Tell me what you want, what you really, really want.

I spend so much energy on my to-do lists and my tidying and my fretting about The Next Thing that I far too often fail to see the forest for the trees. For years now I have wanted to construct a different, idealized life for myself; one that would be simpler and, simultaneously, more fulfilling. A life that found me doing what I really want to be doing, where I really want to be doing it and with whom I really want to be doing it. And really, who wouldn't really want that stuff?

So here I am, almost forty years old, and less than six months ago I jumped off the high dive. I left my career and my friends and my home of most of my adult life to get back to it. To what I really wanted. But you know this.

What we really, really want. Funny thing. That's the hardest part, isn't it? Getting to the nut of it all, and figuring that out. It seems as though it would, it should, be the the easiest part. And for some it is. And then it's just a matter of aiming for the target, right?

But what if you should have turned right when you turned left? What if you choose to do this and you chose that instead? What if?! And therein lies the rub. Right there is why so often we end up doing what it is that we do (instead of where our major in college was to take us) and who we end up doing it with (instead of 'the one that got away'). Why, sometimes, our lives, our careers, our partners, find us rather than the other way around. And we can call it destiny. Fate. Something beyond our control, beyond our power.

Maybe I do or maybe I don't but I'd like to think I have a little more control over my past, present and future than to chalk it up to fate, destiny, 'shit happens' or 'c'est la vie' (which makes perfect sense coming from a consummate control freak). And that's why I'm right here, right now. I'm in Richmond, Virginia with Fred. We're having a baby girl this summer. I see my family and my Paz lots and lots. I'm eating, cooking and writing about food – and getting paid to do it. And I have to say that all of these things exist because I wanted them and I focused and worked to that end. And still, had Chris and I not had that conversation about 'that thing called a blog' six and a half years ago, there's a very, very good chance I wouldn't be here, doing this - writing this. With Fred. Had I turned right instead of left.

In my fifth grade yearbook, everyone in my class stated what they wanted to be when they grew up. I said Artist. So maybe all these years I've been staying the course. Hard to say.

One of the things I have always really wanted was to be in a creatively collaborative relationship with my significant other (think Frida and Diego, Anais and Henry, Virginia and Vita, or my favorites, Lillian and Dashiell) . Call it fate, call it destiny, call it finally locating that pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, but I definitely have found a true partner in both the intimate and creative spheres. There is no doubt Fred's photography has elevated this blog exponentially. And though, while we work together we squabble like two Tweens over a strand of Justin Bieber's hair, what we create is beauty and that makes me beam with pride and accomplishment.

Well, we have taken it all a step further. We have made it official and are expanding from just F for Food with a real deal food photography and styling business: Fred + Elliott Food Styling & Photography. And I'm unveiling the curtain here. The website is up, the business cards are printed and the phone line is active (we just love the design done for us by A for Adventure). We are ready. I keep thinking of Annie Pott's character in Ghostbusters when they get that first call.

But, not to worry, I'm not going anywhere. I mean, where else can I talk freely in this way? That reminds me of another thing: one of the fun parts of this whole pregnancy thing (at least the stage I'm in now), is that I can eat what I really want. In moderation, of course. I'm told that if I crave something specific, my body probably needs it. This likely explains the sudden and bizarre cravings for peanut butter and honey sandwiches with a glass of milk (the first glasses of milk I've had in over twenty-five years). I guess I need protein and calcium.

Well, last night I really, really wanted ricotta cheese. So Fred made it for me again. And I also wanted pasta (always). So we made that, too. And with the weather being close to eighty degrees and the sun shining mightily, I wanted to make a bright springy dish incorporating those two ingredients. Five months in, Fred now knows that the pregnant lady – come Hell or high water – is going to find a way to get her hands on the food that she really, really wants.

So together, collaboratively, we did it all: from foraging for the right ingredients, to making our own ricotta and pasta from scratch, to the styling and photographing the food, to eating it (and yes, of course there was the requisite amount of bickering). I'm not sure if it was the process behind it, but man alive, this dish was exquisite. I can't see why anyone wouldn't really, really want it, too.

Here is the recipe, so you too can manifest your destiny, my friends.

Fusilli with Fava Beans, Fresh Mint & Ricotta

Serves 4

Ingredients

2 tablespoons coarse salt, plus more to taste

1 pound fresh fava beans, shelled (you can substitute edamame or peas)

1 pound fusilli pasta

1 cup ricotta cheese

1/4 cup coarsely chopped mint leaves, plus more leaves for garnish

Zest of 1 lemon plus juice of ½ lemon

2 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil

Directions

Fill a large stockpot with water, add 1 tablespoon salt, and bring to a boil; meanwhile, prepare an ice-water bath. Place fava beans in a sieve, and lower into water. Let water return to a boil, about 1 minute; blanch beans, 1 minute more. Remove sieve from water, and place beans in ice-water bath. Transfer to a colander; drain. Peel and discard tough skins; set beans aside.

Discard blanching water; fill stockpot with fresh water. Bring to a boil, and add 1 tablespoon salt. Add pasta, and cook until al dente.

Meanwhile, in a large bowl, combine ricotta, lemon juice, lemon zest, and chopped mint. Just before pasta has finished cooking, add 1/2 cup cooking water to cheese mixture; stir to combine.

Drain pasta, and transfer to a serving bowl. Add olive oil, and toss. Add cheese mixture and reserved fava beans; toss to combine. Season with salt and sprinkle with mint leaves and a little extra lemon zest for garnish; serve immediately.

Printable recipe.

One year ago: Chocolate, Olive Oil, Blood Orange Cupcakes with Walnuts
Two years ago: Roast Chicken with Meyer Lemon & Thyme 
Three years ago: Roasted Parsnip-Carrot Soup with Crispy Bacon & Potatoes
Four years ago: Fresh Mint Pea Soup

Comfort Me With Bucatini.

Growing up in Richmond, I recall very little pasta happening in either of my parents' kitchens, except maybe pasta salad. I also don't remember going out for much Italian food back then. I'm sure there was spaghetti and meatballs when I had dinner at my friends' houses, but – and I could be wrong – I don't think I ever saw it on my dining room table(s). That's weird, right? I mean, I don't even think we did lasagna, for crying out loud. It's a miracle I turned out alright.

That being said, there wasn't a ton of Italian food in my life for quite some time. After college, in the early Atlanta years, there were a couple of EYEtalian restaurants where I dined on occasion. By EYEtalian, I mean dimly lit rooms with red checker tablecloths, taper candles in old chianti bottles, dishes like eggplant parmigiana, veal scaloppini, chicken marsala, penne alla vodka (one of my favorite pasta dishes to this day), mostaccioli, linguine with clam sauce, baked ziti, lasagna, and spumoni or cannoli for dessert. Oh, and both kinds of wine: red and white.

Then in the last year or two there, a couple of Italian restaurants popped up that became game changers. For me, at least. Actually, it was really one restaurant that later became two with the same owner. The first born, Sotto Sotto, was the higher end version of its younger sibling, Fritti. It was at Sotto Sotto where a lot of things about Italian fare really evolved in my world. In a little restaurant in Inman Park, Atlanta, my palate got to travel from Southern to Northern Italy for the first time. I remember tasting delicate, handmade pastas of all shapes, sizes and consistencies, flecked with bright and fresh surprising accents like arugula, mint, and lemon or anchored down with braised, local duck with an aged twelve year balsamic. There were fresh truffles, walnut sauce and sage browned butter, which fifteen years ago was not something I saw on menus very often. I remember having the most delicate beef carpaccio I had ever tasted. The beef sliced so carefully, so thinly, that it essentially melted on my tongue. And then when the little sister, Fritti, came along, I was introduced to the lightest, freshest calamari fritti, garnished only with fresh lemon, and their crimini and portobello mushrooms, lightly fried in rice flour batter with white truffle oil. Most importantly, it was the first time I became acquainted with Neapolitan pizza. And burrata.

Best of all, I lived a mere two blocks away. Even bester, two of my girlfriends and my then boyfriend worked there.

And so an Italian food lover was born.

In the eleven years that I have lived here in LA, though, I don't make pasta at home as much as other things, I would say that my go to meal out is easily for Italian food. More often than not, what I crave is the Northern Italian fare; the fine handmade pastas with fresh, seasonal produce, nuanced flavors and elegant sauces, and almost always I will opt for Neapolitan pies to that of any other. That said, I would never turn down a dinner at Dan Tana's. Who wouldn't want a side of spaghetti with their spaghetti?

But here's the thing, a couple of years ago I came across a recipe in The Week for a dish called Cacio e Pepe. Its scant few ingredients and seemingly whimsical and simple process tempted me. The recipe called for a long pasta (in this case, bucatini), Parmesan cheese, extra virgin olive oil, Kosher salt and lots and lots of freshly cracked black pepper. After I tried to make it the first time, and failed, I started to read about the recipe. I realized that this dish exemplifies the complexity of pan sauce precision. Of course! This is one of those less-is-more, minimalist recipes by which cooks are measured – and as I read on, I learned that no two chefs agree on how to do it just right.

And, it's a Roman dish... making it kind of EYEtalian!

After that, my interest was piqued. If I saw it on a menu, I ordered it. And, for the most part, folks were using the bucatini. So, my only occasion, other than my own kitchen defeat, for both the bucatini and the cacio e pepe had been when dining out.

Then I met Fred. And on our third date, he invited me to his place to cook me dinner. I remember thinking, “Uh, oh. He has no idea what he's gotten himself into. Be nice, be nice, be nice.” Beyond all of the bells, whistles (the right kind, not the gaudy kind), and the ts crossed and is dotted, there he was, in his kitchen, with a YouTube video playing on his iPad illustrating how to make cacio e pepe. And before you ask, no, he had no idea. This was all Fred.

I remember thinking it was going to be a disaster. If I couldn't make it right, and it was such a cornerstone for great chefs, how was hegoing to do it?

It was perfect. It is still the best version of cacio e pepe (and with bucatini, mind you) I have had to date. I'm serious!

And so, not only did cacio e pepe become even more pivotal to me, but bucatini, in particular did as well. Unfortunately, I have only stumbled upon it a few times here in LA since I began this obsession. And I look. Once I saw it at the Silverlake Farmers' Market, but it seemed a little pricey. Anyway, on a recent trip to San Francisco, Fred and I poked into our favorite EYEtalian deli and grabbed every kind of bucatini they had. That would be five (5) different brands of bucatini.

And a couple of nights ago I made a dish with the prettiest and fanciest of our bucatinis. It was a type of a cacio e pepe, but I added shaved asparagus stalks, a single clove of garlic, some red pepper flakes, lemon and I topped everything with fresh breadcrumbs. I also used two cheeses; a Grana Padano, for its velvety texture, and Pecorino, for its sharpness. Other than adding the extras, the concept and the technique were no different than the original cacio e pepe.

I'd like to tell you how romantic it was that we made this, our very special dish together. I'd like it to seem like we savored that last strand of bucatini like the Lady and the Tramp. But we were really just so excited and so hungry, that we pretty much inhaled our big bowls of pasta and glasses of chianti. Just-a like-a Mama would-a like-a.

Bucatini with Shaved Asparagus & Fresh Breadcrumbs

Serves 4

Ingredients:

2 thick slices hearty bread, torn into about 1-inch pieces


extra virgin olive oil


1 pound bucatini


red pepper flakes


1 clove garlic, minced


2 bundles asparagus, shaved


The juice of 1 lemon


1/4 cup mixed grated Grana Padano & Pecorino cheeses

Kosher salt, and freshly cracked black pepper

Directions:

Preheat oven to 400 degrees.  Pulse bread in food processor to make bread crumbs.  Spread the crumbs on a small baking tray.  Drizzle with olive oil and a pinch of salt; toss.  Toast for 15 minutes, or until golden brown.

Meanwhile, bring a large pot of salted water to a boil.  Cook bucatini until al dente.  Reserve a bit of the cooking water.

Just before the pasta finishes cooking, heat about a tablespoon of olive oil in a skillet.  Add garlic and a pinch or two of red pepper flakes and cook until fragrant, about a minute.  Add asparagus and a pinch of salt; cook until the asparagus until slightly softened.  Add juice of the lemon.  Toss.

Add the cooked bucatini and parmesan to the skillet with the asparagus; toss to coat.  Add reserved cooking water a tablespoon at a time, if necessary, to achieve your desired consistency.  Serve, topped with toasted breadcrumbs.


Printable recipe.

One year ago: Grilled Oysters with Garlicky, Lemony, Buttery Sauce
Two years ago: I Left My Heart in San Fran-cheesy; Part 3, The Final Chapter
Three years ago: Chili with Beef & Bacon
Five years ago: Angelini Osteria

The Revenge of the Homemade Ravioli

It’s this close to Halloween, the spookiest, scariest, fake-bloodiest night of the year (unless, of course, it gets trumped by a sad turn with the election next Tuesday). There will be lots of horror movies, trick-or-treaters, costumes, parties, candy and, in my house, ravioli. 

Boo!

The last time I made ravioli was two years ago, around this time. There were jack-o-lanterns glowing from the inside all around the house, a fire was burning in the fireplace, and twelve people sitting down to eat in my living room. And, among other things, I served them ravioli. More specifically I served them duck confit and pimiento mashed potato ravioli with braised chanterelle and lobster mushrooms. Sounds pretty fancy, right? My dad was in town at the same time we were hosting a Dinner at Eight, and so the menu was composed of the elements of all of his favorite foods, duck confit and pimiento mashed potatoes being a couple of said foods. The meal was very good and the evening was warm and festive. Or so I thought...

Are you scared, yet?

As I said, everyone seemed happy, elated even, with the meal and the evening. It seemed as though everyone had commendatory things to say about it. To my face. But then about a week or so later I read, in a public forum, that a guest and her date did not leave pleased. Some of what I read was fair enough and some was not.  Nature of the beast, I suppose, but it is exceedingly difficult not to take a sharp panning personally.

Now you’re scared, right?

I very rarely critique restaurants any more here and that is due, in large part, to this experience. So I asked myself, who am I to deign to review and criticize chefs and restaurant owners in a public forum? I am neither a Nobel Prize winning journalist - or hell, a journalist at all - nor an acclaimed food critic. And I do not visit an establishment three times with groups of people to sample as many menu items as possible and to check consistency prior to writing a post. What if I visited a place on an off night? We all have an off night, even the very best of us. Moving forth I decided to mention some restaurants here and there, but to be extremely cautious and thoughtful with any negativity.

What I did do following that review of, what was essentially, my style, my structure, my home, my peeps, my creative vision and my food, was make pasta over and over and over again. But not ravioli. Until last night. And it was insert expletive here awesome.

So, in some way, I triumphed. I knew that this ravioli would make even the toughest carbo-loading 'critic' warm and fuzzy inside, whether or not they aren’t a fan of toothy (read toothsome).

Yes, revenge is a dish best served cold. But this ravioli is not.


Mwahahaha... Happy Halloween!

Acorn Squash Ravioli with Sage Browned Butter

Serves 4 (Main Course) or 6 (Appetizer)

Pasta Dough and How Ravioli-ize It

Here's the recipe to make the pasta dough.

I happen to have a pasta machine. If you don’t you can still make ravioli your just going to have to roll the pasta out with a rolling pin.

I have done this myself. It is a lot of work but it can be done. You just need to roll the dough out really thin. Do not roll the dough out too thin. The pasta will split when you are cooking it and most if not all of your filling will be floating in your pot of water.

I found that when making my ravioli it works much better if you roll out a piece of dough, fill and seal the ravioli and then start all over again. If you roll all your dough out you take the chance of your dough drying out too much and it will make it more difficult to work with and you’ll end up with a very tough pasta.

Remove your ball of dough from the bowl and knead all of the flour and crumbs in for a couple of turns. Now cut the dough in half. Then cut each half in 4 pieces. You will end up with eight balls of dough. Put all of the dough except for the piece you are working with back into the bowl and cover it with the towel.

Flatten your dough a bit and dust with flour. 

Now place the piece of dough on your clean and floured counter surface.

Using a spoon place a dollop of filling along your piece of dough in a straight line, leaving about an inch of space in between and on each end. Each dollop is a little bit less then a teaspoon of filling. You really have to play with your filling because each piece of dough is going to be a different size. No two pieces of pasta roll out the same width or length.

Have a small bowl of water on the counter and dip your finger in and run a damp bead of water down each edge of the pasta and between each spoon full of filling.

Now flip the dough from the back over your filling.

Run your finger between each pocket of filling to remove most of the air and cut each ravioli apart. Trim it up just to even the edges.

Run your fingers around the edge of the filling forcing the air out. Use a fork to seal the edges.

Homemade pasta cooks really fast, about 2 minutes. You will be able to judge whether your pasta is too thin or thick if you cook a few when you first get started. To cook the ravioli boil a pot of water and add ravioli. Gently boil until the ravioli float. Once they are floating the filling and pasta are cooked through. 

Ravioli Filling

1 acorn squash, diced and roasted*
1/4 cup yellow onion, diced 
2 tablespoon fresh sage, chopped
1 tablespoon butter 
1 garlic clove, minced 
1/4 cup mascarpone cheese 
1/4 cup parmesan cheese 
1/2 teaspoon nutmeg  
1/2 teaspoon sherry vinegar 
dash of red pepper flakes 
salt and pepper 
4 tablespoon butter 
2 teaspoon fresh sage

Pre-heat the oven to 350 F. To get maximum flavor from the squash, peel the rind and dice into small cubes. Place the cubes on a foil or parchment lined baking sheet and drizzle with olive oil. Roast for 30-45 minutes until all sides are nicely caramelized. *Note: If you don't have the time (or patience) to peel the squash and cube it, you can alternatively follow this procedure: halve the squash. Place each half cut-side down on an oiled parchment-lined baking sheet. Bake for 30-45 minutes.

In the meantime, warm 1 tablespoon butter in a medium sauce pan. Saute the onions and 2 tablespoons chopped sage until the onions are transparent. Add garlic, salt, and pepper. Saute for one minute longer, then set aside.

When the squash is finished roasting, combine the squash, onion mixture, mascarpone cheese, parmesan cheese, nutmeg, sherry vinegar, and red pepper flakes in a food processor. Pulse until the texture is creamy. Add salt and pepper to taste

Sage Brown Butter

4 tablespoons butter
8 sage leaves
1/2 teaspoon lemon zest
1/4 cup grated Parmigiano-Reggiano

Melt butter in a 12 to 14-inch saute pan and continue cooking until golden brown color ("noisette") appears in the thinnest liquid of the butter. Add sage leaves and remove from heat. Add lemon zest and set aside. Add the cheese, spoon over ravioli and serve immediately.

Printable Recipe.

One year ago: The Blue Goat

Two years ago: Pecan Shortbread

Three years ago: The Grilled Cheese Truck

I Left My Heart in San Fran-Cheesy; Part 3, The Final Chapter.

It was nice waking up in the hotel room on this morning. I love that hotel. I guess I have an affinity for it as I stayed there about five years ago and had a special time.

But, no rest for the weary – we had to hit the ground running and get to the farmers’ market at the Ferry Building.

It was a blustery day, drizzly and gray. When we arrived at the market we pretty much bee-lined for the oyster stand. I ordered three on the half shell. And, I have to admit, standing there in the weatheryness, a little groggy, staring at the bay, slurping down those oysters – there was nowhere I would have rather been. It was one of those moments that you know, right then and there, you’ll remember forever. Pretty god-damn great.

After that I hit up Roli Roti for a more substantial lunch. It was delicious. We poked around for a bit, checked out the stalls. I, of course, wanted to buy up some beautiful piece of produce from each and every stall, but I didn’t have a kitchen to race back to to flex in. So I bought a jar of pickled veggies to bring home to Maggie instead.
 

Then we went on to wander around at the Musée Mécanique, which was just down the way. By the by, anyone exploring San Francisco absolutely must check this spot out. It is great fun.

There was a lot of walking, a lot of wandering, a lot of coffee stops, and then back to the hotel to get ready for our last big night out in the city.

The strangest thing: whenever we looked out the window of our room, the city looked bright and dry. But then every time we walked out the front doors of the hotel, it was gray, blowy and rainy. Mysterious.

We hopped in a cab and set out to have a cocktail prior to dinner at a fun little bar very close to the restaurant. I really dug this bar and would like to return at some point to try the food. Onward. To Quince.

Quince was the only other I-must-eat-here spot in San Francisco other than Chez Panisse for this trip. I had heard raves about the place for years and thought Michael Tusk, who cooked extensively in Europe, and used to work at Stars, Oliveto, and Chez Panisse, had the tastiest morsel of all at La Loves Alex’s Lemonade this past November. I believe it was a quail and chickory salad with quince mostarda.

Quince’s interior was an unexpected delight. For some reason, I had predicted an environment more along the lines of Heirloom, but what I discovered was entirely a surprise. What I walked into was an elegant, formal dining room studded with chandeliers and suited staff, yet modern and hip (God, I hate using that word) with original Thomas Struth and Sally Mann prints. With exposed brick in the back and high ceilings, a large main dining space with peripheral area in the back, a long bar to the side, lounge in front, a private dining room, and a huge 10,000-bottle wine cellar, clearly this is an occasion restaurant. Thankfully, this was one (when isn’t?).

After I ordered my wine and Minty ordered her cocktail, the food began. We were first served our amuse bouche: scoop of diced big eye tuna and a shot of salsify veloute. Beautiful, fresh and inspired.

From there we ordered a few items that seemed a smart cross section of the menu, to share. They instinctively split our plates, which was tremendously generous and kind. The service was impeccable all night, actually.

 
Then came our Willet Farm Artichoke Salad with farro and burrata. This was a bewitching and graceful dish. The super fresh, creamy burrata worked beautifully with the earthiness of the artichoke and the farro and the crispies on top of it all.

The Delta Crawfish with Sonoma Coast wild mushroom, chickweed and cipollini onion was up next and was also exemplary. Those crawfish were cooked perfectly and were promoted to a surprisingly elegant status, yet maintained true-to their-roots in both presentation and taste.

I am on an extreme pasta kick right now so the Tagliolini with smoked eel and fava beans was an obvious choice. The pasta was done just right and the smoked eel was a creative and welcome companion. The fava element added a nice coarseness to such an otherwise refined dish. I could have eaten my body weight in this one.

And then we were served our Atlantic Cod with celery root, Meyer lemon and black truffle. I’m such a lucky girl to have so much truffle in so little time. And we all know about my current celery root fixation. This was one of those dishes. One of those perfectly composed, well thought out and well executed dishes. This dish was not unlike some of the beautiful photographs hanging on the very walls in front of my eyes that night. It was a piece of art.

I was doubtful that our dessert would rival the previous night’s at Chez Panisse. While they were not to be compared – apples and oranges, if you will – the Meyer Lemon Tart was pornographic in decadence, richness and buttery goodness. And, yet, somehow maintained a refined freshness.

Jeez.

So.

This was my favorite meal on our little journey.

Then we went and closed down a bar with another cute bartender to flirt with. Then there was lunch the next day. Then, after an overwhelmingly delicious coffee, we hit the road.

And, after a long drive (sans speeding ticket) with a beautiful sunset and then horrific weather, I greeted my little family up in the canyon, put on my pine cone jammies, poured a glass of wine, and snuggled into my couch to contemplate how I left my heart in San Fran-Cheesy.

Raindrops Keep Falling on My Head.

What a couple of weeks. What a month. 

Without really even recovering from that which was Thanksgiving, I caught a cold, and had some pretty big stuff going on in both work and home worlds. Although I had lined up dinner commitments for a good many of the nights, I also planned to spend all of my home-times meals concentrating on continuing to clear out and utilize all of the ingredients still left in the fridge from that which was Thanksgiving. There were no more leftovers, mind you, but a lot of ingredients that simply didn’t get used as I went a little haywire on that which was Thanksgiving and made enough food to feed greater Los Angeles. 

Since then, in my kitchen, there has been -– peppered between dining out on anything from an entire pig’s head (I ate the eyeball!) to beautiful, simple food, done right -- oyster stew, roasted heirloom carrots, a couple of filets, sausage over lentils, sausage biscuits, beef bourguignon, any number of pastas, some throw-together hors d'oeuvres for a small holiday soiree last week, and a roast chicken over white beans, leeks and garlic with sautéed rapini.

It doesn’t feel like it, but looking at that last paragraph I guess I’ve been pretty busy.
 
So now, I’ve got my tree up and decorated, wrapped gifts spilling out from underneath (Christmas shopping = done), the house is all holiday-y and lovely looking and smelling, it’s rainy and blustery outside, I’ve got a fire in the fireplace, a pot of chili stewing on the stove, a glass of Chilean Cabernet in my hand, my sweet dog lying next to me, and Christmas cookies baking in the oven (my first ever by myself). So what am I missing?
 
Sam.
 
I came home the other night after a decadent and extravagant holiday dinner with Uncle Dougertons, put on my jammies, clicked on the TV to find some completely banal movie on whatever channel it had been left on, which completely absorbed me. When the final credits rolled, the accompanying song was Raindrops Keep Falling on My Head. I didn’t see it coming. I was completely blindsided. I didn’t know why for a moment.
 
I was bawling.
 
Then I realized: this was one of Sam’s favorite songs. He even put it on a mix cd for me ages ago. That cd was stolen from my car in Atlanta about a decade ago. It was also the only thing stolen from my car that day that I cared even remotely about. Ironically, also the thing that probably got tossed in the trash almost immediately by whomever broke into that old Jetta.
 
So what did I do? I ran to my room and grabbed a bunch of my old photo albums to pore through, and even put a framed picture of Sam wearing a Santa hat on my mantle.
 
I was still bawling.
 
It was very late – too late to call anyone – so I texted Paz, Heather and Emma. I just wrote that I was overwhelmingly sad about Sam (they all knew him as well). I think I just wanted to talk about him to someone. Good things. I thought it would make me feel better. But everyone was asleep (I assume).
 
That moment has passed and I feel better now. I don’t feel like bawling. But I realized that that which occurred the other night was a really good thing. No, I could not touch, smell or hear Sam – and I desperately wanted to. But I felt him. I remembered him. I thought about him. And I realized, again, how fortunate I am to even have that. I’m not very good at crying or emoting in certain ways and moments like that night only occur randomly (and very rarely), when some obscure visceral trigger is hit. Then, wham-o.

I’ve written about Sam before – a little over a year ago. I’ll probably write about him again. I want you all to know about him, too. He was pretty great – and has had an enormous impact on my life, and very likely had a lot to do with who I’ve been and am, and will be.

Considering that it's now Christmas I was going to share a recipe for Christmas cookies. But considering A) I can't bake, B) My cookies looked ridiculous, C) everyone has a Christmas cookie recipe anyway (or one can just turn to Martha), and D) did Sam even care about Christmas cookies that much? I sure don't..., I decided to go a different route.

Sam ate oddly. He grazed a lot. Small nibbles throughout the day. He also seemed to prefer really basic foods. My strongest recollection was from college: the most common "meal" he would prepare for himself was spaghetti with a ton of butter, salt and maybe pepper. Well, clearly I am not going to - nor do I have any need to - share that recipe with you. So, I thought I'd do it up my own way. And I think Sam would dig this dish.
 
Happy Holidays and a beautiful New Year to Sam, where ever and however he may be, to Mary (and Jerry) Trice, and to all of my beautiful friends and family. I know how truly blessed I am to have each and every one of you touch my life.

Linguine with Pancetta Mushroom Cream Sauce

Serves 2

Ingredients
  


8 oz
 dry linguine
 
1 tablespoon
 olive oil
 
3 tablespoons
 Pancetta, cut in ¼-inch dice
 
1/2 cup
 1/4-inch thick slices of cremini mushrooms
 
1/2 cup
 Chardonnay
 
1/2 cup
 heavy cream
 
2 teaspoon
 freshly grated Parmesan cheese
 
2 teaspoon
 chopped flat-leaf parsley
 
Small pinch
 minced garlic
 
Salt and pepper to taste
1/2 teaspoon
 freshly grated Meyer lemon zest moistened in 1 teaspoon lemon juice
 
*Fresh lemon zest added at the last minute brings out the lemony nuances of a nice white wine, such as a Sancerre or Puilly Fume. I also suggest adding a pinch of minced fresh garlic just before tossing the sauce and pasta together.



Bring a large pot of water to a boil. Salt generously. Add the pasta and cook 8-10 minutes just until al dente.
 
While the pasta is cooking, sauté pancetta in olive oil in a large sauté pan over medium heat.
 
As the pancetta begins to brown, add the mushrooms and continue to cook, stirring occasionally, until mushrooms are golden brown and dry. Stir in wine. Cook until wine is reduced by half. Add cream. When sauce comes to a boil, remove from the heat and stir in cheese and parsley. Add garlic and salt to taste. Toss sauce and pasta together. Garnish with lemon zest and serve immediately.

 

Nonplussed

 

This past week I have been hit from all sides by episodes that have left me saying to myself, “Really?... Seriously?.” Did you really have to say that about me? Did you seriously put me in a position to have to answer that question? Did you really answer the phone that way? Are you really going to behave about this that way? Are you seriously doing that right now? Did you really have to zip three lanes across traffic on the 2 while driving 117365 miles an hour and almost knock my car off the road?

I’m having one of those moments, which we all have, in our lives when we wonder if everyone around us is a little crazy – or if we are.

It has rendered me exhausted.

It has also compelled me to take the bull by the horns and do and see things that I love in this city. Things that make me happy and comfortable. Things that are mine and no one can take them from me, by golly.

So last night, I met a friend, and I treated myself to my favorite martini at one of my favorite places in my favorite city: Musso & Frank.  I have been going to Musso since day one of my tenure here. That night, I struck up a conversation with the bartender, Rueben, about Orson Welles. Apparently I was sitting upon the very barstool that the erstwhile Mr. Welles sat upon as he essentially drank (and ate) himself to death – and also, as it were, ordered his martini exactly the way I did. Reuben and I were fast friends.

Over the years Reuben has regaled me with fantastic stories of the things he has seen from behind that bar over his past 45 some odd years there. Stories so amazing that those stories have stories. I know where Raymond Chandler sat and wrote. And drank. The same goes for Charlie Chaplin. I know about a producer from The Streets of San Francisco, who officially drank the most booze in one sitting that Reuben has ever seen: 24 vodka and Coke’s within about an hour. Oh, and this was in the late morning, prior to going to a court case!

Then there was the time Hunter S. Thompson asked Reuben, “Do you know who I am?” To which Reuben replied, in all of his naïve honesty, “A pimp?” I see Mr. Gore Vidal there on the regular. That dude loves his martinis as well. I could go on and on, but you should go visit Reuben and ask him yourself. Hell, he’s even got a story about me now… Go ahead, ask him.

Rueben and Musso & Frank always remind me of everything I love about this city. Its sunshine and shadows, its history and lore, its tragedy and comedy. We may not have very many old buildings or enormous historic events that have transpired here in Los Angeles, but go to Musso and you’ll immediately understand our version of history.

Then earlier today, I needed some silence that wasn’t in my home so I treated myself to a long lunch at the Chateau Marmont. This is another spot I’ve loved for a very long time. Long before I moved here, in fact. The Chateau is also a place that is saturated with LA history. It’s where John Belushi died of a drug overdose, Jim Morisson swung from the roof into the window of his room, Led Zeppelin rode their motorcycles through the lobby, Greta Garbo, Vivien Leigh, Jean Harlow, Hunter S. Thompson (twice in one post!), and Howard Hughes, to name but a scant few, all stayed there frequently, or in some cases, lived there. Britney Spears has been banned from the place. Helmut Newton died when his car crashed into the wall outside of their driveway while exiting the hotel. I was actually there that day. I’ve even got a few Christopher Walken and Sean Penn (separately) stories to tell, myself. Ask if you run into me. Humphrey Bogart famously said, “If you’re going to get into trouble, do it at the Chateau Marmont.”

Admittedly, I have gotten into my fair share of trouble there as well. But that was a few years ago, now.

When I have visitors from out of town I always make a point to take them to the Chateau for brunch, or at least a glass of wine. You can’t not love the place, but you’re also almost guaranteed a pretty great celebrity sighting (in fact, Johnny Knoxville is sitting next to me, right now. I have to admit it – he really is cute.)

While I have had late nights there, spent the night there a few times, enjoyed the pool, attended parties, and eaten every meal there, inside and out, my favorite thing to do at the Chateau is to take the paper or my computer, order a pot of coffee and camp out on one of the ginormous couches while doing the crossword or writing until it’s well into Wine O’Clock.

The food is not amazing or memorable (which I always really want it to be), but it’s perfectly fine, for the most part. Today’s choice was a glass of iced tea and a bowl of the French onion cauliflower soup. Quite good. I also wrote everything up to this point there. Loveliness.

So, after back to back Musso and Chateau times, I am feeling a little less nonplussed. We all have bad weeks. We all have external elements that make us feel like the world is against us. That everyone is crazy. Or that we are crazy because everyone else can’t be crazy, right? But after treating myself to some quality time at two of the places that remind me of everything that I love about my own microcosm, a few stiff cocktails, a lovely bowl of soup, and some happy writing times, I feel I have effectively exorcised myself of the yuckadoonies.

To celebrate, Chris is coming over for dinner and I am going to prepare him some handmade pasta that I have spent the past month, obsessively, mastering. Why? To prove a point to no one but myself. 

The Revenge of the Homemade and Handmade Pasta

Ingredients

1 cup Semolina Flour
1 cup All-Purpose Flour
1 tsp Olive Oil (or vegetable oil)
2 large Eggs
1 pinch Salt
1 - 2 tbsp Water

Directions

• Sift together semolina flour, all-purpose flour and salt.
• Whisk or beat with fork eggs, olive oil and water.
• Make mountain of flour on any flat surface, and form well in the center of it.
• Pour in ½ of egg mixture and begin forming dough with 2 fingers while supporting the mound of flour with other hand, adding in the rest of the egg mixture once the dough gets going.
• Kneed dough for 8 - 10 minutes, flouring surface with semolina as needed.
• Form dough into ball and wrap with plastic wrap.
• Let dough 'rest' in the refrigerator for an hour or so.
• Cut dough into 2 pieces with a knife or dough blade.
• Roll out dough into thin strips the thickness of a nickel. Hand cut as desired for type of pasta.
• If making ravioli: Fill with ravioli filling, brush edges with egg wash, then close and seal individual ravioli dumplings making sure no air is trapped inside them.

Strata

We all have so many interesting layers. We all have so many interesting phases within ourselves - with how we understand others, and with our relationships. I had a friend that referred to my dog as an onion – you had to peel back the layers, she would say. As he is a Chihuahua, I would say he’s more like a shallot. While she is correct about Besito, it’s also a really fantastic phrase.

Yes, upon first meeting Besito he will bark at you until he is hoarse. It’s immensely irritating. But once he gets to know you he will squeal and scream and pee pee on you – because he loves you! I don’t know which is worse.

Me: upon meeting me a lot of people think I’m too serious. Or crabby. Or British. But in reality I am quite silly and happy and fun. And obviously both Besito and I have more layers than those, but you get the idea.

Relationships, in any context, are no different. In fact, they are even more complex, constantly morphing and often appearing different each time you look at them from a new perspective.

One of my best friends for the better part of a decade and I met each other when I first moved to Los Angeles. We had so much in common at the time. We were also both younger, more energetic, more adventurous, were having an absolute blast learning about each other, and always had a cooking night about once a week. We would take turns cooking or just cook together. We also loved the wine. Well, we still both love the wine.

Lamentably, while I see him regularly enough, it’s not the same. It’s more formal, less inspired, hardly adventurous, and we don’t cook together much anymore. Anyway, I’m sure it’s a phase. We all grow together and apart at times.

Last night he came over to my house for dinner. I actually don’t think he’s ever been to this particular house of mine for one of our old-school cooking nights. Day of, he mentioned that he was tired and that he probably wouldn’t be up for a “whole cooking thing”. So I said I’d cook and he could just kick it.

He showed up an hour late, sans wine, and appeared bedraggled. This is unusual. He proceeded to passively denigrate many of the things of importance to me: this blog, photography, art, you name it. He just seemed like such the downy clowny. I guess it just felt like he really didn't want to be there. Which, of course, made me feel the same.

Worst thing, he hardly mentioned anything about the Persian cucumber salad, cream of broccoli soup with Parmesan croutons - or the lasagna Bolognese I spent about 5 hours making (which was DELICIOUS). Stinker.

He probably stayed about 2 hours. Once the red wine was gone so was he. He didn’t even want to take any leftover soup or lasagna with him. Double stinker.

It’s fine. Well, it’s sad, but it’s also fine. He’s going through one of his layers, his phases. Perhaps I am as well. And so must we. Kind of like an onion. Or lasagna.

I know he’s not going anywhere. I know we’ll find our groove again. Until then, I’m going to hang back and let it figure itself out along the long road that is our future. Our friendship.

And when we do, we will have yet another layer peeled.

My Lasagna Bolognese

Serves 10-12

Bolognese Sauce

1 ½ tbsp olive oil

2 tbsp butter

1 clove garlic, finely chopped

1 onion, diced

1 stalk celery, diced

1 large carrot, peeled & diced

1 cup Crimini mushrooms, chopped

1 lb ground sirloin

2 cups milk

1 cup red wine

¼ cup tomato paste

¼ cup tomato sauce

1 cup beef stock

1 bay leaf

1 ½ tsp salt

¾ tsp pepper

2 tbsp crème fraiche

Heat the butter and olive oil in a large cast-iron or enamel pot over medium heat.

Add the onions, and cook until they begin to soften, about 10 minutes. Add the garlic, celery, carrot, and mushrooms, and cook until they are tender, about 10 minutes. Add the ground sirloin, and cook, stirring occasionally, until the meat is no longer pink. Add the milk, and cook at a gentle simmer, skimming fat from surface, until the liquid has reduced by half, about 45 minutes.

Add the wine and bay leaf, and simmer until liquid is reduced by half again, about 30 minutes.

Add stock, tomato paste, tomato sauce, salt, and pepper; simmer gently until sauce thickens, 30-40 minutes. Stir in crème fraiche.

Lasagna

Bolognese sauce

1 16 oz container ricotta cheese

3 egg yolks

1 cup grated Parmesan

½ cup grated mozzarella

1 ½ tsp coarse salt

¼ tsp freshly ground black pepper

¼ tsp grated nutmeg

Pinch of cayenne pepper

2 tbsp olive oil

1 box of no-boil lasagna noodles

2 cups mozzarella cheese

Preheat oven to 400.

Bring the sauce to room temperature. In a large bowl, whisk the ricotta, egg yolks, Parmesan, salt, pepper, nutmeg, and cayenne pepper. Chill filling until ready to assemble lasagna.

Spread about 2 cups of sauce on the bottom of a 9x13 baking dish. Place a single layer of noodles over the sauce, overlapping them slightly. Spread about 2 more cups of sauce over the noodles, and about ½ of the ricotta mixture over the sauce.

Top with a layer of noodles, again slightly overlapping. Repeat with more sauce and the remaining ricotta mixture. Top with a final layer of lasagna noodles. Spread a layer of sauce over the noodles, and finish with the grated mozzarella.

Bake until the sauce is bubbling and the cheese is melted, about 45 minutes. Cover with aluminum foil if the cheese starts to brown to early. Let lasagna stand 10-15 minutes before serving.