Good Grief.

This is hard, but I feel important to write.

My first baby and longtime best friend, Besito, passed on a few weeks ago. I have thought of little else but have not been able to articulate how to write about it as each day has brought with it a new crop of emotions and realizations. I am confident Besito's life was filled with love, affection, stimulation, beauty, enrichment and loads of snuggles and fun even in the face of the inordinate amount of health issues that were prominent in the later years of his life. I'm also confident that it was, as they say, his time. He was comfortably swaddled in my arms and against my heart when he went to sleep forever. But I am still having such a rough time reconciling it all.

And I realize this is a very natural, very common, way to feel.

People have been telling me that time is our saving grace, that it heals all wounds. But what I fear more than feeling the grief is not feeling it any more. And that, of course, is inevitable. But for now, my tears seem to keep him with me. In a way it's good grief.

We went through a lot together, me and that guy. Some of my twenties and all of my thirties, a life in Atlanta and a life in LA, with a road trip to get us there and all sorts of other journeys throughout. We went everywhere together until it was simply too difficult for him, physically. But he saw more places and met more people, and animals, than most folks I know. He was there to accept my new relationships; friends and boyfriends, happily – welcomed them right into our family. And he was also there if those people left. I can remember, more than once, feeling heartbroken - everything broken, really – and so alone, but having Beso right by my side and thinking, “We've got each other you and me. We take care of each other.” And we did. And we knew.

Besito skirted death quite a few times in his thirteen years. Some from illnesses, some from being adventuresome and defiant, and one time from swallowing a peach pit. I often joked that he had nine lives. After one of his surgeries to repair paralyzation from the neck down, he was on bed rest for three weeks. So I cancelled everything and stayed home for three weeks, too. We entertained in, ordered a lot of delivery and marathoned multiple seasons of Gossip Girl.

He was, without a doubt, a huge personality. He could sing – harmonize even. We loved to sing together. He would match my volume and pitch. He loved clothes, warm and fresh from the dryer. He would frolic in them like a child in a pile of fall leaves. And his all-time favorite food (though he would eat any and everything) was eggs. If he so much as saw me pull the egg carton out of the fridge it was over. Whenever I would have eggs for breakfast I saved some for Beso and let him lick the plate clean. But the most important thing to Beso, and I don't mean to boast, was me. And I felt it every single day. His eyes followed me everywhere I went, and when I would come home from being away, he greeted me each time as though I was one of the Beatles. And every, single night Beso slept curled up in my arms. He was the littlest spoon.

Beso was also like an alarm clock. He was so food obsessed that each day, both at exactly eight in the morning and at six at night, he would start yelling at me for dinner. And he would continue to do so until the food was in front of him. He always made quite clear what he wanted, actually – up on lap, pet me, no not there, yes, there, I want down, I need to go out, I hate wind, and rain, where's the sunspot, this would be a good time for a treat, give me your eggs.

As Fred said on a recent morning, when everything felt so still and quiet without Beso waking us up and screaming for breakfast, “He was the fizz that made the soda bubbly.”

And I couldn't have put it any better.

In the weeks I have been trying to write this, I've gone through many stages. But some interesting factors have been in play and continue to pop up during this time that I simply cannot ignore. As I mentioned, Beso was ill. He had a half dozen close calls, real nail biters, in the last year that I wasn't sure he would come through. It was very important to me that he at least make it back to Richmond. I wanted him to know home, be home. With me. And once we all got here, I really wanted him to make it to one more Christmas... and his thirteenth birthday. Which he did all of, gracefully. But now, so immediately after his death, what I can't help but notice is how poetic it is that Spring is suddenly in full force. New colors and new life are everywhere. There is a little bird's nest in a fern on my front porch and a baby squirrel nest in the tree in my backyard that I can clearly see from my window. The squirrels even used paper from our recycling bin to build their nest – which, a few weeks ago, I had thought Beso was doing to get into scraps. And most poignantly, I'm going to have a baby. Soon, now. In fact, he was laying on my shelf of a pregnant belly as drifted onward and upward.

I'm not a very spiritual or religious person. I know we all create signs and gods and heavens, really, to cope with the difficulties of understanding that which is death. But I can't help but look at Beso's timing, how well we knew each other, how unconditionally and ginormously he loved life, and me. And, though anytime I see something little and cute I think of him, how could the baby birds on the front porch and the baby squirrels on the back porch and the baby girl in my belly not also be a little bit of Besito saying, “It's okay Mom. Really, after all we've been through, all of that love, we're together always. What lives must die. Life is death as death is life. Plus, I really don't like babies anyway. They get all the attention - and it's time to give yours to her, now.”

So I will.

Fred and I will be planting a tree in our yard, hopefully a fruit bearing one, in the coming weeks, and we will scatter Beso's ashes there. That way he will always be home with me, with Fred and our family. He will see seasons and life and change and growth. I look forward to sitting by the tree and sharing stories with our baby girl all about Besito Ysidro and our many adventures together.

And all of this, I know he knows.

Besito Ysidro Shaffner

2001-2014

I haven't cooked much since Beso died. I especially haven't been able to make eggs, yet. But Fred and I did make this beautiful fish dish recently. It was so, so simple and very apropos for the warmer weather, and even dining al fresco. We made a fish stock out of the carcass that would have surely been incorporated into Beso's meals. Our other pups, Eduardo and Byron, enjoyed the stock in their own kibble!

Whole Oven-Roasted Fish with Lemon & Rosemary

Note: Trout, red snapper and loup de mer (branzino) are great choices; wild striped bass and rockfish work fine too. Cooking times vary with size.

Serves 2

Ingredients

1 whole fresh fish, cleaned and rinsed

4 sprigs fresh rosemary

1 lemon, sliced thinly & seeded

1 clove garlic, minced

2 tablespoons butter

2 tablespoon olive oil

Red pepper flakes

Sea salt and pepper

Directions

Remove the fish from the refrigerator 10 minutes before roasting.

Preheat the oven to 400 degrees. Mix garlic and olive oil and let sit to infuse for 5 minutes. Strain and discard garlic; set aside the oil.

Season the fish inside and out with salt and brush inside and out with the garlic oil. Place lemon (save for 2 or 3 slices) in the cavity with the sprigs of rosemary.

Arrange the remaining lemon slices and small rosemary sprigs in slits on top of the fish and sprinkle with red pepper flakes. Roast until a knife easily penetrates the flesh and the top fillet begins to lift easily, about 25 to 30 minutes.

Carefully transfer the fish to a warm platter and serve.

Printable recipe.

One year ago: Braised Eggs with Lamb, Tahini & Sumac

Two years ago: Eggs in a Basket with Maple Bacon Fontina & Chives

Three years ago: Lamb Chops with Cumin Cardamom & Lime

Four years ago: Ludobites 4.0

Swimming Into the Spotlight.

Yellow Umbrella, or Yellah Umbrellah as many Richmonders call it, has been serving up choice seafood in Richmond's West End since my whole life (they opened in 1975). I only learned about the place a few years ago but it quickly became my The Go-To for extraordinary – and sustainably harvested - fresh fish (when I was in town, of course). I also always had to grab some of their remarkable prepared cheese grits right before checking out. Random, right? Not in the South.

This past February they moved. Across the street. You can throw a rock, it's so close. But now they are way bigger and even better. I imagine much to Belmont Butchery's chagrin, they now boast a nose-to-tail, butcher shop with humanely-raised meat. Even better, they offer 'cellar-to-table' wines and cheeses, seasonal produce, artisanal breads and homemade prepared foods.

On their website they claim to have 'fanatical and quality service', and I'm here to tell you it is absolutely true. A week or so ago, whilst my dad, Fred and I began planning a dinner party for six people, their intrepid Travis endured twenty-four hours and a myriad of phone calls from yours truly. During one return call I mistook Travis for my friend, Spencer, and squealed familiarly; during another, Travis thought I called him 'honey' – I'm pretty sure I didn't, but one never knows. I for sure knew I wanted whole fish. They expected whole Rockfish, Red Snapper and Branzino delivered the next day and did not know the exact specs of the fish. Why?

Because someone had to go catch the fish.

So, my new BFF, Travis, called me first thing the next morning with the option of fifteen pounds and over thirty inches of Rockfish. That was definitely the option I desired most but I was quickly reminded that cooking something of that size would be impossible. There was no way it would fit in the oven or the grill. Parade rained on, I settled for four large Branzino and about six pounds of mussels. And a huge chunk of those cheese grits. They scaled and gutted the fish right there in front of us in the store, and even asked if we wanted heads and tails on – which we did.

We cooked everything that night. Dad was on fish duty, Fred took the Mussel patrol, and I was assigned 'the sides' (I made a delicate salad of frisée, lightly dressed with finishing oil, lemon and salt, and roasted sunchokes with a buttery bagna cauda). The mussels were so plump, briny and rich – and the Branzino – which we roasted whole, was bracingly fresh, simple and exquisite.

Back in LA and doing some grocery shopping yesterday, I poked around the fish counter to check out my options. They had whole Branzino, but even to say that it paled in comparison would be weak. Paz had a memorable Yellah Umbrellah story to share: she bought a whole Red Snapper from them once and named her fish Carl. I recall her sending me a picture of Carl. This was probably about four years ago and she still waxes on about Carl, the most beautiful, freshest fish she had ever seen and eaten. Ask her about him, I'm serious.

The crew at Yellow Umbrella Provisions are doing something singular and noteworthy. I honestly think their product is unparalleled and the people behind it are equally so. I just don't understand why they are still in the best-kept-secret category.

When I return, I'm going to go back and give Travis a hug.

Spicy Coconut Mussels with Lemongrass
(recipe from NYT Dining, April 2012)

Serves 2

2 tablespoons coconut or safflower oil

1 shallot, finely chopped

3 garlic cloves, finely chopped

1 stalk lemon grass, trimmed (outer layers removed) and finely chopped

1 serrano chile, seeded and finely chopped

1 cup unsweetened coconut milk

2 pounds fresh mussels, rinsed well & de-bearded

Zest of 1/2 lemon

1 teaspoon lemon juice, or to taste

1/2 teaspoon fish sauce, or to taste

1/2 cup whole cilantro leaves

Heat the oil in the bottom of a large pot until hot. Add the shallot, garlic, lemon grass and chile. Cook over medium heat until soft, about 3 minutes. Add the coconut milk and mussels. Cover with a tight-fitting lid and cook until the mussels have opened, 5 to 7 minutes (discard any mussels that remained closed). Remove from heat, and use a slotted spoon to transfer the mussels to a large bowl, leaving the liquid in the pot. Stir the lemon zest and juice, fish sauce and cilantro into the pot. Taste and add more fish sauce and/or lemon juice if needed (fish sauce provides the salt).

Scoop the mussels into a large serving bowl. Pour the remaining sauce on top. Finish with a generous sprinkling of fresh cilantro. Add lemon or lime wedges on the side.

Serve with crusty French loaf to help soak up the juices.

A good, crisp white wine pairs nicely with this dish. 

Printable recipe.

One year ago: Pasture

Two years ago: Classic Tuna Salad

Three years ago: Paz's World Famous Rice & Beans

Building a Fort

There has been a lot of stuff going on in the world of Fred and me. We are great, don't you worry. But the world around us has been a bit, shall we say, dicey. We have both been moving very fast, doing a lot of things, a lot of busy. Yet we have been ships in the night, hardly had a moment to really spend quality time with one another. In our house, the books and magazines have been piling up to resemble colorful totem poles, the garden is more like a graveyard, and as of last Friday, you could hear an echo in our refrigerator.

And so we decided to STOP. We decided to spend our weekend together, focused on the things we love to do together and the things we love about each other. We decided we were going to shut off the world, and concentrate on what home means to us. We decided to have vacation. Go camping. At home.

On Friday, while Fred was at work, I took off and stocked up on all of the provisions. Groceries, firewood, dog bones, you know, the usual stuff. Once I got home and put all of the groceries away (one of my very favorite things to do), I did laundry, so all of our cozies were clean and warm, cleaned the house and set some of our favorite old movies to record (and a Lakers game for Sunday). I then called Fred and told him we were ready: the house was clean and sparkly, and the kitchen stocked. Let the staycation commence.

Once Fred got home, we both changed into our cozies, put on some Otis Redding and poked and prodded about our stocked-for-the-apocalypse kitchen for a guiding light. Parsnips, savory, carrots, burrata, walnuts, blood oranges, Littleneck clams, duck breasts, Anson Mills grits, rapini, hominy, salted capers, bacon, okra(!), leeks, pasilla pepper, Pacific cod, a whole chicken, potatoes, fresh cream, and more – I was paralyzed with options. So I turned to Fred and asked him to just pick a protein, and I would run with it from there. Clams.

I can do that.

While in Inverness recently, we stopped at a little spot on Tomales Bay and had a bowl of clam chowder. It inspired me, which is why I had purchased the clams in the first place. I liked this direction. And as Fred built a fire in the fireplace, my plan evolved even more. On that brisk, drizzly evening, while in our cozies, we decided to cook the soup on the open fire. We were camping, after all.

And so we brought all of our provisions, our mise en place, into the living room, dimmed the lights and lit candles. And as Otis crooned in our ears, and the fire warmed our faces, and the dogs curled up close to us with their bones, I got started steaming the clams while Fred chopped potatoes, celery, onions and garlic on the cutting board by the hearth.

Though, admittedly, it was a challenge for the OCD part of me to relinquish control of the mess that was inevitable for this indoor camping night to be successful, it was so, so beautiful. So warm and intimate, so still. As we slurped our steamy chowder and messily brought dunked, torn chunks of baguette, dripping with creamy stew and pieces of potato and clam up to our faces, we hardly said a word. Instead we stared around the room, at the pups, at the fire, at each other, and smiled and giggled.

When we were full of clam chowder and bread, we left everything as it was. As the fire continued to flicker, and the music played on, we stayed and languished on the floor and did the crossword until the light was completely gone, but our smiles remained.

Sometimes it's important to close the door to the rest of the world and take stock on what's really important; love, warmth, smiles, giggles, and home – wherever you make it.

Classic New England Clam Chowder

Serves 6-8

Ingredients

4 pounds cherrystone clams, scrubbed

1/2 cup vermouth

1 tablespoon unsalted butter

4 ounces bacon, cut into 1/2-inch pieces

1 celery stalk, diced

1 large onion, diced

1 garlic clove, minced

1 Yukon Gold potato, peeled, cut into 1/2-inch pieces

1/2 tablespoon chopped fresh thyme

1 bay leaf

1 tablespoon cornstarch

1 cup heavy cream

Kosher salt, freshly ground pepper

Chopped fresh chives

Oyster crackers or Fresh Baguette

Directions

Bring clams, vermouth and 2 cups water to a boil in a large pot over high heat. Cook until clams just open, 8-10 minutes (discard any that do not open). Using a large slotted spoon, transfer clams to a large rimmed baking sheet; set broth aside. Let clams cool slightly, then pull meat from shells; discard shells.

Chop clams into bite-size pieces. Strain broth through a fine-mesh sieve set over a large bowl. Add water if needed to measure 4 cups. 

DO AHEAD Clams and broth can be made 1 day ahead. Cover separately and chill.

Melt butter in a large heavy pot over medium heat. Add bacon and cook, stirring occasionally, until fat is rendered and bacon begins to brown, about 8 minutes. Add celery, onion, and garlic and cook, stirring often, until onion is translucent, about 10 minutes. 

Add reserved broth (or 6 cups bottled clam juice), potatoes, thyme, and bay leaf. Bring chowder base to a simmer; cook until potatoes are tender, 20-25 minutes. 

Stir cornstarch and 2 tablespoons water in a small bowl to form a slurry. Stir slurry into chowder base; return to a boil to thicken. 

DO AHEAD Base can be made 1 day ahead. Let cool; cover and chill. Keep clams chilled. Bring base to a simmer before continuing.

Remove base from heat. Discard bay leaf. Stir in reserved clams and cream. Season with salt, if needed (clams' brininess varies), and pepper.

Divide chowder among bowls. Garnish with chives, and serve with bread or crackers.

Printable recipe.

One year ago: Byrd's Fresh Apple Cake

Two Years ago: Creamy Roasted Parsnip-Carrot Soup with Crispy Bacon & Potatoes

Three years ago: Rosemary-Citrus Polenta Cake with a Rosemary-Citrus Syrup

Dr. Strangecleanse

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Poblano-Sherry Vinegar Mignonette

Serves enough for 2 dozen oysters

Ingredients:

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

Directions:

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


Printable recipe.


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

Sample This.

I love samples. I love little samples of makeup and spices and the little snacks to sample at farmers’ markets, Whole Foods and especially Bristol Farms. Their samples are the fanciest. Although I used to like to get perfume samples, I don’t any more. After many years I have my perfume, and I am comfortable and secure with my choice. But I do really love the little sample-size perfume bottles. They are just so dear. Same goes for samples of shampoo, conditioner and all sorts of fun beauty products. Here in LA we even get little samples of rocks dropped off by our doors. Well, at least I do. Two little rocks in a plastic bag with an advertisement for the rock company that wants to get hired to do the driveway or something. Even those samples intrigue me.

Samples seem precious – like Boo Radley’s gifts he leaves in the tree for Scout in To Kill a Mockingbird. She covets them and keeps them in a small trunk in her room: chewing gum, two pennies, and a ball of twine, soap carvings to resemble Scout and her brother, Jem, and a pocket watch that doesn't work. Precious treasures.

You know how much I love hip hop (well, mostly old to middle school hip hop)… It’s made up of samples!

And who doesn't like a sample sale?

I get extra excited when I get fun food samples in the mail (or any package in the mail – even if I order it from Amazon and ‘send’ it to myself). It happens every so often when one is a food blogger, I suppose, that one gets these food samples. Last week I got a whole box of salami from Columbus Salame.  A whole box of salami I tell you!

What to do, what to do.

And then Fred appeared with one of his bright ideas. Mussels.

The first meal Fred ever made for me was on our fourth date. I was exhausted from doing a Dinner at Eight the night before and so Fred offered to cook for me.  He made mussels with cider and bacon and Cacio e Pepe. Not together. Mussels first, then pasta. I had never been to his apartment, and when I arrived I saw he had put a little two-person bistro table in the middle of his living room, all set, with taper candles. It was so cute I wanted to pull my hair out. I think he was a little nervous to cook for me. But I tell you what - everything was delicious and perfect. And listen, Cacio e Pepe is one of my absolute favorite dishes. I’ve tried to make it. I did a terrible job. Fred’s was perfect. And so were those mussels. And so was that little table with the taper candles and everything else about that evening.

For this version of his mussels, Fred had the idea to use the Chorizo Casero, from Columbus' box of salame samples, in lieu of bacon, in an otherwise classic interpretation of mussels and white wine. And we also added some Tuscan kale from my garden. It was delicious and colorful and the chorizo really was the perfect touch. 

Speaking of samples and Fred and dates and food and fun - tomorrow is my birthday and Fred is taking me to Los Olivos. And you know what we're going to do while we're there? Sample wines! A great one to pair with this dish is actually from Los Olivos and one I plan to sample tomorrow; Brander Sauvignon Blanc, Santa Ynez Valley (2011).

Mussels with Chorizo & Kale

2lbs mussels

8 oz chorizo cubed

1 med onion diced

3 cloves garlic, smashed

2 tbsp olive oil

2 tbsp butter

1 cup Tuscan kale, coarsely chopped

1 cup dry white wine

Parsley

Salt & pepper to taste

Sauté the chorizo and onion in olive oil for about 8 minutes, or until golden brown.

Add the garlic, and sauté for about 2 minutes, or until fragrant.

Add the mussels and toss quickly to coat.

Add the wine.

Cover and cook over medium-high heat for about 3 minutes, or until the mussels begin to open.

Discard any mussels that do not open.

Using a slotted spoon, transfer the mussels and sausages to a warm large serving bowl.

Add kale to pot.

Cover to keep warm.

Boil the kale and juices remaining in the pan for 1 minute.

Whisk in the butter.

Pour the sauce over the mussels, sprinkle with the parsley, salt and pepper to taste and serve immediately with crusty rustic bread.

Printable recipe.

One year ago: Yerp: Part 3

Two years ago: Duchess Salad with Romaine, Avocado, Cucumber & Pine Nuts

Three years ago: The Hall at Palihouse

Lip-Face, Mr. California & The Shad Roe.

I’ve never had a cavity. Never until a couple of weeks ago, that is. I only go to one dentist and that’s my dentist back in Richmond. Other than Dr. Fitzugh, who passed away when I was a little girl, Dr. Wade has been my only dentist. And Dr. Wade actually took over Dr. Fitzhugh’s practice. Everything stayed the same. Even the mobiles hanging from the ceiling. And Myrtle, the receptionist. I love Myrtle.

Okay, so I have tried other dentists here in LA. I have tried exactly two and it has been a mess each time. The two dentists wanted to sell and sell and sell. Like used car salesmen. And though nothing has been wrong with my teeth, they have made me feel like I have a mouthful of disaster. The first guy suggested bleaching and veneers. I was only going for a cleaning. The last guy I tried noticed the little chip in my front tooth caused by an over excited dog that was eager to get leashed for a walk. She accidentally made the metal part of the leash flip up and whack me in the tooth. TINY chip. Dr. LA decided to bond it. Within less than two weeks the bonding came off. And, as it turned out, my insurance didn’t cover any of it anyway.

So on my very recent visit back home I scheduled an appointment with Dr. Wade for a cleaning. I discovered he had moved his practice a few blocks west and Myrtle has retired.

I also discovered I had a cavity.

Dr. Wade told me he thought it best we deal with it right then and there. Then Dr. Wade showed me the needle that was about to go into my mouth. Then I cried. I rarely cry, and I cried like a little kid. He even had to play a little kid game with me to distract me from the actual moment the syringe was to make contact. And, Dr. Wade had to administer two injections to fully numb the area.

The Needle.

And so, with my hands clenched into little fists so tight my knuckles were stark white, I got my first filling. That whole part only took about fifteen minutes but it seemed like hours.

As I was leaving the office Dr. Wade told me to use caution when eating as the left side of my face was numb. I felt as though we had been through so much together that I gave him a big, emotional hug. As though we just survived a battle, shoulder to shoulder.

Then I drove back to the house to meet up with Dad and Fred. We were going bike riding along the James River. But not before we stopped off at Coppola’s Deli to pick up a bunch of Italian subs and chips and stuff: lunch. Coppola’s was actually was my first job from back in high school. Really great sandwiches.

We parked at Pony Pasture (a spot on the river where we all spent a good deal of time at when we were kids: also known as The Redneck Riviera), unloaded the bikes and settled onto a huge rock to eat lunch. I was famished and really excited about my sandwich – it was the same one always ordered: The Honey Turkey (honey roasted turkey breast, grilled with onions, sweet and hot peppers, smothered with Swiss cheese on a freshly baked French Roll with leaf lettuce, tomatoes and Dijon).

About halfway through my enthusiastic romp through Sandwich Town, my dad looked up at me with a perplexed expression and said, “Elliott, um… you have blood running down your chin.”

Now, I have bitten my lip before – we all have. But what I did that day was kind of amazing. Without realizing it I was eating my face. It was so gross that it was comical. It was very extreme looking. It took over a week to heal completely.

But at least it didn’t hurt. Yet.

This was right after. It continued to grow throughout the day.
That and the bike helmet made me look like a viable short bus candidate.

We went on with our bike ride, which was beautiful save for the comments from the Peanut Gallery about my lip-face.

The remainder of the day was very relaxing as the pain began to set in. A pain that perfectly illustrated the gravity of what I had done to myself. We wandered around the Virginia Museum, which lives right across the street from my house, and then, while Dad took a nap, Fred and I went on an early evening walk to collect ingredients for dinner.

By the time we got back I was pretty worn out. I assembled a cheese plate with white anchovies in olive oil and Billy Bread that we picked up at the Belmont Butcheryand joined Dad out on the back deck. We sipped some wine while Fred got to flexing in the kitchen. He wanted to play with this stuff Dad had in the fridge that he had never heard of before: shad roe.

It was a ridiculously perfect late-Spring, Richmond evening: warm, humid, almost sultry but for the light breeze coming through the 2834658 year old tree that shelters the yard, fireflies, cicadas, orange-y, warm, waning light. Jazz. Cheese. Wine. Dad.

And right as the sun was almost gone completely, Fred came out with our dinner, all plated and everything. And what did this Native Californian, who had never set foot in the South before, much less cooked there, feed us all for dinner that night? All on his own, armed with his smart phone for help, Fred prepared us a decidedly Southern and very much in-season-right-now delicacy; shad roe. And, Dad and I agreed wholeheartedly, he did a damn fine job.

Perhaps Fred is a Southern boy at heart. Heck, you should have see how happy he was to encounter his first honeysuckle and his first firefly in the same night!

My lip was still massive, but the comedy of it all, the absurdity, made it an instant cult hit in the antectdotal department. I had a new story. And I know I will tell it often.

What an incredible day.

* It’s hard to go wrong with roe. Sturgeon eggs make delicious black caviar. Salmon eggs, meanwhile, make sumptuous red caviar. Cod roe is the stuff of excellent taramosalata and tuna roe of fantastic botarga.

Shad roe, however, is especially savory — if for no other reason than because it’s so rare. While one can usually enjoy caviar or cod roe year-round, the shad roe season is short. Really short, in fact, as it typically lasts just a few months, from March until May, while the shad are making their run as far south as the Chesapeake Bay and as far north as southern New England.

Shad are one fish where the eggs are valued more than the fish itself. Shad roe is vaguely fishy, but not overpoweringly so, and the texture is similar to a good meatball -- soft yet meaty. Shad roe cooked in bacon fat, served with lemon and a fresh spring herb is the classic way to cook this delicacy, which only comes around in late spring. The keys to this dish are very fresh roe, very good bacon and a zingy herb to accompany it.

 Classic Shad Roe with Bacon & Fresh Herbs
(recipe adapted from Hank Shaw)

Ingredients

4-6 lobes of shad roe

1 tablespoon. salt

2 cups cold water

6-10 pieces of smoky, thick-cut bacon

Flour for dusting

1 lemon, quartered

Fresh herbs such as chervil, fennel or parsley to garnish

Directions

Mix the salt and water until it's dissolved. Submerge the roe in the brine in refrigerator overnight.

Cook the bacon in skillet until crispy, then set aside to drain. Keep skillet.

Meanwhile, flour, salt & pepper the roe and set aside while bacon cooks.

In the same skillet, turn the heat to medium-high and cook the shad roe for 1 minute. Turn the heat down to medium, then cook for another 2-3 minutes, until golden. Turn and cook the other side for 2-3 minutes. Careful not to overcook as the roe can become quite chalky.

To serve, arrange the roe on a plate, place the fresh herbs on the crumbles of bacon on top. Serve with a lemon wedge.

NOTE: If possible, begin dish a day ahead to brine the roe.

Printable recipe. 

One year ago: Sautéed Baby Artichokes with Olive Oil, Garlic & Lemon

Yerp: Part 2 - An Evening in Gruissan.

My first morning in Armissan.

May 13, 2011

I had this vision of the France leg of the vacation. I saw a lot of nothing. I saw myself reading, writing, eating, cooking, staring into space and sipping wine – all in a lovely, pastoral milieu. I envisioned a lot of silence. Save for the birds chirping and the rooster crowing. 

There was no reading or writing. At all. There was little to no silence. There was, however, a great deal of eating and sipping wine. There was a great deal of the wine. All in a lovely, pastoral milieu.  

The little house.

The first time I was there, three years ago, Chris, Jean-Jacques and I dined at a restaurant called La Cranquette, in Gruissan. It was my favorite, and most memorable, meal of that trip (and we even went to Vieux Puit in Fontjoncouse). It was a tiny, charming, casual, spot in a tiny, charming town on the Mediterranean. All of the food is cooked in a kitchen the size of my thumbnail, and everything is cooked on a griddle. Even my seared ahi tuna over a slab of foie gras. Yes, you read correctly.

  

So, for our second night in France, all fourteen (14) of us occupied the expanse of outside tables at La Cranquette (had we sat inside (my preference) we would have filled the entire space)). The place hadn’t changed a bit, which warmed my heart. Our waitress, Nadeen, was sweet and was able to keep us sufficiently herded, so to speak. And, although she spoke with a perfect regional French accent, she was from New York. This made things easier as well. That's her above, holding plates and whatnot.

 

Dinner was excellent. With such a large group I imagine we ordered everything on the menu. But I ordered pretty much exactly what I had ordered there three years ago. I started with tellines, which are little wedge clams sautéed in a little foie gras. And then I had the duck breast served under a generous slab of foie gras (yes, I did) with a reduction and some Pyrenees honey. Holy little baby Jesus. 

Decadence.

Jean-Jacques (who ordered a dish aptly, and cleverly, titled "Mars Attack" (see picture below)) took over in the wine department by selecting all local, regional (and delicious) bottles for the table.

What a truly beautiful meal. I highly recommend this restaurant.

For a full set of pictures of the evening click here.

I believe Emma and I capped off this evening with a bottle or two more bottles of wine while laying in our beds, sighing, giggling, and taking stock of the last few twenty-four hours, the whirlwind, of our adventure.

Which had, really, only just begun...

Armissan