The First Seduction

I've noticed that lots of people (especially, ahem, older folks) really love to talk about the weather. What it was like a few days ago, the upcoming forecast, and the current moment's temperature - sky, light, precipitation or lack thereof - are all equally consequential. Perhaps I have noticed this more acutely after spending over a decade in a mostly sunny and 75 degree arid region. But LA does have its seasons. They come in hints, little seductions: the Santa Ana winds in the fall, the rains in the winter, the return of the bright blue sky in the spring followed by the June Gloom and the smog in the summer. There, I was a dog walker– out in the elements every day, and still it was rather pointless to check up on the forecast to figure out whether stockpiling was in order or making sure I had the right 'gear.' With the exception of the annual week long rainy season in February, a hoodie and a light scarf would always suffice.

Back in Southern California, with bounty and sunshine available all year long, I never gave a second thought to sharing a story and a recipe about my patio garden, fresh tomatoesor an anecdote about traipsing around by the beach. In March.

But my how the winds have changed. I haven't seen green grass or fresh tomatoes in months, I've spent the least amount of time necessary outside in the elements bundled up in a strata of fabrics with only my watery eyeballs exposed. The closest thing to any beach-like elements involved the salt stuck on my boots from being poured over the sidewalk after shoveling the snow from the front of our house. The trees have been bare and the sky grey.

Until a few days ago.

A few days ago the sun shone brightly and the temperature reached a balmy 70 degrees. And the city came alive – it was pulsing. People were out on their porches, out in the parks, out in the restaurants, out on their bikes, they were everywhere. And though the trees are still bare, and there is no green grass or fresh tomatoes yet, the promise of all of that and more was palpable. Exciting. Because it's a hint of the breathtaking glory, the explosion of Spring (which is downright stupendous here) that is just right around the corner. Even better than a clandestine glimpse between the button of a blouse, it was a major seduction.

And I do love a seduction. A little tease. Probably why I so love the femme fatales from Film Noir. It's all about the want, the suggestion. Once the characters get what they want, it's all downhill. But, given the chance, they would undoubtedly do it again. Just like the four seasons and our responses to each one and the one sneaking up next. Agitated about Winter by the end of Winter, daydreaming about carefree Summer, then agitated about Summer by the end of Summer, daydreaming about cozy Winter. I guess we aren't much different than the duped Walter Neff in Double Indemnity. He knew it was a bad idea, but Barbara Stanwyck's anklet, her seduction, was where his will and determination would lead him, hell or high water.

Speaking of the onset of Spring and of films, one tell-tale event that speaks to both, the Academy Awards, is happening this weekend. And in that very city of subtle seasonal changes, the city of limos and lights, Los Angeles (which, in an interesting twist from the ultimate femme fatale, Mother Nature, is experiencing torrential downpours). Though I was never directly involved in 'the business' during my tenure in LA, nor did I get too, too wrapped up in the glitter and glamour of that which is Hollywood, I have always enjoyed the Oscars. I love a simple little soiree to celebrate the occasion replete with drinks, precious crabby snacks and homemades and, of course, the requisite Oscar ballots for everyone to cast their votes.

So, tomorrow, on my first Oscar night back in Richmond, with my oldest and dearest friends all around me, I will take a peek back into the city I left behind, my City of Angels, glowing bright and beautiful, rain or shine. And I will serve these delicious little sandwiches, which are a twist on the classic Croque Monsieur, which I was first seduced by at the famed Chateau Marmont – easily my single most missed place in all of Tinseltown. That place is magical. Talk about a seduction.

Croques Besito
(recipe adapted from Food & Wine)

Makes 16 bite-sized sandwiches

Ingredients

Sixteen 1 1/2-inch cubes of a rustic loaf of bread (remove all crusts)

4 tablespoons unsalted butter, 2 tablespoons melted

2 tablespoons all-purpose flour

1/3 cup whole milk

4 ounces of Comté or Gruyère cheese, shredded (1 1/2 cups)

1/4 cup finely diced, cooked bacon

Pinch of freshly grated nutmeg

Kosher salt and freshly ground pepper

Finely chopped fresh chives (for garnish)

Directions

Preheat the oven to 375°. Using kitchen scissors, cut a 1/2-inch square from the center of each bread cube; don't cut through the bottom. Discard the squares. In a bowl, toss the hollowed-out bread cubes with the 2 tablespoons of melted butter. Arrange the cubes on a baking sheet and bake for about 8 minutes, until they are lightly toasted.

Increase the oven temperature to 425°. In a small saucepan, melt the remaining 2 tablespoons of butter. Add the flour and cook over moderate heat, whisking, until smooth, about 1 minute. Whisk in the milk until a thick paste forms. Remove from the heat and fold in the cheese and bacon. Season with the nutmeg, salt and pepper. Spoon the cheese filling into the bread cubes. Bake for about 5 minutes, until the cheese is melted.

Top with fresh chives. Serve hot.

Printable Recipe.

One year ago: Classic New England Clam Chowder

Two years ago: Byrd's Fresh Apple Cake

Three years ago: Son of a Gun

Four years ago: The Dogtown Dog Truck

Egg (on) Thy Neighbor

Borrow an egg from my neighbor? Apparently not. My neighbor, Meg, happens to live within spitting distance of my house--yep, right next door, up close.  Perish the thought; I would never , nor have I ever, spit at Meg or her house. I do, however, think Meg has given some thought to spitting at me.

I grew up in a row house, I shared walls in dorms in college and even had a few dorm-mates at certain points, I have lived in a dozen apartments, surrounded on all sides by other apartments, and I have lived in three different houses in my canyon, a whisper's whisper from numerous other houses, and I have never had any real problems with any of these neighbors. When I moved into my current house, my landlord advised me to meet my soon-to-be next door neighbor, Meg. He told me she had some “issues” with the prior tenants.

So I went over and introduced myself. I explained to her that I had a small dog and that, more often than not, other dogs would also be at my house. She told me she had two small dogs as well. She was genuinely pleased that I bothered to come by, introduce myself and explain my situation to her. She even threw a little neighborhood meet and greet at her house when I moved in. Two other women from our block showed up. My dad was with me as he had come out to help me move. They flirted with him.

Meg had told me all about her “issues” with the couple that occupied the house before me. They had two small dogs that barked at all hours. They were swingers and had “wild parties”. The woman had fake breasts, Meg told me. The woman with fake breasts and Meg would yell at each other and apparently the whole neighborhood knew about their rift. Meg took the woman with fake breasts to dog court four (4) times.

Dog Court?

I think she genuinely appreciated the gesture I made by coming to her first, introducing myself and preemptively mentioning the potential animalia at my house. Things were good between us. I used her wi-fi network, she used my printer. Every once in a blue moon she would kindly ask me to keep it down if I was out on the patio super late, with music and company. We were kind and chatty and cordial. Things went on like this for about a year and a half or so.

Then the winds changed.

I’m honestly not entirely sure what happened. I’m really not.  But something sure did. Suddenly she imposed a curfew on Maggie and me. A curfew. We were told that by midnight (each night) we were to be sealed in our house with all noise at a minimum.  If she heard the TV after our midnight curfew, I'd get a phone call or a text message. If I had company, having dinner and drinks out on the patio on a Saturday night, I’d get a text at 12:01am telling me to keep it down. I kept waiting for the citizens' arrest.

Stranger than fiction; I decided to take the kill-her-with-kindness route. So I sent flowers. Every text and email I send to Meg is littered with smiley emoticons (which I, otherwise, never use), exclamation points and phrases like super duper.

Yes, it's exhausting but so much fun in the most perverse of ways. 


Well, it’s Easter and Fred and I wanted to make a special Easter-y brunch. But we were short one egg. What could be more neighborly than to borrow an egg from a neighbor? (I’m such a brat) Of course Meg did not respond to my neighborly request (with a winky face and, like, two exclamation points), so we zipped down to Lindy Grundyto get some eggs and some of their bacon, thick-cut. Brunch was great. I would tweak a few things here and there about our approach to the dish below and the recipe reflects those tweaks.

I’m now considering dropping off one of these beauties on Meg’s doorstep with an Easter card with bunnies and smiley faces all over it. Little baby Jesus would be so proud. He comes back to life today, right?

Happy Easter! And Passover!

Eggs in a Basket with Maple Bacon, Fontina & Chives

Ingredients

Serves 6

3 large russet potatoes, peeled

1/2 stick unsalted butter, melted

Kosher salt and freshly cracked black pepper

Nonstick cooking spray

6 slices bacon, about 2 1/2 ounces, chopped

2 tablespoons sorghum (or maple syrup)

6 eggs

1 cup grated fontina cheese

1 tablespoon chopped fresh chives

Directions

Special equipment: jumbo sized 6-cup muffin tin

Heat the oven to 350 degrees F.

In a food processor fitted with the grater attachment, push chunks of the potato through the chute to grate. Once all the potatoes are grated, put them into a piece of cheesecloth or a clean kitchen towel and squeeze to remove the moisture. Add the potatoes to a large bowl, stir in the melted butter and season well with salt and pepper, to taste.

Spray the muffin tin lightly with nonstick cooking spray. Press the grated potatoes evenly into the muffin cups being sure the potatoes go up the sides and a thin layer and covers the bottom. Bake until the top edges turn light golden brown and the potatoes are cooked through, about 45 minutes.

Meanwhile, in a small bowl toss together the bacon with sorghum (or maple syrup) and a few grinds of freshly ground black pepper. Set aside.

Remove the potatoes from the oven and gently crack an egg into each cup. Bake until the egg whites set but the yolk remains runny, about 6 to 8 minutes.

Remove from the oven and set the oven to broil. Top the eggs with grated cheese and put the maple bacon on another sheet tray. Broil both until cheese melts, and bacon crisps slightly, about 1 minute.

Top the eggs with chives and crispy bacon, sprinkle a little salt & pepper to taste and serve immediately.


Printable recipe.


One year ago: Lamb Chops with Cumin, Cardamom & Lime
Two years ago: The Perfect Steak