Disambiguation AKA The Egg; Part 2

Right now, the egg to me is not unlike the number 23 to Robert Anton Wilson: a clustering illusion. It would seem that, in my sphere, most incidents and events are directly connected to eggs. They are everywhere. And much like Wilson’s number 23, I continue to try to explore the rationalization behind this omnipresent egg.

I have thought about fragility and beauty: Fabergé. I have worked with bruises, breaks, repair and; deconstruction: Humpty Dumpty. I have considered love and truffles inside of a brunch. And then recently, within the course of my day, I encountered two chickens, Wilhelmina (Willa) and Sparkasse (Sparky). They reside at a house I visited. They roam free with two big dogs. And a pond full of Koi. In the middle of LA. I was taught how to properly hold a chicken. I was even given two eggs from each one. Willa’s were more rotund while Sparky’s were a bit thinner and longer.

So there I was. Holding chickens one minute and their eggs the next. It seemed so poetic and so obvious. These eggs. From these chickens.

I knew immediately I was going to do a soft scramble with fresh herbs. I needed to keep the integrity of these eggs. I needed to taste these eggs.

Maggie and I made a new friend recently who, for reasons unbeknownst to either of us, was hell-bent on preparing potato dumplings at our house. And it would take two days. Let’s just chalk it up to this late Summer bubble and leave it at that. So on the first day our new friend, Patrick, prepared the dumplings. This involved boiling the potatoes, putting them through a ricer, forming the dumplings with flour, letting them cool, so on and so forth.

The second day we cooked the dumplings and ate them. It all seemed so ceremonial. Such process. I knew that I wanted to use my special eggs to serve alongside these dumplings. 

Not to downplay Patrick or his dumplings, but Willa and Sparky’s beautiful eggs completely stole the show. They were vibrant in color, nutty and bold in flavor and ever so delicate on the tongue. They were simple, clean and elegant. As I ate my eggs I thanked the girls for their gift. I also wondered what this part of my egg framework meant.

I then realized that this was to be the last stage of my egg-ness. For now. I feel that I have resolved the conflict of the egg’s ambiguity. I discovered at the end of this bubble, this egg, that in all of its undemanding refinement, this Summer can simply be my Summer, and an egg can simply be an egg. 

Sparky & Willa's Eggs

Soft Scrambled Eggs with Fresh Herbs

Serves 2

4 fresh eggs
2 tbsp milk
1/4 teaspoon salt
Freshly ground black pepper

1 1/2 tbsp butter, in small pieces

1 tsp chives, chopped

1 tbsp basil, mandolined

1 tbsp mint, chopped

Beat eggs with milk, 1 tbsp butter, salt and pepper in a small bowl, with a fork, until combined, with a few big bubbles. 

Heat a large sauté pan over medium-low heat; once hot, add remaining butter. Once butter is melted and foamy, add eggs and pause; let the eggs begin to set up before you start nudging away at them. 

Add the basil, mint and half of the chives.

Using a wooden spoon or spatula, begin push your eggs once from the outside to the center of the pan and pause again; count to 5 if you must, before continuing with another push. Continue in this manner around the pan as if you were trying draw spokes of a wheel through your eggs with your spatula, pausing for 5 seconds after each push. Go around the pan as many times as needed, until your eggs in the center are ribbony damp pile — it should look only 75 percent cooked. Use your spoon or spatula to break up this pile into smaller chunks — to taste. Your eggs should now look almost 90 percent cooked.

Immediately remove the pan from the heat and pile the scrambled eggs onto a plate. Sprinkle with an additional sprinkle of salt, a grind of black pepper and remaining chives. Eat immediately.

This Late Summer Bubble AKA The Egg; Part 1

I don’t get to travel much. The last vacation I had was over two and a half years ago. So I think occasionally I create my own versions of vacations without actually going anywhere. More often than not these trips happen in late Summer. I think it’s because it recalls a time of sweltering heat, cicadas, fireflies, thunderstorms… The South. Tennessee Wiliams, sexy heat and malaise, secrets and debauchery. You know?

Well I’m in the middle of a doozy of something at present. I’m having a lot of fun. I’m staying up late. I’m sleeping late. I’m getting all of my work done. I’m seeing all of my friends. I’m making new friends.

But I’m not writing. And for this, I am frustrated.

I have so much to say. My brain is all swirly with ideas and thoughts. But I haven’t seemed to be able to put these thoughts to paper or, more accurately, computer. Much of my energy has been directed to my new roommate and, more importantly, friend, Maggie. We are having such fun hanging out at the house, cooking, watching trashy tv, going out to eat, going out to drink, shopping, sipping wine on the couch.  I have been sharing all those words and thoughts with her rather than with you. I guess we have been in this late Summer bubble, an at home vacation.

But I’m here now. And hopefully to stay.

I have been mulling over the egg for weeks, now. It began with deviled eggs. And Humpty Dumpty.

I know I have mentioned that I am quite accident prone. Who really knows why. Brandon thinks it’s because my feet are too small for my height. That’s sweet of him. I really don’t know what the reason is, but I suppose it’s somewhat irrelevant. Yes, I fall. But I always get back up. I knock into stuff. But I always heal. Lately I seem to be bonking into more stuff than usual. Bumps and bruises, but no breaks.

I’ve felt a bit like Humpty Dumpty. The egg-man that was irrevocably broken. But yet has lived, and will continue to live, for centuries in our lives.

Interestingly, "Humpty Dumpty" was also eighteenth-century reduplicative slang for a short and clumsy person. The riddle may depend on the assumption that, whereas a clumsy person falling off a wall might not be irreparably damaged, an egg would be. A deconstruction.

And another deconstruction of an egg concept: deviled eggs. We break the egg, or at least, its shell. The normally delicate, yet viscous insides become solid and strong, sliced in half and re-stuffed with its own yolk, reconstituted. It’s fascinating. The original form of the egg has vanished and become something else, something new entirely.

Not unlike Humpty Dumpty, broken. Shattered. But always remaining a whole egg again each time the story is repeated. And not unlike me falling down, bumping and bruising. I am re-alived and healed in no time. And not unlike this late Summer bubble, that will soon pop, but likely re-form, this time, next year in some new genesis.

Classic Southern Deviled Eggs

Makes 24

·  12 hard boiled eggs, peeled
·  1/4 cup Duke’s mayonnaise
·  2 teaspoons white wine vinegar
   2 tablespoons sweet pickle relish
·  2 tablespoons Dijon mustard
   Hungarian paprika
   Salt & pepper

Arrange the eggs in one layer in a saucepan. Pour in enough cold water to cover the eggs by at least 1 inch, and place the uncovered pan over high heat.

Time the eggs from the moment water boils and a few eggs begin to move around in pan. Reduce the heat to medium high. When the eggs have cooked for 10 minutes, turn off the heat and cover pan, let set for 10 minutes then cool the hot eggs by running plenty of cold water in pan, the egg will shrink slightly inside the shell, making them easier to shell. Let them cool for at least 20 minutes in pan with cold water before peeling.

Slice eggs in half lengthwise, and carefully remove yolks. Mash yolks with mayonnaise. Add relish, mustard, apple cider vinegar, a pinch of paprika, salt, and pepper; stir well. Spoon yolk mixture into egg whites. Garnish, with sprinkles of paprika.

31. Great Balls on Tires

Meat their balls.

My word. It has been a while, yes? Well, for your (and my own) food truck pleasure, I'm back with another rousing truckventure for you...

My buddy, Doug, lives across the street from the Frosted Cupcakery where, every Thursday, they host a food truck in their parking lot. D Smoov (he will be so happy I wrote that) emailed me this morning to let me know that a newbie, Great Balls on Tires, would be the truck du jour. Well, I do love me some word play. And balls. Of meat.  

And so it was. 

First off, this truck is hysterical. These guys have a sense of humor. Or, at least the kind I dig. This is good. They also had quite a long line. Which could be bad except I was feeling patient and, of course, I was happy about the support of the people for the truck.

Okay. Brass tacks. According to their website, “Great Balls of Tires, or G-BOT for short, was born from three friends’ love for all things edible. Founded by Clint Peralta, Michael Brombart and Sharron Barshishat, a Le Cordon Bleu School of Culinary Arts graduate, G-BOT serves meatballs and other savory balls of food.” It’s true, they’ve got various balls of meat, and non-meat, foodstuffs from across the globe:  Kobe beef balls on toasted brioche – the quintessential slider, Veal/Pork balls with a pancetta marinara – the Italian influence, Garam Masala chicken balls over saffron basmati rice – clearly the Indian presence, Korean BBQ, Vietnamese, hell, there is even a “Ballafel”. Prices range from $6.50 - $4.50 and most items come in twos (of course).

By the time Dougsworth and I arrived they had sold out of two three items on the menu (the tape was going up on number three as we got into the line), including the Sweet Balls ($3). So we ordered the Incrediball ($6.50): Ground Kobe beef/Applewood smoked bacon/Gruyere/wild arugula/garlic aioli/ toasted brioche and Ballywood ($5.50): Garam Masala chicken/coconut Madras curry/crispy fried onions/tomato chutney/cilantro chutney/saffron Basmati rice. We then scurried back to Sweet D’s place to indulge in our lunchaballs. Get it???

Um. I’ll be here all week.

The Ballywood was, quite simply put, exceptional. There was a swarm of colors, flavors and textures jumping around in my mouth, it remained fresh, light and a perfect portion. Those fried onions were a surprise and delight on the palate. Kudos to that dish and the ballers behind it.

The Incrediball was as good as it could be. The meat was a nice medium-rare, all of the elements involved bounced around together well, and the portions of the actual meat and the burgers were impressive. But at the end of the day, it’s another tasty slider. Simply put, not as inspired or innovative as our other dish. 

I liked this truck and its balls. Dougie D did as well. I think. He got distracted by computery world once the food was laid out. It must have been important as this lad likes his grub. But once he focused he housed his and a good deal of mine in about .37596 of a second. A decidedly good sign.

I guess I have to admit it: these guys have balls. But do they have truck nuts?

Topography

My friend, Brandon, recently told me that when we are born we have smooth brains. As we get older, acquire knowledge, information and experiences, our brains become wrinkly. I guess as we get older everything gets wrinkly and crevice-y. Not unlike rivers, valleys, and land in general. The Grand Canyon is a very good example of this. Here we have nearly two billion years of the Earth's geological history exposed as a result of the Colorado River and its tributaries cutting their channels through layer after layer of rock.

A week or so ago I was riding out to Malibu with Ryan.  As we were zipping along the PCH, listening to Metallica very, very loudly (is there any other way?), I was suddenly overwhelmed with a flood of visceral memories. As we drove along we passed The Reel Inn where I took my Dad for a dinner while it was so misty and foggy we couldn’t even see the water from our table. It was beautiful. Or Topanga Canyon where I spent most Sunday brunches when I lived out here for a Summer while I was in college. I remember those days being with Emma and Sam. Or that house where I was sent to photograph a brother and sister portrait for their parents. Turns out Heather and Danielle actually pranked me for a Girls Behaving Badly episode. Or that wonky motel on the left where I ended up at 1am with a friend and a backpack filled with wine. We watched episodes of I love Lucy on the little TV and ran around the property like wild animals.

Remembering and feeling all of this again made me happy, sad, longing, empty and completely full. And a little bit old.

I think sometimes about the places we live. The walls we live within. What has happened here? If these walls could talk sort of thing. I wonder about who has loved here, lost here, died here. What sort of wild parties, famous and infamous people have been here? What babies, songs or paintings have been born here?

When I was younger (young enough to still be living in Richmond, Va.), my dad and I were driving down the street and stopped at a light in front of a random, lonely little house in The Fan. He looked at it wistfully and told me about an awesome party, a wild night, he had spent in that house in his twenties. Wow. This little old house? I’ve never even noticed it. And yet every time he drives by it he is taken back to some specific night in his past. How many other people in the world have attachments to that old house for whatever reason? And now I have an attachment, albeit vicariously, to that house.

Much like brains filled with information, causing their physicality to change or actual land changed over time, water, and air - buildings, streets, and places also have a tactile memory for us. They, too, are topographic. All of the traffic over time in all these places makes them their own kind of wrinkly. It somehow reminds me of the Family Circus cartoons. You know, the maps with trajectory using dotted lines?

Obviously food has a special place in our hearts and minds. Restaurants, kitchens, dining rooms, dishes, flavors, smells and textures. The dish I’m sharing with you here is another one of the first ones my dad taught me how to cook. It can be as simple or as complex as you want it to be. 

Sort of like that drive out to Malibu, I don’t have this dish very often. As a result, each time I do I am taken right back to my kitchen on Grove Avenue and I can hear my dad explaining how to prepare it while sharing with me the stories of the times he had made and the guests who partook.

This version has been wildly modified from the original. My dad doesn't even remember how he prepared it initially. The relish he made was Asian-like and incorporated very different produce than I have used here. So, while, over time and use, this dish has changed - become wrinkly, even - its taste and the memory it elicits remains steadfast.

Grilled Salmon with Market Relish over Jasmine Rice

Serves 2

2 ½ lb. salmon filets

3 tbsp olive oil

1/4 cup dry white wine

dash of fish sauce

1/2 lemon

½ cup chopped shallots

1 large clove of garlic, chopped

½ heirloom cherry tomatoes, halved (different colors, if possible)

1/4 cup chopped Hungarian Frying peppers

1/4 cup tomatillos, quartered

1/2 cup cucumber, peeled, seeded & chopped

2 tbsp fresh basil

1 cup Jasmine rice

2 cups water

salt & pepper to taste

For rice:

Wash rice in several changes of cold water in a bowl until water is clear, then drain in a sieve. Combine with water and salt in a 1 1/2- to 2-quart saucepan. Bring to a boil, then reduce heat to low and cook, covered, until rice is tender and water is absorbed, 10 to 12 minutes. Remove from heat and let stand, covered, 5 minutes. Fluff with a fork.

For salmon:

Brush salmon with oil and lemon and sprinkle with salt and pepper to taste. Grill salmon on an oiled rack set 5 to 6 inches over glowing coals until just cooked through, about 5 minutes on each side.

For relish:

Heat oil in sauce pan, add shallots and peppers. Sauté for about 5 minutes, until somewhat soft. Add garlic, cucumber, wine and fish sauce. Cook down for another 5 or so minutes. Add tomatillos, tomatoes and basil. Salt and pepper to taste.

See photos for assembly and serve with a smooth Sancerre or a dry rosé.

Squashes and Sniffles

I’ve been sick. I never get sick and I’ve been sick. I have a cold. I guess I’m getting over it now. But what misery; a Summer cold.

As a result of this nasty cold, I spent my holiday weekend at home with season 2 of True Blood, a box of tissues, and my dog. By the time Sunday rolled around, I was so sick of being sick that I didn’t even care that my nose resembled Karl Malden’s from so much blowing and I ventured out to the Hollywood Farmers’ Market. I’m glad I did. It seems to be better for me to pretend I’m not sick and to continue to do my normal things – with the exception of late nights and too much wine. So I stocked up on beautiful produce gems and marched home to play in the kitchen.

I actually found the most incredible looking potatoes I have ever seen and used them in my World-Famous Breakfast Potatoes a mere hour later. Check these out...

After I made brunch (sans mimosas (gasp!)), I decided to test a couple of the recipes for the next Dinner at Eight: the chilled avocado-cucumber soup with ancho cream and the summer squash gratin with salsa verde. Would have been more fun with mimosas, but such is life.

I was really excited about the gratin recipe, one I’ve adapted from Suzanne Goin. While I am not a huge squash or zuchinni fan, in general, summer squash is the shining exception. And squash blossoms. I adore squash blossoms. They are so delicate, elegant and beautiful both in appearance and taste. I love that summer squash has the tender and edible rind (which is a result of it being harvested early). You could tear that thin veneer with a mere grazing of a fingernail.

In the past I have not waxed terribly poetic over summer squash. I have (rather boringly) sliced it lengthwise and grilled it alongside its plate partner for the evening--a meat item, I imagine. But this dish could very easily stand alone. It has layers of bold flavors within the salsa verde, shallots and garlic. It somehow manages to be both subtle and summery, yet warm and hearty.

Originally I had planned to serve it alongside a Bistecca Fiorentina but thought the flavors would compete too much with one another. Rather, I will be serving it with an herb-roasted pork loin. I feel confident that these two items will dance together brilliantly with their simplicity, comfort and sophisticated earthiness.

Summer Squash Gratin with Salsa Verde

Serves 6

2 pounds summer squash

1 1/2 cups fresh breadcrumbs

4 tablespoons unsalted butter

3/4 cup sliced shallots

1 teaspoon minced garlic

1 tablespoon fresh thyme 

3/4 cup salsa verde (recipe follows)

1 1/2 cup grated Gruyere cheese

Kosher salt and fresh ground black pepper

Preheat oven to 400 degrees.

Cut the squash into 1/8-inch thick slices (on the diagonal). Toss the slices in a large bowl with 1 teaspoon kosher salt, and let sit 10 minutes.

Place the breadcrumbs in a bowl.

Heat a small sauté pan over medium heat for 1 minute. Swirl in the butter and cook a few minutes, until it browns and smells nutty. Pour the brown butter over the breadcrumbs, scraping all the bits into the bowl. Wait for a moment for the butter to cool, and toss well.

Drain the squash and transfer it to a large mixing bowl. Add the shallots, minced garlic, thyme, salsa verde, and some pepper. Toss to combine, and add the cheese and half the buttery breadcrumbs. Toss again.

Place the squash in a gratin or casserole dish. Scatter the remaining breadcrumbs over the top, and bake 35 to 40 minutes, until the squash is tender and the top is crisp.

Salsa Verde

1 teaspoon marjoram leaves

1/4 cup coarsely chopped mint

1 cup coarsley chopped flat-leaf parsley

3/4 cup extra-virgin olive oil

1 clove garlic

1 anchovy

1 tablespoon capers, rinsed and drained

1/2 lemon, for juicing

Freshly ground black pepper

Using a mortar and pestle, pound the herbs to a paste. Work in some of the olive oil, and transfer the mixture to a bowl.

Pound the garlic and anchovy, and add them to the herbs.

Gently pound the capers until they're partially crushed, and add them to the herbs. Stir in the remaining oil, a pinch of black pepper, and a squeeze of lemon juice.