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

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

Cooking the Book(s).

There is so much I want to tell you. I'm this close, I promise. Until I can tell you, trust me, I'm going a little crazy myself. I am going through a major period of hurry-up-and-wait stuff right now. I know that everything will be clear soon enough, but being tremendously impatient coupled with my control freakdom makes the hurry-up-and-wait times extraordinarily difficult. And I'm kind of on a diet. No carbs and no wine. Until I go visit home in two weeks. This has been going on since the beginning of the month. Okay, so let us now add the fact that I am not allowing myself crispety crunchety saltedy things or wine (wine, y'all!) along with tremendously impatient coupled with control freakdom. And it's tax time.

I do realize this is hardly a very major diet. But pasta and wine are pretty much life forces for me. And those very life forces have slowly been forcing me out of my jeans. So there you go.

What's great is that Fred is in it to win it with me. And he has done this before, and is better at it. Actually, Fred has been the one cooking the majority of our 'dietary' meals thus far. He has felt inspired in the kitchen whereas I have felt defeated. I keep looking at that coy bucatini, pointing and smiling at me, the potatoes, now with their glib eyes and ears, watching, listening, mocking me. And the damn wine. That half bottle of Pinot Blanc in the back of the fridge, becoming sour and pursing its lips, “Tsk, Tsk, Elliott. Tsk, Tsk.”

So I eat an almond and perhaps a hardboiled egg and despondently wander out of the kitchen to the den to watch an episode of Iron Chef America and endure. I endure the dumb diet and I wait. I wait for the news about this and the word on that and for my jeans to have a bit more room for me in them again.

The funny thing about the dietary restrictions which I have imposed on myself – they really are not a hill to die on. I can eat most stuff. And if getting crunked mattered, I am allowed to drink spirits. In fact, I had a martini last night. But that's just not my thing. And, unfortunately for me, I have yet to jump on the coktails-with-food train. For me, it is, and always has been, wine. It would appear that wine is being replaced with whine. Apologies.

Listen, the sun is shining, the air is warm and filled with floral scents, I'm healthy, I'm in love, I have tremendously wonderful and loyal friends, and the future looks very bright. I know all of that. So let's call off the WhaAAaaaAmbulance, shall we?

Just recently, I bought a couple of stunningly, eye-arrestingly, beautiful cookbooks (making my collection the envy/horror of any hoarder). I like to read cookbooks. I like to read cookbooks like novels. I like to pore over every image, or illustration, and let my eyes stop and rest on each color, texture and shape of food, pot, napkin, fork, tabletop, background and light source before I read through its recipe and story. It soothes me. In a world where, at times, I feel I can control very little, I can look at that recipe and now that, once I round up all of the right ingredients, I can do that, too. I can make that beautiful, delicious dish all by myself. I can make something big and whole from little, tiny, seemingly disparate elements. In one room of my life, my kitchen, I am in complete control. Unless, of course, I try to make bread. I can't seem to make bread.

One of the cookbooks I alluded to above is called Jerusalem. If you're a food geek, or a cookbook person, I am certain you are aware of it. The cover alone will stop you in your tracks. As I was reading through it last week I noticed that many of the recipes were compatible with my carbohydrate-free, sugar-free diet. And so yesterday, seeing as I had a very little on the calendar with work, I went out into the great big City of Angels and foraged for all of the elements to make the cover recipe.

I know I very rarely reprint other people's recipes. I like to share my own. Plus, if you want a recipe from a cookbook, you can just go find it. No need to reference it here. But for those of you who have not yet picked up your own copy of this book, perhaps this will propel you to do so.

The ingredients should not be too hard to find. The things you may have difficulty finding, like the harissa paste, are remedied easily: make it yourself. I did.

Following my shopping expedition, I put all of the ingredients away in the kitchen and took a late afternoon nap.Then I popped up, put a record on the turntable and got cracking. I made the yogurt sauce, the harissa, and the Zhoug, charred my tomatoes, and put them aside. As I chopped the onion and sliced the garlic for the ground lamb, I realized how calm I felt. As the world around me felt chaotic, unsure, and out of my own control, here I was, in my little kitchen, conducting my very own symphony. And everything was pitch perfect.

The great thing about this recipe is that it appears complicated – and in some ways it is – it's ultimately pretty straightforward and undemanding. You will, however, dirty many a dish in the process.

The even better thing about this dish is, though it has no butter, bread or bread-like things, or cheese, it is extremely satisfying and fulfilling. It is rich with layers of texture, color, temperatures, and flavors. It tastes really complex. This dish would gratify an indulgent brunch or a simple dinner. This recipe and this dish really is like a symphony. And the best part is, you get to be both the conductor and the audience.

And during tax time, isn't it nice to know you can be in complete control of something and indulge in it as well?

Braised Eggs with Lamb, Tahini & Sumac

From Jerusalem by Yotam Ottolenghi & Sami Tamimi

Serves 4

1 tablespoon olive oil
1 large onion, finely chopped
6 cloves of garlic, sliced thinly
10 oz/300g ground lamb
2 teaspoon sumac plus extra to finish
1 teaspoon ground cumin
scant 1/2 cup/50g toasted unsalted pistachios
7 tablespoons toasted pine nuts
2 teaspoons harissa paste
1 tablespoon finely chopped preserved lemon peel 
1 1/3 cups/200g cherry tomatoes
1/2 cup/120 ml chicken stock
4 large free-range eggs
1/4 cup/5 g picked cilantro leaves, or 1 tbsp Zhoug (recipe in cookbook)
salt and freshly ground black pepper

Yogurt Sauce
scant 1/2 cup / 100 g Greek yogurt
1 1/2 tablespoons/ 25g tahini paste
2 tablespoons freshly squeezed lemon juice
1 tablespoon water (as needed)

Heat the olive oil over medium-high heat in a medium, heavy-bottomed frying pan for which you have a tight fitting lid. Add the onion and garlic and sauté for 6 minutes to soften and color a bit. Raise the heat to high, add the lamb, and brown well, 5 to 6 minutes. Season with sumac, cumin, 3/4 teaspoon salt, and some black pepper and cook for another minute. Turn off the heat, stir in the nuts, harissa, and preserved lemon and set aside.

While the onion is cooking, heat a separate small caste-iron pan over high heat. Once piping hot, add the cherry tomatoes and char for about 4-6 minutes, tossing them in the pan occasionally, until slightly blackened on the outside. Set aside.

Prepare the yogurt sauce by whisking together all the ingredients with a pinch of salt. In needs to be thick and rich but you may need to add a slash of water if it is stiff.

Add the chicken stock to the meat and bring to a boil. Make 4 small wells in the mix and break an egg into each well. Cover the pan and cook the eggs over low heat for 3 minutes.

Place the tomatoes on top, avoiding the yolks, cover again, and cook for 5 minutes, until the egg whites are cooked but the yolks are still runny.

Remove from the heat and dot with dollops of the yogurt sauce, sprinkle with sumac, and finish with cilantro.

Serve at once.

Printable recipe.

One year ago: 'Eggs in a Basket' with Maple Bacon, Fontina & Chives

Two years ago: Lamb Chops with Cumin, Cardamom & Lime

Three years ago: Ludobites 4.0

A Fork in the Road

A couple of nights ago I met up with Chris at Susan Feniger's Street. We have been trying to use up our Blackboard Eats coupons before they expire. Ryan and I went about a year ago and ordered a few menu items and several glasses of wine. This, however, was Chris’ maiden voyage. We met at 8:30 with reservations but decided to ditch them for the bar. He was already at the bar; that’s usually my seating preference anyway.

It was bustling. Large parties, couples, friends, special dates, casual meet ups, all sorts of diners filled the small-ish dining room and adjacent patio. The color scheme consists primarily of orange and black. There are graffiti inspired street murals by Huntley Muir covering a good deal of the non-slated wood wall space, both inside and out. The overall effect of this aesthetic is somewhere between Blade Runner and being physically inserted into a Keith Haring piece. Both might be neat, but both are 1982 and neither, in my humble opinion, create the ambiance of “cozy” for dining.

So let us travel down this road now, shall we?

Right out of the gate we were served an Amuse-Bouche.  A savory version of a Rice Crispy Treat: Millet Seed Puffs, with Marshmallow, Fennel, Curry, Coriander, Cumin and Black Currant -- I liked all of the flavors but found the texture to be more on the moist rather than crispy side.

We began our order with the famed Kaya Toast which is Street’s tour de force. Originally a breakfast dish from Singapore, this is toasted bread spread thick with coconut jam served with a soft poached egg drizzled in dark soy and white pepper ($11). This undoubtedly lives up to the buzz.  While Kaya Toast is very simple, once in your mouth it becomes incredibly complex both in texture and taste. It’s surprising, imaginative in every way and absolutely illuminates the palate.

Next up we visit Turkey and Syria with the Lamb Kafta Meatballs over warm Syrian cheese wrapped in grape leaf and drizzled with date and carob molasses and served with za’atar spiced flatbread ($10). I thought the meatballs were succulent and robust.  I could have eaten a pile of them. But what I was confused about was the dish as a whole. The flatbread was crisp like a cracker. Was I supposed to spread the cheese over it and then eat a bite of meatball? I attempted to put some meatball on the cracker with the cheese but to no avail. Meatball falls off. I wish the bread was giving and accepted the meatball so I could have that perfect bite. That aside, all elements on the plate were appetizing on their own.

With the meatballs we ordered the Sauteed Black Kale with Refried White Beans served with toasted olive bread and white anchovy butter ($7). Again, everything on the plate was good. I prefer my kale and kale-like greens cooked down a little more, but that’s a preference thing (after all, I did grow up in the South). I am also a fan of any version of white beans that can be created. I also love butter and am over the top for anchovy butter. But I still found myself at a dead end when assembling everything for the perfect bite. Where does the anchovy butter go? I still smeared it over the smear of refried white beans over the kale over the bread.

Our bartender/server had told us that, very recently, Cat Cora was in the house shooting a part of the show, The Best Thing I Ever Ate. Apparently, Iron Chef Cora’s favorite thing to eat is Feniger’s Mandoo Vegetable Dumplings: Asian vegetables, sweet potato and kimchi filled dumplings with roasted ginger yam and sesame dipping sauce ($9). So off we went to Korea. I will say that while I was underwhelmed with the actual dumpling, I really enjoyed the ginger yam puree combined with the sesame oil and the tang of the soy. It did make the dish but it didn’t make it in the echelon of best things I have ever eaten. 

Now let us jet off to Thailand for the Thai Rice Noodles: flat wide rice noodles with Chinese broccoli, seasoned pork, tomato, mint, thai basil and chiles ($15). I was downright disappointed with the actual noodles. They were flaccid with no chew to them. The pork was seasoned and cooked to perfection. I didn’t find anything that would define this dish as special and it would have a tough time standing up to most of our wonderful Thai restaurants within a couple miles of Street. I also felt the $15 price tag was a tad high.

Our last dish was in Japan with the Tatsutage Fried Chicken marinated with soy, mirin, and sake crispy fried in rice batter and topped with spicy kewpie mayonnaise sauce ($15). Chris and I have always adored this dish at Ita Cho and we were excited to try this version. The chicken was over fried and very oily. While the meat of the chicken was cooked nicely, the marinade was nowhere to be tasted. The kewpie mayonnaise was a nice touch, a little creamy, a little citrusy and little heat. The pickled vegetables seemed like an afterthought. They were under pickled and seemed lost on this plate. 

Chris and I have been bandying about the idea of a “Greatest Hits From Around the World” restaurant for years – mostly jokingly. A single chef attempting to master so many different cuisines seems like machine gun fire. Something will hit the mark but impossible to land them all.  Street’s concept actually suffers in a City like Los Angeles; a city replete with street food from all corners of the world – delicious, authentic, and affordable.

All in all I'd say this evening led us down a street with very uneven pavement.

What I Used To Do.

Caroline, a friend of mine from back in Atlanta once told me, “You’re a sponge for one.” While it may sound strange as it’s seemingly out of context, and pretty random sounding, I understood perfectly. Although I have been rich with friends and friendships throughout my life, I have pretty consistently concentrated on one major friendship at a time. And I would always put the majority of my energy and stock into that friend, even to the detriment of romances running concurrently. I don’t think this quality made Caroline very happy at the time because she felt shut out. I don’t blame her. I was putting all of my friendship eggs into another basket.

My main bestest friend throughout almost all of my "adult" life, Paz, and I grew up together. In collusion we attended middle school, high school, college, and then moved to Atlanta. We planned to go to college together – in Ohio, mind you. We were dorm-mates there. We returned to Richmond together for vacations, holidays, lived in Mexico together, she videotaped my dad’s wedding, and even moved in with my boyfriend and me after college when I went to Atlanta. And in a different time and house in Atlanta, every Tuesday night, we watched Buffy the Vampire Slayer and then got all dressed up together before we went and worked the door at a bar where our dj friends performed. I felt badly for our various boyfriends over the years as we were almost like a package deal.

Don’t get me wrong, we also fought like Scotsmen, but Paz was my family. I would throw myself in front of a train for her.

Another thing to point out: while Paz has been very prominent and consistent, there have been quite a few other friends for which I was sponge for one-ing throughout my life. My mom tells me I was exhibiting that tendency from a very early age.

About 8 years ago I moved to Los Angeles, and – without going into too much detail because it’s irrelevant now - although Paz and I were falling apart at the seams, I think my move was the nail in our coffin. We didn’t speak or see one another for over 5 years. Until recently.

Interestingly, not long ago I had a watershed realization: in the past 5 years, slowly but surely, I am no longer a sponge for one. Not at all. In this big, scary, massively populated city I have found a wealth and abundance of friends, all very close, all very special and important. Everyone may play different roles at different moments but no one stands above anyone else.

Maybe some of this is a result of moving here without Paz - the result of being thrust into anonymity and having to swim without those puffy arm things. But I still could have just found my one super friend again, right? Now I have super friends. Together, they are my network, my team. I feel overwhelmingly fortunate to have every single one of them.

And the awesome-est thing? As mentioned above, Paz and I have recently reconnected. We literally ran into each other on the street late last Summer while I was in Richmond – on her birthday actually. Since then we have seen one another when we can, on whichever coast one of us happens to be on at any point; we email, we text, and we have phone conversations that last hours at a time. We talk about boys (men now, I suppose), our insecurities, our dogs, food, and all of our old private jokes and language have relevance again. It’s wonderful.

The recipe I’m sharing with you here is one that originated in some form from Paz’s mom, who is from the Dominican Republic. Paz has been making this dish on her own, with her own touches, since even before our food co-op in college. She has always referred to it as her world famous recipe. Even then.

I hope she can visit me out here again sometime soon. I want her to meet all of my friends and I know they are dying to meet her.

Although it may seem more of a hearty, Winter dish, I beg to differ. The cilantro brightens it right on up and ushers it gracefully into Spring.

This is her recipe verbatim. However, I have added my two cents in italics.

Paz’s World Famous Rice and Beans

Serves 6

 

1 can each kidney, black and white beans (drained)

1 can of diced tomatoes (for fun, try the ones with green chilies in them)

1 small onion, diced (I used a Vidalia)

1 green, red, or gold bell pepper, diced (I used a red pepper. Green peppers make me want to drive off of a cliff)

1 heaping tbsp of ground cumin

1 tbsp of Italian herbs (I used fresh thyme, oregano & marjoram from my garden)

¼ tsp of cayenne pepper (optional) (I, personally used a lot more heat, more like 3/4 tsp. Chile de Arbol would be a beautiful addition as well))

1 small bay leaf

Salt and fresh ground pepper to taste

4-5 cloves of fresh garlic finely chopped

1 handful of fresh cilantro coarsely chopped

In a large pot, stir in beans, tomatoes, cumin, Italian herbs, cayenne and bay leaf over med-low heat. Stir until it begins to bubble, then turn the heat down to the lowest simmer ever (so it doesn’t burn). In a frying pan, sauté onion and green pepper in extra virgin olive oil until the onions become translucent and the peppers are softly browned*. Add them to the pot of beans. Add the finely chopped garlic (raw) to the beans. Slow cook beans for 45 min to one hour stirring occasionally. Add cilantro and cook in for the very last 10-15 minutes.

Serve with rice and sour cream (optional, however very good if you accidentally added too much cayenne).

*I would sauté the onion & pepper in the pot, first then add everything else. The ingredients marry better and you have fewer dishes to do.

Dear Diary,

I have kept journals almost all of my life. I only stopped a few years ago (probably because of this blog), but I still have boxes of them. I don’t often go back through them – or, at least, it’s been quite a while. The other night, knowing I was going to have a busy week of work, I stole a night to myself and treated me to a dinner at Cheebo. With one of my old journals. And a few glasses of sauvignon blanc, a bowl of creamy artichoke soup and their signature chopped salad. Before I continue I will say that the food was very, very good. In fact, I will try to recreate the soup at home soon.

Here’s what’s wild: while reading my words from over a decade ago, it didn’t seem that I’ve changed as much as I would have hoped, or at least thought. Don’t get me wrong – I’m a really good person. What I noticed, though, is all of the things that got me dithered out, all of the promises I used to make to myself – are all the same dithers and promises of today.

Yet reading the entries still makes me miss something. Staying up until dawn? Dying may hair a new color and not to cover grays? Being able to do shots? Looking good in spandex?

I imagine it would be youth. Or at least the version of youth that allows us to fear little. The feeling of being invincible.

I wonder why that changes as we get older. Don’t get me wrong – I have no interest in going back in time. I don’t feel a need to recreate or relive any of the moments of my past. I am happy with the present and look brightly into the future. But I do find it interesting that, while looking through my words from all the years past that the more things change the more they stay the same. I can’t tell if I take comfort or concern in this little phenomenon.

I still spend too much time worrying about boys, friends, money, success and my hair. At least I don’t feel compelled to pierce anything or toy with the idea of getting a tattoo anymore. I’ve never liked doing shots, so I’m glad the pressure is off there. And I have little to no interest in wearing spandex (although it would be nice if it looked better on me).

Some of my old journals are filled with stories of my life, some are filled with watercolors, some have little taped scrawls and scraps from friends and the world, and some are simply filled with lists. Some parts are sad and some are happy, but they all mirror the trajectory of my life. They track the people who have moved in and out of my life, who have stayed, who have passed on. There is love, loss, elation, heartbreak, failure and triumph. I found them all to have beauty.

Last night, as I was trapped in the canyon, with my car needing a jump, my only phone dead and in a majorly crabby mood, I decided to make something that made me comfortable. Cozy. Something we all have eaten all of our lives in some form or another. A dish that, the more it changes, the more it stays the same. Something that can be colorful or monochromatic. Something that can be ornate or bare bones. Something that can taste both simple and complex.  Something that everyone perceives differently. Something that most of us have an opinion about. Something that, like the phases of our lives, seems to be ever morphing – moving forward while suspended in time.

Chili.

I have never used a recipe for chili. Rather, I like to toss all sorts of things in there each time and see what comes out. I never measure spices or concentrate very hard on it (except this time, so I could document the recipe for you). This go ‘round, I sautéed the onion in rendered bacon fat and kept the smoky bacon bits in. I always like to use lots of different kinds of beans for color and texture. It turned out great: thick, bold, good heat, smoky and rich. The sour cream and green onion on top add a splash of bright color and round out the spice.

And then I wrote everything you just read.

Chili with Beef & Bacon

2 strips bacon, cut into small pieces

1 red onion, chopped

1 lb. ground beef

4 cloves garlic, smashed

2 tbsp cayenne pepper

2 tbsp chili powder

1 ½ tbsp ground cumin

1 ½ tsp Hungarian paprika

1 bay leaf

15 oz can of tomato sauce

15 oz can of plum tomatoes

1 tsp Worcestershire sauce

1 tbsp red wine

20 oz can of red kidney beans

15 oz can of pinto beans

15 oz can of cannellini beans

Salt

Sour cream and chopped scallions for garnish

Directions
1. In a large, heavy-bottomed pot over medium-high heat, cook bacon, stirring until it just begins to brown, about 4 minutes. Add onion, lower heat to medium, cover, and cook, stirring occasionally, until translucent, 4 to 7 minutes. Uncover pan, stir in garlic, and cook 1 minute.
2. Increase heat to medium-high and add ground beef; break it up with a wooden spoon and stir gently until it loses its raw color, 6 to 8 minutes. Stir in spices and 1 tsp. salt and cook 1 minute. Add tomatoes, tomato sauce, bay leaf, and Worcestershire, wine and bring to a boil. Reduce heat to medium-low, cover partially, and cook 30 minutes.
3. Add beans and cook 30 minutes, uncovered. Season to taste with additional salt. Serve warm, with toppings on the side.



*This post is part of the Denny's and/or Foodbuzz BACONALIA challenge and is an entry.

Am I slow-roasting or being slow-roasted?

It’s hotter than Georgia asphalt here in LA. And on this scorching September afternoon, firmly planted 3 feet away from my fan, I feel myself slow-roasting. I have a sweat moustache. It’s as though I’m in a really un-sexy Tennessee Williams moment. It’s too early to open the white wine. Oh, how I suffer.

Slow-roasting is a fascinating, yet simple, concept and process – and one that occupies an oddly prominent and quite interesting nook of my life, in the kitchen and beyond. It requires complacent confidence and infinite patience, neither of which are my strongest suits.

The theory behind slow-roasting has the simplicity of genius. If the oven is set at the desired internal temperature of the meat, then the meat can never overcook because no part of it is subjected to a temperature above the optimum. This is essentially transferring heat from the outside of the roast to the inside by conductance. The physical process is the same whether the oven is at 400 degrees or 200 degrees. The benefit of slow roasting something is less moisture loss and a more tender product. Oddly however, at the moment, I find myself feeling quite overcooked and dehydrated. Hmpf.

Even though, more often than not, pot roast comes to mind, in actuality one can slow-roast just about anything. Short ribs, pork shoulder, venison, chicken, duck, salmon and even tomatoes can all benefit from this method of cooking. For slow-roasting some people use crock-pots, others use ovens and recently, I used my grill and a chicken.

Slow-Roasted Chicken

3 - 3 1/2 lb chicken -- trimmed of excess fat
1/4 c butter – 1/2 of it melted

2 lemons
salt and pepper
additional herbs and spices as desired

Hardware: shallow roasting pan with rack

• Heat oven and roasting pan (without rack) to 350F. Slice 2 of the lemons paper thin with a knife or a mandoline. With your fingers, carefully loosen the skin from the meat on the bird. Insert 5 or 6 lemon slices underneath the skin along with some of the butter. Put any unused slices and the ends of the lemons into the cavity.
• Place the chicken breast-side up on the rack, brush with butter and season with salt, pepper, and herbs.
• Place chicken in the heated roasting pan in the middle of oven for 30 minutes.
• Reduce oven temperature to 200F and continue roasting for another 1 hour. Increase heat to 400F and cook another 15 minutes until a thermometer inserted into thigh registers 160F.
• Remove from oven, tent with foil, and allow to rest for 20 minutes.

In the above recipe, the initial 350F heat quickly cooks the outside (and skin). The reduced 200F heat keeps the outside hot at about the same rate as the cooler interior absorbs the heat. The final 400F period browns the exterior for those wonderful Maillard reactions.

The result, with something like a chicken or turkey is that the thighs and the breast approach doneness at something much closer to simultaneously and even if the breast is a bit overcooked when the thighs are done, the additional juiciness makes up for it.

Me, I’m still roasting. But dusk is just around the corner, and with that comes wine o’clock. As for you, may your home be air conditioned, your wine crisp and cold, and your fortitude in slow-roasting be met with successful results.

"It ain't the heat; it's the humility." -Yogi Berra

I miss the South right now, y'all.

Although I now tout myself as a Southern Californian I sometimes forget that I was born and raised in the South - the Capital of the Confederacy, the Old Dominion - Richmond, Virginia. 

I was raised by two culinary talents, both with their distinct (and very disparate) kitchen super powers. While Dad embraced the 80's haute cuisine scene with meals like seared swordfish steaks over broken rice and schezwan string beans , Mom went the way of the almost Asian macrobiotic. Honestly I don't even know what was in some of those dishes of hers - I know we jokingly referred to some item as "babydoll" as it seemed similar in texture to the rubber from which dolls are made, and "wet dog" - bulgar. But don't get me wrong, there were excellent things too. She is a fantastic cook and baker (and it is near impossible to be both).
 
All of their fads aside they both had their Southern staples passed down from generations - people who turned cooking from hard work to creative work. It's also interesting to note that the South created the only cuisine in this country.
 
Sometimes I miss the comfort of home and my family - eating fresh mint on the front stoop with Dad while he waters the yard and chats with the neighbors in the Spring, the most perfect Falls with all the trees turning to bright oranges, reds and yellows in symphonic unison, Winters waking up to a pink sky in the middle of the night and knowing I will awaken to snow in the morning (no school!), late-Summer afternoon thunderstorms and cicadas singing for the sunset, tubing down the James River, Hanover tomatoes, real barbecue (Los Angeles just can't seem to get it right)... Wow. 

This is when I can call either of them for recipes for cheese grits, tomato aspic, oyster stew, pimiento cheese, deviled eggs, fried chicken livers, creamed chipped beef on toast, sausage biscuits, Brunswick stew, Aunt Babe's mashed potatoes, crab cakes, spoon bread, apple crisp, etc., all of which they are able to tell me right off the top of their heads. I imagine it gives them as much pleasure sharing these recipes, their history and pride as it does for me to prepare and eat them.


Oyster Stew:
 
4 Servings

A couple of weeks ago I called both Mom and Dad within an hour of each other for this recipe. As expected they were each prepared to relay it to me, and of course they differed ever so slightly. Mom kept it pretty simple and succinct while Dad had to throw brie and worcestershire sauce in. This is the version I prepared with a few of my own ideas. It turned out to be fantastic.
Serve with crusty bread and a smooth, hearty red wine, perhaps a Margaux or a Bordeaux.

4 tablespoons butter
2 pints shucked oysters including their liquor
1 teaspoon grated onion (I used a zester to almost liquify the onion)
1/4 cup of brie (with the rind removed)
1 1/2 cups milk
1/2 cup cream
1 tablespoon of cream or medium-dry sherry
1/2 teaspoon salt
a dash of worcestershire sauce
1/2 teaspoon white pepper
1 tablespoon finely chopped parsley (or chives)

In a heavy pot over medium-low heat saute onion in butter.

Add oysters with their liquor, milk, cream, sherry, worcestershire sauce, salt and pepper. 

Add brie in small pieces and stir until it dissolves.
 
When the oysters float, the butter has melted and the milk and cream are hot.

Garnish with parsley or chives and serve immediately.


Printable Recipe

"What is patriotism but the love of the food one ate as a child?" ~Lin Yutang