Cooking the Book(s).

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Braised Eggs with Lamb, Tahini & Sumac

From Jerusalem by Yotam Ottolenghi & Sami Tamimi

Serves 4

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Serve at once.

Printable recipe.

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

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

Three years ago: Ludobites 4.0

The Red Hot Chili Peoples

It’s been hot. It’s been the kind of hot we don’t get too often here in Southern California. But it’s August. The month when almost everyone in the country can experience the same thing: sweat. This particular heat wave has been a bit of a doozy. I know, compared to the heat coupled with that added bonus of humidity happening on the East Coast, we have been fortunate. But we really have had hundred degree days over the past couple of weeks.

This is the kind of hot I both loathe and love. While I am slightly miserable roaming around during the day, worrying about getting sunburned and, of course, my social curse: the sweat moustache - the cool, arid, balmy, breezy nights are just, well, sexy. Perhaps it’s even more so because of enduring the day part, but it’s so exhilarating to feel that sultry, lustful air on my skin and in my hair on these evenings. And no unsightly sweat moustache.

Since it is right at that time when the thermometer outside is stuck at the “hot and sticky” mark, Fred and I couldn’t have picked a better time to move in together.

So, to heighten the challenge of endurance, Fred and I have spent the last two months moving his stuff out of an apartment he has occupied for ten years and relocating said stuff into a house where I have been residing for four years - during weekends, right in the middle of the day. Barrels of joy and without any bickering. No-sir-ee.

Another super smart and obvious choice to make in the kitchen department would be to eat a lot of salads and make ultra use of the grill. So last night we decided to throw a pot of oil on the stove, get it up to about 350 degrees, and fry stuff. It was just about the worst idea ever: scorcher of a day, no air conditioning, tiny kitchen, bare skin, scaldingly hot oil, really messy cooking experiment.

But also really delicious.

Parts of it did make sense. We used produce from the garden. The dish felt fresh and summery. It would probably go great with a cold beer and did go really well with a crisp rosé. It was snacky.

It was zucchini fries with poblano cream. The zucchini and the poblanos came straight from my garden - which is so happy this year. I guess it was just going through puberty for the past couple of years and is finally growing up. The Meyer lemon we used to squeeze on top was from a neighbor' tree. It was all so precious. And it was very good. The zucchini kept it's textural integrity and had a light, crunchy shell. I thought the poblano cream was the most exciting part. It was cool, light, creamy with a subtle, warm, roasty heat. I plan on using it to top a chilled heirloom tomato soup this weekend, and I can only imagine it is delicious, and versatile, enough to have a myriad of other applications.

So yes, thank you Los Angeles, for pulling out all the stops where the sunshine and heat are concerned. It’s sweaty, dirty, nasty stuff, even before all the moving boxes and the bags and the dust. But last night, even though we picked a peculiar thing to get kitchen concoctery with, everything worked out. We set the table, turned on the fan, poured ourselves a couple of glasses of rosé, plated up our dish and sat down across from one another - and our burn blisters - to enjoy a peaceful evening of quiet, still, snackery. Together in our home together. 

Zucchini Fries with Poblano Cream

Serves 4

Poblano Cream

Ingredients

8 oz. creme fraiche
1 roasted and peeled poblano pepper
1 tbsp sherry vinegar
salt & pepper to taste
Chopped celery leaves, to garnish

Directions

Blend creme fraiche and pepper in food processor and pulse until pepper is broken down and mixed in. Pour into small mixing bowl and fold in vinegar, salt & pepper. Stir until flavors are well integrated.

Top with chopped celery leaves.



Zucchini Fries

Ingredients

• 
  
• Olive oil, for frying
• 1 1/2 cups panko
• 3/4 teaspoon salt
• 1/2 teaspoon pepper
• 1/4 teaspoon paprika
• 2 large eggs
• 3 medium zucchini, cut into 3-inch long by 1/2-inch wide strips

Directions

Pour enough oil into a large frying pan to reach a depth of 2 inches. Heat the oil over medium heat until a deep-fry thermometer registers 350 degrees F.

Stir salt, pepper, paprika and panko together in a medium bowl to blend. Whisk the eggs in another medium bowl to blend. Working in batches, dip the zucchini in the eggs to coat completely and allow the excess egg to drip back into the bowl. Coat the zucchini in the panko mixture, patting to adhere and coat completely. Place the zucchini strips on a baking sheet.

When the oil is hot, working in batches, fry the zucchini sticks until they are golden brown, about 3 minutes. Using a slotted spoon, transfer the fried zucchini to paper towels and drain.

Serve with poblano cream for dipping.

Printable recipe.


One year ago: Bourbon-Vanilla Bean Banana Bread with Candied Walnuts
Two years ago: Classic Southern Deviled Eggs
Three years ago: The Lost Weekend

What I Used To Do.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Paz’s World Famous Rice and Beans

Serves 6

 

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

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

1 small onion, diced (I used a Vidalia)

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

1 heaping tbsp of ground cumin

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

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

1 small bay leaf

Salt and fresh ground pepper to taste

4-5 cloves of fresh garlic finely chopped

1 handful of fresh cilantro coarsely chopped

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

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

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

Full of Hot Air

I generally act as though I’m too cool, or too tough to be a fan of, or want, bold romantic gestures. But it’s all a load of crap.

I used to work at a flower shop and one day, while lamenting that I didn’t think anyone had ever sent me flowers in my life, the owner turned to me and said, “You’re not the kind of girl that would get flowers sent to her.” It totally crushed me. But then I see myself doing things to repel that sort of gesture. Last night, while out with some friends, a man came over selling roses and I immediately declared, “I hate roses.”

What? Who hates roses? What an idiotic thing to say. In reality, cheesy as it may be, I’m sure I wanted someone to hand me a rose, but, thinking that would never happen anyway - I tried to control the moment and protect my pride.

My dad has always been really sharp with the bold romantic gestures with the loves in his life. He gave someone a star for Christmas one year. He had it named after her. A STAR. Of course, I don’t know what one does with their star, but my word, she has a star!

Me, I’ve always wanted to go up in a hot air balloon. With that special someone. With champagne. The whole world beneath the two of us, suspended in the air in our wicker basket under a gigantic billowy, rainbowy balloon watching the landscape slowly change under us.

See, I am a total dork.

A few nights ago a couple of friends came over for dinner. I knew I wanted to make a roasted red pepper soup and actually have a pretty standard recipe I usually use. But, for some reason, that night I felt like exploring other ideas. As I was poring through one of my cookbooks I stumbled upon a French red pepper soup recipe that caught my eye. This soup, I read, was one of the culinary delights awaiting balloonists when they would touch down after drifting with the breezes over vineyards, churches and villages in Burgundy, near Beaune, a small city southeast of Paris.

A tear formed.

Needless to say, with some modifications and variations (including a garnish of crème fraiche and lump crab) - and with my thoughts drifting into hot air balloon fantasies, I prepared my version of Potage Aux Poivrons Rouges.

It turned out beautifully. This is truly a beguiling soup because its lovely light red color suggests tomato but its taste is all pepper. It’s zingy but sweet. Both April and Chris had a second bowl.

I paired it with a burgundy and followed it with stuffed pork tenderloin medallions over rice. I imagine this soup would be equally delicious served cold with a glass of sancerre and a salad.

Funny thing: the next day I received an email containing a coupon for a hot air balloon ride. Perhaps it’s a sign that my fantasy may soon be realized. Perhaps I should also stop acting so haughty about the saccharin sweet, goopy romantic stuff.

Because, while I prefer peonies, I totally love roses.

French Red Pepper Soup 
(Potage Aux Poivrons Rouges)

Serves 2

2 tbsp butter

1 medium onion, peeled and chopped coarsely

1 medium carrot, peeled and sliced

3 cups vegetable stock

2 roasted red peppers, peeled, seeded and chopped coarsely

¾ cup milk

½ tsp fresh thyme

1 tsp salt

½ tsp white pepper

¼ cup crème fraiche

2 tbsp lump crab meat

Melt the butter in a medium saucepan; drop in the chopped onions and cook over medium-low heat until they are soft and translucent, about 15 minutes.

Add the carrots, cover and cook until tender, about 15-20 minutes.

Add the stock, leave uncovered and bring to a boil over medium-high heat for 20 minutes to reduce the stock base in volume and to strengthen its flavor. Skim occasionally.

Add the pepper chunks and cook for an additional 20 minutes or until they can be easily pierced with a fork or knife point. Remove from heat and add milk, salt, pepper and thyme.

When somewhat cool, puree the soup in a food processor or blender.

Reheat soup over low flame and add crème fraiche. Serve in heated bowls, topped with a dollop of crème fraiche and lump crab meat.