Hubris.

The most amazing thing has happened. And even though, for eight and a half months I knew it was inevitable, it was going to happen, nothing could have prepared me for that exact moment when it did. The moment Emerson was born. The moment I became a Mom.

I'm not sure that I'm one of those people who always knew I would be a mom some day, or dreamed my whole life of having a baby. To tell you the truth, it was never something that was all that important to me until it was. And that was not all that long ago. And now there is absolutely nothing that is more important. Not even close.

Though it's been just four short/long/short weeks since Emerson was born, one minute it feels like yesterday and I'm lost without a clue, the next it's like I've been doing this, like I've known her forever. Time has never expanded and contracted at this level for me before. And don't even get me started on the hormonal scatting my body has been performing. I was recently talking casually about the weather or some such thing with Fred as tears streamed down my face for seemingly no reason at all. Pay no attention to any tears you see. Unless, of course, you disregard the wrong tears. The real tears. How dare you be so glib about how I'm feeling – what I'm going through?! I don't understand. Everything's changed!*

I constantly vacillate between “What am I doing?” and “I got this.”

Regardless of the tears, legitimate or absurd, and whatever side of confidence I happen to be on at any given moment, every droplet of me knows I have never loved anything like I love this little person. And every part of me knows that I will do anything and everything I possibly can to keep her safe and happy for as long as I live. That yes, everything's changed.* And that I would not want it any other way.

That alone is enough to put someone through a ricochet of emotions from pure, ethereal bliss to sheer, paralyzing fear. And don't even get me started on the hormones... again.

Fred says I'm like a shark; I must constantly be moving and doing. He's right. Though I have spent countless still and quiet hours just staring at Emerson in awe, disbelief and appreciation, it has been a challenge to be so motionless in all of the exterior elements of my life. Work, friends, chores, errands, cleaning, reading, emailing, crosswording, gardening, phone calling, self-grooming, cooking and writing have all had to be put in the back seat. (I do pat myself on the back for being timely and up to date with thank-you cards. I am a good southern girl, after all.)

I have learned am learning to stop, let go and rely on the kindness of family, friends and neighbors - and have been overwhelmed to the point of tears (of course) by all of the thoughtfulness, selflessness and generosity (and food!) that have poured in for me and my family (family!!). Fred who has continued to do so, so much – has added witnessing his partner in life morph into Sybil meets The Excorsist... and still manages to say I'm beautiful and strong and that he loves me (#keeper).

The other day we decided it was time to do 'something normal.' You know, like cook something new and fun and take pictures of it, normal. I was pretty sure I wanted to play with this extraordinary, ginormous burgundy okra we have growing in our garden. Considering I haven't done much of it, pickling was the obvious choice. On the weekend before the okra pickling was to take place, Paz came over for a practice session. We used squash, cucumber and red onion (also from my garden) to make a bread and butter pickle in addition to a standard dill pickle. They turned out pretty great with a couple of little tweaks I would make the next time – like peel the squash.

With my new pickling confidence, I began to think about the okra and what exactly I wanted to do with it. It occurred to me that I had recently had some pretty memorably delicious pickles prepared by Travis Milton, chef de cuisine at Comfort here in Richmond. Coming from rural Southwestern Virginia with the culture of Appalachian food, Chef Milton is known for preserving and furthering the foodways of his old stomping ground and is heavily involved with the Central Appalachian Food Heritage Project, and the Appalachian Community Table. He was even featured in the most recent issue of Garden & Gun Magazine for his Cast-Iron Green Tomato Pie.

So I emailed him and got his Grandmother's recipe for pickled okra. Booya!

Being back home in Richmond has not only brought me back to my mom and dad, but also the other people that I call family. One of these people who I am so grateful to have back in my life is Mary. Mary is Sam's mom and she is family to me. Her house is one I know very well - one overflowing with wonderful, euphoric memories of youth. Now I can add to that a recent Christmas Eve filled with just everyone, a beautiful ladies lunch (just the two of us), an al fresco early Summer dinner in the yard with friends of Sam near and far and new memories we are adding all the time. Speaking of new memories, Mary is pretty excited about little Emerson, too. Oh, and Mary also has one of my all-time favorite kitchens. 

So Fred, Emerson and I packed up our okra fixings, camera equipment and diaper bag and headed to Mary's house for the afternoon. While I pickled, Fred photographed and Mary happily looked after Emerson (though I did find myself scurrying out of the kitchen to peek in on my baby every so often). In a way, I think Mary, Fred and I all got to do something that felt kind of normal. Comfortable. Happy.

But as a thank you for the use of her kitchen and for looking after Emerson, we left the pickled okra in Mary's fridge. Maybe for her to enjoy – or maybe we'd find it there on the next visit, for us all to snack on together.**

Look at me, I so got this.

*A favorite line from Raising Arizona(among so very many).

**Mary ate the okra the next day and said it was delicious!

Pickled Burgundy Okra

(Recipe by Chef Travis Milton)

“Okra is one of my favorite things to pickle or can, as it's insanely simple. A lot of people try to over complicate it with different ways to get rid of the "snot", I don't bother with any of those methods and it always comes out great. With burgundy okra you will loose some of the color in the pods, but it will color the vinegar nicely.” -Chef Milton

Ingredients
5 Pounds of okra, trimmed at the cap

2 Red cayenne peppers, de-seeded and sliced into thin rings

1 1/2 Tablespoon dried dill

6 Cups of apple cider vinegar

1 Cup chardonnay

1 1/2 Cups water

4 Shallots, thinly sliced

2 Heads of garlic cloves (about 20 cloves) sliced thin

2 Tablespoon yellow mustard seeds

2 Tablespoons yellow mustard (By mustard I mean just straight up yellow mustard. It may sound weird, but its something my great grandmother did.)

3 Tablespoons black peppercorns

Directions

Place okra in a large metal mixing bowl.

Bring all the other ingredients to a boil and pour over okra. Let the okra sit for 45 minutes.

Pack in Mason jars and cover with liquid up to 1 1/2 inches below the lip of the jar.

Process or not at this point.


Printable recipe.

One year ago: Fried Green Tomato Benedict with Smithfield Ham & Pimiento Cheese Hollandaise

Two years ago: Anuradha Rice

Three years ago: Yerp: Part 7 - The End.

Four years ago: Great Balls on Tires

Five years ago: For the love of TOMATOES!

Tick Tock, You Don't Stop.

It's hard to believe that it has come down to a matter of days before we hit the road. So hard to believe, in fact, that it does not seem real. We are living amongst a landscape of boxes, bubble wrap and newspaper. We have had two garage sales, and donated all unsold items to charity. The good bye dinners and lunches fill up most of our non-packing, non-sleeping time. I even ate a Lean Cuisine frozen dinner the other day to try to whittle away at all of the food in the freezer – because you know I just cannot let it go to waste (I'm not even quite sure how a Lean Cuisine made its way into our freezer in the first place). All of these things - the boxes, sales, good bye functions and frozen dinners and it still does not seem real.

Perhaps it won't until we are driving away, with the City of Angels in our rear view mirror. And I'm inclined to believe that that is probably a good thing. Because, really, as excited as we are, as much as we look forward to our future and the promise that it holds, this is big stuff. And it's sad stuff.

Admittedly, as a result of the sea of boxes, bubble wrap, newspapers, garage sales, and good bye functions, we've hardly dined in at all. We did make an olive oil cake and lemon-honey ice cream for a good bye dinner on Monday night, and Fred made a Thai Larb for another good bye the next night (aptly themed 'Thai-onara”). But almost no sitting down at our own table to eat. Except for one evening. There was the one.

It's hard to hide from certain trends, no matter how hard you try (and sometimes you don't want to try). Skinny jeans, moustaches, Tom's, all things artisanal, small batch, $23 cups of coffee (artisanal, of course - small batch and served up by people in skinny jeans and Tom's with moustaches), quinoa, the Kardashians, the royal baby, Hitler hair, suspenders, tattoos, $32 'market driven' cocktails with designer ice cubes and mists of some kind (served up by people with Hitler hair, tattoos and suspenders), bacon, cupcakes, donuts, cronuts, and lest we forget Twerking. I haven't an issue with any of these things. Every time has its trends and phases. Some stick, some morph and some vanish to make room for the next school.

But one of the current trends that is impossible to hide from is this whole vegetable thing. Right now, the cover of every single food related magazine is The Vegetable Issue. Every article is about how vegetables are the new meat. This is Important and Singular and Now. All of the farm to table, market driven, sustainable chatter has led to this critical mass of The Vegetable. Alice Waters is probably folding inside herself.

And this is good. It's great. Vegetables are yummy, healthy and fun. And, unlike cows, chickens, wild boar and the like, we can grow them on our windowsills, rooftops, in our yards or community gardens. And kill, cook and eat them ourselves. What's not to like about that?

One of my favorite veggies happens to be getting an extra spotlight within the vegetable 'movement' right now; the cauliflower. I've written about it before. I love everything about it; the way it looks, the way it cooks, the taste, texture, colors, its versatility, all of it. Soup, puree, in a salad, roasted with farro and topped with an egg, or roasted whole in the oven with some butter, salt and a little garam masala, on a pizza, or even battered and deep fried cauliflower.

The other iteration that you will find on more menus across the country right now than the obligatory service charge for large parties is the cauliflower steak. Literally serving a massive cross-section slab of cauliflower, grilled and treated just like a steak. Just a little salt, pepper and oil. Nothing else to distract from that sweet, nutty, subtle flavor. And maybe even take the parts that didn't get used in the steak and make a puree, with a little butter and milk. Serve that up under the steak to give you the crisped edges of the steak contrasting with the unearthly creaminess of the puree. Instead of nose-to-tail, you've got head-to-stem; instead of whole animal you've gone whole vegetable. And you've got dinner.

Well, you know I always have to gild the lily a bit, so I took this a step further. I also have been desperately trying to empty out the refrigerator, and use up all of the end of season tomatoes in garden. So Fred dug up a beautiful looking recipe from Bon Appétit and, in the one room that has not been packed thus far, the kitchen, we started riffing.

And in a little under an hour, we sat amongst our cardboard box jungle with two beautiful plates heaped with veg, gobbling up the hottest trend. I think Fred was even wearing an ironic t-shirt while we ate.

Cauliflower Medallions with Olive Tapenade & Tomato Purée

4 servings

Ingredients

1  large head of cauliflower, trimmed & outer leaves removed
1/2  cup  pitted kalamata olives, finely chopped
3  tablespoons of tomato paste
3 1/2  tablespoons olive oil, divided, plus more
2  tablespoons chopped flat-leaf parsley
1  teaspoon lemon juice
Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper
3  garlic cloves
2  medium tomatoes, cored, quartered

Directions

Place cauliflower core side down on a work surface. Using a large knife, slice cauliflower into 1/2" medallions from center of cauliflower (reserve loose florets). Finely chop enough loose florets to measure 1/2 cup. Transfer chopped florets to a small bowl and mix with olives, tomato paste, 1 tablespoon oil, parsley, and lemon juice. Season tapenade with salt and pepper.

Preheat oven to 400°. Heat 1 tablespoon olive oil in a large heavy ovenproof skillet over medium-high heat. Working in batches, cook cauliflower medallions until golden brown, about 2-3 minutes per side, adding oil to pan between batches. Transfer medallions to a large rimmed baking sheet. Reserve skillet. Roast cauliflower until tender, about 15 minutes.

Meanwhile, return skillet to medium-high heat and add garlic cloves and tomatoes, one cut side down. Cook until tomatoes are browned; turn tomatoes over and transfer skillet to oven with cauliflower. Roast garlic and tomatoes until tender, about 12 minutes.

Transfer garlic, tomatoes, and 1/2 tablespoon oil to a blender; purée until smooth. Season with salt and pepper. Divide tomato purée among plates. Place a few medallions on each plate; spoon tapenade over. Serve immediately.

Printable recipe.

One year ago: Poblano-Sherry Vinegar Mignonette

Two years ago: Buttermilk Pie

Three years ago: Turkey Meatloaf

Four years ago: Pureed Kale & White Bean Soup

The Road Taken

I started writing this post over a month ago. Since then I have started and stopped quite a few times. Then I just stopped. And stared. Nothing. Then I started again, but didn't know where to take it. I wasn't sure why. Normally once I start something, anything, I stay right with it until I finish. But this one is different. Change is afoot.

Like many writers, I often grapple with how much, or how little, to expose about myself here. To you. I like to talk, I like to tell stories, I like to share. It helps me process. It helps me see. I used to be religious about writing in my journals, almost excessively some days. In a sense, this has become my journal. The big difference is there is now an audience. An audience with reactions I cannot gauge while I 'talk'. For the most part I keep things on the lighter side, but I assure you that this voice is mine and mine alone. If you met me, that would be clear within moments. This voice is more disciplined, however, and part of an identity I am able to control.

Here I tell you about me, but within the framework of food and within the realm of my kitchen, or, perhaps, someone else's kitchen. I will tell you about Fred, or Besito, or anecdotes about any number of members of my family and certainly friends that come in and out of the spotlight at any particular time. And from all of that, and the years we've known one another, I can imagine you have gleaned quite a bit about me.

I have been hinting about some big news and I'm finally ready to tell you about it. At the end of September, after twelve years in the City of Angels I will be moving back home. And by home I mean Richmond, Virginia. I will not be alone, however. My love, Fred and our pups, Besito, Eduardo and our newest addition, Byron, will all be moving together. Our little family is going to join my Richmond family and the horizon is enormous.

I am not sure if you knew this, because I know I've never told you, but I have owned a dog walking businessfor the past decade. It has been quite successful and very good to me. This business has been the most solid, consistent, dependable and reliable thing I have known during my life in Los Angeles.

So, at almost forty years old, I am selling my business and am moving clear across the country. To do what? I'm not entirely certain, but the idea is a lot more of this. Writing. Cooking. Eating. Food. Recipes. Pictures. With Fred.

And there you have it.

I feel a little bit naked now. But good naked.

And relieved.

One very, very fun and exciting part of all of this is the actual journey. We will be driving and taking our time. Specifically, this will be a culinary journey from California to Virginia with a huge focus on the South. In the cities where we don't know people, we hope to rely on folks we know via social media to assist us in finding our next meal, or interview, or as Fred wants to do, a place for us to cook with locals; both home and professional chefs, and in both homes and restaurants. Part of the thrill of our cross country trip is the serendipity involved. We know that we will have food adventure and discovery that we are not even aware of at this moment. The best part is that we will be documenting everything as we go along.

I hope all of you get involved. Tell us where to go and what to eat. Better yet, if our paths cross, let us meet! And cook! And eat! Let's all do this together, shall we?

And, OMG, what should our hashtag be?!

In honor of this post I thought long and hard about what dish to share with y'all. Fred suggested I make something I've never made before, in the spirit of the unknown road ahead (very Robert Frost of him). I wanted to do something that represents what is happening with food here in LA then and now, so to speak, and food that signifies where I'm from and where I'm going: The South.

I settled on what I will call a Low Country Benedict: fried green tomatoes with Smithfield ham, poached eggs and a pimiento cheese hollandaise. Oddly, I have never made fried green tomatoes. And this summer my fecund garden is bursting with tomatoes – red, yellow, orange and green. When I think of eggs Benedict I think of the LA from the eighties, think LA Story and people lingering over coffee, mimosas and bloody marys and fancy, bougie French fare wearing sunglasses, white linen and big hats. That said, southern food is so, so, very, very en vogue here in LA (and everywhere) right now. Think Willie Jane and The Hart and the Hunter's entire menu, , A-Frame's fried chicken picnic, Son of a Gun's pimiento cheese with Ritz crackers, Lucques' annual rib-fest, everyone's deviled eggs, and so on. And perhaps most obviously, fried green tomatoes are, and have been for quite some time, very prominent in the south.

And so without further ado...

Fried Green Tomato Benedict with Smithfield Ham & Pimiento Cheese Hollandaise

Makes 4 servings

Ingredients

4 thin slices of Smithfield ham

2 tablespoons chopped chives, for garnish

4 eggs

2 teaspoons white or rice vinegar

4 large slices of fried green tomatoes

Salt & freshly cracked pepper

Pimiento Cheese Hollandaise

8 tablespoons (1 stick) unsalted butter

4 egg yolks

1 tablespoon lemon juice

4 teaspoons powdered cheddar cheese (found in your standard mac n' cheese package)

1 4 ounce jar of pimientos, chopped

Dash of cayenne or tabasco

Dash of Worcestershire sauce

Salt to taste

Directions

Start with the fried green tomatoes. Recipe below. Once they're cooked, keep them in the oven on warm until you're ready to assemble the dish.

Next bring a large saucepan two-thirds-filled with water to a boil, then add the vinegar. Bring the water to a boil again, then lower the heat to a bare simmer.

Make the pimiento cheese hollandaise. Vigorously whisk together egg yolks and lemon juice in a stainless steel bowl until the mixture is thickened and doubled in volume. Place the bowl over a saucepan containing barely simmering water (or use a double boiler); the water should not touch the bottom of the bowl. Continue to whisk rapidly. Be careful not to let the eggs get too hot or they will scramble. Slowly drizzle in the melted butter and continue to whisk until the sauce is thickened and doubled in volume. Remove from heat, whisk in powdered cheese a teaspoon at a time, Worcestershire sauce and cayenne. Stir in the pimientos. Cover and place in a warm spot until ready to use for the eggs Benedict. If the sauce gets too thick, whisk in a few drops of warm water before serving. Salt to taste

Poach the eggs. Here is  an easy method for poaching eggs. Essentially, working one egg at a time, crack an egg into a small bowl and slip into the barely simmering water. Once it begins to solidify, slip in another egg, until you have all four cooking. Turn off the heat, cover the pan, and let sit for 4 minutes. (Remember which egg went in first, you'll want to take it out first.) When it comes time to remove the eggs, gently lift out with a slotted spoon. Note that the timing is a little variable on the eggs, depending on the size of your pan, how much water, how many eggs, and how runny you like them. You might have to experiment a little with your set-up to figure out what you need to do to get the eggs exactly the way you like them.

Gently remove the eggs from the poaching water and set in a bowl. 

To assemble the eggs Benedict, put two fried green tomatoes on each plate and top each with a thin slice of Smithfield ham. You can trim the ham to fit the tomato if you’d like. Put a poached egg on top of the ham, pour hollandaise over. Top with sprinkles of chives and fresh cracked black pepper. Serve at once.

Fried Green Tomatoes

Ingredients

1  large egg, lightly beaten  

1/2 cup  buttermilk

1/2 cup  all-purpose flour, divided

1/2 cup  cornmeal

1 teaspoon  salt

1/2 teaspoon  pepper

1/4 teaspoon red pepper flakes

3  medium-size green tomatoes, cut into 1/3-inch slices

Vegetable oil

Bacon drippings

Salt to taste

Directions

Combine egg and buttermilk; set aside.

Combine 1/4 cup all-purpose flour, cornmeal, 1 teaspoon salt, red pepper flakes, and pepper in a shallow bowl or pan.

Dredge tomato slices in remaining 1/4 cup flour; dip in egg mixture, and dredge in cornmeal mixture.

Pour oil/bacon dripping to a depth of 1/4 to 1/2 inch in a large cast-iron skillet; heat to 375°. Drop tomatoes, in batches, into hot oil, and cook 2 minutes on each side or until golden. Drain on paper towels or a rack. Sprinkle hot tomatoes with salt.

Printable recipe.

One year ago: Anuradha Rice

Two years ago: Yerp: Part 7 - The End.

Three years ago: Great Balls on Tires

Four years ago: For the love of TOMATOES!

Less is More, More or Less.

I've always heard that it's wise to stop and check yourself in the mirror right before you walk out the door and remove one element of your outfit; the hat, the pin on your jacket, something. Since I am terrible at accessorizing – I never wear hats, belts or pins on my jackets or sweaters. Hell, I hardly even stray from solid colors – that concept seems to be non-issue with me in the fashion department.

The kitchen department, however, is another story entirely. I like to throw a lot of different elements into most of my dishes. Admittedly, they can get very busy. I think it's because A) I always try to move ingredients through my kitchen with regularity, hence adding that shisito pepper or a splash of orange thyme-infused vinegar before it goes bad, and B) I'm very curious about flavor and texture combinations and really like to experiment. And let's all admit it; neither of these are bad intentions or bad applications.

But when I think about the chefs and the foods that most inspire me, and when I think about a quote I have mentioned here countless times, about simplicity being the hallmark of genius, I wonder why I don't practice it more often in my kitchen.

I mean, must I add shiso butterto a grilled steak? Do I really need to add sherry to tuna casserole? Is it necessary to make my own almond meal to add to a classic pie crust in lieu of sticking to the straight-up all-purpose flour? The answer is, of course, no. I will say, though, that while I have experienced my share of flops with these twists, I have stumbled upon great success equally as often.

But at Summer's peak, when all of my very favorite produce has hit its stride and is as perfect as it could ever possibly be, why gild the lily? So lately, I have had a lot of tomato sandwiches for lunch. That means, soft white(ish) bread, good mayonnaise, salt, pepper (generous portions of all) and big, thick slices of tomato. That's it. No basil, no bacon, no lettuce, nothing to distract from the celebrity of that tomato.

And corn. During this time of year just cut it from the cob and eat it raw with a little salt and pepper. Maybe even toss a little fresh tomato in there, too. Keep it simple. Listen to the corn sing her (his?) solo. Less is more.

More or less.

Which brings me to the bowl full of fresh, ripe avocados on the kitchen counter staring me down a few days ago. I have really been wanting to make that whole egg-baked-in-the-hole-of-the-avocado-half thing I've been seeing all over Pinterest and whatnot. But then I stopped myself... 'Don't cook it, for crying out loud. Keep it simple.' And so I listened to me: I kept it simple and I kept it raw. I made a cold soup and I let the avocado sing. And her voice was smooth, soft, clear and bright. Kind of like Sade, actually.

For now I think I'm going to keep on keeping it simple in the kitchen, but try to incorporate hats into my wardrobe.

Chilled Avocado-Cucumber Soup with Buttermilk

Serves 2-4 (depending on whether it's served as entree size or appetizer size)

Ingredients

1 ripe avocado

½ cup buttermilk

1/2 cucumber, peeled and seeded, plus some julienned pieces for garnish

1 tablespoon cilantro, plus some sprigs for garnish

1/4 of a shallot, diced

¼ tsp cayenne pepper

Juice of half a lime

½ cup – ⅔ cup water

Sea salt & black pepper

Toasted pepitas for garnish

Directions

In a blender mix together the avocado, cucumber, buttermilk, cilantro, salt, shallot, cayenne pepper, lime juice, ½ cup water. Blend until completely smooth and then check for consistency. If you want a thinner soup add more water.

Pour the soup into two glasses or one bowl. Cover with plastic wrap and chill in the refrigerator for at least one hour before serving.

When the soup is ready to serve, dice the remaining avocado. Garnish the soup with avocado chunks, julienned cucumber, pepitas, cilantro, salt and pepper. Serve immediately while it is still cold.

Printable recipe.

One year ago: Heirloom Tomato & Fresh Basil Frittata

Three years ago: Grilled Salmon with Market Relish over Jasmine Rice

Ready, Set, Go.

2013.
Here it is.
I’m ready.

I stopped making New Year’s resolutions a long time ago. I don’t make too many finite rules for myself, in general. I hate fooling myself or disappointing myself. Making decrees that seem unrealistic for the long term and then breaking those rules as a result is, I think, an unhealthy practice. There are, however, broad, general, obtuse sorts of things I’d like to see more or less of at the start of each year.

I’d like to get more exercise (but I really hate exercise).
I’d like to want to exercise more.
I’d like to drink more water, and perhaps a skosh less wine.
I’d like to read and write more.
I’d like to see more movies in theaters.
I’d like to push myself more in the kitchen.
I’d like to travel more.
I’d like to see myself save some money.
I’d like to stay in better touch with friends and family that I don’t get to see often/ever.
I’d like that to mean that I will send cards and write letters.
I’d like to be calmer and more flowy, in general.

Most of these things seem reasonable enough. The exercise one is questionable. So is the wine one. And the calm and flowy. We’ll see.

One of the things Fred and I have been doing in the kitchen lately is play sort of a Chopped game with our approach to dinner. I’ll pick three to five seemingly disparate items (usually things in the refrigerator that need to get used for fear of waste) and putting together a complete meal with them. One night it was duck breast, savoy cabbage, rice leftover from Chinese food delivery and sausage. Fred made seared duck breast over a fried rice with sausage and cabbage that was extraordinary.

Another time the items were salmon, coconut milk, scallions, avocado and parsley. We marinated the salmon in coconut milk, pan roasted it and topped it with a avocado-parsley cream. It’s fun, challenging and ensures very little goes into the trash bin/compost that we don’t have.

Last night the items were a leek, a potato, buttermilk, sour cream and some fennel from the garden. All of the items save for the fennel were on the brink of getting tossed. As I looked over the items for my challenge it was so very obvious. Soup. Plus, I could finally get a chance to use my Christmas present from Fred; my new Vitamix blender (!). He had used it the night before making the parsley-avocado cream, but I had not messed with it, yet. Perfecto.

As I tossed the chopped leek into the melted butter, the idea fully came together; I was going to make a buttermilk vichyssoise with fennel. When I got to the part where I dumped everything into the blender - hot - I was scared and excited. It did not explode hot liquid all over me and it even managed to fully blend the fennel fronds. In less than thirty seconds I had a silky smooth, velvety, perfectly pureed, beautiful, perky bright green soup.

I’ve said it many times here, but soup really is my favorite thing to make. It can be as comforting, elegant, rustic, hearty, simple, complex, delicate, chunky, smooth, hot, cold, big or little as you want it to be. It goes with every meal and every season. And the garnish is always so fun to decide. It’s like that hat or scarf that just makes the outfit.

This soup, a vichyssoise, is kind of all of those things: simple yet complex, delicate yet hearty, elegant yet rustic. It can even be served hot or cold. This soup calls for any manner of garnishes. Chives , creme fraiche, a simple buttery crouton, or maybe you want to really dress it up - with a sliver of smoked salmon and a small dollop of caviar. Now that really makes the outfit.

I guess with my new kitchen toy I am accomplishing at least one of the things I’d like to see more of in 2013 - I am pushing myself more in the kitchen already. If this soup didn’t go so perfectly with any number of white wines I might be able to start accomplishing another one of the things on that list...

• Buttermilk Vichyssoise with Fennel
• 
  
• Serves 6
• 
  

Ingredients

• 
  
• 3 tablespoons unsalted butter
• 1 leek, white and light-green parts only, halved lengthwise then thinly sliced into half-moons, washed well and drained
• 1 large white potato, cut into 1-inch pieces
• 3 1/2 cups chicken stock
• 1 cup chopped fennel bulb & fronds
• Coarse salt and freshly ground white pepper
• 2 cups buttermilk
• 1/2 cup creme fraiche
• Smoked salmon and caviar (for garnish)

Directions

Melt butter in a stockpot over medium-low heat. 
Add leek, and cook, covered, until tender, about 15 minutes.
Add potatoes and stock. Bring to a boil; simmer until potatoes are tender, about 20 minutes. Stir in fennel and cook for about 5-7 more minutes.
Working in batches, puree soup in a blender until smooth. Transfer pureed soup to a large bowl. 
Season with salt and white pepper. Stir in sour cream and buttermilk just before serving. Adjust seasoning as needed. 
If necessary, thin the soup with a bit more chicken stock or water to achieve desired consistency. 
Garnish with a sliver of smoked salmon and a tiny drop of caviar.
May be served hot or cold. 


Printable recipe.


One year ago: Cheebo
Two years ago: Vinegar-Braised Chicken with Garlic & Celery Leaves
Three years ago: Carrot Soup with Ginger & Cumin
FIVE years ago: Dominick's

Dr. Strangecleanse

I’m currently on a cleanse. I did one about a year ago, too - which was my first cleanse. That makes this one number two (pun intended). The first one I did with Maggie and was bookended by an alien procedure (just leave it alone). But the week in the middle, the diet, was not that strict. I believe it was no meat (but some fish or a little chicken was okay), no dairy, no caffeine (but maybe an occasional coffee, or preferably tea, was okay), no booze (but maybe one or two glasses of wine throughout the entire week were okay), and no wheat or gluten. And drink a glacier's worth of water each day. During this I was to take supplements in the mornings and evenings. This cleanse was a bust - and an expensive one at that. I did not feel different, my skin was not all glowy, I did not lose any weight (that I know of (I don’t actually own a scale)), and I don’t recall any increase in energy.

But it was entertaining. In a way. Feel free to ask Maggie about it.

As it had been about a year, and I hear its good to cleanse every so often - to detox, as it were, I convinced Fred that we should do a cleanse together. I thought the beginning of September, right after he was all, totally, completely moved in would be perfect. The end of Summer, the beginning of our official cohabitation, a brand, new day. So while I did no research at all, Fred asked his friend, Ryan, who had done a cleanse fairly recently, how he went about his process. And here’s exactly what Fred got back:

‘i start with three days faste. nothing but water. tonic water is really helpful because you will crave (esp day 02) crazy shit like a pregnant lady. keep activity down and focus on work. after that its simple. no meat, dairy, sugar, wheat. stick to it! you will want to stray. lentils are your best friend. small portions. the restaurant cru in silverlake is a good place to go out after your three days faste. lots of options. the largest discipline is learn ing to be ok with being hungry. questions anytime. so worth it. i can give you more extreme path if you want. any questions ask and remember its basicall y a reversion of every eating habit since childhood so its not easy. but guaranteed you will experience increased energy and focus after one week. and th en its just how long you can do it... raw veggies.’

And so, beginning at Midnight - a week ago this past Monday, with this text from Ryan (mis-spellings and grammar aside (everyone knows all's fair in love and texts in that regard)), Fred and I embarked on our cleanse.

I am a little more than halfway through right now, and I will keep my opinions on it to myself until I am on the other side. I will say that I will never fast again. I am with the Chinese on this one: fasting is not good. At least not for me. Hunger was not an issue but I got really depressed. Also, I didn’t know what to do with myself. I mostly wanted to sleep until it was all over. I felt truly lost. I called it at the end of day two. I will say that the fasting part made eating the very limited diet downright exhilarating. You mean, I can really have a carrot stick? What joy!

And so what we have been eating a lot of has been water, water with lemon, quinoa (which, I’m sorry all y’all bloggers who that cannot stop professing your undying love for the stuff, but I just don't get it.), water, lentils (which Ryan is right, is my best friend - but I’ve always loved lentils.), water with lemon, almonds, fresh fruit - which I say has sugar in it (refer to Ryan’s text) and therefore should not be allowed, but Fred says it’s fine - and fresh veggies in every sort of variety: raw, yanked from my garden and popped into my mouth, grilled, pureed, roasted, in salads, soups, you name it. And water. Can we have egg whites? Fred says no, but I don’t see why not. And so we keep referring back to this cryptic text from Ryan. It says no dairy. But eggs haven’t been really considered dairy since the eighties. Some websites say yes, some say no. We never hear back from Ryan, so we err on the side of if you want it, you probably can’t have it. We also have had a lot of water.

During this cleanse, I have eaten at M Cafe, Cafe Gratitude, and even Ryan’s suggestion, Cru. While I have always been a fan of M Cafe, I have a new appreciation for Cafe Gratitude (though I have to agree with Chris in that their whole concept really sets LA back about twenty years in the stereotype department), and Cru, where I likely shan't return. But that’s just me - perhaps it's just not my cup of holistic-non-caffeinated-tea-that's-supposed-to taste-just-like-a-double-espresso.

Shockingly, I have not had that difficult of a time with wine’s absence. I crave a glass most when I’m in the kitchen preparing food and listening to music in the evening (don’t get me wrong, I have a special bottle waiting for Friday to celebrate the end of these shenanigans. And I am beyond excited about tearing the cork out of that bad boy and bottoms-ing it up.). The lack of coffee hasn’t been too bad either, as long as I can have a hot mug of something in the morning, like the stupid ginger tea I’ve been parading around as my cup o’ joe. At least that feels better.

My timing on this whole thing, by the way, was just atrocious. This is not something to embark on with your boyfriend, who pretty much JUST moved in (and the moving process was long and stressful). No more secrets or mystery here! No need to ever shut the bathroom door for privacy again. Why bother? We've been in it and through it together, now.

My dad thinks I’ve lost my mind and has practically taken my last name away from me. “No wine? That’s crazy. What sort of self-respecting Shaffner would... Why would you even do that to yourself? No cheese? Elliott, I don’t think this sounds healthy at all.” And he actually sounded very dire while he said this to me. I think my mom just thinks its boring. “Tweeters, Lordy, don’t write about your cleeeaaannsse. Write about your garden! Or, at least, something interesting or special.”

And she’s right. I write a food blog. So why am I going on about the deficit of all things delicious, decadent and downright debaucherous? Where’s the beef? When is it Wine O’Clock? Friday, my friends. Friday.

Until then I will leave you with the recipe for a mignionette Fred made to top the couple dozen oysters we ate (and the multitude of bottles of wine we drank) the night before this ten day Hell storm began. And hey, Mom, we used stuff from the garden!

Poblano-Sherry Vinegar Mignonette

Serves enough for 2 dozen oysters

Ingredients:

1/4 cup rosé
2 tablespoons sherry vinegar
2 tablespoons minced shallots
1 tablespoon minced poblano pepper
1 teaspoon chopped fresh tarragon
1 teaspoon chopped flat-leaf parsley
Coarse sea salt & fresh crack pepper to taste

Directions:

In a small mixing bowl, whisk together all ingredients. Cover and refrigerate. Serve with oysters on the half shell with a wedge of lemon.


Printable recipe.


One year ago: Classic, Southern Fried Chicken
Two years ago: Wolvesmouth
Three years ago: Steak au Poivre

Buck Jumping & Having Fun.

Seven years ago at this time Katrina had just hit New Orleans and forever changed a lot of things for a lot of people. It was one of those landmark events in history that will always remind us of where we were and what we were doing when the hurricane roared through with its devastation. Not entirely unlike 9/11 in that sense. During Katrina, I was living in a different house with a different person. We were glued to the television all night in awe and shock stricken silence. I was, even then, up here in my canyon. Beso was there and so was Milo. I’m pretty sure around that time I was cooking things like braised short ribs, sausage and cheese grits, meatloaf, barbecued tri-tip, various types of fish with various types of salsas on top of them and mushroom risotto and stuff like that.

Kitchen-wise, I guess things were not so terribly different than they are now. Though the music has decidedly shifted in the tune of my world, and the orchestra of my kitchen, and, I’ve certainly advanced a great deal. I still appreciate, and crave, my foundation dishes and my staples, as well. Heck, I make the fish/salsa thing all the time. Lately I’ve been fiddling a lot more with sauces and accents - chimichurris, preserved lemons, hot sauce, mignionettes, reductions, jus, roux and the Five Mother Sauces. I’ve also been deliriously happy playing with all the wild stuff growing in my garden - some of which I have never cooked with, or heard of.

As a result of a vintage cookbook sale last Sunday at the farmers’ market, and the eve of Isaac hitting New Orleans on the almost-to-the-day anniversary of Katrina, I  read through my two new/old Louisiana cookbooks and decided to try my hand at shrimp étouffée. That dish, of course, involves a roux. I think it turned out pretty well. Fred nearly ate his body weight in the stuff. I wasn’t the greatest judge as I’ve A) never made shrimp étouffée, or any Louisiana cuisine in my life and B) I’m, admittedly, not a huge fan of said cuisine. However, I enjoyed it. But something was missing. Some layer. Some complexity. I’m not sure what it was, but I look forward to playing a lot more with my new/old Louisiana cookbooks to figure it all out.

So no, I will not be sharing with you my shrimp étouffée recipe. Seems almost blasphemous for me to do, really. But I will get back to you on it.

Back to my garden. I have a small bush growing there, with little, lantern-like things dangling from the small branches. My mom planted this green baby a while back, and I remember she was really excited but wasn't really familiar with the plant. We thought, maybe, tomatillos? No. Well after some research on the interwebs I came to the conclusion that I have a Cape Gooseberry bush. You know the berries are ripe when they fall off the bush. When you peel back the little lantern a smooth, yellow berry is revealed. It is about the size of a marble, and resembles a miniature spherical tomato, about one or two centimeters in diameter. Like a tomato, it contains numerous small seeds. It’s sweet when ripe, with a mildly tart flavor - kind of like a raisin married to a tomato.

I didn’t have enough to make a jam (nor would I ever want to), but that seemed to be the only application I could find. I did see a cape gooseberry and apple crumble. No thanks. And then I realized the gooseberries would probably make a beautiful reduction for duck or pork... or foie gras... sigh. And I just so happened to have a pork tenderloin in my fridge. Done and done.

I make pork tenderloin all the time. I was making it seven years ago and even long before that. I sometimes stuff the tenderloin with garlic, spinach and goat cheese and serve it over purple mashed potatoes. Or sometimes I smother the pork in herbs de provence, sear the outside and then slow roast it. Recently I’ve been barbecuing it on the grill. I always serve pork tenderloin in medallions. This time I marinated it in sweet tea for twenty-four hours - let’s just call that a brine - grilled and served it over rice, smothered in a cape gooseberry reduction with a wonderful broccoli preparation on the side. Fred, who historically, is not a fan of pork, upon eating this dish exclaimed that pork tenderloin may now just be his favorite meat.

As I said, this dish is one I would have been preparing all those years ago, but the reduction is entirely me in 2012. As they say, accessories make the outfit. I’d even say that accessories turn an outfit into a look. And, in regards to the look, the sound, the music of my kitchen, to quote Farnand Point,  "In the orchestra of a great kitchen, the sauce chef is a soloist."

And with this meal, as we were finally able to confidently switch from watching the news to resuming our marathon of season two of Treme, we breathed a sigh of relief for New Orleans. They may have gotten bruised, but they ain’t broken. The second line buck jumps onward.

I'll keep you posted on my shrimp étouffée plight...

Cape Gooseberry Port Reduction Sauce

1 cup ruby port
2 sprigs fresh thyme
1 shallot sliced thin
2 tbsp butter
1 tbsp balsamic vinegar
Zest of 1/2 Meyer lemon
1/2 cup cape gooseberries
Salt and pepper to taste

Directions

To prepare the sauce, combine the port, balsamic vinegar, thyme, shallot and lemon zest in a medium sized saucepan.

Set the pan over medium heat bring to a boil then reduce to low heat and simmer.

Simmer until reduced by half. Strain the liquid using a fine mesh strainer. Save the shallots.

Add butter and the berries to the hot liquid and stir to release juices in the sauce without killing the tender berries.

Season to taste with salt and pepper, add shallots back in and reserve sauce for later.


Printable recipe.


One year ago: LQ@SK
Three years ago: Cheesy Creamed Corn with Cilantro