For Those About to Cook, I Salute You.

I've been at this blogging thing for six and a half years now, and it's been good to me. It began as a whim and, yes, my timing was pretty perfect. The whole food blogging thing was becoming... a thing. I didn't know anything about blogging, or even what the word meant exactly. I knew I loved food. I loved to think about it, talk about it, read about it, make it, eat it and share it. My friends couldn't help but notice the interest-turned-obsession and one in particular urged me to start what has become F for Food.

I read many other blogs and have become enmeshed in the blogging community. Many of my closest friends, even now, are fellow food bloggers. There are quite a few different flavors of us: the restaurant bloggers and the recipe bloggers are the two broadest groups. I fall more into the recipe category with the occasional restaurant discussion. Some of us recipe bloggers like to flex creative writing and storytelling with our recipes and some write the straight dope about the recipes, the seasonality, the use of ingredients. Again, I fall more into the creative writing/storytelling camp, with some dialogue about The Food.

For the dishes I share on F for Food, I use some of my very own brainflowers, but I also pool from the world-wide world of recipes; cookbooks, online references and, often, other bloggers. I frequently read a recipe that I find alluring and then riff on it in my kitchen. If it works, I will likely share the results. I often tell the story of how I found the recipe and from whom it originated. I have written consistently about Alice Waters, Marion Cunningham, Suzanne Goin, Melissa Clark and Molly Wizenberg(funny, all women) to name a few - their food, and their influence on my own. Usually in the paragraphs leading up to the actual recipe.

In some instances, Fred and I create a dish from nothing and then research to see who has also created the same dish, or something similar, in the past to use as a recipe model. As it would appear, very little is truly original or not inspired by something that has already been thrust into the world.

Here's what I have not done. I have not properly transformed the instructional parts of the recipes. And more importantly, in the proper instances, I have not placed the attribution under the title of the recipe – resulting in not giving credit where credit is due. For example, when I rambled on about hearing an episode of The Splendid Table where Melissa Clark tells the beautiful memory of her childhood and the pan bagnat (though I included hyperlinks to both The Splendid Table episode and Melissa Clark), I did not type 'adapted from a recipe by Melissa Clark'at the top of the recipe.

First, I would like to apologize for this oversight and, second, let you know that I am in the process of going back through the archives of F for Food to make certain the appropriate due credit is given. I have nothing but respect and admiration for chefs, food lovers and recipe creators of all kinds. My blog began as, and continues to be, a testament to my reverence, love and appreciation of everything about food and those who feel the same way that have come before me, are here now and those who will pave the yellow pound cake road of the future.

So this is Memorial Day weekend. Let's go outside, drink cold adult beverages by a body of water of some kind and eat some sort of thing from a grill – or, in my preganant-self's case, enjoy some cold, refreshing popsicles in my back yard with Fred. Let's all get to it, shall we?

Watermelon-Mint Popsicles with Lime

(This recipe is a Fred + Elliott original)

Makes 10 popsicles

Ingredients

4 cups of watermelon cut into 1-inch cubes, plus 1 cup 1/4-inch cubes (seeds removed)

3 tablespoons chopped mint leaves, tightly packed

Zest & juice of 1 lime

3 tablespoons granulated sugar

Pinch of salt

Directions

Puree 1-inch cubes of watermelon & run through sieve into medium bowl. 

Muddle mint & sugar together, add to watermelon liquid along with lime zest & juice. Stir well. 

Refrigerate mixture for about 30 minutes to allow sugar to melt and let flavors infuse. 

Divide the 1/4-inch watermelon cubes evenly between the 10 sections of the popsicle mold, then using a pitcher with a spout, carefully fill molds, leaving about 1/4-inch of room at the top as the popsicles will expand as they freeze. 

Insert popsicle sticks and freeze away (approximately 3-5 hours, depending on your freezer). If you are using wooden popsicle sticks and your mold does not have a guide, freeze for 1 hour and then insert the sticks.

*FYI - We used this type of popsicle mold.

Printable recipe.

One year ago: Chilled Beet Soup with Horseradish Yogurt

Two years ago: Classic Shad Roe with Bacon & Fresh Herbs

Four years ago: Sautéed Baby Artichokes with Olive Oil, Garlic & Lemon

The Cousin of Sleep

Now, I'm pretty sure I'm going to step on someone's toes with this statement, but toes be damned...

Nas' 1994 debut album, Illmatic, is in a word, perfect. From the first track to the last Illmatic is a narrative of literate, fluid rhymes with sophisticated, thoughtful beats rooted in some of the best and most esoteric of jazz and hip hop. It's both simple and ambitious with no extraneous elements. It's smart and it's fun as hell. Just you try not to move your body while you listen. And once the album is over, I am always left wanting more.

It's an especially great album to listen to in the car. And, of course, I'm listening to it while I write this.

But there is one line that always gives me pause. It's from the second track, N.Y. State of Mind, "I never sleep, cause sleep is the cousin of death.” It could be that I'm a really big fan of sleep, or that I also have no problem, in concept or practice, with sleeping say, twelve hours straight. My head hits the pillow, I close my eyes, and I'm out. I also feel that sleep is really healthy (maybe not the twelve hour variety). It's good for the mind and body. A person can go crazy, can die, without sleep.

So why is it the cousin of death? Because your eyes are closed and you're lying down? Our minds are in superdrive with dreams during sleep, so it can't be mental. And wait, what about the ancient belief that sneezing is a near-death experience, and that a blessing will prevent your soul or sneeze from escaping your body and will deter the devil from entering? Shouldn't the line then be, “I never sneeze, cause sneeze is the cousin of death"? It surely seems more literal. And why cousin? I suppose it sounds better than nephew... the nephew of death.

The things that keep me up at night... At least they keep me further from death's cousin.

I've been thinking about sleep (and hence, that line) a lot because I'm not getting much of it. I'm pregnant and getting pregnant-er by the day. If I'm not up every hour for the bathroom, then I'm struggling to use the proper sleeping positions (my favorite body placement is apparently not recommended for pregnancy). Sometimes I even wake up in the middle of the night famished. And I know that this part will only get worse as time moves forward, and then there will likely be no sleep at all after our baby girl is born.

I've always been aware of, but paid little attention to, a couple of food/sleep – related old wives tales. One is that warm, liquidy stuff, like heated milk, tea or soup can be a soothing, sleep inducing aid. Another is that spicy food causes fitful sleep, or plainly put, nightmares. Well, what about spicy soup? Would that make for an extremely solid, good, long sleep with tremendously complex and mysterious dreams? Is this what the likes of David Lynch or Francis Bacon would have before bed while conceiving of their films/paintings? It most certainly would explain that which is Salvador Dali and Luis Buñuel's surrealist extravaganza, Un Chien Andalou.

So I figured, not only will I get some sleep, but I'm going to get some wicked creative sleep. What do I have to lose, right? Heck, maybe just maybe my opus, my Illmatic, would result. And, upon more listening to N.Y. State of Mind - I never sleep, cause sleep is the cousin of death. Beyond thewalls of intelligence, life is defined – I have to wonder if Nas himself tried this very same tactic. I'd like to think so. Maybe he'd like to try my racy-spicy pozole rojo one late night for the fuel to put him in the state of mind to put forth something as important and noteworthy as he did back in 1994.

Pozole Rojo
(recipe adapted from Emeril Lagasse)

Makes 4 quarts

Ingredients:

1 head garlic
3 1/2 to 4 pounds bone-in pork shoulder, cut into 3 or 4 pieces
3 teaspoons salt
1 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
14 cups water
4 cups chicken stock
1 onion, sliced and 1 onion, chopped
2 ounces ancho chiles, seeded and stemmed
1 -ounce guajillo chiles, seeded and stemmed
2 (30-ounce) cans white hominy plus 1 (15.5-ounce) can

2 tablespoons chili powder
2 teaspoons ground cumin
2 tablespoons paprika
1 teaspoon black pepper
1 tablespoon ground coriander
1 teaspoon cayenne pepper
1 tablespoon garlic powder
1 teaspoon crushed red pepper
1 tablespoon salt
1 tablespoon dried oregano

Accompaniments:
Diced avocado, for serving

Thinly sliced cabbage, for serving
Julienned radishes, for serving
Chopped scallions, for serving
Chopped cilantro, for serving
Lime wedges, for serving

Directions:

Season the pork with 1 teaspoon salt and 1 teaspoon black pepper.

In an 8 quart Dutch oven, over medium high heat, brown the pork on all sides. Add the sliced garlic, sliced onion, 10 cups of the water and chicken stock. Bring up to a boil. Skim off any foam that may rise to the surface. Turn the heat down and gently simmer the pork, covered, until very tender, 2 1/2 to 3 hours.

While pork is simmering, toast the ancho and guajillo chiles in a pan over medium-high heat. Turn the chiles several times, cooking until they are pliable and fragrant, about 3 to 4 minutes. Add 2 cups of the remaining water; bring to a boil, turn off and let stand covered for 20 to 25 minutes.

In a blender, combine the chiles, the soaking liquid, chopped onion, garlic, 1 teaspoon of the remaining salt, black pepper, chili powder, cumin, paprika, coriander, cayenne pepper, garlic powder, crushed red pepper, and oregano and puree until smooth. Strain through a sieve to remove any skins or seeds. Set aside.

Transfer the pork to a cutting board, discard the bones, and shred the meat.

Rinse and drain the hominy. Return the pork to the broth; add the hominy, 1/4 cup of the chile sauce (or more to taste), remaining teaspoon of salt, and remaining water if necessary. Simmer the pozole for 30 minutes longer. Adjust seasoning if necessary.

Any leftover chile sauce can be stored in an airtight container in the refrigerator for 2 to 3 weeks and may be stirred into marinades, sauces, soups, or stews, or used to flavor meats before grilling or sauteing.

The pozole should look hearty but be brothy enough to be thought of as a soup or brothy stew.

Serve the pozole buffet style with bowls of the accompaniments for guests to add to their taste.


Printable recipe.


One year ago: Roasted Brussels Sprouts with Salami
Two years ago: Chicken with 40 Cloves of Garlic
Three years ago: Mercantile
Four years ago: Swiss Fondue with Truffle Essence
Six years ago: Roast Chicken with Meyer Lemons

The Office

Being back home has been a lot of a lot. A lot of memories-slash-skeletons uprocking in my face and a lot of me choosing whether or not to accept the dance. I'm much more selective with my memory-embracing dance card if Fred is with me, of course. I don't need to tell Fred that little anecdotal tale of that time that crazy thing happened at that party in that house we're walking past right now, right? Sure was a good story, though. You get the idea.

But really, the main a lot of a lot that has been happening in the three months since we landed in our new home, the reason for the absence of a lot of a lot of writing and sharing stories with you is that I'm pregnant. Fred and I are having a baby! And we are a lot of a lot of everything ranging from elated to petrified.

From the first months of my physical fragility, fear, nausea and hormonal tsunamis (poor Fred), to the last few weeks of genetic tests and waiting for results, I haven't been able to think, focus or mentally commit to much, especially with concentration for writing. And, of course, this is all I have wanted to talk about. But couldn't. Not yet. I'm relieved to be able to put it out there now.

When we moved into our new apartment, we discussed the smaller, extra bedroom being an office-slash-photo studio. Mostly, it became the room where we crammed all of the things we didn't want to look at or deal with until later. But then it became the mystery room that neither Fred nor I knew what to do with. Was it going to be an office or a nursery? We didn't want to treat it as either until we had some solid news. And so it sat, unattended to.

A week ago, in one of my OCD fests, I couldn't take it any more. I had to do something with the extra room. For some reason it had become my albatross and it kept staringat me, taunting me – even through the closed door. So I went to setting up sort of a mini office on one side of the room. An organized and tidy place for Fred or I to do work. But also something that would be able to stay and become part of the nursery, or could possibly expand and be a straight up office. Depending, you know?

Yesterday, Fred and I finally received the call that had had us emotionally upended during the wait, the definitive enough results of the genetic tests. And a bonus, the news of our baby's gender - she's a girl! Though all sorts of unforeseen events can happen in life, and one ultimately never knows, we had decided that this was our GO point. Game on. Hey world, we are having a baby!

So, I guess I will have start working on the nursery part of the extra room. And man, I don't know how or where to begin. I guess we have to get stuff. Advice is welcome. We're new here.

To tell you the truth, as far as my kitchen and its goings on, you haven't missed much. The most entertaining food things with me have involved my cravings that primarily require bringing outside things in. Most notably, my newfound sweet tooth-related items such as ice cream, donuts, very specific chocolate, mainly Rolos (absolutely nothing fancy – the trashier the better). But there was also the carrots-dipped-in-ranch-dressing phase, the extra-toasted-bagel-with-cream-cheese phase, the butter croissant phase, the cold sandwich phase (which was limited as I'm not supposed to eat cold cuts), the completely-void-of-seasoning-in-all-food-phase (think something akin to elderly people cafeteria food), and the spicy soup phase. In a bizarre turn I have not craved my usual salty crunchies: no chips. Until last night when I housed a family sized bag of the salt and vinegar variety. Following a dinner of New England clam chowder and a salad. What can I say?

The recipe I'm sharing with you today is from the spicy soup phase. It's Winter. Everyone loves soup. And I'm guessing you don't want a recipe for homemade Rolos. Wait, that's not a bad idea, actually...

Well, until then, let's celebrate with this soup and Thai one on.

Tom Kha Gai

Makes 6-8 servings

Ingredients

1 1” piece ginger, peeled

10 kaffir lime leaves or 1 Tbsp. lime zest and ¼ cup lime juice

6 cups chicken stock

1½ lb. skinless, boneless chicken thighs, cut into 1” pieces

8 ounces of mushrooms of your choice, stemmed, caps cut into bite-size pieces

2 13.5-oz. cans coconut milk

2 tablespoons fish sauce 

1 tablespoon sugar

2 stalks fresh lemongrass, tough outer layers removed

Chili oil, cilantro leaves with tender stems, lime wedges and sliced jalapeño (optional) (for serving)

Directions
Cut the lemongrass stalks into 1-inch pieces and smash them with the side of a large knife, a pestle, or any heavy object lying around in the house; do the same with the ginger. Bring lemongrass, ginger, lime leaves, and broth to a boil in a large saucepan. Reduce heat and simmer until flavors become married, 8–10 minutes. Strain broth into a new saucepan and discard solids.

Add chicken to broth and return to a boil. Reduce heat, add mushrooms, and simmer, skimming occasionally, until chicken is cooked through and mushrooms are soft, 20–25 minutes. Mix in coconut milk, fish sauce, and sugar. We added more fish sauce as the recipe progressed. It's really up to you.

Serve with cilantro, chili oil and lime wedges. And maybe a slice or two of jalapeño peppers if you're feeling wild and crazy.

Printable recipe.

One year ago: Bagels

Two years ago: Chicken with 40 Cloves of Garlic

Three years ago: Cremini Mushroom & Meyer Lemon Risotto

Four years ago: Chicken Pot Pie

Six years ago: Oyster Stew

Put your Heart (of Palm) Into It.

I get a lot of food magazines. I actually get way too many food magazines. The problem, the reason why I say way too many, is that I insist on reading every word and staring at every detail of every photograph – and all in one sitting. Maybe everyone does that, but I feel like magazines, except for the literary ones, are more often enjoyed in a leaf-through-it-casually-and-pick-it-up-and-down-over-time sort of way. But me, once I pick it up and open the cover, I'm in it to win it until I flip that very last page. Kind of like me and a bag of chips.

Oh, and that's not all. Not by a long shot. I save them. I keep them all in a pile for a larger project. And once the pile reaches a certain height, about two or three times a year, I go back through every single page of every single magazine and rip out the pages that have recipes I want to play with and images that inspire me. After I tear them all out, I sort through them and file them into binders assigned to different categories; soups, breakfast, vegetables, poultry, holidays, and so on. The photographic inspired pages go into their own binder. It's like my own private Pinterest.

I can understand why Fred always tells me, 'It must be exhausting to be you'.

So now you see why perhaps I ought to cut back on the magazines.

And now that I'm moving across the country in less than two months (!), this all seems really idiotic. Especially considering if I ever want to find one of the recipes I can just Google them. But I can't stop myself. It's as if I am compelled. Which is scary since I just saw The Conjuring last weekend.

But, fairly often, I do refer to my binders of recipes to get dinner ideas. And just as often I refer to my binder of inspirational photos as a reference of how I'd like to visually capture said dinners.

So as I was poking around in the cupboard the other day I found a jar of hearts of palm. I honestly do not recall buying them and have no idea how long they had been living with me. I've always been fond of hearts of palm, but it totally reminds me of the early nineties. It lives in my memories with sun dried tomatoes, tuna tartare with mango, Dippin' Dots and Zima. I even vaguely recall a rumor going around that hearts of palm was bad for the world, kind of like the whole shrimp thing right now.

As I was holding the jar of hearts of palm and noodling down memory lane, reminiscing about white zin and baked brie, I remembered that very recently I saved and filed away a recipe for what else, hearts of palm. And I just so happened to have most of the ingredients. And what I did not have was easy to change out with other things, to make it my own. That's just kismet.

Heart of palm is an interesting thing. It is a vegetable. It's harvested from the inner core of certain palm trees. And yes, harvesting of many non-cultivated palms results in palm tree death. However, other palm species are clonal and moderate harvesting will not kill the entire clonal palm. Moreover, an alternative to wild hearts of palm are palm varieties which have undergone a process of adaptation to become a domesticated farm species. This variety is the most widely used for canning. And this very farmed variety is what we are buying at the market. But since harvesting is still a labor intensive task, palm hearts are regarded as a delicacy.

Move over foie gras, here comes something leaner?

Heart of palm does actually seem like a delicacy. It is delicate. It's soft in color and texture and has a subtle, muted taste. A taste that could be described as, well, delicate. Though I like to snack on one or two, straight up, no chaser, you will almost always find them in salads.

And here is no different.

I love this salad. It is bright and fresh and zippy. It's colorful and covers the entire texture spectrum, from super soft all the way over to super crunchy with everything in between. The original recipe called for parsley where I used cilantro. But I think any number of fresh herbs could and should be folded in as well; basil chives, shiso, mint, you name it. 

I will tell you now that once the hearts of palm jumped into that salad, they also jumped into a new memory category. One that is very much in the present. It was so simple to make and so fun to eat, that I bet once you try it, this is one of those recipes that will end up in your binder as well.

Hearts of Palm, Heirloom Tomato and Avocado Salad

Serves 2-4

1 cup mixed color heirloom tomatoes, chopped into ½-inch pieces

1/2 small sweet onion, cut into thin slivers

1 14-ounce cans hearts of palm, drained and sliced 1/2 inch thick

1 avocado, cut into 1/2-inch pieces

1/4 cup coarsely chopped cilantro

1/2 teaspoon finely grated lime zest

2 tablespoons freshly squeezed lime juice

2 tablespoons mayonnaise

2 tablespoons canola oil

Salt

Freshly ground pepper

In a medium bowl, toss the tomatoes with the onion slivers, hearts of palm, avocado and chopped cilantro. In a small bowl, whisk the lime zest and lime juice with the mayonnaise and oil; season the dressing with salt and pepper. Pour the dressing over the salad, toss gently and serve right away.

Printable recipe.

One year ago: Zucchini Fries with Poblano Cream

Two years ago: Bourbon-Vanilla Bean Banana Bread with Candied Walnuts

Three years ago: Classic Southern Deviled Eggs

Four years ago: Baked Tomatoes with Goat Cheese, Fresh Herbs & Hazelnut Breadcrumbs

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

The Birdcage

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

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

And so we debated.

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

And so we plotted.

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

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

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

Did I mention we neglected to plot?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 Lamb Chops with Cumin, Cardamom and Lime

Ingredients:

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

 

Directions:

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

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