unparalleled. The biscuit was delicate and creamy, the eggs (Schaner Farms) were bold and nutty with a beautifully bright orange yolk, the house-made sausage was rustic and fresh, and the bacon… oh the bacon. *Swoon*. The potatoes were nice, but not as crunchy, smushy, crazy as I usually prefer them. I loved that they used a medley of different types yellow, red and purple. I will say that the caramelized onions accompanying those potatoes were outstanding. Brandon kept going on about them while spooning little bites of them onto my plate.

Plus, looking around the room, I kept thinking to myself (and saying aloud to Brandon and Jeffrey) that, not only the staff and owners (cute, cute, cute), but the clientele, all looked like my kind-of peoples. The ones who go to the farmer’s markets, the ones who read, the creative ones, the ones with genuinely slightly mussed hair (not cultivated), and big, kooky accessories (or none at all). I felt at home and knew it would be a very short time before my return.

Part 2: 

Less than a week ago, last Friday night, I met my friend Emma back at Salt's Cure at 7pm (told you so!) for dinner before she was meeting a first date at 10pm. And when I said this place was welcoming earlier, I was not just whistling Dixie. Zac literally opened the door for me when I arrived. He did the same for Emma and every other customer that night.

This go ‘round, I had my druthers and sat at the bar. Luckily, we secured my favorite two seats at any bar: the corner. Zac was to the left of me, greeting folks, quality control and whatnot and Chris was right in front of me, cooking epic portions of red meat. The room was warm and lively and smelled delicious. I was happy. I started everything off with a glass of champagne and Emma, a glass of sauvignon blanc.

While we caught up, we decided to order some cheese. Our server helpfully informed us that the cheese selection ranged from soft to hard (insert joke here (which I did that night)). The cheeses are $5 each or $13 for three. We ordered three: the Red Hawk (cow), the Winchester Sharp Gouda (cow) and the Pepato (sheep). The plate was served with some candied pecans, honey and a pair of oat biscuits. I was hesitant to order the gouda because I thought it would be too pedestrian. It was anything but. All of our cheeses were sublime, actually. This was followed by a plate of the pork shoulder ($8) served with walnuts and large, flat-leaf parsley, lightly blotted with a delicate olive oil. The meat was chiffony, tender, and almost melted on one’s tongue. I could have eaten mounds of it (I guess I did eat a mound of it).

This was around when Emma and I (round two or three on our glasses of wine) started obsessing about the enormous slabs of meat Chris was working on the grill. And Emma really started fixating on the Pork Shoulder-n-Beans ($18). Every time she saw it being plated (just about under her nose) she would squeal with delight about how amazing it looked and smelled. Then the two men seated next to us were served one of the gargantuan steaks ($62, serves two people). I asked if I could take a picture – they obliged – and we all ended up tasting each other’s food (the chocolate cake bite I had was outstanding) and laughing and chatting for a while: reason 2849606 I like to sit at bars.

Then Emma decided she had to have the pickle plate ($5) with foie gras pudding ($18) and grey snapper. Don’t get me wrong, no one was twisting my arm either. That foie gras was so light and airy and delicate, it was like a foie gras cloud. I actually screwed the lid back on to save it to take home and, of course, forgot and left it there (wine + karma = sucks). Emma was so blown away by the pickled onions, she ordered another plate of them (good move prior to a first date). It was all beautiful, elegant, yet bucolic. 

 

And then, Emma looked down in front of her, and lo and behold, Chris had placed a half plate of the Pork -n-Beans there, just for her! He had overheard her oohing and ahhing all night (how could one not), and obliged her with a treat of treats.

And this treat, my good people, was dazzling. Emma asked for a knife but immediately realized that it was unnecessary: this meat literally fell off the bone. It was simply prepared yet clearly tended to and thought about for hours and hours, if not days. As Emma was (still) going on about the dish, she offered a bite to the gentleman sitting to the right of her – he partook. Turned out he works there!

Oh, those crazy kitchen guys…

Listen – don’t let anyone tell you otherwise, this spot is so much, and then so much more. I hope they don’t get sick of me, because my eatin'-drinkin' self plan to make me part of the atmosphere more often than not.

33. The Ludo Truck at Domaine LA’s First Tasting

You know I love Sundays. Most recently I had an exceptional one. And one that involved a lot of decadence and, in varying ways, a lot of food truckness. It all began early on in the day when Maggie and I realized that the final episode of The Great Food Truck Race would be airing later that night and that they would be marathoning the season throughout the day. We had only seen the first episode and kind of forgot to keep up – so, DVR: set. Woo hoo!

12:30pm – Watching episode 2 of The Great Food Truck Race. Getting excited about food trucks, in general. Even more excited about Ludo Truck being at Domaine LA’s first wine tasting in a mere hour and a half.

1:30pm – Hell. Wanting to watch more food truckery, as the television is quite addictive, but must hustle to Domaine LA for tasting and Ludo’s truck chicken.

The scene in Domaine LA: sipping, crunching and mingling.

2pm – At Domaine LA. Right on time. Chris, Maggie and I all have our first glass of bubbly. This was a 2008 Francois Pinon Vouvray, Non-Dosé, Methode Champenoise Chenin Blanc. This was to be my favorite of the three. I actually bought a bottle to take home at the end of the affair.

2:45pm – Second tasting while keeping an ever watchful eye on the line situation out at Ludo Truck. Looks okay. Doable. Currently tasting the 2009 La Grange Tiphaine Rosé Rosa Rosam, Pet'Nat Blend of Cabernet Franc, Gamay, Grolleau, Cot (aka Malbec). Hmm. This one is not as much my style. Billed as dry read as jammy to me. I think this was Chris’ favorite, however.

3:15pm – Last pour. Number three: 2009 Vigneto Saetti Lambrusco Salamino di S.Croce. We really got bigger and bigger throughout our journey in bubbles. This one was downright esoteric. It dares you. It begins so tart you pucker, but later becomes round and soft.

Check out Jill’s words on these wines here.

3:30pm – Ludo Truck O’ Clock. The line was short. The shortest it had been all day. Go time! Oh, and did I mention that, as Maggie and I were among the first 20 people to purchase tickets to the tasting, we received little coupons that entitled us to a FREE 2-piece chicken meal with a side from Ludo-land? Yes. That mere $12 gave us three champagnes and full tummies. Jealous much?

Okay, now. Time to chat about chicken.

As you know, I’ve tasted Ludo’s fried chicken one time prior to this banner day. At the Foundry, with Eric Greenspan. I loved it. And really, today was no different. I still loved it. 

 

 

A great thing about having Maggie and Chris with me: we were able to order everything off the (already small and precise) menu. I went for a Provencal Pepitte: Juicy boneless chicken balls prepared over three days. Infused with rosemary and herbs de provence and a Chicken Strip: white meat, chicken breast strip. These both were complimented with the Piquillo pepper sauce and served with a side of Ludo Slaw: A freshly hand-sliced concoction of savoy cabbage, celery, red onion, chives, and Italian parsley leaves dressed to the nines with a jalapeño kick.

 

 

Note the moist towelettes! 

 

Both Maggie and Chris also ordered the Honey-Glazed Garlic Wings and Perfect Fries (hand-peeled and hand-cut). Maggie freaked out over those fries. In fact, I believe she said, “Upon reading the menu claiming “Perfect Fries” I was skeptical. But I would have to agree that they accomplished a pretty perfect marriage between a kettle cooked potato chip and French fry. No grease. All crunch!” 

 

 

I thought my chicken strip was just fine; clean, crunchy, succinct, if not extraordinarily exciting. I had ordered the Piquillo pepper sauce on the salesgirl’s suggestion, but I really wished I had the Béarnaise sauce for that one. But let me tell you about that Provencal Pepitte… Holy delicious! It was like all of Thanksgiving wrapped up in a little ball. It didn’t need any sauce and every element, flavor and texture just danced together brilliantly. Chris thought, “The wing was the best (and the messiest).  Delicious marinade.  I was not the only one licking my fingers after this one. No sauce needed at all." And we all loved that slaw. It was inspired and had a surprising zing to it. Cut through all the fried-ness of everything else.

 

Kudos to Ludo! (I felt I had to do that.)

 

Tipsy with lovely bubbles and full of yummy deliciousness. Sigh.

 

And the icing on our perfect Sunday, you ask? We then headed home to re-boot and watch all of The Great Food Truck Race episodes. Then we were off to a bar on Hollywood Boulevard to watch the live airing of the season finale with the posses from both Grill ‘Em All Truck and Nom Nom Truck! I congratulate both finalists for a race well played. It was also a proud moment for our fair city and our awesome truckitude.

 

And then there was sleep.