Winging It.

Before I begin, I would like to make a bold statement: never again will I have a brilliant writing concept as I'm falling asleep and assume I will recall it the next day. I would like to tell you all right here and now that forever forward I will keep an adorable little notebook and a nice pen on my person at all times. Even in bed. Especially in bed.

That said, I promise this will still be just as great as my brain flower seemed last night, while half asleep and a few glasses of wine down the hatch.

I know this because I want to talk about wings. And, really, who doesn't like wings?

Actually, for the better part of my possible wing-eating adult life, I have been slightly repulsed by them. Wing consumption can appear a little desperate, a little cannibalistic, hands in face, both covered in cloying, sticky sauce, gnawing away at that tiny little bit of meat. I found the meat-to-bone ratio unnerving.

But I've been sheltered. I have not been around wings much. Wings are usually served in bars. To be specific, wings are usually served in bars with beer and sports and boys in baseball hats. And while I am a fan of sports and boys and baseball hats (though not necessarily together), you won't often find me with a beer in my hand. I am a wine drinker through and through. And the bars I just mentioned, often at these bars, when I ask what sort of wine they serve I hear, “Both kinds. Red and white.”

Call it lack of exposure, call it association, but you can clearly see why I'm not a wingophile. But a few, perhaps six or so, years ago, my then boyfriend (who always wore a baseball hat, followed sports (if they were New York teams) and drank beer in the appropriate bars with others like him)) noticed a blurb about wings in an issue of Saveur I was reading. The recipewas the original from the Anchor Bar in Buffalo, New York. He was very into all things New York, being from Jersey himself. And so he tore the page out, shopped for the ingredients, including some ubiquitous and authentic cayenne pepper sauce, and made a batch of Buffalo wings that, to him, tasted like 'home.' I think he may have even smiled.

And you know what? More importantly, I liked them just fine. Even better, I secretly basked in the carnivorous, sloppy-faced, blue cheese dressing soaked process of it all. But I still paired mine with wine. A crisp white, I believe.

He made the wings once or twice more before our relationship ended. Funny thing, when he moved out, I'm almost positive he took that hot sauce-stained-ripped-out magazine page with him - and not a whole lot else.

In the years since, I've had very few wings. Until now.

It's summer, and Fred (who rarely wears baseball hats or goes to bars, but does enjoy his sports) not New York teams, however)) is back in full-on grill mode. And, in addition to all of the steaks, pork tenderloins, salmon, veggies, brick chickens, shisito peppers, and the like, Fred has been grilling wings.  A lot. About five or six times, now. Each time he has riffed and each time he has done something slightly different, be it in the marinade, the dipping sauce or the garnish. But every single time, with my sticky fingers and my smiling face, messy like a five year-old playing in the mud, I look down at my plate of carnage, my mountain of tiny, little chicken bones, and the cloth napkin, so dotted with sauce it resembles a Pollock painting, and exclaim how much I absolutely love wings. With a crisp, white wine, of course. I'm not an animal.

And I always want at least one more.

So, after all of this, I still don't remember what my brilliant, masterpiece brain flower was from last night. But I do remember I was thinking about the concept of 'winging it', and that I thought I had some extraordinary watershed concept with regard to that phrase. And, I suppose since it had dissapeared completely by the time I opened my eyes this morning, in writing this today, I did in fact, 'wing it'.

But I'm still keeping an adorable little notebook and a nice pen next to my bed from now on.

BBQ Buffalo Wings with Avocado-Ranch Dip

Serves 2-6, depending on your appetite.

Wings:

3 pounds chicken wings

Salt

2 Tbsp vegetable oil

Marinade:

1/2 cup unsalted butter

½ cup Frank's Red Hot Original Cayenne Pepper Sauce

2 tablespoons Texas Pete's, Tabasco or hot sauce of your preference

1 teaspoon salt

1 teaspoon brown sugar

1 teaspoon honey

1 teaspoon black pepper

To make the sauce, mix all of the ingredients together in a small pot set over low heat and stir constantly until the butter melts. Once the butter melts, take off heat and whisk the sauce vigorously and set aside. It should remain liquid, but if it starts to solidify, heat it up just enough to melt it, whisking all the time. Never let it boil.

Toss the wings with the vegetable oil and the salt, and arrange in one layer on the grill set over low heat. If you are using charcoal or wood, set your fire on one side of the grill and arrange the wings on the other side, away from the direct heat. You want them to cook slowly. Cover the grill and cook for 30 minutes.

Turn the wings and baste with sauce. Close the grill and cook for another 30 minutes. Repeat the process, painting the wings every 15 minutes or so until the wings are cooked through. Make sure you have a little leftover sauce to toss the wings with at the end. Serve with the avocado-ranch dipping sauce.

Avocado-Ranch Dipping Sauce:

1 ripe avocado, halved and pitted

1/2 cup buttermilk

1/4 cup mayonnaise

1 tablespoon diced red onion

1 tablespoon chopped cilantro

1 clove of garlic

1 teaspoon fresh lime juice

1/2 teaspoon hot sauce (like Tabasco)

1/2 teaspoon sugar

salt & pepper to taste

Place the avocado in a food processor and add hot sauce and lime juice. Set the food processor to puree or high, and puree the avocado for 30 seconds or until it is a smooth paste.

Lift the lid from the food processor and to the avocado add buttermilk, mayonnaise, red onion, cilantro, garlic, sugar, and 1 pinch each of salt and pepper.

Replace the lid on the food processor and pulse the ingredients 5 or 6 times for about 15 seconds each time until all the ingredients are thoroughly combined. It may need a few more pulses if the garlic is not chopped finely enough.

Check the dressing for salt and pepper and adjust if required. You can add a bit more hot sauce at this point as well, if you want it a bit spicier.

Refrigerate until ready to use.

Printable recipe.

Two years ago: Yerp: Part 6. Barthelona (Part 2), THE HAMOVER.

Four years ago: Vichyssoise

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

Girl on Grill.

I feel bad. Maybe you haven’t noticed, or maybe it’s not a big deal, but I feel bad for being kind of absent lately. For the past couple of months a lot of things have been in flux. It’s felt a little bit like a deck of cards tossed up in the air. And some haven’t even hit the ground yet. But everything is all good, mind you. 
You all know Maggie, my dear friend and roommate of two years? She recently moved out. She found a magical, little spot all her own. Don't worry, she didn't go too far. In fact, we have plans to kick back with some wine at her new place tomorrow night.

Alas, you know how it go – Ch-ch-changes.

In the midst of Maggie’s move, my birthday happened. It was a fun one. Fred and I went to Los Olivos (and places surrounding) for the better part of the weekend, explored, went to wine tastings, had a beautiful dinner, and embraced the drive both up and back. I got some beautiful and touching cards and some wonderful gifts. Surprisingly, I actually received a couple of pretty extravagant gifts. One of these was from my dad. He called me and told me he wanted me to have a gas grill. The wording here is important: he wanted me to have. I already have a charcoal grill that I have been perfectly happy with for years. I had no idea I wanted or needed a gas grill. Dad’s logic was that, with a gas grill, I could use it like an oven and wouldn’t even have to heat up the kitchen. I guess in the Summer in the South that is a huge plus.

Dad seemed very enthusiastic about his gift idea (it reminded me of the time I was thirteen years old and he was brimming with excitement to give me the surprise gift of, wait for it… a plant), and I get it. It’s fun to give a gift. It’s rewarding. And when you think you’ve drummed up the best gift idea ever, it’s downright titillating. I’ve often felt it more fun to give gifts than to receive them. I guess that all depends on the gift going in either direction, though.

And so, after an arduoulsy involved process, I brought home my shiny, new gas grill. Dad insisted I get a Weber. He has one and he loves it. He told me, “I’ve had dozens of gas grills and this one is the best.” So that’s what I got.

This was about two or three weeks ago, and ever since the first day we put it on the patio, Fred (who was captivated by the idea from the get go) and I have done some thing or another with the grill almost every day: steaks (two or three times), BBQ chicken, mojo chicken wings (courtesy of Erika at Lindy & Grundy), vegetables, salmon, veggie burgers, meaty burgers, sausages, lamb chops, onions, a pork tenderloin. More than once I’ve sparked it up just to grill a zucchini or a sausage to use in a separate dish. And tonight we are going to grill oysters! I must admit, I love it and it is tons of fun – Thanks, Dad! Don’t worry, I haven’t forgotten about my little charcoal grill still which sits proudly on the patio, right next to The Monolith.

The most interesting thing we’ve been doing on the grill, and the most frequent – hell, and the most fun – has been pizzas. We have now made pizzas four different times, with a number of different kinds of pizzas each night. This past weekend we made four pizzas: a breakfast pizza with sausage egg and cheese, a classic pizza Margherita (but with purple basil instead of green (pictured above)), a dessert pizza with grilled peaches, mascarpone, mint and honey (not pictured) and Fred’s wild card pizza with grilled corn, salsa, cilantro, onions, bacon and Cotija cheese (pictured at top). They were all fantastic except for the dessert pizza. A - we didn’t think it through completely and the mascarpone turned into liquid and B – grilled fruit is going to make me hesitant because it just does. But I loved the idea of breakfast, dinner and dessert pizzas, all in a row. My favorite of all of our pizzas was the 'breakfast pizza'.

And so, my dear dad ended up giving me a pretty rad gift. And one I didn’t even realize I would want at the time. And I can’t even imagine all the amazing meals that lie ahead in the years that I will have my grill. So much better than a plant.

And with this, things are settling. New colors and shapes and people and sounds. 

You all know Fred? Well, pretty soon he’ll be moving in. The grill, Maggie, Fred…

Ch-ch-changes.

Sausage, Egg & Fontina Cheese Pizza
(Grilling technique adapted from Elise Bauer on Simply Recipes)

Makes 8 slices

What you need/what we used:

Pizza dough: make your own or use prepared pizza dough. In full disclosure, we used the prepared stuff from Trader Joe's = Not. Too. Shabby.

1-1 1/2 cup crushed tomatoes, cooked down with olive oil, basil, salt & garlic

1 1/2 cup grated Fontina cheese

1-2 grilled Andouille sausage(s), sliced

2-4 eggs (entirely depending on your eggy wantonness)

Salt & pepper

What you do/what we did:

Prepare the grill for high direct heat. If using a gas grill, preheat for 10 minutes until the temperature is between 550 and 600 degrees. Prepare a small bowl with olive oil for greasing the grill grates and for brushing the pizza. Prepare the toppings so they are ready to go on the pizza - tomato sauce, cheese, and anything else you wish.

Shape the pizza dough by flattening it with your hands on a slightly floured surface. Either use your fingers to stretch the dough out, or hold up the edges of the dough with your fingers, letting the dough hang and stretch, while working around the edges of the dough. Once you've stretched the dough, let it sit for 5 minutes and then push out the edges with your fingers again, until you have a nice round shape, about 12-inches in diameter. Do not make a raised rim, it will interfere with the grilling process.

Once the grill is hot, dip a tightly folded up paper towel in olive oil and use tongs to wipe the grill grates. Then place a pizza dough round on a lightly floured (or you can use cornmeal) pizza stone (or rimless cookie sheet). Let the dough slide off the stone onto the hot grill grates. Close the lid of the grill and let cook for 2 minutes.

After 2 minutes, open the grill and check underneath the dough to see if it is getting browned. If it is on one side, but not another, use a spatula or tongs to rotate the dough 90 degrees and cook for another minute. If it is not beginning to brown, cover the grill and continue to cook a minute at a time until the bottom has begun to brown. It should only take a couple minutes if you have a hot grill. The top of the pizza dough will start bubbling up with air pockets which you should stab and pop - gently.

Once the pizza dough has browned lightly on one side, use a spatula to flip the dough over so that the grilled side is now up. 

Paint the grilled surface of the pizza with a little olive oil, then cover with 1 ladle of sauce – no more, or you'll end up with a soggy pizza. Sprinkle on your grated Fontina cheese, slices of grilled sausage and, finally crack the eggs on top. Remember to go light on the toppings, or your pizza will be heavy and soggy.

Slide the topped pizza back onto the grill. If you are using a gas grill, reduce the heat to medium. If working with a charcoal grill, close the vents on the cover almost all the way. Close the lid and continue cooking. After 2-3 minutes open the lid to check the egg and the bottom of the crust. You want the whites just cooked through and the yolk soft. If the grill marks start to get too dark before the eggs is done, lower the heat some more and rotate the pizza 90 degrees. Check every 2 minutes until the eggs is done and and the cheese is bubbly, pull off the grate with a spatula onto a cutting board or other flat surface and let rest for a couple minutes before cutting into slices.

Salt & pepper that bad boy, slice and serve!

Printable recipe.

One year ago: Chicken Breasts with Anchovy-Basil Pan Sauce

Two years ago: Summer Squash Gratin with Salsa Verde

Three years ago: Pimiento Cheese

We Still Are What We Once Were. Always.

My oldest and dearest friend, Paz, visited recently. She was here for ten (10) days. I was concerned, briefly, that ten (10) days would be a skosh too long. It wasn’t. It actually wasn’t nearly long enough. Well, maybe it was just right.

Although it has been many years since we’ve spent much, or any, time together, we fell right back into our stuff. Our nicknames, catchphrases, running (for a long time now) jokes. You know, our patterns.

When people visit Los Angeles they want to have (and we want to provide them with) two things: celebrity sightings and sunshine. Fortunately for both Paz and myself, we had both. Great sightings and great weather. We ate at some fantastic restaurants but we also cooked at my house on a few occasions.

It’s interesting – while Paz was here she asked me, “So, when exactly did this whole food thing happen with you?” And so I thought. And I continued to toss the question around for quite a while. The more I thought about it, as unromantic as it sounds, I realized that I don’t believe there was a defining moment. Of course, as I’ve mentioned more than once, my parents both cooked quite a bit and I did a lot of cooking and learning from Dad. Then there was the food co-op in college in which Paz was a major player.  And then there was the Atlanta period after college when Paz and I lived together on and off for about six years. This was a time when we had little to no money; certainly none to spend on eating out a whole bunch.  Even more rare was a fancy dining out night. We cooked. A lot. But it wasn’t like back home, with our parents. And it wasn’t like college in our food co-op with our friends. We cooked because we needed to eat – breakfast, lunch and dinner. And so we experimented. We flexed. I learned about dishes from her past, like tostones, tortilla de papas, and obviously her world famous rice and beans. I showed her dishes from mine, like broccoli and cheese sauce, creamy mushroom soup, rice pilaf and scallops and shrimp over linguine with baked feta. I feel like there was a lot of stir fry action as well.

And then it hit me – maybe the Atlanta era wasn’t the defining moment of all things food for me, but I sure would say that it was the defining moment for me, the cook. The cook that cooked my own meals, cooked for other people, cooked with people. The me that found my footing in the kitchen.

How about that for an answer, Paz?

So, of course, while Paz was here we had a couple of pretty fantastic meals that we collaborated on, in my kitchen, or in this case, grill. In keeping up with Paz over the past year or so, when we would chat on the phone, or text, or what have you, we would often share our culinary exploits with one another. Some of hers included cooking Gassy Larry (a lobster), and a whole snapper she named Charles. No, I don’t know why on either count. You should hear the cornucopia of names she’s coined for me.

So, needless to say, I was pretty geeked to get back in the kitchen with her after a decade or more.

The recipe I am sharing with you here is from a part of a magnificent dinner we made one night during her visit. This was a meal that we collaborated on in every way, from conception to execution to consumption. Besides Paz deciding that she was Bobby Flay in the grill mastery department (insert eye rolling here), she also found an alluring recipe for a Meyer lemon relish. She was pretty psyched about all the produce that we are fortunate enough to have here and was particularly interested in the Meyer lemon (always a favorite of mine). Although the recipe suggested it be served with pork belly or some such thing, we thought it would work beautifully with a mesquite-grilled Cornish game hen (grilling courtesy of Paz Bobby Flay).

 

We Bobby also grilled some fennel and onions, and I did up my stellar sautéed broccolini. We had a potato but Ms. Flay didn’t get that one quite right in time for the rest of the meal. We dined out on the patio, under the stars, and paired the meal with a luscious Donkey and Goat red wine blend (courtesy of Domaine LA) among a number of, ahem, other wines.

What a beautiful meal and what a beautiful night. Yep, we covered a lot in our ten (10) days together here in sunny California. What’s crazy is how much more there was to cover. There is just not enough time in the day, you know? But as sad as I was to see her and her little rolly suitcase walk out of my car and into the airport, I also felt really good. And I still do. Because rather than it seeming like we are thousands of miles apart, I feel like, now, we’re right next to each other again. After all these years here in LA figuring out who and what I am, as this little fish in this big sea, along comes one of the few things that reminds me exactly who and what that is. And now I see it’s never changed. And nothing can change it. That and it - is Me. 

And, I guess nothing can change our friendship either. And this makes me soften. This makes my heart swell. This makes me smile. And for this, Paz, I thank you and I love you. Always.

Not too much as changed from us, 15 years ago.

 Meyer Lemon Relish 

Recipe adapted from Food and Wine magazine, May, 2011

Makes about 1 cup

Ingredients

1 large Meyer lemon—peeled, peel very thinly sliced
1 shallot—1/2 minced, 1/2 very thinly sliced
2 tablespoons fresh lemon juice
1 tablespoon orange muscat champagne vinegar (you can also use white wine vinegar)
1 garlic clove, minced
2 tablespoons minced chives 

1 tablespoon chopped mint
1 tablespoon finely chopped parsley
1/2 cup extra-virgin olive oil
Pinch of crushed red pepper
Salt and freshly ground black pepper 

Directions

Finely chop the lemon pulp, discarding any seeds, and transfer to a bowl. Add the lemon peel, minced and sliced shallot, lemon juice, vinegar, garlic, chives, mint, parsley, olive oil and crushed red pepper to the bowl. Season with salt and pepper and serve.
 

*The relish can be refrigerated for up to 3 days.

The Birdcage

Yes. I know. I know.  It has been too long. But I am back now. Things have been very lively in my world. Paz was in town for ten (10) days and she only just left. Don’t worry, you’ll be hearing all about that soon enough as there is much to share. But first I would be remiss if I didn’t share a story with you of an evening that took place right before Paz’s arrival.

As long as I’ve lived in my canyon, when I go on hikes and walks and such, I’ve noticed this enormous, old, antique birdcage next to some trashcans behind a house. I’ve always coveted this birdcage. I told Maggie as much.

And so we debated.

I figured if it was literally sitting next to a trash can, untouched for years, no one would really miss it. Right? It wasn’t officially wrong or steal-y. It was perfectly fine. Right?

And so we plotted.

Well, I guess we didn’t really plot – we decided to bust up there one night after dinner when it was dark. That was the long and short of it.

So one particular night, after an especially delicious dinner at home with Maggie and Michael Motorcycle during clean-up, MM and I heard a definitive, “Alright, let’s do this” from behind. We whirled around to see Maggie in full-on burgle gear: all black with black paint under her eyes. She was rocking her “menacing” pose. At that moment I think I peed my pants a little bit.

So Maggie, Michael Motorcycle and I all piled into my car and headed up the hill. Laughing hysterically. In the world’s loudest car. In the world’s quietest canyon. At about midnight.

Did I mention we neglected to plot?

We drive up past the house. We make a u-turn and go back down to idle in front of the house. Michael was on getaway driver duty, Maggie was going to hold up the back gate of my car (it doesn’t stay up by itself) and I was to be the birdcage grabber. It was my mission so, of course, I was to take the biggest risk. Why we didn’t park farther away from the house and walk up, stealth-like, I don’t know. Perhaps the lack of plotting?

Anyway, I jump out and after nearly wiping out en route to the trash can area in my Crocs (stupid choice, but I had just been cooking) and arrive face to face with The Birdcage. Now I am a tall woman and this thing was taller than me. The birdcage is massive and cumbersome and worst of all, heavy. And right when I get almost to the car I realize that the base of it had rotted away and that the top and bottom were not attached. The reason I noticed this is that the top fell, with a bang-crash-extreme cacophony, to the street. I'm talking loud. This is also right about when I notice a person a dozen or so yards away, standing in the street. But, I was unyielding. We had come this far, right?

So, while laughing even harder, next to the world’s loudest car, in the world’s quietest canyon, with a neighbor standing right up the street, I started to cram the birdcage into the back of my car. It’s so big it doesn’t fit. “Just ram it in and leave the back open! It’ll be fine! Let’s just GO!”

At this point I should, perhaps, add that wine may have been involved.

And so, while laughing even harder, in the world’s loudest car, in the world’s quietest canyon, after about five years of coveting, I have my birdcage. It really brings the garden together. Michael Motorcycle is going to put an upside down tomato plant inside – or so he says.

Oh, and that night’s dinner was a beauty: we went to Lindy Grundy on their opening day and bought a Frenched rack of lamb and some of Erika’s special pork kimchi sausage. We grilled. We served the lamb over mint-infused jasmine rice with a minted English pea puree and roasted brussels sprouts. I have actually shared this particular recipe before but with much less ado. It’s a beautiful, fresh and simple recipe and one that really showcases a truly gorgeous piece of meat.

What, you thought I'd show you a picture of the birdcage? No way! You might could send me up the river!

 *P.S. Picture of Maggie in "full-on burgle gear" may be provided upon request.

 (I hope I don’t have to go on The Lam)

 Lamb Chops with Cumin, Cardamom and Lime

Ingredients:

12-16 cloves of garlic
1 tsp cumin
1 tbsp fresh cardamom
1/3 cup FRESH lime juice
1 tbsp salt
2 tsp pepper
1/2 cup olive oil
16 rib or Frenched lamb chops

 

Directions:

In the food processor, drop garlic, add cumin, cardamom, lime juice, salt, pepper and oil.  Pour into a large bag or container to marinate (a coupla hours or up to 2 days). 

On the grill is a must, and with a medium flame they'll be done in about 4 minutes per side.  Perhaps a bit more but rarer is better.

Take Me Out To the Ball Game.

Things are making more sense now. Or, perhaps, I am making more sense of things now. Or, perhaps, I am feeling more sensible now. Maybe yesterday’s earthquake shook me back to my overly organized self. For this, I am relieved. I accomplished all of my Monday paperwork and tedium before noon, then ran errands, did laundry, and even made my bed (which I never do). Captivating stuff, right?

I’m also very excited that today is opening day of baseball season. Yes, it's true, I love baseball. I actually went to a game this past Saturday. I have always loved baseball but it got pretty serious about 10 or so years ago in Atlanta. I dated a major Braves fan. It all made sense at the time. I grew up in Richmond, VA, which was home to the farm team for the Atlanta Braves, aptly called the Richmond Braves. If you showed up after the 4^th inning you’d be let in for free. My friend Sam and I would go all the time when we were in high school. And, of course, Dad took me to games as a kid. The Richmond Braves have since been sold. Richmond's farm team is now called the Flying Squirrels. Don't even get me started...

Anyway, at the time, Mark, the Atlanta Braves fan, still collected baseball cards, went to games by himself, kept score at the games (which is quite a process if you are familiar with what I'm talking about), and even listened to them on the radio. He taught me more than I ever thought I wanted to know about the sport. I recall an entire inning being spent with him explaining the intricacies of the balk rule. You’d be surprised, but this endeared me to him enormously.

Chipper Jones (Braves) at bat and Paul LoDuca (Dodgers) catcher. Circa 2002. Mark gets photo credit (shot through his binoculars).

Many moons have passed since Mark and I went our separate ways, but I still keep up with the sport (as, I’m sure, does he). I still love the Braves, but am also a Dodgers fan now. I don’t really listen to games on the radio, or watch much of them on TV (depends on the game), but I just love going to them. The smell of the stadium, the energy in the air, the complete melting pot of cultures, classes and ages, the spirit, the Americana, the hot dogs, peanuts and beer. Interestingly, this is one of the very few occasions during which I will drink beer. Or wear a baseball hat. Or hat of any kind, for that matter.

With the nostalgia brought on by the familiarity of what I associate to be the onslaught of all things Summer, my thoughts are brought back to the kitchen - or in this case, the grill.

A while back Chris found a recipe in The Week illustrating how to prepare the perfect steakhouse steak. You know, with the super crusty outside? We loved it and cooked it on both a grill pan and the grill with equal success.

There’s something about the sights, smells and sounds of the promise of Summer:  the clanking of the spoon against the glass stirring the pitcher of lemonade, the smell of fresh cut grass, cicadas chirping at sunset, picnics on red checkered blankets, a late-afternoon thunderstorm and the smell of the charcoal grill wafting down the streets of the neighborhood.

This steak has all of these things wrapped up in each stage of preparation: the smells and sounds of the meat searing and every bite breaking through the crusty exterior into the tender, medium-rare meat. The perfect steak. It really just can’t be beat.

So tonight, as I applaud the Braves 16-5 win over the Cubs and mourn the impending loss by the Dodgers to the Pirates, with comfort and calm in my soul, I sparked up the old grill for the first time in months and cooked me up a steak.

The Perfect Steak

Ingredients

1  14- to 16-ounce New York strip steak (about 1 to 1 1/4 inches thick)

1 tsp salt

1 tsp freshly cracked pepper

1 tsp cornstarch

1 tsp Worcestershire sauce

Directions

Pat steaks dry with paper towel and rub in salt, pepper and cornstarch.

Wrap steak in wax paper and put in freezer for 30-45 minutes (until a bit hard on the outside but not completely frozen).

Grill steaks on very high heat 4-6 minutes on each side. Douse a little Worcestershire sauce on while grilling.

Plate and serve.