Movin' On - New Orleans City Limits.

Another long day in the car making it the rest of the way through Texas and into some more familiar territory. Things went from arid to humid pretty fast as we rolled into the swamp lands of Southern Louisiana. And, although I had been enjoying myself immensely, wide eyed and fascinated with the new places I was experiencing, I was eager to return to climates, time zones, cities and cuisines that were more familiar. Louisiana was the first stop on our trajectory that fit the bill. Hello, N'awlins!

Sure, we had a list of restaurants to visit, but the highlight of this stop was to be an evening with my really good friend, Sarah, and her family. Sarah moved to New Orleans right after college and fell in love with it. She remained even after Katrina hit, and now lives in the Lower 9^th Ward with her husband, Simon, little boy, Robin, and a host of cats. Both Sarah and Simon are educators: he teaches the second grade; she is Director of the Greater New Orleans Writing Project and an English instructor at the University of New Orleans. They are also hugely active in the politics of the City and their own neighborhood.

Needless to say, they're quite busy.

So, Fred and I decided to spend a day foraging for all of the local ingredients to make a big batch of chicken and smoked andouille gumbo for Sarah and family. After calling ahead to find out which kitchen 'fossil fuels' they had on hand (oil, rice, flour, cayenne pepper, etc.), we threw back a couple of cups of chicory coffee at our bed and breakfast, and hit the streets of the Big Easy. We picked up our produce - onions, celery, bell peppers, green onions and parsley – at the historic French Market in the Quarter. Then it was off to one of my favorite places in the city, the Cochon Butcher, to pick up our chicken and andouille sausage. We also grabbed some boudin to grill up and have as snacks for all during the long gumbo-making process. After a quick stop at a small, corner market to procure the file powder, we had only one last stop: wine, cheese and bread. That means Bacchanal. Sarah and Simon were actually married at Bacchanal and I was their wedding photographer. How could I not pick up the most important provisions there?

We arrived at their house a skosh early and busted in on Simon taking a shower. Sarah was apparently at a doctor's appointment and was running a few minutes late. While Simon finished up, Fred and I began unloading and getting organized. We prepared a cheese plate and opened a bottle of wine. As the cork popped from the bottle, Sarah walked in. Jokingly I asked, “Did you get a clean bill of health from the doctor?”

“Yes. I'm pregnant,” she replied. At first I thought she was putting me on, but as I looked from Simon to Sarah then Sarah to Simon, I knew they knew. It was for real. I was so filled with emotion and happiness – and thrilled about my really great timing to be there right at that moment.

We cooked and talked and snacked and sipped into the night while listening to classic Creole music. By the time the gumbo was ready it was late, but that was just fine. Simon ate with us while Sarah gave Robin his bath. Sarah ate with us while Simon tucked Robin into bed and then headed that way himself. We could tell it was Sarah's bed time as well. As I mentioned, this is one busy family.

Dinner was delicious. Sarah and Simon both loved the gumbo. The roux, the spice level and the consistency were all on point from the perspective of these New Orleanians. And though we were in a city with some of the best restaurants and night clubs in the country, if not the world, I couldn't think of a better place to be than in that little house by the levee in the Lower 9^thWard with Sarah and her family.

Post script: I just spoke with Sarah asking permission to mention her doctor’s appointment. She approved and said she heard the baby's heartbeat a little earlier in the day. Insert smiley face, here.

Chicken & Andouille Gumbo
(recipe adapted from Emeril Lagasse)

Serves 6-8

Ingredients
1 tablespoon plus 1/2 cup vegetable oil
1 pound andouille sausage, cut crosswise 1/2-inch thick pieces
4 pounds chicken thighs, skin removed
1 tablespoon Creole seasoning
1 cup all-purpose flour
2 cups chopped onions
1 cup chopped celery
1 cup chopped bell peppers
1 teaspoon salt
1/4 teaspoon cayenne
3 bay leaves
9 cups chicken stock
1/2 cup chopped green onions
2 tablespoons chopped parsley leaves
1 tablespoon file powder

Directions
In a large Dutch oven, heat 1 tablespoon of the vegetable oil over medium-high heat. Add the sausage and cook until well browned, about 8 minutes. Remove the sausage with a slotted spoon, drain & set aside.

Season the chicken with the Creole seasoning and add in batches to the fat remaining in the pan. Cook over medium-high heat until well browned, 5 to 6 minutes. Remove the chicken from the pan, let cool, until ready to use.

Combine the remaining 1/2 cup oil and the flour in the same Dutch oven over medium heat. Cook, stirring slowly and constantly for 20 to 25 minutes, to make a dark brown roux.

Add the onions, celery, and bell peppers and cook, stirring, until sweating, 4 to 5 minutes. Add the reserved sausage, salt, cayenne, and bay leaves, stir, and cook for 2 minutes. Stirring, slowly add the chicken stock, and cook, stirring, until well combined. Bring the mixture to a boil. Reduce the heat to medium-low and cook, uncovered and stirring occasionally, for about 1 hour.

Add the reserved chicken to the pot and simmer for 1 1/2 hours, periodically skimming off any fat that rises to the surface.

Remove the pot from the heat. Using a slotted spoon, remove the chicken thighs from the gumbo and place on a cutting board to cool slightly. Remove and discard the bay leaves. Pull the chicken meat from the bones and shred, discarding the bones and skin. Return the meat to the gumbo and stir in the green onions, parsley, and file powder.

Serve over white rice.

Printable recipe.

One year ago: Acorn Squash Ravioli with Sage Browned Butter

Two years ago: The Blue Goat (restaurant review)

Three years ago: Pecan Shortbread

Four years ago: Fishlips Sushi Truck (review)

Girl on Grill.

I feel bad. Maybe you haven’t noticed, or maybe it’s not a big deal, but I feel bad for being kind of absent lately. For the past couple of months a lot of things have been in flux. It’s felt a little bit like a deck of cards tossed up in the air. And some haven’t even hit the ground yet. But everything is all good, mind you. 
You all know Maggie, my dear friend and roommate of two years? She recently moved out. She found a magical, little spot all her own. Don't worry, she didn't go too far. In fact, we have plans to kick back with some wine at her new place tomorrow night.

Alas, you know how it go – Ch-ch-changes.

In the midst of Maggie’s move, my birthday happened. It was a fun one. Fred and I went to Los Olivos (and places surrounding) for the better part of the weekend, explored, went to wine tastings, had a beautiful dinner, and embraced the drive both up and back. I got some beautiful and touching cards and some wonderful gifts. Surprisingly, I actually received a couple of pretty extravagant gifts. One of these was from my dad. He called me and told me he wanted me to have a gas grill. The wording here is important: he wanted me to have. I already have a charcoal grill that I have been perfectly happy with for years. I had no idea I wanted or needed a gas grill. Dad’s logic was that, with a gas grill, I could use it like an oven and wouldn’t even have to heat up the kitchen. I guess in the Summer in the South that is a huge plus.

Dad seemed very enthusiastic about his gift idea (it reminded me of the time I was thirteen years old and he was brimming with excitement to give me the surprise gift of, wait for it… a plant), and I get it. It’s fun to give a gift. It’s rewarding. And when you think you’ve drummed up the best gift idea ever, it’s downright titillating. I’ve often felt it more fun to give gifts than to receive them. I guess that all depends on the gift going in either direction, though.

And so, after an arduoulsy involved process, I brought home my shiny, new gas grill. Dad insisted I get a Weber. He has one and he loves it. He told me, “I’ve had dozens of gas grills and this one is the best.” So that’s what I got.

This was about two or three weeks ago, and ever since the first day we put it on the patio, Fred (who was captivated by the idea from the get go) and I have done some thing or another with the grill almost every day: steaks (two or three times), BBQ chicken, mojo chicken wings (courtesy of Erika at Lindy & Grundy), vegetables, salmon, veggie burgers, meaty burgers, sausages, lamb chops, onions, a pork tenderloin. More than once I’ve sparked it up just to grill a zucchini or a sausage to use in a separate dish. And tonight we are going to grill oysters! I must admit, I love it and it is tons of fun – Thanks, Dad! Don’t worry, I haven’t forgotten about my little charcoal grill still which sits proudly on the patio, right next to The Monolith.

The most interesting thing we’ve been doing on the grill, and the most frequent – hell, and the most fun – has been pizzas. We have now made pizzas four different times, with a number of different kinds of pizzas each night. This past weekend we made four pizzas: a breakfast pizza with sausage egg and cheese, a classic pizza Margherita (but with purple basil instead of green (pictured above)), a dessert pizza with grilled peaches, mascarpone, mint and honey (not pictured) and Fred’s wild card pizza with grilled corn, salsa, cilantro, onions, bacon and Cotija cheese (pictured at top). They were all fantastic except for the dessert pizza. A - we didn’t think it through completely and the mascarpone turned into liquid and B – grilled fruit is going to make me hesitant because it just does. But I loved the idea of breakfast, dinner and dessert pizzas, all in a row. My favorite of all of our pizzas was the 'breakfast pizza'.

And so, my dear dad ended up giving me a pretty rad gift. And one I didn’t even realize I would want at the time. And I can’t even imagine all the amazing meals that lie ahead in the years that I will have my grill. So much better than a plant.

And with this, things are settling. New colors and shapes and people and sounds. 

You all know Fred? Well, pretty soon he’ll be moving in. The grill, Maggie, Fred…

Ch-ch-changes.

Sausage, Egg & Fontina Cheese Pizza
(Grilling technique adapted from Elise Bauer on Simply Recipes)

Makes 8 slices

What you need/what we used:

Pizza dough: make your own or use prepared pizza dough. In full disclosure, we used the prepared stuff from Trader Joe's = Not. Too. Shabby.

1-1 1/2 cup crushed tomatoes, cooked down with olive oil, basil, salt & garlic

1 1/2 cup grated Fontina cheese

1-2 grilled Andouille sausage(s), sliced

2-4 eggs (entirely depending on your eggy wantonness)

Salt & pepper

What you do/what we did:

Prepare the grill for high direct heat. If using a gas grill, preheat for 10 minutes until the temperature is between 550 and 600 degrees. Prepare a small bowl with olive oil for greasing the grill grates and for brushing the pizza. Prepare the toppings so they are ready to go on the pizza - tomato sauce, cheese, and anything else you wish.

Shape the pizza dough by flattening it with your hands on a slightly floured surface. Either use your fingers to stretch the dough out, or hold up the edges of the dough with your fingers, letting the dough hang and stretch, while working around the edges of the dough. Once you've stretched the dough, let it sit for 5 minutes and then push out the edges with your fingers again, until you have a nice round shape, about 12-inches in diameter. Do not make a raised rim, it will interfere with the grilling process.

Once the grill is hot, dip a tightly folded up paper towel in olive oil and use tongs to wipe the grill grates. Then place a pizza dough round on a lightly floured (or you can use cornmeal) pizza stone (or rimless cookie sheet). Let the dough slide off the stone onto the hot grill grates. Close the lid of the grill and let cook for 2 minutes.

After 2 minutes, open the grill and check underneath the dough to see if it is getting browned. If it is on one side, but not another, use a spatula or tongs to rotate the dough 90 degrees and cook for another minute. If it is not beginning to brown, cover the grill and continue to cook a minute at a time until the bottom has begun to brown. It should only take a couple minutes if you have a hot grill. The top of the pizza dough will start bubbling up with air pockets which you should stab and pop - gently.

Once the pizza dough has browned lightly on one side, use a spatula to flip the dough over so that the grilled side is now up. 

Paint the grilled surface of the pizza with a little olive oil, then cover with 1 ladle of sauce – no more, or you'll end up with a soggy pizza. Sprinkle on your grated Fontina cheese, slices of grilled sausage and, finally crack the eggs on top. Remember to go light on the toppings, or your pizza will be heavy and soggy.

Slide the topped pizza back onto the grill. If you are using a gas grill, reduce the heat to medium. If working with a charcoal grill, close the vents on the cover almost all the way. Close the lid and continue cooking. After 2-3 minutes open the lid to check the egg and the bottom of the crust. You want the whites just cooked through and the yolk soft. If the grill marks start to get too dark before the eggs is done, lower the heat some more and rotate the pizza 90 degrees. Check every 2 minutes until the eggs is done and and the cheese is bubbly, pull off the grate with a spatula onto a cutting board or other flat surface and let rest for a couple minutes before cutting into slices.

Salt & pepper that bad boy, slice and serve!

Printable recipe.

One year ago: Chicken Breasts with Anchovy-Basil Pan Sauce

Two years ago: Summer Squash Gratin with Salsa Verde

Three years ago: Pimiento Cheese

I'm Totally Rushing You In the Fall.

Things are happy. Things are good. Business is good, things feel pretty stable, and, on these crisp nights, I can rock layers (clothing). Thanksgiving has passed and Christmas is coming up really fast. Usually I am a pretty major Christmas geek. I love Christmas music, the tree, the decorating, the parties, the excuse to be over dressed and wear sparkly things, the excuse to be over dressed, wearing sparkly thinks while drinking sparkly things.

This year I don’t feel as much like Mother Christmas as I usually do. I don’t foresee having my annual Christmas party, I’m entirely unclear what I’m giving to whom as gifts (and I usually have that on lockdown months before), and I’m not even getting a tree. I have dug the big boxes of Christmas from the garage, so that’s a start.

A lot of this could be because of the timing of the most recent Dinner at Eight. That would have been last Friday. But even though that’s over and done with, I don’t feel like I can concentrate on things. I am decidedly distracted. I’ve barely even written anything this month. But maybe that’s because I have a crush.

I do.

 

And it (he) has taken quite a bit of my physical and mental space over the past few weeks. He’s coming over for dinner tonight. I haven’t cooked for him yet. I’m nervous. Why am I nervous? I cook for people all the time. I cook for friends, family and even complete strangers. All. The. Time. And yet I’m nervous to cook for Fred tonight. I know I’m going to make my oyster stew. However, I don’t know what will follow. I’m sure it will be fine. I’m sure it will be better than fine. I’m sure it will be delicious and fun.

But I’ve still got the swirlies. Ugh.

Anyway, this past Sunday we spent the better part of the day making cassoulet. I’ve wanted to make cassoulet for forevers. It’ one of my very most favorite dishes. Cassoulet night at Lucques is something I look forward to all year (that’s coming up, by the way). Our cassoulet making was a really fun process that began with procuring our Meat(s) at Lindy & Grundy around one o’clock and ended on Fred’s couch, chowing down at about eleven o’clock. And that was with the fast soak on the cannelini beans. We spent a good deal of the down time doing the Sunday crossword and watching In A Lonely Place (best movie, ever). It all worked out really nicely. It was good times and good food, I must admit. And, as you know, I do so love a Process. And a Sunday. And a cassoulet.

So, back to tonight. I’m thinking either scallops or a stuffed pork tenderloin. Something with beets? I welcome your thoughts on the matter. Regardless, I’ll keep you posted on how tonight’s meal turns out. Promise.

Our Sunday Cassoulet

Serves 6-8

1 lb. dried cannelini beans
10 tbsp. duck fat 

16 cloves garlic, smashed
5 shallots, chopped3 carrots, chopped

1 large ham hock
1 lb. lamb neck, cut into 1"cubes
1⁄2 lb. pancetta, cubed
4 sprigs oregano
4 sprigs thyme
3 bay leaves
1 cup whole peeled canned tomatoes
1 1/2 cup white wine
2 cups chicken stock

2 confit duck legs (we used chicken legs)
1 lb. pork sausages
2 cups bread crumbs

Soak beans in a 4-qt. bowl in 7 1⁄2 cups water overnight. Heat 2 tbsp. duck fat in a 6-qt. pot over medium-high heat. Add half the garlic, shallots, and carrots and cook until lightly browned, about 10 minutes. Add ham hock along with beans and their water and boil. Reduce heat and simmer beans until tender, about 1 1⁄2 hours.

Transfer ham hock to a plate; let cool. Pull off meat; discard skin, bone, and gristle. Chop meat; add to beans. Set aside.

Heat 2 tbsp. duck fat in a 5-qt. dutch oven over medium-high heat. Add lamb and brown for 8 minutes. Add pancetta; cook for 5 minutes. Add remaining garlic, onions, and carrots; cook until lightly browned, about 10 minutes. Tie together oregano, thyme, and bay leaves with twine; add to pan with tomatoes; cook until liquid thickens, 8–10 minutes. Add wine; reduce by half. Add broth; boil. Reduce heat to medium-low; cook, uncovered, until liquid has thickened, about 1 hour. Discard herbs; set dutch oven aside.

Meanwhile, sear duck legs in 2 tbsp. duck fat in a 12" skillet over medium-high heat for 8 minutes; transfer to a plate. Brown sausages in the fat, about 8 minutes. Cut sausages into 1⁄2" slices. Pull duck meat off bones. Discard fat and bones. Stir duck and sausages into pork stew.

Heat oven to 300˚. Mix beans and pork stew in a 4-qt. cast iron dutch oven. Cover with bread crumbs; drizzle with remaining duck fat. Bake, uncovered, for 3 hours. Raise oven temperature to 500˚; cook cassoulet until crust is golden, about 5 minutes.


Printable recipe


One year ago: Linguine with Pancetta Mushroom Cream Sauce
Two years ago: The Flying Pig Truck

Yerp: Part 6. Barthelona (Part 2), THE HAMOVER.

May 19

That was a lot of ham yesterday. There was a lot of everything yesterday. We were not deterred, however. Actually, I think we were. We were supposed to meet up with Sal and the gang for lunch, but we didn’t get up and moving until pretty close to lunch time anyway, and we desperately needed to be free of time constraints and meeting up with people for just one meal. And both Chris and I really had our hearts set on one meal in particular.

Three years ago, on that original vacation with Chris, he took me to La Boqueria. La Boqueria is a huge, covered, market and an impressive landmark with an entrance from La Rambla. The smells, colors, sounds and activity easily throw one’s senses into overdrive, not to mention the wild and crazy items sold in the market. It is truly a small village inside of a big city.

 

 

La Boqueria also offers up a few counters serving food. One in particular, my favorite and the focus of this post, is El Quim. Prior to that first visit Chris had excitedly described their, perhaps most lauded dish, baby squid and fried eggs. That day he ordered that and I ordered the sardinas a la plancha. That meal has stayed in my memory since. Such fresh ingredients, such delicately nuanced flavors and textures. A couple of glasses of cava. Delicious perfection.

 

And this brings us to about Noon on that Thursday, with Emma and Chris. Yes, we may have, in our er, exaltation the night before, told our new posse of friends that we would meet them the next day for lunch. But in the light of day, come Hell or high water (or being lame to our new friends), we knew we were headed straight for El Quim.

And there, in the middle of the bustling Boqueria stood the stall we sought. All eighteen of its stools occupied and a crowd of people waiting two-deep to scurry into any newly freed spots. Somehow, silently, we had a plan: Emma stalked one side of the stall and Chris the other. I was the liaison between the two to be able facilitate getting all three of us to the opening of seat(s) as quickly as possible. This all took great concentration.

 

Emma's view from her side:

 Quim in the foreground and Chris, stalking stools, in the background.

 

Chris scored. I grabbed Emma and we raced over to his side. He got us two stools with the promise of a third opening up any minute as the person occupying it was paying their bill. Emma and Chris sat while I opted to hover until stool number three opened up. We immediately ordered the white anchovies, garlic, caper berries and green olives in olive oil and balsamic vinegar, some bread and a few glasses of cava. 

 

 

I was over the moon. I was literally clapping when the first bite was in my mouth. The anchovies were fresh, meaty, firm and elegant in their simple marinade. With a few bites of that dish and a few bites of the bread swabbed around in the oily goodness I took my newly vacated stool and stole a moment to soak up my surroundings.

Mouth full. Clapping...

 

El Quim is cluttered and chaotic. The counter crowds with dishes – frittatas, paellas, and fresh seafood.  Sausages, dried chiles, produce, garlic and pots and pans hang from the eves. Orbited by a swirling mass of entropy, the tiny kitchen gets along amazingly well. The menu is chalked up above the stove, although paper menus are available as well. You’ll find yourself seated next to travelers from all over the world, locals, foodies and chefs alike. Quim is always behind the counter and is also always surprisingly friendly in the midst of the frenzy. He also manages to squeeze his three or four chefs/co-workers back in that little nook of a kitchen as well. Size-wise, think food truck. Cut in half. I don’t know how they do it.

Second glass of cava and time to order the big stuff. First off, El Quim is most famous for his fried eggs. Period. He puts them either over or under pretty much everything on the menu. As mentioned above, Chris orders one thing and one thing only: the fried eggs smothered under a mosaic of tender, baby squid sautéed in a pan sauce of oil and a touch of chile heat. This dish is also Quim’s calling card. It is ubiquitous with the restaurant’s name. When the eggs are cut up and the yolk runs into the squid the dish becomes complete, thickening and marrying all textures and flavors that hop, skip and jump across one’s tongue.

Emma, in the spirit of not having tangential dishes at the “table”, opted for the fried eggs with jamon iberico (Iberian ham). This ham is from free-range pigs that roam oak forests and eat only acorns. This ham is also called Jamón Iberico de Montanera. The ham is cured 36 months. Bellota jamones are prized both for their smooth texture and rich savory taste. You really just can’t go wrong with this dish.

I went in an odd direction. I ordered the Catalan sausage over white beans with aioli. This was a simple and savory answer to my fairly prominent hangover. The presentation left room for some humor for obvious reasons, but don’t be fooled – it was rich and robust with clean succinct flavors. The slightly crisped skin of the sausage gave way to a tender, succulent, meaty inside. The beans underneath provided the perfect texture to round out the variations in the sausage. 

We also got and order of asparagus wrapped in bacon. For our vegetable quotient. Hey, what can I say? It’s asparagus wrapped in bacon!

As we were saddling up to head out to our second lunch to meet Chris’ friends Quim gave us a little dessert on the house. I was a little scared of it as it looked as though it fell into the gelatinous-gooey-fruit department. Emma assured me it would be alright for me as it fell into the coconut department. That is usually okay. I still don’t know what it was but I ate it. 

It’s understandable why chefs flock to eat here. The quality of the ingredients is unparalleled – everything is fresh from the market. Quim’s execution is simple and solid. And the flavors are confident and honest and all cooked to order. Straightforward and comforting, this is the type of food that you love to eat and want to crave.

And this was just our first meal of the day. 

We then went on to meet up with the boys at a restaurant called Joséphine, but we were so late that they were basically out of everything. So we migrated to a rooftop restaurant and bar called La Isabela. There we camped out for hours, drinking and eating more ham. The photograph at the top of this post was taken at this spot. It had a terrific view.

We then moved on to the home of Paul, where we had some more wine and snacks and lost Emma and Engel for a little too long for my comfort. But they appeared eventually. Wearing pirate hats and swords. And carrying the largest lollipop anyone has ever seen. Then we ended up, briefly, at a small café. I mostly threw a tennis ball for Paul’s dogs during this stretch.

This is what showed up at Paul's a million years late with Emma, who was dressed similarly.

And then Engel, Chris, Emma and I ended up at a restaurant, apparently heralded for their – wait for it – ham, Recasens. I wish I could share more about this part of the evening but we were not only dead on our feet tired. But we were drunk on ham and libations. Poor Chris was the worst off. His eyes were closing while we were standing outside waiting for our table and the only thing he could put together to utter was, “No more ham. Please?”

We waited about thirty minutes outside for a table to open up. It was about 1:00am. They did bring us a small wicker basket of ham to keep us at bay while we waited. We finally got our table. The place was tiny and adorable. Turns out they specialize in ham! So we had three or four plates of different kinds of hams and some cheese.

A basket of ham while you wait. For more ham. Ham dangling from my mouth.

Chris was green.

Our trifecta somehow made it back to our apartment building. Wearing the pirate hats. When we arrived at the door of the building we ran into two Canadian women who were staying across the hall from us. We started chatting. Well, Emma and I started chatting. Chris made a bee-line into the building and up to our apartment to face plant on his bed. Emma and I ended up hanging out with the Canadians, drinking wine and laughing until almost dawn. But not before Emma broke a glass filled with red wine in their apartment and said something mildly offensive about Canadians.

Me and the Canadians. I don't know, so don't ask.

I do believe this was the first night of the trip that Emma, Chris and I did NOT cap off the evening with a bottle or two more bottles of wine while lounging in our apartment, sighing, giggling, and taking stock of the last days (who's even counting, now?) week plus, the whirlwind, of our adventure. At least, if we did, I don’t remember it.

Yerp: Part 5. Barthelona! (Part 1).

May 18

Emma, Chris and I rode with my Dad and Dale from Armissan to Barcelona, via Figueres, to visit the Dali Museum. It was a long ride. Much longer than the ride from Barcelona to France that first night. Dad and Dale seemed confused about directions, tolls, gas, etc., and we three in the back seat were no help. Chris was playing with Emma’s iPad, playing parts of songs and learning the ins and outs of Angry Birds, Emma just didn't want to be in the car, and I had a pretty yucky hangover. And I think we all just wanted to BE in Barcelona at that point. It was time to disband The Group.

And so, after a harrowing exploit driving through the city to the airport to return the rental car, disband we did. Emma, Chris and I got a cab and were off to our apartment situated near the Gothic Quarter.

And here’s where country mouse turned into city mouse…

Wowzers. Our apartment was so cool! Bright, modern and very comfortable. The kitchen had features of which I have never seen. Chris and I literally had a dance party in the window upon moments of arriving (I was doing The Robot and Chris, The Funky Chicken). But not before we all uncorked a bottle of Cava and had a toast, of course. The kids' at the kids table were let loose to wreak havoc in the yard…

Photos courtesy of Emma.

At after freshening up we three headed out into the big city to explore our surroundings and look for food and drink. As I mentioned previously, we were a droplet away from the Gothic Quarter and decided to just get out and wander around there, certain we’d find just what we were looking for.

We found ourselves in a dark, little hole in the wall joint that was empty save for a table of Nordic-looking men in the front. We ordered a bottle of Cava and a selection of tapas: a plate of manchego, a plate of toast and tomatoes, and what was to be our first of many, plates of ham. We found the place so charming that we decided not to make a scene about the Orson Welles-sized cockroach that ascended the exposed brick wall behind my head.

Next up we moved along to an area called El Born. Tres chic. This was, perhaps, my favorite nook of the city we experienced, albeit briefly. We were to meet up with an old friend of Chris’, Sal – and a bunch of his friends – for dinner. At 10:00pm. We were early, so we had a glass of wine at the cutest cafe aptly called El Born. We soon all found each other and then found our way to a bright, little spot in Eixample with tapas, tapas, tapas. It was served like dim sum, or more like a cocktail party - with a server walking around with trays of bites of meat on bread and whatnot with toothpicks in them. We were to keep our toothpicks throughout the meal so that they could be tallied up at the end and we’d be charged accordingly. Interesting, right? 

Well, we were there all of ten minutes before I started spouting off about food, my blog, etc., and faster than you can say Gaudî, Sal's friend, Paul herded us into the street, into cabs, and into a restaurant named La Flauta.

 

There were about eight of us, I think. The place was crowded, with a line. But Paul seemingly snapped his fingers and had us all seated immediately. If I saw a menu, I don’t remember. I vaguely recall discussing with Paul the type of wine I was craving. I was already fuzzy and think I said something rather crass to describe what I wanted. But he got it. Then the food started to pour out.

There were mayonnaisey salads served with toasts, a platter of little filets with sautéed spinach served with toasts, huge grilled shrimp on skewers with tomatoes, and you guessed it: a ginormous platter of ham. The coup de grace was a big plate of thin French fries, topped with two sunny-side up eggs. The server sliced and diced the eggs into the fries tableside. It doesn’t sound like much but those huevos fritos are etched into my mind to this day. They were stupendous. Lastly, we had some thing served up as a dessert that had jelly on top of it. I tried to take a bite with the jelly scraped off. I didn’t want to be rude as it seemed my opinion and appreciation of everything mattered. But it really freaked me out. I ended my meal with a glass of something called Quarenta Y Tres on ice. I loved it. It was aromatic and slightly bitter, but also reminded me of Lillet. This brings us to about 12:30am.

Gosh. What happened next? I’m not sure. I know that myself and Engel, who was a Dutch Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle, were doing the Lambada down the city's streets while he roared “Cowabanga!” into the night. I know the next picture I took, of Chris in our cool, Dario Argento-esque elevator in our building was taken at 2:20am.

And I know Emma, Chris and I capped off this evening with a bottle or two more bottles of wine while lounging in our apartment, sighing, giggling, and taking stock of the last days (who's even counting, now?) week plus, the whirlwind, of our adventure. 

*Pardon the quality of the photos. Unless specified, they were taken with my iPhone. I was nervous lugging my big-ass camera around on the first night and had no idea what culinary excitement we were getting into...

The Birdcage

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

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

And so we debated.

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

And so we plotted.

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

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

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

Did I mention we neglected to plot?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 Lamb Chops with Cumin, Cardamom and Lime

Ingredients:

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

 

Directions:

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

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

The (It's Almost) Winter of My Content

Admittedly, I did not have a mission – a design – for this post until I put the proverbial pen to paper. The actual dish below is one I have made half a dozen times, now. I learned of it through Chris, about a year and a half ago via his favorite magazine, The Week. He made it the first time I ate it, but I have made it each time hence (but not for Chris).

It’s November. As I’ve mentioned, perhaps ad nauseam, it’s that time of year. Bring on the Snuggie version of foods. Unfortunately, but also not surprising, our fair city is throwing me some major curve balls in the weather department. During the days it’s Summer. At night it’s downright cold. So a meal that sounds good when I start planning my dinner (right after lunch) is not the same meal that makes sense once the sun has sunk into the horizon.

Why is this relevant? I guess it’s not. But I was thinking how it’s not unlike my hair this week. First of all, I always want long hair. I think most girls do. I have spent years and years of my life trying to accomplish long hair. And by God, every time I do I realize the same thing. Long hair simply does not look good on me. It doesn’t help that I don’t really know how to do fun, pretty things with my hair. I don’t own a blow dryer or a curling iron, or a flattening iron (or whatever that’s called). I'm not really sure how to braid, but Maggie did show me how to put twisty-twirlys in my hair.

But also, it’s almost Winter. It’s supposedly cold-ish and fireplace-ish and scarves-ish. So what did I do earlier today? What did I do after working on growing my hair out for the past three years? What did I do the week before the holidays? I got all my hair cut off.

It looks good and I’m really happy with it. I’m even wearing a jaunty hat right this minute. It looks good with the jaunty hat. I have even already gotten a few compliments! Well, all three of those people saw me very recently with my lots of hair. I guess they had to say something.

So back to the weather, and the food. A couple of evenings ago I did my grocery shopping for the week. It was a cool night and my menu planning was hinged around that. Big food. Warm food. Cozy food.

Then, the next day I was out, in the world, doing my thing – and I was downright hot. I was wearing a tank top and a skirt and was still all sweaty. All I wanted for lunch was a salad and buckets of water. THEN, a mere few hours later, I get back home, up in my canyon, the sun sinks and it’s cold again. I swiftly changed into my warmies.

This was all fortuitous as Dougerton was coming over for a cold night kinda meal that I had planned out on that recent grocery shopping night. This brings us to the dish Chris taught me from The Week – with a few twists and turns, of course. It’s not the prettiest dish in the world, no matter how you work it. But it is really delicious.

In the aesthetic department, at least I have my new, fun hair! And, of course, the jaunty hat... (You SO thought you were getting a picture of my hair, didn't you?!)

Sausage Over Creamy Lentils

Serves 4

2 oz. smoked bacon, thinly sliced crosswise
1 tbsp. unsalted butter
1 small onion, finely chopped

3 cloves garlic, smashed
1 small parsnip, finely chopped
1 rib celery, finely chopped
4 sprigs flat-leaf parsley
4 sprigs thyme
2 fresh bay leaves
12 oz. lentils, rinsed and drained
2 tsp. dijon mustard
1 tsp. red wine vinegar
Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper, to taste
8 fresh pork sausages, such as sweet Italian sausages
1 cup white wine
1 tbsp. extra-virgin olive oil

Cook bacon in a 2-qt. saucepan over medium-high heat, until its fat has rendered, about 6 minutes. Add butter, onions, garlic, parsnip, and celery; cook until soft, about 15 minutes. Tie parsley, thyme, and bay leaves together with kitchen twine; add to pan. Stir in lentils and 5 1⁄2 cups water. Bring to a boil, reduce heat to medium-low, and simmer until lentils are tender, about 1 hour and 10 minutes. Discard herbs. Stir in mustard and vinegar; season with salt and pepper. Cover and set aside.

Meanwhile, bring sausages, wine, and 1 cup water to a boil in a 12" skillet over high heat. Cook, turning sausages occasionally, until liquid has evaporated, 12–15 minutes. Reduce heat to medium; add oil. Cook sausages until browned, 6–7 minutes. Serve the sausages over the lentils.