Cognizance.

In our lives, when an era passes, we are not usually cognizant of its immediate occurance. We usually reflect and are then able to qualify the beginnings and endings of these eras. Most of the time. I think.

I mean, I recall leaving for college which, in hindsight, was a clear end-of-one-era-beginning-of-another time. But all I can remember thinking is ‘get me the hell outa here.’ I’m sure for my parents it was a different feeling entirely. I imagine for them it was very bittersweet - very sad, very relieved (“We kept her alive this long, and now it’s up to her!”) and very, very aware that nothing would ever be the same again. I can’t really think of any moment in my past where I was that present and aware of that moment happening at the moment. Not even when I have fallen in love or gone through a break up. Even then I’m just feeling what’s happening at that time. I don’t think I ever recognized it as a beginning or an end of a part of my life.

And then yesterday happened. My mom moved away. And as the weeks, days, hours and minutes approached that led up to the goodbye hug, curbside at LAX, I was enormously aware, painfully cognizant that something very big was happening - something bittersweet. The end of an era. And as Fred drove me home from the airport, I cried. But when he asked me what I was feeling I realized it was not so simple to answer. I was sad, yes. But I was also happy, relieved, comforted and confident that it was the very best thing. I maybe kind of even felt a little bit like she did when we hugged goodbye before I drove away to college. Maybe?

While my mom and I have always been close, and no one could ever deny that the woman is an incredible mom, an amazing nurturer, the queen of positive reinforcement and encouragement, we have definitely had our struggles with each other.

I think it all started when I was about thirteen. I was going through puberty right about the time she started to go through menopause. Talk about a hormone extravaganza. And two women at opposite ends of the hormone extravaganza spectrum. Double yikes. And you know, mom wanted to, like, mother me so much, and Dad, Dad was always so chill. I could get away with anything at Dad’s house. You get the idea...
 

Mom and I have always talked on the phone a ton, visited each other regularly and all the normal stuff. But we have always bickered. When she moved out here I realized that we had not spent so much physical time around one another since I moved away to college. When I was eighteen.

And so, for the first three of the four years she lived here, in The City of Angels, we treated each other like anything but angels. Everyone from my friends to my Dad had to either listen to us bicker or listen to one of us talk about it. We made each other, and everyone around us, crazy, mad, sad, and exasperated. And tired. Ourselves included.

And then, about a year ago, the tide changed. I don’t know what happened, I really don’t. But we have been closer than I can ever recall. We talk (too) many times a day, run errands together, cook together, cry together, share our laughter and fears, all of it. And then she left. And I wanted her to. She needed to. And though I’m sad and all the other stuff I already said, I am so happy to know that in the time she was living out here we fixed it. We fixed us. And now we have a truly enviable mother-daughter relationship. And I already miss her so much. And I’m so glad I do.

The week before she left, she practically lived with me and Fred. And during that time we cooked a lot of food. As I’ve mentioned many times, we have very different kitchen super powers. For instance, she can bake. So this last week we made a lot of things that I normally shy away from: banana/rum/pecan bread, a honey-lemon tart with salted shortbread crust, granola, and bagels. She has been making her own bagels since forever and they are really good - crisp and lightly brown on the outside and dense and chewy on the inside. They are extraordinary when eaten within a couple of hours of coming out of the oven. By the next day they are mostly only good as anvils or anchors for large ships.

So she showed me how to make them. The funny thing is, she made the bagels while I merely kneaded the dough for about thirty-eight seconds. And even though she made them, she told everyone how proud of me she was because I did such a good job on my very first bagels. That is so Mom.

And here is how to make her bagels.

Bagels

Yield 8 medium-sized bagels

Ingredients:

2 teaspoons of active dry yeast
1 heaping tablespoon of brown sugar
1 cups of very warm water (you may need ± ¼ cup more)
3 ½ cups of bread flour or high gluten flour (will need extra for kneading)
1 ½ teaspoons of salt
1 eggwhite
Cornmeal

Optional Toppings:

Coarse salt, minced fresh garlic, minced fresh onion, poppy seeds, or sesame seeds. 

Preparation:

In 1 cup of the warm water, stir in the sugar and yeast. Let it sit for five minutes, until frothy.

Add flour and salt.

On a floured countertop, knead the dough for about 10 minutes until it is smooth and elastic. 

Roll the dough into a tubular shape and cover with damp dish towel. Let rise in a warm place for 30 minutes.

Carefully divide the dough into 8 pieces. Shape each piece into a round. Now, take a dough ball, and press it gently against the countertop (or whatever work surface you’re using) moving your hand and the ball in a circular motion pulling the dough into itself while reducing the pressure on top of the dough slightly until a perfect dough ball forms. Repeat with 7 other dough rounds.

Coat a finger in flour, and gently press your finger into the center of each dough ball to form a ring. Stretch the ring to about ⅓ the diameter of the bagel and place on a lightly oiled cookie sheet. Repeat the same step with the remaining dough.

After shaping the dough rounds and placing them on the cookie sheet, cover with a damp kitchen towel and allow to rest for 30 minutes. Meanwhile, preheat your oven to 375f.

Bring a large pot of water to a boil. Reduce the heat. Use a slotted spoon or skimmer to lower the bagels into the water, 2-3 at a time.. Keep them in for 20 seconds on each side.

If you want to top your bagels with stuff, do so as you take them out of the water, you may use the “optional toppings” (listed above) to top the bagels, but before hand, you will need to use an egg wash to get the toppings to stick before putting the bagels into the oven.

Once all the bagels have boiled, give them a light egg wash (and have been topped with your choice of toppings), transfer them to a lightly oiled baking sheet that has been dusted with cornmeal.

Bake for 30 minutes, until golden brown.

Cool on a wire rack. 

Printable recipe.

One year ago: Cheebo

Two years ago: Cremini Mushroom & Meyer Lemon Risotto

Three years ago: Chicken Pot Pie

Five years ago: Oyster Stew

Shopping.

I’ve never really been a shopper, per se. Apparently I used to have small anxiety attacks at the mere thought of going into a shoe store when I was younger. I guess the shoe salespeople at  Thom McCann really upset me. Likewise – and a lot more recently - I would get antsy at the thought of the greeters at The Gap. Their Black Hole Sun like smiles and overly effervescent and solicitous welcomes kind of freaked me out. I would find myself zipping in and trying desperately to dodge them. They always won.

When I go shopping with friends I am always the first one to be over it. I find trying on clothes, taking things off and on and off and on, really tiring. I always get sweaty. I find stores that aren’t organized properly to my aesthetic to be wearying to sort through. As a result, as a shopper for clothes, shoes and the like, I am both deft and impulsive.

But put me at a farmers’ market, a larder, a grocery store, an Asian market or a tienda and I will methodically go down each and every aisle and scrutinize, poke and ogle every, single item. I can linger forever. And when shopping for food stuffs I am neither deft nor impulsive.

This past weekend I stayed mostly over at Fred’s place on the Eastside. On Saturday we rode our bikes to the Silverlake Farmers’ Market. We started out at the western end of it and ambled, slowly, through each and every stall – even the non-food related ones. I even found an old copy of Raymond Chandler’s The Lady in The Lake for six bucks. We grabbed a couple of iced americanos, a bunch of carrots, a pound of wax beans, some sprouted broccolini, a demi-baguette, and three beautiful heirloom tomatoes. I carefully packed our tiny bounty into our baskets and we rode on.

The next day, after being super lazy, we decided to go on a late afternoon bike ride. This time we took Besito with us and rode in the other direction and ended up in a sweet little nook of Echo Park peppered with shops and markets and people. There I discovered the most adorable, teeny, tiny little neighborhood green grocer called Cookbook. They sell meats, cheese, bread, fruit, veggies, coffee, olives, cornichons, sweets, and some fresh prepared foods. I was in heaven. My teeny, tiny heaven.

And so there I picked up a small ball of burrata, some fresh strozzapreti,  and some caramel ice cream. Yes. Caramel ice cream. Again, I carefully packed our even tinier bounty into my basket, so as not to crowd Besito in Fred’s basket and we quickly rode home. We couldn’t have that caramel ice cream melting on us. Yes. Caramel ice cream.

Food-wise we had a bunch of stuff to work with. We also had our usual Sunday evening plans to watch Mad Men and then Game of Thrones #nerdalert. It was a warm day and a warm evening. I took inventory.

I noticed that I had brought with me some shopping from my garden; dandelion greens, kale and a cornucopia of fresh herbs.

Then things came together. After a weekend of casual food shopping we made a delcious meal incorporating elements from all of our stops. We went alfresco with zebra tomato, pistou basil and burrata crostini during Mad Men and a dandelion green, white bean, and tuna salad for Game of Thrones. All of this we paired with a couple of rosés from Domaine LA. And, of course, we capped off the evening with a couple spoon fulls each of that caramel ice cream. Yes. Caramel ice cream.

Ah, Sunday.

Me – I guess I DO like shopping. Hell, I’m a shopasaurus. I did buy a particularly special pair of shoes somewhat recently - not at Thom McCann. But, I guess mostly it just depends on what I’m shopping for.

 Zebra Tomato, Pistou Basil and Burrata Crostini

Serves 4

Ingredients

1 baguette, sliced

Extra virgin olive oil (the good stuff)

2 garlic cloves, peeled

3 Zebra Tomatoes (any color) sliced into 1/2 inch rounds

1 lb fresh Burrata Cheese

1 bunch of Pistou Basil, chopped

Maldon salt

Freshly cracked black pepper

Directions

Toast or grill the slices of baguette and brush with olive oil. Rub toasts with cloves of garlic.

Assemble beginning with slices of tomatoes and then a dollop of burrata and a sprinkle of the basil. Top with a droplet of olive oil, salt & pepper.

Printable recipe.

Two years ago: Potato Salad with Creme Fraiche, Mint & Basil

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...

A Fork in the Road

A couple of nights ago I met up with Chris at Susan Feniger's Street. We have been trying to use up our Blackboard Eats coupons before they expire. Ryan and I went about a year ago and ordered a few menu items and several glasses of wine. This, however, was Chris’ maiden voyage. We met at 8:30 with reservations but decided to ditch them for the bar. He was already at the bar; that’s usually my seating preference anyway.

It was bustling. Large parties, couples, friends, special dates, casual meet ups, all sorts of diners filled the small-ish dining room and adjacent patio. The color scheme consists primarily of orange and black. There are graffiti inspired street murals by Huntley Muir covering a good deal of the non-slated wood wall space, both inside and out. The overall effect of this aesthetic is somewhere between Blade Runner and being physically inserted into a Keith Haring piece. Both might be neat, but both are 1982 and neither, in my humble opinion, create the ambiance of “cozy” for dining.

So let us travel down this road now, shall we?

Right out of the gate we were served an Amuse-Bouche.  A savory version of a Rice Crispy Treat: Millet Seed Puffs, with Marshmallow, Fennel, Curry, Coriander, Cumin and Black Currant -- I liked all of the flavors but found the texture to be more on the moist rather than crispy side.

We began our order with the famed Kaya Toast which is Street’s tour de force. Originally a breakfast dish from Singapore, this is toasted bread spread thick with coconut jam served with a soft poached egg drizzled in dark soy and white pepper ($11). This undoubtedly lives up to the buzz.  While Kaya Toast is very simple, once in your mouth it becomes incredibly complex both in texture and taste. It’s surprising, imaginative in every way and absolutely illuminates the palate.

Next up we visit Turkey and Syria with the Lamb Kafta Meatballs over warm Syrian cheese wrapped in grape leaf and drizzled with date and carob molasses and served with za’atar spiced flatbread ($10). I thought the meatballs were succulent and robust.  I could have eaten a pile of them. But what I was confused about was the dish as a whole. The flatbread was crisp like a cracker. Was I supposed to spread the cheese over it and then eat a bite of meatball? I attempted to put some meatball on the cracker with the cheese but to no avail. Meatball falls off. I wish the bread was giving and accepted the meatball so I could have that perfect bite. That aside, all elements on the plate were appetizing on their own.

With the meatballs we ordered the Sauteed Black Kale with Refried White Beans served with toasted olive bread and white anchovy butter ($7). Again, everything on the plate was good. I prefer my kale and kale-like greens cooked down a little more, but that’s a preference thing (after all, I did grow up in the South). I am also a fan of any version of white beans that can be created. I also love butter and am over the top for anchovy butter. But I still found myself at a dead end when assembling everything for the perfect bite. Where does the anchovy butter go? I still smeared it over the smear of refried white beans over the kale over the bread.

Our bartender/server had told us that, very recently, Cat Cora was in the house shooting a part of the show, The Best Thing I Ever Ate. Apparently, Iron Chef Cora’s favorite thing to eat is Feniger’s Mandoo Vegetable Dumplings: Asian vegetables, sweet potato and kimchi filled dumplings with roasted ginger yam and sesame dipping sauce ($9). So off we went to Korea. I will say that while I was underwhelmed with the actual dumpling, I really enjoyed the ginger yam puree combined with the sesame oil and the tang of the soy. It did make the dish but it didn’t make it in the echelon of best things I have ever eaten. 

Now let us jet off to Thailand for the Thai Rice Noodles: flat wide rice noodles with Chinese broccoli, seasoned pork, tomato, mint, thai basil and chiles ($15). I was downright disappointed with the actual noodles. They were flaccid with no chew to them. The pork was seasoned and cooked to perfection. I didn’t find anything that would define this dish as special and it would have a tough time standing up to most of our wonderful Thai restaurants within a couple miles of Street. I also felt the $15 price tag was a tad high.

Our last dish was in Japan with the Tatsutage Fried Chicken marinated with soy, mirin, and sake crispy fried in rice batter and topped with spicy kewpie mayonnaise sauce ($15). Chris and I have always adored this dish at Ita Cho and we were excited to try this version. The chicken was over fried and very oily. While the meat of the chicken was cooked nicely, the marinade was nowhere to be tasted. The kewpie mayonnaise was a nice touch, a little creamy, a little citrusy and little heat. The pickled vegetables seemed like an afterthought. They were under pickled and seemed lost on this plate. 

Chris and I have been bandying about the idea of a “Greatest Hits From Around the World” restaurant for years – mostly jokingly. A single chef attempting to master so many different cuisines seems like machine gun fire. Something will hit the mark but impossible to land them all.  Street’s concept actually suffers in a City like Los Angeles; a city replete with street food from all corners of the world – delicious, authentic, and affordable.

All in all I'd say this evening led us down a street with very uneven pavement.

Love Street

 

I have never liked The Doors. In fact I am lightning fast changing the radio station if I hear so much as one note from Light My Fire or Break on Through. But, ironically, not only do I live in their old neighborhood, and have an original print of Jim & Pam prominently displayed on my wall, and I have also recently decided that Love Street is a very, well, lovely song.

She lives on Love Street. Lingers long on Love Street. She has a house and garden. I would like to see what happens.

Yes, I certainly would. It’s unfortunate that I am so tremendously impatient, though.

It’s true: patience, timing, restraint and discipline are not my strong suits. To my credit, there are a few situations in which I have exhibited extraordinary discipline over the past two years. Well, really only one. And this was a situation I couldn’t control anyway. So I guess I didn’t exercise extraordinary discipline. But I showed strength with aplomb. I promise.

Very recently, in the situation mentioned above, my fortitude was put to the test because the external elements controlling things were no longer applicable. The driving force that I resisted and then buried was resurrected. I didn’t even know the force was still so strong. I thought I had conquered it. Or, at least, I assumed my mercurial heart had found sufficient distractions over time to keep a thick enough layer of dust on the matter to keep me from noticing.

So, here it is again. Staring me in the damned face. Getting me all dithered out. Forcing me to act patiently. Making me exert discipline. This, in the wake of the wall having crumbled. The rulebook and the game plan, as I understood it, out the window.

I know everything will be fine. I will be fine. You will be fine. But it seems like it’s been a long time since I just got what I wanted. Well, in this category of life anyway. I’m actually really lucky in most other departments.

Perhaps I simply prefer being the superintendent of a given situation. I cherish my (tenuous) control (or control issues) of most things in my life. I proudly wear my OCD badge.

I even asked the Runes for advice (No, I am not a magic kid). I drew Gebo, the partnership rune, yet it told me to “let the winds of Heaven dance between you.” Stupid Rune. Needless to say, I won’t be watching An Officer & A Gentleman or An Affair to Remember for a while. Heck, an episode of Grey’s Anatomy had me sobbing last week.

But I have been cooking. I have been going hog-wild in that little kitchen of mine. Spending a lot of time in the house and garden, so to speak. Perhaps because Valentine’s Day is coming up and I’ve been getting so many restaurants’ special menus emailed to me, I have been compelled to make unusual and (what I consider to be) sensual dishes.

I asked April over lunch yesterday what she considered a sexy dish. She mentioned a lavendar pasta. Intriguing. Then I was reading a fellow blogger’s post entitled Bread, Truffles and Champagne and nearly swooned with excitement. Truffles are rare, earthy, musty, sensual, powerful and incomparable to any other taste. I think they are wicked sexy. I also think B.O. (also musty) can be really sexy. So sue me.

What else do I think is sexy, you ask? Brunch. It is my most favoritest meal. I like to make it last hours and hours. I like it to be spent with the people I can have comfortable silences with. Those are also sexy.

So, up in my little canyon, in my house with garden, interestingly, a marble’s roll away from the real Love Street, with a mind filled with swirls of certain uncertainties, a mimosa in hand and Sarah Vaughan cooing in my ears, I prepared this and thought to myself: Patience, Grasshopper.

Eggs with Black Truffles (Brouillade de Truffes)

Serves 2

Cook’s note: Take care to continue whisking the eggs as they cook to produce this recipe’s signature curd-like texture. If you allow the eggs to cook without stirring, they will produce a scrambled egg texture - not the intended result.

Ingredients:

• 4 large eggs
• 1/2 ounce black truffles, finely chopped or shaved
• 3 tablespoons butter, softened
• 1/2 teaspoon salt
• 1/4 teaspoon ground white pepper

Preparation:

Heat water to simmering in a double boiler. Whisk together the eggs and truffles in the top portion of the double boiler and add the butter. Continue whisking the eggs over the simmering water until they form small curds resembling cottage cheese. Remove the eggs from the heat, season with the salt and pepper, and then serve immediately, while hot.

Truffle

A toast to toast

At the farmer's market today I was very excited to buy some fresh herbs to plant, specifically chocolate mint. My foodtastic roommate, Madeline, and I began a love affair with chocolate mint last Summer when my mom was in town and planted us an herb garden with purchases from the Sunday market. Madeline would make the most wonderful snacks and treats accented with the bounty from our little garden. She especially loved the chocolate mint - which I believe was a new discovery for her. She put it in and on water, tea, coffee (yes, coffee), salads, and toast to name a few. I quite liked it in a Summery pasta salad or chopped up and sprinkled over ice cream.

Chocolate Mint

Well, we have since moved from the house with our herb garden. We actually tried to bring the chocolate mint that was potted but it was never the same and very recently I decided it was truly over for our special, transplanted treat. So you can imagine my sorrow when I was told by my favorite herb guy at the market that chocolate mint won't be in season and available for another two months - and that his spearmint was only just now available. I did purchase some nasturtium however - another favorite at our house - which I planted this afternoon. Nasturtium is great. It has a slightly peppery and very fresh taste reminiscent of watercress. I've found it to be wonderful in salads and cold pasta dishes - perhaps a nasturtium pesto or even risotto... I imagine it would be a great compliment with salmon.
 

Nasturtium

I digress...

Let me begin by mentioning that Madeline has this way of taking very simple dishes and making them magical. She makes this insanely thick, strong coffee with raw milk, sugar and a bit of salt (salt?!). The coffee is fantastic. I'm not really a scrambled egg person but whatever she does to hers is so special and yummy, decadent, rich and perfectly, slightly underdone. I've tried to emulate both of these morning delights of hers with varying success. She still does them best. One night for a small gathering of our friends she made one of the most delicious, tender and juicy roast chickens (with perfectly crisped skin) I've ever had - all of our friends were in agreement. We're talking about coffee, scrambled eggs and chicken here, not Babette's feast. It's amazing.

This brings me to the toast.

During Summer, 2007 (a season that will go down in history/infamy for Madeline and me for numerous reasons) my concept of toast changed forever thanks to Miss M. It's also one of the few things I've gleaned from her that I feel I have confidently mastered. Today - with thoughts of chocolate mint - I returned from the market, put away my produce, put fresh flowers around the house, planted the nasturtium, and decided to make some toast to eat while I did the Sunday crossword.

The freshness and seasonality of the ingredients are key here...

(My favorite) Ingredients:

1 batard or rustic loaf with good crust
1 heirloom tomato (red, yellow, orange or "black" are all fun for colorful times)
1 hass avocado (ripe)
1 clove of garlic, peeled
approx. 1 tbsp of super nice extra virgin olive oil
fresh basil leaves
chocolate mint
some nasturtium
1/2 Meyer lemon
fresh cracked black pepper
coarse sea salt


Preparation:

Slice the tomato and avocado and sprinkle salt over them. A squeeze of lemon is nice as well.
Simply cut (or tear) yourself a chunk of the bread and toast it to crispyness.
Take your clove of garlic and rub it all over the toast.

Drizzle the oil over the toast.
Layer the herbs, tomato and avocado in an aesthetic and user-friendly manner over the toast (so you get all the flavors in each bite).
Salt & pepper to taste.



Other ideas:
You can't go wrong with a smattering of all sorts of fresh herbs you may have around.
Add shallot or red onion thinly sliced.
Add splash of balsamic vinegar.

I know it seems simple, maybe too simple. But try it. It's great in the morning with coffee and eggs, as an afternoon snack with a glass of Lillet, or perhaps a preamble to dinner. And although I may be jumping the gun a little, nothing tastes more like Summer.


“No bread. Then bring me some toast!”
Punch, 1852