Bat Out of Hell

Mercury just got out of Retrograde the other day. Although it’s not like me to know or care about such things, this time I am truly relieved. Things have been all manner of wonky.

Let’s see, a week or two ago I got a basketball beamed at the side of my head for attempting to pet another person’s dog. Scary. A few days later my next-door neighbor’s house was broken into. Creepy. Then, less than a week ago, both Maggie and I had our cell phones stolen from right under our noses. Lame and sad. I’ve also had some unusual interactions with various players in my life that have been anywhere from curious to surprising to unsettling. Confusing.

So I’d like to chalk it up to good old Mercury and whatnot.

One great thing that all this strangitude has generated is my sudden re-appearance in the kitchen. This has been a Summer of eating out far more than in and it’s time to rein it in. So I’ve been hitting the Sunday market with much more regularity and getting all stirred up for Fall foods.

Hell, some people get geeked about Fall fashion and the September issue of Vogue. Me? I get geeked about Brussels sprouts, sage, mustard greens and Winter squash. Oooh, and brown butter. My brain starts swirling with thoughts of wild boar lasagna, braised short ribs, hearty stews and the like.

And I do enjoy playful scarves and layering with my wardrobe. So this time of year is really a win win for me.

Last year around this time I was sort of obsessed with meatloaf. I’ve not really had much of it in my life and became curious about it. I particularly became fixated with the meatloaf at Ammo. I was eating there a lot at the time with Uncle Dougertons and ordered the meatloaf quite often. Ammo seemed to be lauded for their turkey meatloaf for quite sometime. Their meatloaf was said to be Al Pacino’s favorite.

Although they have a new chef now, with a beautiful menu that changes almost daily, I haven’t yet seen meatloaf on the menu. I can only imagine it will pop up at some point. Until then my mission prevails.

The only solid thing I was ever able to extract from the prior chef is that he did not use breadcrumbs in his recipe. Well, hells bells. Almost EVERY SINGLE recipe in the world for meatloaf calls for breadcrumbs. The ones that don’t use breadcrumbs mention substituting granola. Gross. So I figured eggs would work as a good adhesive - particularly as turkey has so little fat to glue the elements, and it self, together. I also used a TON of veggies. Why not? 

Meatloaf: Version 1

Meatloaf: Version 2

Both recipes I tested were pretty tasty, Chris and I agreed. The first one had no breadcrumbs and the second did. Otherwise they were pretty similar save for a few tweaks here and there. I used heirloom tomatoes for the sauce, which was rich and really very wonderful. Ultimately, we agreed that the softer, breadcrumb-free version was much tastier. All of the flavors and textures of the vegetables made for a creative and inspired meatloaf experience.

I was recently telling a friend about my meatloaf adventures and he came up with a very good idea. He was lamenting that turkey meatloaf is no fun as turkey is such a mild, lean protein. He suggested that, rather than buying ground turkey from the store, get a whole turkey ground to order from the butcher. Clever. And I actually added some mild-Italian sausage to my recipe to aid in the flavor boost department.

So, as I sit in my big, brown chair, in my bathrobe, with my replacement cell phone nearby, thinking (and writing) about foods that envelop one in warmth, comfort and security, I can see everything calming as we move into Fall.

I’m reining it in.

Bat Out of Hell Turkey Meatloaf

Serves 6-8

1 tbsp unsalted butter

¾ cup minced green onions

1 ½ cup minced white onions

½ cup minced carrot

¼ cup minced garlic

¾ cup minced crimini mushrooms

1 tsp Kosher salt

1 tsp fresh cracked pepper

½ tsp cayenne pepper

1 tsp cumin

dash of nutmeg

2 bay leaves

2 eggs, beaten

¾ cup ketchup

½ lb mild-Italian sausage

1 1/4 lb ground turkey meat

Combine first six ingredients and sauté until moisture has evaporated, then cool. In a large bowl mix salt, pepper, spices and eggs. Add ketchup, blend thoroughly and add turkey, sausage and vegeatable mixture. Mix with your hands and form loaf. Put in greased loaf pan and bake at 350 degrees for 45-60 minutes.

Sauce

2 tbsp unsalted butter

4 shallots

½ cup minced red peppers

1 cup ketchup

1 sprig of thyme

1 tsp fresh cracked pepper

2 tsp minced garlic

2 cups chicken stock

2 heirloom tomatoes, peeled, seeded and diced

In a heavy pan, melt 1 tbsp butter and sauté shallots, red peppers, thyme, salt and pepper over medium heat until soft. Add chicken stock and simmer, uncovered, until reduced. Add tomatoes and ketchup and bring to a slow simmer. Cook covered for 20 minutes. Stir in remaining butter and season with thyme.

A Wolf By Any Other Name.

 Dining table, kitchen, guests and Carson Daly's film crew.

Last night I found myself deep within the Wolvesden; at the home of Craig Thornton. Formerly at Bouchon and currently private chef to Nicholas Cage, Thornton, or Wolvesmouth, his handle, has given birth to an underground, intimate supper club at his home, high up the Hollywood Hills. With only his “crazy friend, Cortez” to assist, Thornton serves eight guests between 12-16 courses each week.

The intriguing thing about these dinners, aside from the visually, stunning, exceptional and entirely conceptual food, is the beauty within its structure. Firstly, these are BYOB. With the exception of water, you’re on your own. Second, there are no servers. Cortez (I like this guy) does a lot of the putting down and picking up of the plates, but everyone chips in if so compelled. And really, after about course number six, one almost needs a reason to get up for a moment. Third, and most enchanting, diners are given an envelope at evening’s end to pay what they deem appropriate. It’s like the dining equivalent of the Summerhill School. It’s food communism.

This is beautiful to me. It is simultaneously the most exclusive and inclusive environment I can imagine. Plus, that view. That house. I felt like I was in a Michael Mann film.

Although I have nothing to compare it to as it my first time attending, I imagine this was an unusual night, even for the Wolf. Carson Daly’s crew was there, filming. While I found the lighting offensive, both in general and for my nighttime makeup, it was great for shooting the food. Anyway, everyone was pleasant and added an (even more) interesting vibe to the affair.

I will not do a dish by dish breakdown. Those of you who read me regularly know that would turn this post into a Tolstoy novel. Plus, I can’t think of a single person that shouldn’t/wouldn’t attend one of these dinners for themselves (not that the menu would be the same). Admittedly, I rarely even write about dining out or other people’s food all that much anyway. But I do think this evening deserves mad ink. Hell, I haven’t been able to get it out of my head all day.

I guess it’s time to discuss the food, no?

Menu.

This man loves food. Actually, this man loves a lot. But I can really see his love for food and all that that entails: the Earth, animals, vegetation, growth, energy, life, beauty, change, history, people. He is welcoming, interested and irreverent. I guess I’m telling you that I think Craig is an artist. Oof.

Let's do this.

chicken liver. poached pear. compressed asian pear. pear gel. brioche.

 

corn soup. pickled chili. crab.

clam. mussel. tobanjan. clam mussel jus.

primal. bone marrow. roasted sweetbread. pickled onion. chive.

tomato. bacon powder. bacon. baby romaine. various tomatoes. blue basil.

arctic char. beet. olive oil.  tarragon.

 pork belly. cornbread buttermilk puree. huckleberry. chervil.

turbot. whole roasted. its own sauce.

peach.

rabbit saddle. rabbit glazed chanterelle. lobster mushroom. doug fir. vermouth.

pork cheek. black vinegar. kecap manis. chili. chewy rice noodle. pluot.

ants on a log. celery gin ice. peanut powder. raisin leather.

boar. red wine. orange. tagliatelle. gremolata. pecorino.

mexican wedding cake. bitter caramel banana. cajeta. nopales glass. lime styrofoam. mexican chocolate.

doughnut ice cream. coffee pop rocks.

Yes. You just saw 15 courses of food. And you know what? Everything was sublime. 

A rose by any other name would smell as sweet.  To me, this means the names of things do not matter, only what things are. Wolvesmouth. Craig. Beauty. Food. Art. 

I only hope we can join forces at some point for some fun kitchen concoctions...

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?