Good Grief.

This is hard, but I feel important to write.

My first baby and longtime best friend, Besito, passed on a few weeks ago. I have thought of little else but have not been able to articulate how to write about it as each day has brought with it a new crop of emotions and realizations. I am confident Besito's life was filled with love, affection, stimulation, beauty, enrichment and loads of snuggles and fun even in the face of the inordinate amount of health issues that were prominent in the later years of his life. I'm also confident that it was, as they say, his time. He was comfortably swaddled in my arms and against my heart when he went to sleep forever. But I am still having such a rough time reconciling it all.

And I realize this is a very natural, very common, way to feel.

People have been telling me that time is our saving grace, that it heals all wounds. But what I fear more than feeling the grief is not feeling it any more. And that, of course, is inevitable. But for now, my tears seem to keep him with me. In a way it's good grief.

We went through a lot together, me and that guy. Some of my twenties and all of my thirties, a life in Atlanta and a life in LA, with a road trip to get us there and all sorts of other journeys throughout. We went everywhere together until it was simply too difficult for him, physically. But he saw more places and met more people, and animals, than most folks I know. He was there to accept my new relationships; friends and boyfriends, happily – welcomed them right into our family. And he was also there if those people left. I can remember, more than once, feeling heartbroken - everything broken, really – and so alone, but having Beso right by my side and thinking, “We've got each other you and me. We take care of each other.” And we did. And we knew.

Besito skirted death quite a few times in his thirteen years. Some from illnesses, some from being adventuresome and defiant, and one time from swallowing a peach pit. I often joked that he had nine lives. After one of his surgeries to repair paralyzation from the neck down, he was on bed rest for three weeks. So I cancelled everything and stayed home for three weeks, too. We entertained in, ordered a lot of delivery and marathoned multiple seasons of Gossip Girl.

He was, without a doubt, a huge personality. He could sing – harmonize even. We loved to sing together. He would match my volume and pitch. He loved clothes, warm and fresh from the dryer. He would frolic in them like a child in a pile of fall leaves. And his all-time favorite food (though he would eat any and everything) was eggs. If he so much as saw me pull the egg carton out of the fridge it was over. Whenever I would have eggs for breakfast I saved some for Beso and let him lick the plate clean. But the most important thing to Beso, and I don't mean to boast, was me. And I felt it every single day. His eyes followed me everywhere I went, and when I would come home from being away, he greeted me each time as though I was one of the Beatles. And every, single night Beso slept curled up in my arms. He was the littlest spoon.

Beso was also like an alarm clock. He was so food obsessed that each day, both at exactly eight in the morning and at six at night, he would start yelling at me for dinner. And he would continue to do so until the food was in front of him. He always made quite clear what he wanted, actually – up on lap, pet me, no not there, yes, there, I want down, I need to go out, I hate wind, and rain, where's the sunspot, this would be a good time for a treat, give me your eggs.

As Fred said on a recent morning, when everything felt so still and quiet without Beso waking us up and screaming for breakfast, “He was the fizz that made the soda bubbly.”

And I couldn't have put it any better.

In the weeks I have been trying to write this, I've gone through many stages. But some interesting factors have been in play and continue to pop up during this time that I simply cannot ignore. As I mentioned, Beso was ill. He had a half dozen close calls, real nail biters, in the last year that I wasn't sure he would come through. It was very important to me that he at least make it back to Richmond. I wanted him to know home, be home. With me. And once we all got here, I really wanted him to make it to one more Christmas... and his thirteenth birthday. Which he did all of, gracefully. But now, so immediately after his death, what I can't help but notice is how poetic it is that Spring is suddenly in full force. New colors and new life are everywhere. There is a little bird's nest in a fern on my front porch and a baby squirrel nest in the tree in my backyard that I can clearly see from my window. The squirrels even used paper from our recycling bin to build their nest – which, a few weeks ago, I had thought Beso was doing to get into scraps. And most poignantly, I'm going to have a baby. Soon, now. In fact, he was laying on my shelf of a pregnant belly as drifted onward and upward.

I'm not a very spiritual or religious person. I know we all create signs and gods and heavens, really, to cope with the difficulties of understanding that which is death. But I can't help but look at Beso's timing, how well we knew each other, how unconditionally and ginormously he loved life, and me. And, though anytime I see something little and cute I think of him, how could the baby birds on the front porch and the baby squirrels on the back porch and the baby girl in my belly not also be a little bit of Besito saying, “It's okay Mom. Really, after all we've been through, all of that love, we're together always. What lives must die. Life is death as death is life. Plus, I really don't like babies anyway. They get all the attention - and it's time to give yours to her, now.”

So I will.

Fred and I will be planting a tree in our yard, hopefully a fruit bearing one, in the coming weeks, and we will scatter Beso's ashes there. That way he will always be home with me, with Fred and our family. He will see seasons and life and change and growth. I look forward to sitting by the tree and sharing stories with our baby girl all about Besito Ysidro and our many adventures together.

And all of this, I know he knows.

Besito Ysidro Shaffner

2001-2014

I haven't cooked much since Beso died. I especially haven't been able to make eggs, yet. But Fred and I did make this beautiful fish dish recently. It was so, so simple and very apropos for the warmer weather, and even dining al fresco. We made a fish stock out of the carcass that would have surely been incorporated into Beso's meals. Our other pups, Eduardo and Byron, enjoyed the stock in their own kibble!

Whole Oven-Roasted Fish with Lemon & Rosemary

Note: Trout, red snapper and loup de mer (branzino) are great choices; wild striped bass and rockfish work fine too. Cooking times vary with size.

Serves 2

Ingredients

1 whole fresh fish, cleaned and rinsed

4 sprigs fresh rosemary

1 lemon, sliced thinly & seeded

1 clove garlic, minced

2 tablespoons butter

2 tablespoon olive oil

Red pepper flakes

Sea salt and pepper

Directions

Remove the fish from the refrigerator 10 minutes before roasting.

Preheat the oven to 400 degrees. Mix garlic and olive oil and let sit to infuse for 5 minutes. Strain and discard garlic; set aside the oil.

Season the fish inside and out with salt and brush inside and out with the garlic oil. Place lemon (save for 2 or 3 slices) in the cavity with the sprigs of rosemary.

Arrange the remaining lemon slices and small rosemary sprigs in slits on top of the fish and sprinkle with red pepper flakes. Roast until a knife easily penetrates the flesh and the top fillet begins to lift easily, about 25 to 30 minutes.

Carefully transfer the fish to a warm platter and serve.

Printable recipe.

One year ago: Braised Eggs with Lamb, Tahini & Sumac

Two years ago: Eggs in a Basket with Maple Bacon Fontina & Chives

Three years ago: Lamb Chops with Cumin Cardamom & Lime

Four years ago: Ludobites 4.0

Have this Cake. And Eat it, Too.

I would be remiss if I did not take a brief pause from the road trip adventure stories to talk a little bit about the fact that this is Thanksgiving week. Not only is this, like, my favorite holiday of all time (next to Christmas, of course), but for the first time in over a decade, I am back home with my family to share in holiday times together. It's pretty special.

Much has transpired since Fred and I landed in Richmond a little over a month ago. We've settled into our new place – for the most part. Still looking for window treatments for the kitchen, and a few odds and ends. We carved jack-o-lanterns for Halloween and had trick-or-treaters! It snowed. A little. I got a new bike that is super, extra cute. And, at both my dad and Fred's behest, a helmet that is decidedly less cute. We have explored old and new Richmond restaurants and cooking at home with equal frequency. And I have a few other extremely exciting tidbits to share. But not quite yet.

Because, you see, we need to talk turkey. Or, at least, Thanksgiving stuff (ing). Or, at least, fall, food holiday things. You wouldn't know it from checking in here, but I actually have been cooking up a storm since we arrived in Richmond. With the exception of the brief few days it took to replace the electric stove with a new, super awesome gas stove.

There have been pools of soups, piles of cakes, profusion of roasted chickens, pyramids of biscuits, plenty of cookies and a prosperity of granola. As the leaves on the trees have gone from full and green to the bright yellows, reds, oranges and browns, to almost barren, we have sampled almost all of the various, local farmers' markets, settled on our favorite and have become regulars.

I baked two cakes that seem particularly timely for this season, this week: a persimmon upside down cake and an apple-walnut cake. They both showcase peak seasonal produce items and were both remarkably delicious. However, A) the persimmon cake requires several more shots to get it just rightfor you and, B) Fred got way better pictures of the apple-walnut cake. And they do say, we eat first with our eyes, right?

For this particular version, I used a local Virginia apple, the Jonathan, which was a new one for me. I was told that Virginia Jonathan apples are the first red apples available in the Fall and are the ideal all-purpose apple. The farmer told me that they are equally delicious for snacking, cooking and baking – and are perfect for candy apples. I found them to be earthy and at the same time exotic with a unique blend of sweet and tart. To the eye they appear to be a standard red, but upon closer inspection, their skin combines light red stripes over yellow or deep red. If you don't happen to be in Virginia, which you're probably not, find apples that hold up under heat and balance sweet-tart flavor, like Honeycrisp, Mutsu, Pink Lady.

All walnuts ripen in the Fall, so they were the perfect nut choice. However, I used black walnuts as opposed to the standard English walnuts (which are actually Persian). Black walnuts are native to the U.S. - from California, actually - and have a bolder, earthier flavor than the milder and slightly sweeter taste of the English walnut. That's just my jam, is all. Your walnut, your prerogative.

Team effort alert: Fred made the glaze! Fred chose the lemon-vanilla variety to add a brightness to the rounded warmth of the flavors in the cake.

Now, I realize this comes to you the day before Thanksgiving. A day you're probably working on pumpkin and pecan pies rather than an apple cake. But just in case you're looking for that curve ball, that little glimmer of inspirato that deviates slightly from the norm this Thanksgiving, I tell you what - this cake came together beautifully and I can't think of a single thing I would change about the recipe we made. So, whether it's today, tomorrow, next week or next month (as long as it's soon-ish), make this cake. Have a slice after dinner with a glass of rum, or in the morning with a cup of coffee.

But you should definitely have this cake. And eat it, too.

Apple-Walnut Cake with Lemon Vanilla Glaze

(recipe adapted from this Southern classic)

Ingredients

1 1/4 cup all-purpose flour

1 cup whole wheat flour

3/4 cup granulated sugar

1 cup light brown sugar, packed

1 tablespoon ground cinnamon

2 teaspoons baking powder

1 teaspoon salt

1/2 teaspoon baking soda

3/4 cup vegetable oil

1 teaspoon vanilla

3 eggs

2 cups finely chopped peeled apples

1 cup chopped walnuts

Lemon Vanilla Glaze, below

Preparation

In a large mixing bowl, blend all ingredients except chopped apples and walnuts with electric mixer. Stir in chopped apples and nuts. Pour into a generously greased and floured 10-inch Bundt cake pan or tube pan. Bake at 325° for 55 to 65 minutes, until a wooden pick inserted in center comes out clean. Cool in pan for 15 minutes; turn out onto serving plate to cool completely. Drizzle with a vanilla glaze.

For the Lemon Vanilla Glaze

3 tablespoons lemon juice

1 1/2 teaspoons vanilla extract

3/4 cup+ confectioners’ sugar, sifted

Combine lemon juice, 1 1/2 teaspoons vanilla, and confectioners’ sugar in a small bowl and whisk until smooth, playing with lemon juice and sugar ratios until desired glaze consistency and flavor has been reached. Drizzle glaze over cake and serve immediately. Store cake in an airtight container at room temperature or in the refrigerator for up to 5 days.

Printable recipe.

One year ago: Chestnut, Apple & Celery Soup with Sage Oil

Two years ago: Classic Cranberry Nut Bread

Three years ago: Sausage over Creamy Lentils

Four years ago: Bouchon Beverly Hills

I'm the Dog Walker.

Oddly enough, I've been to very few weddings. A lot of people complain about weddings, like they're a drag or something. I love them. I love looking at all of the people, watching the families interact, figuring out who knows whom, who tolerates whom, you get the idea. I love to watch the eccentric great aunt with her shaky, little hands, clutching her champagne glass smeared with red lipstick smudges around the rim and crumbs of God knows what permanently lodged in the corners of her mouth. I love the awkward little children, dressed up like adults, the boys looking miserable and uncomfortable and the girls loving their princess hair and dresses and all of the attention. I love watching the bride's second cousin flirting with the groom's best man's brother, and sneaking off to hook up after just enough champagne, wine and cocktails to chalk it up to 'weddings'.

I love the formality, the process. I love watching the groom's face, and see his eyes light up (or fill with tears) when he first lays eyes on his very soon-to-be-bride walking down the aisle toward him. And, at that moment, I always cry a little. I love how awkward they are. I love that as a result of how awkward they are, and how no one really knows anyone all that well, no one is really themselves; rather people take on a veil of anonymity. And pretty much everyone over indulges in some way or another.

I love wedding food. I love food in chafing dishes. I love the taco themes, or the tapas themes, the big-fat-Greek-wedding themes, I love choosing either the salmon or the roast beef. I love the over cornstarchy, congealed sauce that is poured over either one. I love the extremeley cooked carrots and green beans with mashed potatoes and gravy. And, of course, I love the cake.

It's wonderful that everyone dances (to all manner of bad music). Everyone laughs. Everyone cries. Everyone talks. Everyone eats and everyone drinks. Family and friends from all over the country, or even the world, perfect strangers, yet all thrust together because of another couple's union. And everyone at least pretends to be happy, jubilant even. Until they receive the next wedding invitation whereupon they complain what a drag weddings are.

It had been at least five years since my last wedding, until this past weekend. One of my clients was getting married. And she wanted her dog, Giovanni, to be in the wedding. To be specific, she wanted me to escort Giovanni to the wedding and make sure he made it down the aisle with his "grandfather" (the bride's dad).  An ordinary day. Giovanni is an awesome dog and I adore him. Giovanni is a Pug. It was a hot day: Giovanni mouth breathes like a Pug, is a tiny bit chubby, and does not love the heat.

I followed the wedding planners' instructions to the T: I drove Giovanni downtown at five pm and parked outside the venue.  We were escorted in by one of the planners; I then waited to hand him off to the bride's father at the proper time. Oh, did I mention Giovanni was wearing a tuxedo?  A snug tux at that--couldn't fasten the bottom button.  So here I am in downtown LA at 5 pm on what seemed the hottest day of the year with a chubby Pug in a tux.  After Giovanni's down the aisle promenade with granddad I was to take him and wait until the conclusion of the ceremony at which point the wedding photographer was going to get a few shots of the happy couple with Giovanni.  Then Gio and I were free to go.

Everything went as planned. Except there were no side aisles. So for the first few moments of the ceremony, I sat in the very front row, next to the VIPs and the parents, who must have wondered who this bold stranger might be. I quietly explained, “I'm the dog walker”, and they seemed relieved. So, Gio's granddad walked his daughter and her dog down the aisle and it was touching. As always, while everyone else was craning their necks to catch that first glimpse of the bride, I watched the groom's face, and could tell exactly when he laid eyes on her, in her dress, for the first time. And I cried a little.

After that, Giovanni was quickly handed to me and, while the ceremony began to hit its stride, I had to awkwardly duck back up the center aisle, the only aisle. The very aisle that still had the lingering scent of the bride's perfume as she had just walked down it not six seconds prior. And, of course, with Giovanni panting very audibly in his tuxedo. A graceful exit it was not.

Then, Gio and I were shown to a corner in the back of the reception area to wait for the ceremony to end. A couple of the caterers and staff were curious about what we were doing back there, all alone, no champagne. “I'm the dog walker," I told them.

Then, as fast as it began, it was over. And while Giovanni was photographed with his just married mom and dad, I waited by the front door of the venue with the valets. Then a woman stepped outside for some air and since we were the only non-valets standing there, she felt compelled to say, “Hi, I'm Evelyn, the groom's sister. Are you with bride or groom?” To which I confidently replied, “Hi, I'm the dog walker!”

And so, as the bride and groom went back inside to enjoy the reception, the meal, the dancing and the champagne with all of their family and friends, Giovanni and I hopped back in the car to head back to my house to relax. And man, was he happy to get that tux off.

Back at my place, it was dinner time. I fed the pups their kibble and Fred poured us a couple of glasses of Vino Verde to sip while we got to our Saturday night project: making ricotta, which was something I had wanted to do for a very long time – ever since I saw the recipe in Saveur six or so years ago and ripped out the pages. As the milk and cream were heating up on the stove, I told him about how it felt so strange to have been a part, in even the tiniest way, of one of the most important days in two people's lives, but to have been so very invisible. I wasn't really even there. And I didn't mind one bit – though a glass of champagne would have been much appreciated.

As we sat down to the table to eat our dinner of grilled pork tenderloin (with an amazing dry rub) and zucchini with Niçoise olives and homemade ricotta, I realized I definitely got my wedding fix. I got the vibe. I watched the families, the couples, the singles scoping out their next flirt target. There was champagne, and spicy margaritas. It was a taco theme, with mariachis and the whole bit. I did what most women who have not yet had their own wedding do (and have thought about since they were six years old), compare it to what they would do differently, take note of what worked, little details, décor, style, all of it. And before Giovanni and I left, I did get a hug from the bride and groom – which is actually pretty hard to get at a lot of weddings, with all of the hullabaloo. Especially for the dog walker.

Would I serve this dish at my wedding? Perhaps. But man alive, the ricotta that we made was out of this world. Light, airy, buttery, creamy, rich, and delicate. We ate it in everything for three days straight, until it was gone. We even ate it for dessert; a heap of it in a bowl topped with lemon zest, honey and almonds.

Zucchini with Lucques Olives and Homemade Ricotta

8-10 servings

Ingredients
1/4 cup plus 2 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil

8 medium zucchini (about 3 1/4 pounds)—halved lengthwise, seeded and cut into 1/3-inch dice

3 lemon thyme sprigs

Kosher salt

1 teaspoon finely grated lemon zest

1 tablespoon fresh lemon juice

1/2 cup pitted Lucques olives, chopped

Freshly ground pepper

3/4 pound ricotta (here's how to make your own)

1 tablespoon fresh mint, chopped, plus a sprig for garnish

Directions
In a very large skillet, heat 2 tablespoons of olive oil. Add 1/3 of the zucchini, 1 lemon thyme sprig, a generous pinch of salt and 1/4 cup of water and cook over moderately high heat, stirring occasionally until the zucchini is just tender and the water has evaporated, about 5 minutes. Transfer the zucchini to a platter to cool and discard the thyme sprig. Wipe out the skillet and repeat in two more batches with the remaining olive oil, lemon thyme, zucchini and salt, adding 1/4 cup of water to each batch.

In a large bowl, toss the cooled zucchini with the grated lemon zest, lemon juice, mint and olives. Season with salt and pepper and transfer to a serving platter. Arrange the ricotta over the zucchini, garnish with a sprig of mint and serve.

Printable recipe.

One year ago: Poblano-Sherry Vinegar Mignonette

Two years ago: Classic Southern Fried Chicken

Three years ago: Wolvesmouth

Four years ago: Steak au Poivre

Swimming Into the Spotlight.

Yellow Umbrella, or Yellah Umbrellah as many Richmonders call it, has been serving up choice seafood in Richmond's West End since my whole life (they opened in 1975). I only learned about the place a few years ago but it quickly became my The Go-To for extraordinary – and sustainably harvested - fresh fish (when I was in town, of course). I also always had to grab some of their remarkable prepared cheese grits right before checking out. Random, right? Not in the South.

This past February they moved. Across the street. You can throw a rock, it's so close. But now they are way bigger and even better. I imagine much to Belmont Butchery's chagrin, they now boast a nose-to-tail, butcher shop with humanely-raised meat. Even better, they offer 'cellar-to-table' wines and cheeses, seasonal produce, artisanal breads and homemade prepared foods.

On their website they claim to have 'fanatical and quality service', and I'm here to tell you it is absolutely true. A week or so ago, whilst my dad, Fred and I began planning a dinner party for six people, their intrepid Travis endured twenty-four hours and a myriad of phone calls from yours truly. During one return call I mistook Travis for my friend, Spencer, and squealed familiarly; during another, Travis thought I called him 'honey' – I'm pretty sure I didn't, but one never knows. I for sure knew I wanted whole fish. They expected whole Rockfish, Red Snapper and Branzino delivered the next day and did not know the exact specs of the fish. Why?

Because someone had to go catch the fish.

So, my new BFF, Travis, called me first thing the next morning with the option of fifteen pounds and over thirty inches of Rockfish. That was definitely the option I desired most but I was quickly reminded that cooking something of that size would be impossible. There was no way it would fit in the oven or the grill. Parade rained on, I settled for four large Branzino and about six pounds of mussels. And a huge chunk of those cheese grits. They scaled and gutted the fish right there in front of us in the store, and even asked if we wanted heads and tails on – which we did.

We cooked everything that night. Dad was on fish duty, Fred took the Mussel patrol, and I was assigned 'the sides' (I made a delicate salad of frisée, lightly dressed with finishing oil, lemon and salt, and roasted sunchokes with a buttery bagna cauda). The mussels were so plump, briny and rich – and the Branzino – which we roasted whole, was bracingly fresh, simple and exquisite.

Back in LA and doing some grocery shopping yesterday, I poked around the fish counter to check out my options. They had whole Branzino, but even to say that it paled in comparison would be weak. Paz had a memorable Yellah Umbrellah story to share: she bought a whole Red Snapper from them once and named her fish Carl. I recall her sending me a picture of Carl. This was probably about four years ago and she still waxes on about Carl, the most beautiful, freshest fish she had ever seen and eaten. Ask her about him, I'm serious.

The crew at Yellow Umbrella Provisions are doing something singular and noteworthy. I honestly think their product is unparalleled and the people behind it are equally so. I just don't understand why they are still in the best-kept-secret category.

When I return, I'm going to go back and give Travis a hug.

Spicy Coconut Mussels with Lemongrass
(recipe from NYT Dining, April 2012)

Serves 2

2 tablespoons coconut or safflower oil

1 shallot, finely chopped

3 garlic cloves, finely chopped

1 stalk lemon grass, trimmed (outer layers removed) and finely chopped

1 serrano chile, seeded and finely chopped

1 cup unsweetened coconut milk

2 pounds fresh mussels, rinsed well & de-bearded

Zest of 1/2 lemon

1 teaspoon lemon juice, or to taste

1/2 teaspoon fish sauce, or to taste

1/2 cup whole cilantro leaves

Heat the oil in the bottom of a large pot until hot. Add the shallot, garlic, lemon grass and chile. Cook over medium heat until soft, about 3 minutes. Add the coconut milk and mussels. Cover with a tight-fitting lid and cook until the mussels have opened, 5 to 7 minutes (discard any mussels that remained closed). Remove from heat, and use a slotted spoon to transfer the mussels to a large bowl, leaving the liquid in the pot. Stir the lemon zest and juice, fish sauce and cilantro into the pot. Taste and add more fish sauce and/or lemon juice if needed (fish sauce provides the salt).

Scoop the mussels into a large serving bowl. Pour the remaining sauce on top. Finish with a generous sprinkling of fresh cilantro. Add lemon or lime wedges on the side.

Serve with crusty French loaf to help soak up the juices.

A good, crisp white wine pairs nicely with this dish. 

Printable recipe.

One year ago: Pasture

Two years ago: Classic Tuna Salad

Three years ago: Paz's World Famous Rice & Beans

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

Out Like a Lamb.

The end of March is nigh, and thus is Easter. Passover is happening right now. It's a big time for a lot of people. And plants. Plants are having a blast right now. And people are having a blast with plants. Or, at least, Fred and I are.

When we last spoke, I had mentioned having chatted around to get a feel as to what food things meant to people with regard to Easter. I ended up settling on chocolate and lamb, though not necessarily together – which might not be a bad idea, come to think of it. So I shared a chocolate recipe.

So you probably know where we will be going with this. Lambville.

Coming from completely non-religious parents, other than the Easter Bunny covertly surprising me with an Easter basket each year at my mom's house, Easter meant little else. I don't even recall a special meal. So after sifting through people's responses to my query about what Easter represented, culinarily, to them, I went about figuring out what it meant to me. And I decided to embark on the most traditional Easter supper I have ever had. First order on the agenda: order a giant leg of lamb.

I like lamb just fine, now, but as a child it unnerved me a little. I think it was just the gamey-ness of the meat. It wasn't on the dinner table too often at home, but I know Dad loved it. He always ordered it at the Greek restaurant in our neighborhood. He loved their Lamb Guvetsi.

As I mentioned, years ago, like 2005, I heard Nigella Lawson interviewedon NPR around this time of year. She was promoting her then new book, Feast, a cookbook devoted primarily to celebrations, holidays and entertaining. I vividly recall her discussing her favorite Easter meal, and the great detail with which she described a saffron roasted leg of lamb and some sticky, crispy garlic potatoes. Obviously it stuck with me if eight years later that was the first thing to pop into my head when I decided to make my first, big Easter dinner. So I started planning the menu, the flowers, the dining room look, and called some friends.

Easter dinner was so happening.

Two days before the event I put the lamb in its marinade and refrigerated it. The day before, while Fred went out to get all of our groceries, flowers and the like, I poked around on the computer to find out why lamb in the Spring, and why lamb on Easter. Why throughout the entire world the most popular Easter symbol is the lamb. I'm sure, as usual in this department, everyone else already knows this stuff, but I'm new here.

The roast lamb dinner that many eat on Easter Sunday goes back earlier than Easter to the first Passover of the Jewish people. The sacrificial lamb was roasted and eaten, together with unleavened bread and bitter herbs (a Seder) in hopes that the angel of God would pass over their homes and bring no harm. As Hebrews converted to Christianity, they naturally brought along their traditions with them. The Christians often refer to Jesus as The Lamb of God. Thus, the traditions merged.

In the 7th century the Benedictine monks wrote a prayer for the blessing of lambs.

A few hundred years later the pope adopted it and a whole roasted lamb became the feature of the Pope's Easter Dinner, and has been ever since.

I wasn't going to roast a whole lamb, of course. Just one of its legs.

Now this lamb recipe involved saffron, which I absolutely love. I know a lot of people do not, however. It seems to be one of those ingredients like cilantro: people either love it or hate it. And I understand. Also, like cilantro, it has an unmistakable, very distinct aroma and taste. The thin, delicate, muted red hair-like strands are fragrant, floral, earthy, and honey-like with a bit of bitterness. Saffron also happens to be the most expensive spice in the world. Use too much and that will be the only thing you take away from that dish. With saffron, the words 'a little goes a long way' have never been more accurate. A little dab will do ya.

It's no surprise that you will find a wealth of recipes with saffron and lamb together. Kind of like chocolate and peanut butter, they just make sense. They are also both prominent elements in a lot of Middle-Eastern cuisine. Actually, it's funny, lamb takes me back to eating Greek food with my dad, and I used Greek saffron with my Easter lamb.

Yesterday, on the event of my Easter dinner celebration, once the lamb went into the oven after two days of marinating, I went about the décor of the dining room. I hand-picked each and every piece of silverware, plate and glass, dug through the linens to find the right napkins – I went for the fancies – and began meticulously arranging the bundles of daffodils and hyancinths into little vintage creamers and jelly jars while listening to my go-to soothing sounds: Explosions in the Sky. All the while the house was filling up with the entrancing smell of lamb, lemon and garlic fusing together in the oven. I dare say it was beginning to smell like Easter. Or, at least, really, really good. The air smelled like family and friends and the promise of festivity and future fond memories.

Everything was coming together perfectly. The food was on schedule, the room looked great, I had the perfect wines; some lovely rosés from a tasting the day before, and just moments before the guests arrived, as I was lighting the candles, Fred and I got our Easter baskets in the mail! I guess the Easter Bunny is trying to help out the US Post Office in their time of need... Nevertheless, that took care of dessert; Cadbury Creme Eggs!

As we all sat down to the table, we raised our glasses of rosé and toasted to a happy Easter. And as I looked around the room, I took stock. The smiling faces of my friends, the table looked beauteous, the food was delicious, the wine went perfectly with the saffrony lamb, the flowers smelled wonderful, and best of all we were all so happy to be with each other. Good friends, together, on our Easter, eating, drinking, smiling, talking, sharing Easter memories and laughter.

SAFFRON ROAST LAMB WITH STICKY GARLIC POTATOES

(recipe adapted from Nigella Lawson's book, Feast)

Serves 6

1 leg of lamb (4.5 lbs)

1/3 cup olive oil

3 cloves garlic, bruised

6 scallions

2 bay leaves

juice of 1 lemon

small bunch mint, 1 1/2 oz including stalks, torn roughly makes 1 cup

1/2 teaspoon saffron threads, steeped in 1 cup very hot water

1/3 cup rosé wine

 Put the lamb in a large freezer bag, pour over the olive oil and then throw in the garlic, trimmed scallions and bay leaves, squeeze in the lemon juice and throw in the squeezed-out lemon halves too, then add the torn-up bunch of mint. Seal the bag and marinate in the fridge overnight.

Bring the lamb to room temperature before you even think of putting it in the oven, and preheat that to 425 degrees F when you take the lamb out of the fridge.

Pour the entire contents of the freezer bag into a roasting pan and roast for about 20 minutes a pound, or until the lamb is cooked a perfect, à point pink; you will just have to pierce it with the knife to see. Just before the lamb is due to come out of the oven, put the saffron strands in a measuring cup and pour over the hot water so that it can get on with steeping.

Remove the lamb to a wooden carving board to rest. Pick out the lemon rinds, and then place the roasting pan on the stove over medium heat, and stir until it starts bubbling. Stir in the saffron in its water and add 1/3 cup rosé – tasting for seasoning as you go – as needed to let this bubble into a small amount of ungloopy gravy. 

Carve the lamb on to a large warmed plate and strain the saffrony juices, stirring in any liquid first from the carving board, over the pink meat.

Read the sticky garlic potato recipe now so that you can coordinate your movements. And, to go with, I'd want no more than a bowl of green peas, turned in some butter.

STICKY GARLIC POTATOES

Serves 6

1 1/2 lbs small fingerling potatoes

8 cloves garlic (more if you like)

1/2 cup olive or other vegetable oil 

Coarse salt & freshly cracked pepper to taste.

Bring a saucepan of water to the boil and add some salt, add the potatoes and cook for 30 minutes. Drain, and put back into the dry pan.

Peel the garlic cloves by squishing with the flat of a knife so that they bruise slightly and the skin slips off. Put them in the dry pan with the potatoes, and then bash potatoes and garlic  so they are cracked and split. You can do this ahead and leave them in the pan – though with the lid off, so that they don’t get watery – until you want to roast them.

Preheat the oven to 425 degrees F and slip a roasting pan in to heat up at the same time. Once the oven’s hot, pour in the oil and let it, in turn, heat up for 10 minutes.

Carefully tip the potatoes and garlic into the hot oil and cook for 15 minutes. Turn the potatoes over and then give them another 15 minutes. 

Salt & pepper to taste.

Serve on a platter with the lamb.

Printable recipe.

One year ago: Rustic Cremini Mushroom Soup with Chives & Basil Oil
Two years ago: Nutter Butter Cookies
Three years ago: The Grill 'Em All Truck

Lip-Face, Mr. California & The Shad Roe.

I’ve never had a cavity. Never until a couple of weeks ago, that is. I only go to one dentist and that’s my dentist back in Richmond. Other than Dr. Fitzugh, who passed away when I was a little girl, Dr. Wade has been my only dentist. And Dr. Wade actually took over Dr. Fitzhugh’s practice. Everything stayed the same. Even the mobiles hanging from the ceiling. And Myrtle, the receptionist. I love Myrtle.

Okay, so I have tried other dentists here in LA. I have tried exactly two and it has been a mess each time. The two dentists wanted to sell and sell and sell. Like used car salesmen. And though nothing has been wrong with my teeth, they have made me feel like I have a mouthful of disaster. The first guy suggested bleaching and veneers. I was only going for a cleaning. The last guy I tried noticed the little chip in my front tooth caused by an over excited dog that was eager to get leashed for a walk. She accidentally made the metal part of the leash flip up and whack me in the tooth. TINY chip. Dr. LA decided to bond it. Within less than two weeks the bonding came off. And, as it turned out, my insurance didn’t cover any of it anyway.

So on my very recent visit back home I scheduled an appointment with Dr. Wade for a cleaning. I discovered he had moved his practice a few blocks west and Myrtle has retired.

I also discovered I had a cavity.

Dr. Wade told me he thought it best we deal with it right then and there. Then Dr. Wade showed me the needle that was about to go into my mouth. Then I cried. I rarely cry, and I cried like a little kid. He even had to play a little kid game with me to distract me from the actual moment the syringe was to make contact. And, Dr. Wade had to administer two injections to fully numb the area.

The Needle.

And so, with my hands clenched into little fists so tight my knuckles were stark white, I got my first filling. That whole part only took about fifteen minutes but it seemed like hours.

As I was leaving the office Dr. Wade told me to use caution when eating as the left side of my face was numb. I felt as though we had been through so much together that I gave him a big, emotional hug. As though we just survived a battle, shoulder to shoulder.

Then I drove back to the house to meet up with Dad and Fred. We were going bike riding along the James River. But not before we stopped off at Coppola’s Deli to pick up a bunch of Italian subs and chips and stuff: lunch. Coppola’s was actually was my first job from back in high school. Really great sandwiches.

We parked at Pony Pasture (a spot on the river where we all spent a good deal of time at when we were kids: also known as The Redneck Riviera), unloaded the bikes and settled onto a huge rock to eat lunch. I was famished and really excited about my sandwich – it was the same one always ordered: The Honey Turkey (honey roasted turkey breast, grilled with onions, sweet and hot peppers, smothered with Swiss cheese on a freshly baked French Roll with leaf lettuce, tomatoes and Dijon).

About halfway through my enthusiastic romp through Sandwich Town, my dad looked up at me with a perplexed expression and said, “Elliott, um… you have blood running down your chin.”

Now, I have bitten my lip before – we all have. But what I did that day was kind of amazing. Without realizing it I was eating my face. It was so gross that it was comical. It was very extreme looking. It took over a week to heal completely.

But at least it didn’t hurt. Yet.

This was right after. It continued to grow throughout the day.
That and the bike helmet made me look like a viable short bus candidate.

We went on with our bike ride, which was beautiful save for the comments from the Peanut Gallery about my lip-face.

The remainder of the day was very relaxing as the pain began to set in. A pain that perfectly illustrated the gravity of what I had done to myself. We wandered around the Virginia Museum, which lives right across the street from my house, and then, while Dad took a nap, Fred and I went on an early evening walk to collect ingredients for dinner.

By the time we got back I was pretty worn out. I assembled a cheese plate with white anchovies in olive oil and Billy Bread that we picked up at the Belmont Butcheryand joined Dad out on the back deck. We sipped some wine while Fred got to flexing in the kitchen. He wanted to play with this stuff Dad had in the fridge that he had never heard of before: shad roe.

It was a ridiculously perfect late-Spring, Richmond evening: warm, humid, almost sultry but for the light breeze coming through the 2834658 year old tree that shelters the yard, fireflies, cicadas, orange-y, warm, waning light. Jazz. Cheese. Wine. Dad.

And right as the sun was almost gone completely, Fred came out with our dinner, all plated and everything. And what did this Native Californian, who had never set foot in the South before, much less cooked there, feed us all for dinner that night? All on his own, armed with his smart phone for help, Fred prepared us a decidedly Southern and very much in-season-right-now delicacy; shad roe. And, Dad and I agreed wholeheartedly, he did a damn fine job.

Perhaps Fred is a Southern boy at heart. Heck, you should have see how happy he was to encounter his first honeysuckle and his first firefly in the same night!

My lip was still massive, but the comedy of it all, the absurdity, made it an instant cult hit in the antectdotal department. I had a new story. And I know I will tell it often.

What an incredible day.

* It’s hard to go wrong with roe. Sturgeon eggs make delicious black caviar. Salmon eggs, meanwhile, make sumptuous red caviar. Cod roe is the stuff of excellent taramosalata and tuna roe of fantastic botarga.

Shad roe, however, is especially savory — if for no other reason than because it’s so rare. While one can usually enjoy caviar or cod roe year-round, the shad roe season is short. Really short, in fact, as it typically lasts just a few months, from March until May, while the shad are making their run as far south as the Chesapeake Bay and as far north as southern New England.

Shad are one fish where the eggs are valued more than the fish itself. Shad roe is vaguely fishy, but not overpoweringly so, and the texture is similar to a good meatball -- soft yet meaty. Shad roe cooked in bacon fat, served with lemon and a fresh spring herb is the classic way to cook this delicacy, which only comes around in late spring. The keys to this dish are very fresh roe, very good bacon and a zingy herb to accompany it.

 Classic Shad Roe with Bacon & Fresh Herbs
(recipe adapted from Hank Shaw)

Ingredients

4-6 lobes of shad roe

1 tablespoon. salt

2 cups cold water

6-10 pieces of smoky, thick-cut bacon

Flour for dusting

1 lemon, quartered

Fresh herbs such as chervil, fennel or parsley to garnish

Directions

Mix the salt and water until it's dissolved. Submerge the roe in the brine in refrigerator overnight.

Cook the bacon in skillet until crispy, then set aside to drain. Keep skillet.

Meanwhile, flour, salt & pepper the roe and set aside while bacon cooks.

In the same skillet, turn the heat to medium-high and cook the shad roe for 1 minute. Turn the heat down to medium, then cook for another 2-3 minutes, until golden. Turn and cook the other side for 2-3 minutes. Careful not to overcook as the roe can become quite chalky.

To serve, arrange the roe on a plate, place the fresh herbs on the crumbles of bacon on top. Serve with a lemon wedge.

NOTE: If possible, begin dish a day ahead to brine the roe.

Printable recipe. 

One year ago: Sautéed Baby Artichokes with Olive Oil, Garlic & Lemon