The Cousin of Sleep

Now, I'm pretty sure I'm going to step on someone's toes with this statement, but toes be damned...

Nas' 1994 debut album, Illmatic, is in a word, perfect. From the first track to the last Illmatic is a narrative of literate, fluid rhymes with sophisticated, thoughtful beats rooted in some of the best and most esoteric of jazz and hip hop. It's both simple and ambitious with no extraneous elements. It's smart and it's fun as hell. Just you try not to move your body while you listen. And once the album is over, I am always left wanting more.

It's an especially great album to listen to in the car. And, of course, I'm listening to it while I write this.

But there is one line that always gives me pause. It's from the second track, N.Y. State of Mind, "I never sleep, cause sleep is the cousin of death.” It could be that I'm a really big fan of sleep, or that I also have no problem, in concept or practice, with sleeping say, twelve hours straight. My head hits the pillow, I close my eyes, and I'm out. I also feel that sleep is really healthy (maybe not the twelve hour variety). It's good for the mind and body. A person can go crazy, can die, without sleep.

So why is it the cousin of death? Because your eyes are closed and you're lying down? Our minds are in superdrive with dreams during sleep, so it can't be mental. And wait, what about the ancient belief that sneezing is a near-death experience, and that a blessing will prevent your soul or sneeze from escaping your body and will deter the devil from entering? Shouldn't the line then be, “I never sneeze, cause sneeze is the cousin of death"? It surely seems more literal. And why cousin? I suppose it sounds better than nephew... the nephew of death.

The things that keep me up at night... At least they keep me further from death's cousin.

I've been thinking about sleep (and hence, that line) a lot because I'm not getting much of it. I'm pregnant and getting pregnant-er by the day. If I'm not up every hour for the bathroom, then I'm struggling to use the proper sleeping positions (my favorite body placement is apparently not recommended for pregnancy). Sometimes I even wake up in the middle of the night famished. And I know that this part will only get worse as time moves forward, and then there will likely be no sleep at all after our baby girl is born.

I've always been aware of, but paid little attention to, a couple of food/sleep – related old wives tales. One is that warm, liquidy stuff, like heated milk, tea or soup can be a soothing, sleep inducing aid. Another is that spicy food causes fitful sleep, or plainly put, nightmares. Well, what about spicy soup? Would that make for an extremely solid, good, long sleep with tremendously complex and mysterious dreams? Is this what the likes of David Lynch or Francis Bacon would have before bed while conceiving of their films/paintings? It most certainly would explain that which is Salvador Dali and Luis Buñuel's surrealist extravaganza, Un Chien Andalou.

So I figured, not only will I get some sleep, but I'm going to get some wicked creative sleep. What do I have to lose, right? Heck, maybe just maybe my opus, my Illmatic, would result. And, upon more listening to N.Y. State of Mind - I never sleep, cause sleep is the cousin of death. Beyond thewalls of intelligence, life is defined – I have to wonder if Nas himself tried this very same tactic. I'd like to think so. Maybe he'd like to try my racy-spicy pozole rojo one late night for the fuel to put him in the state of mind to put forth something as important and noteworthy as he did back in 1994.

Pozole Rojo
(recipe adapted from Emeril Lagasse)

Makes 4 quarts

Ingredients:

1 head garlic
3 1/2 to 4 pounds bone-in pork shoulder, cut into 3 or 4 pieces
3 teaspoons salt
1 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
14 cups water
4 cups chicken stock
1 onion, sliced and 1 onion, chopped
2 ounces ancho chiles, seeded and stemmed
1 -ounce guajillo chiles, seeded and stemmed
2 (30-ounce) cans white hominy plus 1 (15.5-ounce) can

2 tablespoons chili powder
2 teaspoons ground cumin
2 tablespoons paprika
1 teaspoon black pepper
1 tablespoon ground coriander
1 teaspoon cayenne pepper
1 tablespoon garlic powder
1 teaspoon crushed red pepper
1 tablespoon salt
1 tablespoon dried oregano

Accompaniments:
Diced avocado, for serving

Thinly sliced cabbage, for serving
Julienned radishes, for serving
Chopped scallions, for serving
Chopped cilantro, for serving
Lime wedges, for serving

Directions:

Season the pork with 1 teaspoon salt and 1 teaspoon black pepper.

In an 8 quart Dutch oven, over medium high heat, brown the pork on all sides. Add the sliced garlic, sliced onion, 10 cups of the water and chicken stock. Bring up to a boil. Skim off any foam that may rise to the surface. Turn the heat down and gently simmer the pork, covered, until very tender, 2 1/2 to 3 hours.

While pork is simmering, toast the ancho and guajillo chiles in a pan over medium-high heat. Turn the chiles several times, cooking until they are pliable and fragrant, about 3 to 4 minutes. Add 2 cups of the remaining water; bring to a boil, turn off and let stand covered for 20 to 25 minutes.

In a blender, combine the chiles, the soaking liquid, chopped onion, garlic, 1 teaspoon of the remaining salt, black pepper, chili powder, cumin, paprika, coriander, cayenne pepper, garlic powder, crushed red pepper, and oregano and puree until smooth. Strain through a sieve to remove any skins or seeds. Set aside.

Transfer the pork to a cutting board, discard the bones, and shred the meat.

Rinse and drain the hominy. Return the pork to the broth; add the hominy, 1/4 cup of the chile sauce (or more to taste), remaining teaspoon of salt, and remaining water if necessary. Simmer the pozole for 30 minutes longer. Adjust seasoning if necessary.

Any leftover chile sauce can be stored in an airtight container in the refrigerator for 2 to 3 weeks and may be stirred into marinades, sauces, soups, or stews, or used to flavor meats before grilling or sauteing.

The pozole should look hearty but be brothy enough to be thought of as a soup or brothy stew.

Serve the pozole buffet style with bowls of the accompaniments for guests to add to their taste.


Printable recipe.


One year ago: Roasted Brussels Sprouts with Salami
Two years ago: Chicken with 40 Cloves of Garlic
Three years ago: Mercantile
Four years ago: Swiss Fondue with Truffle Essence
Six years ago: Roast Chicken with Meyer Lemons

The Office

Being back home has been a lot of a lot. A lot of memories-slash-skeletons uprocking in my face and a lot of me choosing whether or not to accept the dance. I'm much more selective with my memory-embracing dance card if Fred is with me, of course. I don't need to tell Fred that little anecdotal tale of that time that crazy thing happened at that party in that house we're walking past right now, right? Sure was a good story, though. You get the idea.

But really, the main a lot of a lot that has been happening in the three months since we landed in our new home, the reason for the absence of a lot of a lot of writing and sharing stories with you is that I'm pregnant. Fred and I are having a baby! And we are a lot of a lot of everything ranging from elated to petrified.

From the first months of my physical fragility, fear, nausea and hormonal tsunamis (poor Fred), to the last few weeks of genetic tests and waiting for results, I haven't been able to think, focus or mentally commit to much, especially with concentration for writing. And, of course, this is all I have wanted to talk about. But couldn't. Not yet. I'm relieved to be able to put it out there now.

When we moved into our new apartment, we discussed the smaller, extra bedroom being an office-slash-photo studio. Mostly, it became the room where we crammed all of the things we didn't want to look at or deal with until later. But then it became the mystery room that neither Fred nor I knew what to do with. Was it going to be an office or a nursery? We didn't want to treat it as either until we had some solid news. And so it sat, unattended to.

A week ago, in one of my OCD fests, I couldn't take it any more. I had to do something with the extra room. For some reason it had become my albatross and it kept staringat me, taunting me – even through the closed door. So I went to setting up sort of a mini office on one side of the room. An organized and tidy place for Fred or I to do work. But also something that would be able to stay and become part of the nursery, or could possibly expand and be a straight up office. Depending, you know?

Yesterday, Fred and I finally received the call that had had us emotionally upended during the wait, the definitive enough results of the genetic tests. And a bonus, the news of our baby's gender - she's a girl! Though all sorts of unforeseen events can happen in life, and one ultimately never knows, we had decided that this was our GO point. Game on. Hey world, we are having a baby!

So, I guess I will have start working on the nursery part of the extra room. And man, I don't know how or where to begin. I guess we have to get stuff. Advice is welcome. We're new here.

To tell you the truth, as far as my kitchen and its goings on, you haven't missed much. The most entertaining food things with me have involved my cravings that primarily require bringing outside things in. Most notably, my newfound sweet tooth-related items such as ice cream, donuts, very specific chocolate, mainly Rolos (absolutely nothing fancy – the trashier the better). But there was also the carrots-dipped-in-ranch-dressing phase, the extra-toasted-bagel-with-cream-cheese phase, the butter croissant phase, the cold sandwich phase (which was limited as I'm not supposed to eat cold cuts), the completely-void-of-seasoning-in-all-food-phase (think something akin to elderly people cafeteria food), and the spicy soup phase. In a bizarre turn I have not craved my usual salty crunchies: no chips. Until last night when I housed a family sized bag of the salt and vinegar variety. Following a dinner of New England clam chowder and a salad. What can I say?

The recipe I'm sharing with you today is from the spicy soup phase. It's Winter. Everyone loves soup. And I'm guessing you don't want a recipe for homemade Rolos. Wait, that's not a bad idea, actually...

Well, until then, let's celebrate with this soup and Thai one on.

Tom Kha Gai

Makes 6-8 servings

Ingredients

1 1” piece ginger, peeled

10 kaffir lime leaves or 1 Tbsp. lime zest and ¼ cup lime juice

6 cups chicken stock

1½ lb. skinless, boneless chicken thighs, cut into 1” pieces

8 ounces of mushrooms of your choice, stemmed, caps cut into bite-size pieces

2 13.5-oz. cans coconut milk

2 tablespoons fish sauce 

1 tablespoon sugar

2 stalks fresh lemongrass, tough outer layers removed

Chili oil, cilantro leaves with tender stems, lime wedges and sliced jalapeño (optional) (for serving)

Directions
Cut the lemongrass stalks into 1-inch pieces and smash them with the side of a large knife, a pestle, or any heavy object lying around in the house; do the same with the ginger. Bring lemongrass, ginger, lime leaves, and broth to a boil in a large saucepan. Reduce heat and simmer until flavors become married, 8–10 minutes. Strain broth into a new saucepan and discard solids.

Add chicken to broth and return to a boil. Reduce heat, add mushrooms, and simmer, skimming occasionally, until chicken is cooked through and mushrooms are soft, 20–25 minutes. Mix in coconut milk, fish sauce, and sugar. We added more fish sauce as the recipe progressed. It's really up to you.

Serve with cilantro, chili oil and lime wedges. And maybe a slice or two of jalapeño peppers if you're feeling wild and crazy.

Printable recipe.

One year ago: Bagels

Two years ago: Chicken with 40 Cloves of Garlic

Three years ago: Cremini Mushroom & Meyer Lemon Risotto

Four years ago: Chicken Pot Pie

Six years ago: Oyster Stew

Less is More, More or Less.

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

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

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

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

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

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

More or less.

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

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

Chilled Avocado-Cucumber Soup with Buttermilk

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

Ingredients

1 ripe avocado

½ cup buttermilk

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

1 tablespoon cilantro, plus some sprigs for garnish

1/4 of a shallot, diced

¼ tsp cayenne pepper

Juice of half a lime

½ cup – ⅔ cup water

Sea salt & black pepper

Toasted pepitas for garnish

Directions

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

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

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

Printable recipe.

One year ago: Heirloom Tomato & Fresh Basil Frittata

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

We Got the Beet.

Growing up we had a Patrick Nagel print hanging on a wall in the dining room. It's exactly the one you're thinking of. Or maybe not. A lot of them have that woman in them. You know, the woman on the cover of Duran Duran's Rio. I never much cared for it. Oh, I loved the album, just not the print hanging on the wall in our dining room. My dad really liked that whole style; that very 80s, minimalist, pastel thing. My dad really liked the 80s, in general. And the 80s liked my dad. They made sense together. He was newly single, very handsome, a great cook, liked to travel, play tennis, hang glide and party. And, of course, he was into the art.

Patrick Nagel was born in 1945. My dad was born in 1945. Patrick Nagel's work was greatly inspired by and directly descended from Art Deco. And Art Deco is, without a doubt, my dad's favorite visual design style. His house and work are both filled with furniture and light fixtures from the Deco era.

Unlike my dad, who is alive, healthy and happy, Patrick Nagel died at the peak of his life and career, at thirty-eight years of age. Strange as it sounds, immediately after participating in a fifteen minute celebrity 'Aerobithon' to raise money for the American Heart Association, Nagel was found dead in his car. From a heart attack. The Reagan Era was a bitch.

This past weekend I was in a fun, food frenzy in the kitchen. I just wanted to make stuff. I see some rhubarb. Let's make a cake! I see leftover coffee and a pork tenderloin. Let's make a marinade and grill stuff! I see beets and carrots. Let's make a borsch! I see Greek yogurt and horseradish. Let's make a garnish for the borsch! You get the idea.

The borsch came out so bright, saturated, rich and vivid that it immediately reminded me, visually, of Pop Art. Flashes of bright colors and sharp shapes from the works of Warhol, Lichtenstein, and yes, Nagel rushed through my head. Fred agreed, but his head was swimming with images of Bauhaus and Kandinsky. Which is totally appropriate for cold borsch as all three are/were Russian! And thus our Sunday unfolded into the eighties-inspired photoshoot of borsch. I did very little styling on this shoot. Fred really ran with it on his own. I picked the soundtrack: The Go-Go's. Right around the time that Nagel was at his peak, so were The Go-Go's. And right around that time I participated in a lip syncing 'class' at Summer camp. And our group's piéce de résistance was, you guessed it, 'We Got the Beat'. I was Belinda Carlisle and my tennis racket was my guitar. Though I'm pretty sure Belinda Carlisle did not actually play the guitar. Man, I miss my Swatch.

The bosrcht was quite good. A success. It was rich and bold with a rear kick of subtle heat from the white pepper and the horseradish yogurt. It was complex on the palate but finished very neatly. This innocent little soup also made a morbid mess of anything that came near it. We had so much left over that we took it up to a Memorial Day BBQ in the canyon. I think I saw one person try it. Who can blame them? At a cookout abundant with steaks, lamb, burgers, sausages, corn salad, chips, banana crème pudding and booze, who wants to deal with a bowl of borsch?

Ah, well. It's not for everyone. People kind of either love it or hate it. I'm not certain what Patrick Nagel liked to eat, but if he's anything like my dad, borsch was not high on the list. 

Me, I'll take a bowl any time.

Chilled Beet Soup with Horseradish Yogurt

Serves 4-6

4 cups (or more) chicken stock

1 pound beets, peeled, chopped

1 cup chopped onion

1 cup peeled chopped carrot

2 teaspoons chopped garlic

1 teaspoon sugar

1 bay leaf

2 tablespoons horseradish

A handful of fresh chives, trimmed

Greek yogurt

Generous salt & white pepper to taste

Combine 4 cups broth, beets, onions, carrot, bay leaf and garlic in medium saucepan. Bring to boil.

Reduce heat to medium-low; cover and simmer until vegetables are very tender, about 35 minutes. Cool slightly. Remove bay leaf and puree in blender in batches until smooth. Transfer to bowl.

Thin with additional stock if soup is too thick. Mix in sugar. Season with salt and pepper. Cover and chill until cold, at least 4 hours or overnight. (Can be prepared 2 days ahead. Keep refrigerated.)

Ladle soup into bowls.

In a small bowl, mix horseradish and yogurt. Put a dollop of horseradish mixture in the middle of the bowl of soup and top with chives.

Printable recipe.

One year ago: Classic Shad Roe with Bacon & Fresh Herbs

Two years ago: Yerp: Part 1 (of many).

Three years ago: Sautéed Baby Artichokes with Olive Oil, Garlic & Lemon

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

Ready, Set, Go.

2013.
Here it is.
I’m ready.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

• Buttermilk Vichyssoise with Fennel
• 
  
• Serves 6
• 
  

Ingredients

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

Directions

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


Printable recipe.


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

Thanks and Giving.

Thanksgiving has come and gone for 2012. This one was probably one of the best in my (not so great) memory. It wasn’t huge and crazy, and it wasn’t teeny tiny, but it maintained both social and intimate qualities, friends and family. I didn’t go too far overboard with the menu (some may argue that), but there was still enough for the all-important turkey sandwich fixins leftover. Most importantly, I was - and still am - quite cognisant of all that I am thankful for. During the toast, I looked over the room - the beautiful, beautiful room, filled with some of my favorite people in the world, filled with wonderful food and wine, our dogs, a fire in the fireplace - and tears welled up in my eyes. I was warm with love and happiness. And a calm that I rarely experience.

Of course there were minor dramas. Of course some people wouldn’t or couldn’t eat or drink certain things on the menu. Of course there was that frenetic energy in the kitchen right as all of the food was coming out to the table. Of course some people didn’t want to be seated next to certain guests and there was also that mysterious adjustment to the seating chart. Of course there was a monumental mess to clean up. 

Of course, of course, of course. 

But then there also were these moments: The moment Maggie showed up, before she began to decorate and turn the living room into a dining room - we both plopped down and took a breath to reflect on our previous Thanksgivings together and toast with a glass of sparkles. The moment Fred made me take just thirty seconds of time to dance with him in the hallway before we went to sit down at the table to eat. The moment I looked across the table, all decked out in my grandma Janie's ruby china, and felt so proud. The moment my mom was so into our game of charades that she was excitedly shrieking her guesses for both teams. The moment Nadia traded her five-inch black Gucci heels for my knitted socks and Crocs to go on an after dinner hike with the gang. The moment we all sat down in the den, after the meal, after charades and after the hike, to bask in the pleasure of a wonderful day and finish it off with Home For the Holidays and one more glass of lambrusco.

The turkey, the stuffing, the potatoes, the gravy, the pie - yes, they were present and delicious. But what I will remember about this Thanksgiving, what stands out from the turkey, the potatoes, the gravy and the pie, are those moments shared with those people. And that can never be duplicated. Not the moments.

And for that, for what we all gave one another, I am so very thankful.

*In addition to the very traditional menu we served this past Thanksgiving, there were a couple wild cards in there. A couple of dishes where I felt the urge to flex a bit. Usually this comes in the form of a soup. And though I heard a little hemming and hawing about this soup being on the menu, and how it would make everyone too full to truly appreciate the presumed star of the meal, the turkey, I made it anyway. As we all began to eat something pretty awesome happened: I immediately got three or four shouts from the other end of the table about how amazing the soup was. And the praise kept coming. Go figure.

I’ve already got the Christmas menu pretty much planned. The soup for that one will be an oyster stew, but this chestnut soup would be just perfect for your Christmas dinner.

Chestnut, Celery & Apple Soup with Sage Oil

Makes 6 to 8 servings

3 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil

1 medium onion, peeled, trimmed and thinly sliced

1 shallot, peeled, trimmed and thinly sliced

3 small McIntosh apples, peeled, cored and cut into 1/2-inch cubes

4 celery stalks, chopped

1 bay leaf

1 sprig thyme

Pinch of freshly grated nutmeg

Salt and freshly ground white pepper

3/4 pound peeled fresh chestnuts (from about 1 1/4 pounds chestnuts in the shell) or dry-packed bottled or vacuum-sealed peeled chestnuts

2 quarts chicken stock 

1/2 cup heavy cream

2 tablespoons of cream sherry

8-12 fried sage leaves

2-4 tablespoons sage oil

Heat the oil in a stockpot or large casserole over medium heat.  Add the onion, shallot, apples, celery, bay leaf, thyme, nutmeg and salt and pepper to taste and cook, stirring occasionally, for about 10 minutes, or until the onions and leeks are soft but not colored.  Add the chestnuts and chicken stock and bring to the boil.  Lower the heat to a simmer and cook, skimming the surface regularly, for 35 to 40 minutes, or until the chestnuts can be mashed easily with a fork.  Add the heavy cream and sherry and simmer for 5 to 10 minutes more, then remove from the heat and discard the bay leaf and thyme.

Puree the soup until smooth using a blender or a food processor, and working in batches if necessary, then pass it through a fine-mesh strainer.  You should have about 2 quarts soup.  If you have more, or if you think the soup is too thin -- it should have the consistency of a veloute or light cream soup - simmer it over medium heat until slightly thickened.  Taste and, if necessary, adjust the seasoning.  (The soup can be cooled completely and stored in a covered container in the refrigerator for 3 to 4 days or frozen for up to one month.  Bring the soup to a boil before serving.)

Serve topped with a couple of fried sage leaves and a drizzle of sage oil.

Printable recipe.

One year ago: Divinia's Tea Sandwiches

Two years ago: Sausage over Creamy Lentils

Three years ago: Bouchon Beverly Hills

Blind Melon

At a market, recently, I stumbled upon a basket of melons with identifying signage that read Sugar Queens. I’m not really a melon fanatic, but I snatched one up quicker than a bell clapper in a goose’s ass. Why? Because it said Sugar Queen. No, I had never heard of this variety of melon, nor did I have a clue what it was or what it would taste like. But the fact that it was called Sugar Queen made me all chirpy. I figured it must be a precious and exultant melon.

I don’t know much about melon selecting. I’ve seen people smell them and shake them, gently and/or hard. And I’ve seen folks hold them up by their ears - as if they had a conch shell and were listening for the ocean. But from this basket of Sugar Queens, I simply selected the one that spoke to me. It was not the largest or smallest or roundest or oblongest. But it felt confident and firm in my one hand and it had a little bit of a blemish on one side of its netted skin. It smelled so sweet, almost candy-like, almost too sweet. She was now my Sugar Queen.

When I got home and began to unload and put all my groceries away (which is one of my all-time favorite things to do) I put Sugar Queen on the counter and briefly wondered what I might do with her. After a day or so I very well could have forgotten about her but Sugar Queen would not let me. Her perfume was so strong and floral that each time I walked by I was reminded that I needed to find a special something or another to do with her. I totally get it. Us, women... we do like our attention. After a few days, and especially these crazy hot ones we’ve been having, I began to get nervous she would become too ripe to do much with, so, just in case, I put her in the refrigerator. There she continued to acost both Fred and myself with her eau de melon each time we opened the refrigerator door. And her scent even lingered in the kitchen for a few moments after closing the door.

It was time for me to figure it out. The only style in which I have eaten melons, historically, is the way my mom served them to me as a girl: a wedge, with the rind attached, scored in bite-sized cubes, with the cut going down to the rind, making it easy to eat with a spoon. It was a breakfast thing or a snack thing. I occasionally eat some honeydew melon with a sprinkle of salt, or cantaloupe wrapped in prosciutto. I am quite fond of watermelon used in salads with heirloom tomatoes, red onion and feta cheese. But that is pretty much it for me and my melons. After all, it is fruit.

And then I realized - what do I always do when I don’t know where to turn with an ingredient? And, for crying out loud, what have I not made in far, far too long? Soup! Ah, but this one is a challenge. It’s Sugar Queen. 

 

When I googled Sugar Queen, not tons came up. Wikipedia didn’t even have a page for her, for godssake. But I did notice a promising recipe from 2010 from the Seattle Times. An heirloom melon gazpacho. And lo and behold, that heirloom melon called for in the recipe was my Sugar Queen. In total me form, I only glanced at the ingredients to make sure I had everything I needed. I did not, however, actually read through the entire recipe. It’s a terrible habit of mine that bites me in the arse more often than not. Had I read through the recipe I would have noticed that it was very poorly written with steps and ingredients missing in the directions. It even had an added ingredient that was not listed in the ingredients. So what ended up happening was some pretty awesome riffing and improvising. A lot of tasting and adding this and that and some of that over there and a little more of this. At one point I couldn’t figure out why the vinegar was so strong and recalled that white wine was listed in the ingredients but never mentioned in the directions. So I added the white wine and it completely balanced the acid of the vinegar - and without making the soup taste like white wine at all. Science, I tell you.

What I came up with is pretty great. It’s sweet, yes. But it’s nuanced and complex. It’s lovely and also smart. It has notes that dance around on the tip of your tongue that are simple yet unrecognizable. It’s seemingly obvious to describe but right when you try, the words float right out of your consciousness, rendering you into a stumped stutter. It smells really beautiful. Just like us women...

I think this soup is best served as a small portion, perhaps even as an amuse bouche.

 

Heirloom Melon & Tomato Gazpacho

Serves 6

Ingredients

2 cups cubed French baguette, all crusts removed, and cut into small cubes (about 1 baguette), divided
1/4 cup white wine
2 tbsp Champagne or sherry vinegar
4 cups cubed, peeled and seeded melons (preferably heirloom, such as Sugar Queen, butterscotch, Ogen, Ananas)
1 cup chopped, ripe tomatoes
1/4 cup diced shallot
1 tbsp chopped, fresh chives
2 tbsp purple basil
1/4 cup extra-virgin olive oil, plus extra oil for frying the croutons
3 dried bay leaves, ground to a powder
1 tsp dried sage
1 tsp celery salt
Sea salt & fresh cracked black pepper to taste
Walnut oil to garnish
1/2 cup ice cubes, or as needed

Directions

In a bowl, soak 1 1/2 cups cubed bread in the vinegar.

Meanwhile, using a blender or food processor, purée the melons, tomato, shallot, chives & basil. Add the soaked bread and vinegar to the food processor and purée until completely smooth.

With the motor running, slowly add the wine, one-fourth cup olive oil, then the ground bay leaves. Taste, and adjust the seasoning with sage, celery salt, sea salt & pepper.

If the soup is overly thick, add a few ice cubes and purée until the desired consistency is achieved. Taste and adjust seasoning with salt and vinegar.

Transfer the soup to a nonreactive metal bowl and chill before serving. This makes about 4 cups soup.

While the soup is chilling, fry the garnish. Pan-fry the remaining cubes of bread in a hot skillet with a little olive oil until evenly toasted and golden brown. Season to taste with a light sprinkling of salt and.

Serve the soup, garnished with a few croutons and a drizzle of walnut oil.

Printable recipe. 

One year ago: Beer Braised BBQ Pork Butt
Three years ago: Charred Hanover Tomato Soup with Lump Crab