Strata

We all have so many interesting layers. We all have so many interesting phases within ourselves - with how we understand others, and with our relationships. I had a friend that referred to my dog as an onion – you had to peel back the layers, she would say. As he is a Chihuahua, I would say he’s more like a shallot. While she is correct about Besito, it’s also a really fantastic phrase.

Yes, upon first meeting Besito he will bark at you until he is hoarse. It’s immensely irritating. But once he gets to know you he will squeal and scream and pee pee on you – because he loves you! I don’t know which is worse.

Me: upon meeting me a lot of people think I’m too serious. Or crabby. Or British. But in reality I am quite silly and happy and fun. And obviously both Besito and I have more layers than those, but you get the idea.

Relationships, in any context, are no different. In fact, they are even more complex, constantly morphing and often appearing different each time you look at them from a new perspective.

One of my best friends for the better part of a decade and I met each other when I first moved to Los Angeles. We had so much in common at the time. We were also both younger, more energetic, more adventurous, were having an absolute blast learning about each other, and always had a cooking night about once a week. We would take turns cooking or just cook together. We also loved the wine. Well, we still both love the wine.

Lamentably, while I see him regularly enough, it’s not the same. It’s more formal, less inspired, hardly adventurous, and we don’t cook together much anymore. Anyway, I’m sure it’s a phase. We all grow together and apart at times.

Last night he came over to my house for dinner. I actually don’t think he’s ever been to this particular house of mine for one of our old-school cooking nights. Day of, he mentioned that he was tired and that he probably wouldn’t be up for a “whole cooking thing”. So I said I’d cook and he could just kick it.

He showed up an hour late, sans wine, and appeared bedraggled. This is unusual. He proceeded to passively denigrate many of the things of importance to me: this blog, photography, art, you name it. He just seemed like such the downy clowny. I guess it just felt like he really didn't want to be there. Which, of course, made me feel the same.

Worst thing, he hardly mentioned anything about the Persian cucumber salad, cream of broccoli soup with Parmesan croutons - or the lasagna Bolognese I spent about 5 hours making (which was DELICIOUS). Stinker.

He probably stayed about 2 hours. Once the red wine was gone so was he. He didn’t even want to take any leftover soup or lasagna with him. Double stinker.

It’s fine. Well, it’s sad, but it’s also fine. He’s going through one of his layers, his phases. Perhaps I am as well. And so must we. Kind of like an onion. Or lasagna.

I know he’s not going anywhere. I know we’ll find our groove again. Until then, I’m going to hang back and let it figure itself out along the long road that is our future. Our friendship.

And when we do, we will have yet another layer peeled.

My Lasagna Bolognese

Serves 10-12

Bolognese Sauce

1 ½ tbsp olive oil

2 tbsp butter

1 clove garlic, finely chopped

1 onion, diced

1 stalk celery, diced

1 large carrot, peeled & diced

1 cup Crimini mushrooms, chopped

1 lb ground sirloin

2 cups milk

1 cup red wine

¼ cup tomato paste

¼ cup tomato sauce

1 cup beef stock

1 bay leaf

1 ½ tsp salt

¾ tsp pepper

2 tbsp crème fraiche

Heat the butter and olive oil in a large cast-iron or enamel pot over medium heat.

Add the onions, and cook until they begin to soften, about 10 minutes. Add the garlic, celery, carrot, and mushrooms, and cook until they are tender, about 10 minutes. Add the ground sirloin, and cook, stirring occasionally, until the meat is no longer pink. Add the milk, and cook at a gentle simmer, skimming fat from surface, until the liquid has reduced by half, about 45 minutes.

Add the wine and bay leaf, and simmer until liquid is reduced by half again, about 30 minutes.

Add stock, tomato paste, tomato sauce, salt, and pepper; simmer gently until sauce thickens, 30-40 minutes. Stir in crème fraiche.

Lasagna

Bolognese sauce

1 16 oz container ricotta cheese

3 egg yolks

1 cup grated Parmesan

½ cup grated mozzarella

1 ½ tsp coarse salt

¼ tsp freshly ground black pepper

¼ tsp grated nutmeg

Pinch of cayenne pepper

2 tbsp olive oil

1 box of no-boil lasagna noodles

2 cups mozzarella cheese

Preheat oven to 400.

Bring the sauce to room temperature. In a large bowl, whisk the ricotta, egg yolks, Parmesan, salt, pepper, nutmeg, and cayenne pepper. Chill filling until ready to assemble lasagna.

Spread about 2 cups of sauce on the bottom of a 9x13 baking dish. Place a single layer of noodles over the sauce, overlapping them slightly. Spread about 2 more cups of sauce over the noodles, and about ½ of the ricotta mixture over the sauce.

Top with a layer of noodles, again slightly overlapping. Repeat with more sauce and the remaining ricotta mixture. Top with a final layer of lasagna noodles. Spread a layer of sauce over the noodles, and finish with the grated mozzarella.

Bake until the sauce is bubbling and the cheese is melted, about 45 minutes. Cover with aluminum foil if the cheese starts to brown to early. Let lasagna stand 10-15 minutes before serving.

Sittin' On the Dock of the Bay.

My astrological sign is Cancer. The crab. I really don’t know much about the whole astrology thing, but I read that we are supposed to be crab-like emotionally: we have a tough exterior but a soft and sensitive interior. We have a little suit of armor to protect us for when we could get hurt.

I guess that seems like me.

The funny thing about the crab: I have never been pinched by one in all my years of going in the ocean. Not even in the Chesapeake Bay. As a result I have built up an irrational fear of how scary and painful it must be to be bitten by one and am very, very afraid of going into any salt water unless the water is crystal clear and I can see all the way to the bottom. That and I have the same issue with jellyfish. So you can only imagine the army of monsters I fear are lurking around any part of my submerged body in the abyss that is The Ocean.

The other thing about crabs and me is that I love to eat them. I can very vaguely remember sitting on the end of a pier on the Chesapeake Bay with newspapers spread carefully on the wooden planks replete with fresh, steamed crabs yanked right from the water. I must have been really young, maybe 6 years old. I can’t recall if I was with a Mom or a Dad group of people. I just remember the metal crab pot that was brought up from the water, brimming with live crabs, steaming them on site, and eating them with our hands - making a huge mess. I remember how free it felt to give into the mess and how fresh and wonderful those little buggers tasted.

I have never done that since. But I do eat a lot of crabs. I particularly like the steamed Alaskan king crab leg with grain mustard butter and toast at Hungry Cat. I love crab cakes. I’m not a big fan of soft-shell crab, though. About 10 years ago, when I was living in Atlanta, I visited a friend who was working at Watershed for lunch. I had a memorable hangover. She brought me a soft-shell crab sandwich. I don’t rattle easily in the food department but this looked like an alien spider, or something from Starship Troopers, crawling out of a bun. I’ve never been able to hang with them since. Clearly I blame the hangover.

I had a pile of crabmeat leftover from the red pepper soup garnish and didn’t want it to go bad. And as I had a relatively light real work day, I thought I’d find something fun to do with it. 

And as you guys must know by now, my brain will beeline straight to soup.

I was remembering the fated soft-shell crab sandwich that day and thinking about how huge Watershed is today. The chef, Scott Peacock, is a major player in the Southern food world and was very close with one of my heroes, Edna Lewis (who also made a lot of she crab soup in her day)!

So, of course I started missing the South again, y’all.

The choice quickly became clear: the she-crab soup, a recipe heralding from Charleston, South Carolina - an unabashedly Southern mecca. I prepared this soup, but re-imagined, with a California twist. It was like Ghost meets Manchurian Candidate. With a heart. In the right spot.

I am actually more proud of this soup than I’ve been of anything I’ve made in some time. Partially because I made it entirely from the hip.  Or maybe because it was so pretty. But most likely because it was simply divine.

The soup is a cross between a bisque and a chowder. It is creamy, rich and elegant with a delicate and smooth texture. It was also Soupy Sales’ favorite soup.

And hey, I promise I’ll try to bond with my fellow crabs this Summer and get into the ocean at least once, and maybe even all the way… Perhaps they have never hurt me, and never plan to, as I am one of them. I just won’t let them know that I’d eat them right there if I could.

She-Crab Soup, Re-imagined, with Avocado - Crème Fraiche Puree

Serves 6

Ingredients:

2 cups flaked crabmeat

½ cup dry sherry


2 tbsp butter

1 large shallot, finely chopped



1 tsp fresh thyme

1 clove garlic, minced

1 medium tomato, peeled & chopped

¼ cup of flour

1/2 cup milk

2 cups chicken stock


1 tsp Worcestershire sauce


1/4 tsp red (cayenne) pepper


1/2 tsp grated lemon zest

1 cup cream

Salt and pepper to taste

For the Avocado, Crème Fraiche Puree

½ avocado

1 tbsp crème fraiche

½ tsp fresh lemon juice

Salt & pepper to taste

Place all ingredients in food processor until smooth and creamy.

Directions:

Marinate crabmeat in the sherry and refrigerate for about an hour.

Sautee shallot, thyme, and garlic in butter until soft, approximately 15 minutes. Add tomato and cook on medium heat for about 5-7 minutes.

Add flour and chicken stock, whisk until smooth, and cook on medium high heat for about 20 minutes. Remove from heat and add milk, Worcestershire, lemon zest, and cayenne pepper.

When somewhat cool, puree the soup in a blender. Note: If using an immersion blender or food processor you will need to strain and press the soup through a chinois or sieve.

Return to pot on medium low heat. Add cream, and crab with sherry and cook for about 20 minutes longer. Salt & pepper to taste.

Serve with a dollop of the avocado crème fraiche puree, and a crust of bread.

Printable Recipe

Full of Hot Air

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

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

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

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

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

See, I am a total dork.

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

A tear formed.

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

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

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

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

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

French Red Pepper Soup 
(Potage Aux Poivrons Rouges)

Serves 2

2 tbsp butter

1 medium onion, peeled and chopped coarsely

1 medium carrot, peeled and sliced

3 cups vegetable stock

2 roasted red peppers, peeled, seeded and chopped coarsely

¾ cup milk

½ tsp fresh thyme

1 tsp salt

½ tsp white pepper

¼ cup crème fraiche

2 tbsp lump crab meat

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

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

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

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

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

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

My Little Chickapea

The mother of a friend of mine from my high school days referred to any inclement weather as weatherin’. So, for example, if it was raining or snowing out, it was weatherin’ outside. I am aware that this is strange as there is always a state of atmosphere, always weather at a place, whether it regards heat, cloudiness, dryness, sunshine, wind or rain. But you have to admit: it’s weatherin out really gets the point across.

Well, it has been weatherin’ more than usual here in the city of sunshine. In fact, it’s been weatherin’ so much I – not wanting to be out in the cold, wetness – whipped through my Netflix and had to hit the video store. Remember those? It had been so long since I had been in that they had to renew both my address and credit card information.

I rented 4 DVDs, more than usual, and the max one can rent at a time at my store. I then stopped to pick up some dinner to go from Greenblatt’s, a sufficient amount of wine (ahem) and headed back up the hill to put on my sweatpants and max out on the couch with mountains of movies. It seems like it has been a while since I’ve had an evening like that, being such a busy body. I often have to force myself to stop tinkering about and just veg out.

So, after finishing 500 Days of Summer and halfway through The Ugly Truth (Lay off! Everyone has guilty pleasures! Plus, have you seen Gerard Butler??) I got a hankering for some popcorn or some such thing.

I had no popcorn.

As you now know, I do so love a crunchy, salty snack. I also love to improvise and concoct with items in my refrigerator rather than going to the store with designed menus in mind. Time for some kitchen composition.

Although one might consider this a deviation from my chillaxed evening on the couch, with no tinkering allowed, it was so fast and easy that it hardly counts. Popcorn would have taken just as long.

And it was even better.

With this combination of elements, it can just keep on weatherin’ out there a little longer. Perhaps next time I will actually watch a W.C. Fields movie. Um, probably not. 

Roasted Chickpeas with Garlic and Sage
Serves 2


Ingredients:

2 cups chickpeas, rinsed and drained
2-3 tbsp olive oil
3 cloves garlic, very coarsely chopped
6-8 sage leaves
½ lemon 
coarse sea salt

Directions:

Preheat the oven to 425.

In a cast iron skillet, heat the oil. Add the chickpeas, garlic and a pinch of salt, and sauté for about 5 minutes. Be sure the beans are well coated with the oil, then add the sage, and remove the pan from the stove.

Place the skillet in the oven and roast, giving it a shake every so often. Roast until the chickpeas begin to turn brown, about 15-20 minutes. Remove the pan from the oven and set aside to cool a bit.

When the chickpeas are still hot, sprinkle with a little additional olive oil, a little extra pinch of salt and a squeeze of lemon.

Chickpeas

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