Taking a Leap

This is a leap year. Last Wednesday was the twenty-ninth day of February. A date that occurs once every four years.

A leap year is a year containing one additional day in order to keep the calendar year synchronized with the astronomical year. Because seasons and astronomical events do not repeat in a whole number of days, a calendar that had the same number of days in each year would, over time, drift with respect to the event it was supposed to track. By occasionally inserting an additional day or month into the year, the drift can be corrected.

A year that is not a leap year is called a common year.

Admittedly, thus far, this year has been anything but common. At least for me.

But I’m not writing about me today. Well, not much. This one is about my mom. My mom is also anything but common. My mom is also taking a leap right now. This isn’t unusual for her – a woman that packed up her entire life at sixty-one years of age and moved clear across the country with nothing but her two Chihuahuas – to be closer to her daughter. That’s me.

Mom had accomplished a great deal in Richmond prior to up and leaving. She was a bit of a local celebrity there – reinvigorating the 17th Street Farmers' Market, establishing Shockoe Tomato Festival, The Brunswick Stew Festival, a street/art/food festival called Broad Appetît and opened an art gallery – all of which are going strong to this day. She had two cafes that enjoyed much success and appreciation. People still lament the absence of her lumples and  signature sandwich: grilled fresh roasted turkey, pistachio goat cheese spread and red onion on a glazed doughnut.

Since she arrived those three years ago she has had all sorts of unusual jobs. But none of them have resembled the work she did in Virginia. Not even remotely. Let’s face it: this town can be really tough. Really tough.

And so very recently my mom decided that by Independence Day she will be independent of her current job situation - one that is both unrewarding and grueling. 

She is taking a leap.

This past Sunday she launched a project she has been considering for some time now: La Weekend. On Sundays, in the lobby of her rad, old-school building in Koreatown, my mom has set up shop. She’s selling her amazing baked goods – sweet and savory - from breakfast pastries to lavender cupcakes to buttermilk and pecan pies to Ghirardelli brownies to apple cake to sandwiches and breads with compound butters. She’s also offering bottomless coffee (free if you bring your own mug) and iced tea infused with honey and Meyer lemon. Everything ranges from $1 to $4 – and that you cannot beat.

And, no joke, this woman can bake - it is her passion. She was doing all of the desserts for Dinner at Eight until recently. Nastassia said Mom's pecan pie was the best she had ever had (and Nastassia is quite the baker, herself). On Sunday a woman that ordered a slice of her buttermilk pie in the morning (who had never had buttermilk pie before) knocked on her door at five o’clock that afternoon to order a whole pie. So mom got back to baking. Heck, since I've been writing this she's told me she has received two more pie orders: another buttermilk pie and an apple pie.

It’s pretty cool. It’s like she’s got her own, little pop-up. People from the neighborhood and people from the building milling about, chatting, mingling, reading the paper, doing the crossword, watching their dogs running around in the grassy courtyard and around the fountain, Marvin Gaye crooning from the speakers, everyone with their coffee (mostly in their own mugs) and their little breakfasts. It’s something you don’t see in this big ocean of a town too much. My mom has brought that Southern, small town, sense of community to a little nook of Los Angeles. And did I mention she can bake?

You know I’m a savory girl. My favorite item of the day was something she calls Left on Red, a little tribute to a significant element of our fair city. It’s simple, it’s her signature pimiento cheese sandwiched between a plain lumple. It’s rich, creamy and salty surrounded by soft, slightly crumbly and crispy. It’s perfect. It’s filling, yet you’ll want to want another. It’s $3.

However, as I’ve shared the recipes for both pimiento cheese and lumples here in the past, today’s recipe is that of Byrd’s Apple Cake. Mom found the recipe in one of those local Junior League-y type cookbooks in Richmond.  You know, the kind that have spiral binding and very low printing expenses involved; yeah, that kind.  This cookbook is called "Historic Richmond Cooks" and the recipe was submitted by Mrs. James E. Ukrop.  These are the very cookbooks that have some of the best finds.

You can make it yourself or you can meet me, Fred, Maggie, Uncle Dougerton, Nastassia and the gang next Sunday to sample it straight from my mom. And she’ll probably be dancing to Marvin Gaye while she serves it to you.

Oh, and true to the monikor, La Weekend will be open on Saturdays as well after Mom's independence day. 


Until then La Weekend is: SUNDAYS from 9am-1pm  
Ancelle Lobby - 701 Gramercy Drive, Los Angeles CA 90005 
CASH ONLY

*All photo credits go to Mr. Fred Turko.

Byrd's Fresh Apple Cake

Note:  This is the recipe exactly as it appears in the cookbook.  Mom does not include dates; she uses pecans and Granny Smith apples, goes heavier on the cinnamon, puts in a little fresh ginger and 2 to 3 generous tablespoons of bourbon.

2 cups sugar

1 1/2 cups vegetable oil

2 eggs

2 teaspoons vanilla

1 teaspoon salt

juice of 1/2 lemon

3 cups all purpose flour

1 1/4 teaspoon baking soda

1/4 teaspoon nutmeg

1/2 teaspoon cinnamon

3 cups peeled and chopped fresh apples (about 3-4 apples)

1 cup chopped nuts 

1/2 cup chopped dates

Mix sugar, oil, eggs, vanilla, salt and lemon juice.  Beat well.  Sift flour, soda and spices.  Add flour mixture to sugar mixture and beat well.  Add fruit and nuts.  Mix well.  Bake in greased and floured Bundt pan at 325 for 1 1/2 hours.  

This cake freezes well.

Printable recipe

One year ago: Son of a Gun

Two years ago: Creamy Artichoke Soup

Being Sweet But Craving Savory

I’m not sure why, but I have been baking like crazy lately. And I don’t mean biscuits or chicken – I’ve been baking dessert-appropriate stuffs. I’ve been home a lot in the past week. Maybe it’s that. I’ve been trying not to go out and spend money. Maybe it’s that. Fred’s out of town. Could be that. I have also had a windfall of all-things-citrus growing in my canyon. So much so that I don’t know what to do with it all – and y’all know how I hate to waste a thing. Oh, and I have recently just reorganized the kitchen and discovered all sorts of baking-related tools I had forgotten that I had. I guess I thought it would be fun to put them to use – finally.

So I guess I’ve answered my own question as to why I’ve been on the baking jag.

Let’s see, I think it started with apple crumble muffins last week. I noticed Maggie had some apples in the crisper of the fridge that had gone unnoticed for some time and, I felt, were in dire need of saving. They turned out okay – or so I heard. I don’t eat the cooked fruit, so I didn’t have one. But I heard they were nice and moist.

Then I deigned to make my Mom’s lavender cupcakes. I have always loved them. The Portsmouth icing is so sweet and decadent it hurts my teeth (in a good way). That sweetness coupled with the cupcake’s simple, clean lavender-ness work really nicely together. I think. I gave most of those away, too, but I had a few bites here and there. They were delicious, if, perhaps not the most beautiful cupcakes I had ever seen.

Then Maggie and I teamed up to make an orange cake. I worked the cake part whilst Maggie worked the fruit part. It turned out all right but not great. We both thought it was a bit dry, but were confident we could get it right next time ‘round. It sure was pretty, though. And we had loads of fun doing it together.

Then a couple days after that I found a recipe for a grapefruit pound cake that I had to try. No, grapefruit was not growing in my hood, so I did have to do a little shopping for this one. I’d say this was my biggest success to date. The cake came out perfectly and it looked beautiful. Maggie, who had tasted everything thus far, agreed. In fact, I do believe she’s had at least three pieces already today.

Then today, I stumbled upon a recipe for orange-walnut cake. I had some black walnuts from the salad course of the last Dinner at Eight, and clearly I have oranges. Done. But when I needed to grease the cake pan, I remembered Maggie had left it in her car. And she wasn’t home. So orange-walnut muffins it was. I think these guys turned out pretty great. I would do a thing or two differently next time, but I’m not awesome at riffing in the baking department yet and the cake-to-muffin switcharoo at the last minute threw me for a loop. I made so many that I made Maggie take two thirds of them to work with her to share.

I’ve been baking something new practically every day for the past week. And nothing has been too shabby either. That makes me feel pretty good about my kitchen prowess.

But what’s ironic is that I haven’t been eating any of the stuff I’ve been baking. I’ve just been baking to bake.

But you know what I’ve been craving to eat? Oysters. I mean, I always crave oysters, so that’s no shocker. But about six months ago I discovered the bliss that is the Grilled Oyster. I was at Salt’s Cure. Ever since, I order them each time they are on the menu and ooh and ahh before and after every single bite. They are just barely cooked, you see. They still maintain their raw-ness, but not in essence. They are warm and they embody a sultry smokiness.  Grilling oysters over high heat really just saves you the trouble of shucking them first, since the intense heat forces the shells open on their own. They are nothing short of magic, I tell you.

Then, about a month ago, Fred took me to his family cabin in Inverness for a weekend. I loved it there. Everything about it. But one of the most amazing things that we did was buy a couple dozen fresh oysters from a guy with a stand between our road and the water. We then went back to the house and, though it was rainy and blustery - and now dark - Fred lit the charcoal grill out on the patio. While the coals got going we whipped up a salty, garlicky, lemony, buttery sauce. He put that on the grill in a little saucepan to keep it warm and, as each oyster popped open to tell us it was ready, he yanked it off the grill, forked it out of its shell, dunked it in the butter sauce and popped them into one of our mouths. It was so cold out that steam came out from our faces as we slurped away.

All of this with champagne, mind you.

Afterward, we went inside and built a fire.

I loved it there.

Hell, I guess I do miss Fred.

So, although you probably thought I was going to share with you a recipe from one of my baking adventures, I am really here to help you to have grilled oyster night all on your own. Just don’t forget the champagne.

Grilled Oysters with Garlicky, Lemony, Buttery Sauce

Serves 2

INGREDIENTS

12 fresh oysters

2 cloves garlic, finely minced

3 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil

3 tablespoons unsalted butter

1 tablespoon Meyer lemon juice

1/2 teaspoon chili pepper flakes (or substitute with dashes of Tabasco)

1/4 teaspoon salt

cracked black pepper to taste

1 tablespoon finely minced parsley

DIRECTIONS

Heat a small sauce pan over medium-low heat. When hot, add the olive oil and the butter. Add the garlic and saute until fragrant, about 30 seconds. Add the lemon juice, chili pepper flakes, salt, pepper and parsley. Turn off heat.

Scrub oysters under running water; discard any that are open and do not close within a few seconds.

If you can find large, fat oysters, you can place the oysters directly on the grill grates. It's best to wear long, sturdy BBQ gloves so you can handle the oysters by hand instead of using tongs, spoons or spatula. However, if the oysters are small and flat, you'll run the risk of spilling its valuable, flavorful juices as well as the garlic-butter sauce.

Put oysters flat side-up directly on the grill when coals are pure white hot.

Remove with tongs when shells begin to open, about 5 minutes.

If you are a good shuck:
Shuck the oysters, spoon a little sauce in each oyster. Place oysters on a very hot, preheated grill, cover and cook for 5-6 minutes or until the edges of oysters curl slightly.

If you are a bad shuck:
Place the oysters, cup side up on a very hot, preheated grill, cover and cook for 1 minute. The oysters should now be slightly open. Quickly remove the oysters. Hold an oyster with an oven mitt and use a shucking knife (or a clean screwdriver if you don't have one) to pry open the oyster. It should easily open. Spoon sauce into each oyster and return oysters to the grill. Cover and grill 4-5 minutes.

Printable recipe

One year ago: I Left My Heart in San Fran-Cheesy; Part 2
Two years ago: She-Crab Soup with Avocado-Crème Fraiche Puree
Four years ago: Yang Chow

Flora and Fauna

I usually appreciate all four of the beautiful seasons that we are presented with each year. I love the differences, big and small, that each one embodies. And even though we hardly ever have much of a Winter to speak of here in LA, and that this Winter has been one of the mildest in my memory, I simply can’t wait for Spring.

I feel kind of like a jerk for saying that. I do appreciate the now, just so you know.

Maybe it’s my enormous jade plant in the front yard, that Uncle Dougerton gave me when he moved recently, with it’s new blossoms’ magical, floral scent floating past my nose each time I walk by. Or maybe it’s the produce at the markets changing, now giving us strawberries, carrots, blueberries, peas, rhubarb, asparagus, green garlic and artichokes. Or maybe it’s that slight change in the light in the sky – that hint in the breeze that we may very well shed our warmies and get out our sweet, little dresses and sandals. Well, us girls anyway.

I’m ready.

This Winter has been great and all - one I will remember for the rest of my life, in fact. But I’m ready to press on. I’m ready for watching the day slowly melt into evening, on my patio, listening to Alice Coltrane, with a glass of Lillet in my hand and the smell of the charcoal on the grill just getting going. I love it when I’mthat house. The house that smells so awesome, everyone walking or driving past races home to open a bottle of wine – or a beer – and grabs some meat – or veggies? - to throw on the grill, and relax in the waning afternoon/early evening. So they can then be that house. And so on.

I imagine you’re with me now, right?

Well, we all need to just chill out. Because it’s only early February. And even though our City of Angels throws these climate curve balls at us, we have another month and a half until it’s officially Spring.

Though the flowers and the market veggies belie this truth.

I’m going with a theme this month. Why not? It's garlic.

Soup is – and has been for some time – my thing. I’m sure it’s other people’s thing, too. I guess. Biters.

The recipe I’m sharing with you is another one from the last Dinner at Eight (double theme for February!), and involves spring market produce and garlic. Green garlic. It’s like the super hero of garlic. Its alter ego likely being black garlic.

I’ve just had a few glasses of wine. Sorry.

Okay. Soup O’Clock. I’m not certain as to how, exactly, this brainflower of a recipe happened, but it did. This was also the dish at the last dinner party that had the magic ingredient that almost caused my undoing. But the elusive green garlic was found, in plentitude, at the Santa Monica Farmers’ Market - where it will remain for quite a few more months.

Here’s to the promise of long sunsets with Lillet, the smell of the charcoal grill and the promise of Spring!

First-of-the-Season 

Creamy Green Garlic Soup with Bacon & Black Garlic Chips

Serves 6

Ingredients:

• 1 tbsp olive oil
• 2 slices minced bacon
• 3 cups sliced green garlic
• 4 medium russet potatoes
• 1 quart chicken stock, more if needed
• 1/2 cup cream
• salt and pepper to taste
• 2 cloves of black garlic, sliced, fried and crumbled (for garnish)

Preparation:

Add the olive oil and bacon to a soup pot, and place over medium heat. When the bacon is cooked and starting to get crisp, remove and set aside for garnish. Add the green garlic. Cook stirring for 3-4 minutes. Add the broth and potatoes. Simmer for 30-40 minutes, or until the potatoes and garlic are tender. Use more broth as needed. 

You can use a potato masher to break up any large pieces of potato. Use a stick or regular blender to puree about 70% of the soup, and leave the rest unblended for texture. Add the cream, and season to taste. Once the soup is heated through, serve immediately topped with the bacon and black garlic.  

Printable Recipe

One year ago: I Left My Heart in San Fran-Cheesy; Part 1.

Two years ago: Roasted Chickpeas with Garlic & Sage

Four years ago: Special Toast

Forty Days, Forty Nights and Forty Cloves.

Good gracious. Where have I been? I promise I haven’t forgotten about you. I only hope you haven’t forgotten about me. I guess the past month has been filled with curve balls. But mostly my Time appears to have changed. Again.

  

I’ve talked about Time a lot on here over the years. How intrigued I am by how it passes away and how it moves forward - the memories we create from our past, the things we look toward in our future, and most of all, how, at different times, it has the uncanny power to expand and/or contract. How does the same twenty-four hours have the ability to feel like more or less than what it actually is?

As a kid I thought a year was like forever. I would make a point to tell people I was six and three quarters years old, because that quarter of a year was a significant chunk of Time. A significant chunk of Time that I earned to be exactly that old. Yet over the past few years I have felt that Time has been whirling past me at dizzying speeds. Where did that day go? Where did that week go? Where did that month go? How did a year just happen?

But very recently it feels that Time has changed yet again. Now it feels like it’s on double duty; it feels like it’s both whipping past and inching along. Last week feels like both a second and a month ago, I can hardly hold onto the now and next month feels like it’s taking for forever to be the now.

The really cool thing is that yesterday, today and tomorrow all feel pretty awesome.

This past weekend we had our monthly Dinner at Eight. To be honest, none of us were up for this one. Said curve balls and whatnot. I had also personally wanted a month off to recoup from The Holidays. But we had committed to doing the dinner for a private group, and committed we were. I had even conceived of the menu back in October when the group’s host and I were in the initial talks of the evening. She picked the theme: Garlic.

In the spirit of the way Time is behaving at present, the period leading up to this dinner party ambled relaxingly along while sneakily creeping right on up on us. We were seemingly unprepared, yet at the same time we were disarmed by how smooth everything was going. Maggie had her cocktail set; a classic gin martini garnished with okra that she pickled in garlic and dill (interestingly, this was the only element of the meal that had even a speck of our Southern theme peppered in). Nastassiaand Esi were to put their sweet minds together to materialize my brain flower of dessert: a honey-garlic mousse with pinenut-garlic brittle. My mom was going to bake the bread. Me, I had the rest covered. And even though each and every one of these dinners has had one *&%%@# ingredient that gives me issues, I even found my elusive green garlic at the Wednesday Santa Monica Farmers’Market. This was for the creamy green garlic soup garnished with black garlic chips and bacon.

Then the day was upon us. Forty-three days since the last dinner and an unknown number of days until the next dinner. Mom sliced her finger open the day before and had to get five stitches. Not only was she unable to bake the bread for the dinner, she was unable to attend at all.

OK.

The girls weren’t going to be able to show up to the house until about four-thirty to help – and to bring their dessert.

No problem.

Maggie was in the (tiny) kitchen pickling onions (always a hit) as take-away gifts for the guests (in her union suit!) until late-morning, until she worked her magic on The Room (see picture below).

That’s totally cool.

But you know what? It was OK, and not a problem and totally cool. It all worked out. It always does.

It seems like forever ago, now. But it has only been forty-eight hours.

The main course of this particular dinner (of which you can see the full menu here) was a riff on a famous recipe I first heard about many years ago when I worked in a video store in Atlanta. It was mentioned in the Les Blank documentary, Garlic Is As Good as Ten Mothers.It’s called Chicken with Forty Cloves of Garlic.

Forty-three days, forty-eight hours, forty cloves. Well, I used a few more…

By the by, all photographs in this post are credited to Fred. The reason for my Time being what it presently is can probably also be credited to Fred.

Chicken with 40 Cloves of Garlic

Ingredients

• ·      3 whole heads garlic, about 40 cloves
• ·      2 (3 1/2-pound) chickens, cut into eighths
• ·      Kosher salt
• ·      Freshly ground black pepper
• ·      1 tablespoon unsalted butter
• ·      2 tablespoons good olive oil
• ·      1 1/2 tablespoons Madeira, divided
• ·      1 ½ tablespoons Sherry, divided
• ·      1 1/2 cups dry white wine
• ·      1 tablespoon fresh thyme leaves
• ·      2 tablespoons all-purpose flour
• ·      2 tablespoons heavy cream
• ·      A bunch of Italian parsley, chopped

 

Directions

Separate the cloves of garlic and drop them into a pot of boiling water for 60 seconds. Drain the garlic and peel. Set aside.

Dry the chicken with paper towels. Season liberally with salt and pepper on both sides. Heat the butter and oil in a large pot or Dutch oven over medium-high heat. In batches, saute the chicken in the fat, skin side down first, until nicely browned, about 3 to 5 minutes on each side. Turn with tongs or a spatula; you don't want to pierce the skin with a fork. If the fat is burning, turn the heat down to medium. When a batch is done, transfer it to a plate and continue to saute all the chicken in batches. Remove the last chicken to the plate and add all of the garlic to the pot. Lower the heat and saute for 5 to 10 minutes, turning often, until evenly browned. Add 1 tablespoon of the Madeira, 1 tablespoon of the Sherry and the wine, return to a boil, and scrape the brown bits from the bottom of the pan. Return the chicken to the pot with the juices and sprinkle with the thyme leaves. Cover and simmer over the lowest heat for about 30 minutes, until all the chicken is done.

Remove the chicken to a platter and cover with aluminum foil to keep warm. In a small bowl, whisk together 1/2 cup of the sauce and the flour and then whisk it back into the sauce in the pot. Raise the heat, add the remaining tablespoon of both the Madeira and the Sherry and the cream, and boil for 3 minutes. Add salt and pepper, to taste; it should be very flavorful because chicken tends to be bland. Pour the sauce and the garlic over the chicken and serve hot.

Garnish with parsley.

Printable recipe 

One year ago: Mercantile

Two years ago: Swiss Fondue with Truffle Essence

Four years ago: The Hungry Cat, Santa Barbara

Good To Go

Goddammit. I’m sick. 

It’s irritating on obvious levels. But the big rub is that I walk around, all puffed up like a peacock most of the time, touting that I simply do not get sick. But anyone can take one look at me right now and know that’s a load of crap. It would appear I have temporarily acquired Walter Matthau’s nose and I am entirely unable to pronounce any words involving the letters N and/or M. And let’s not even mention the small mountain range of soiled tissues that have become my number one accessory of late.

But oddly I have not lost my appetite.

It is now a new year: 2012. I welcome this year. I’d say it’s already off to an auspicious start. Well, except for the whole sick thing. But I suppose it’s worth it. Fred was sick before me, you see.

Wait, that's right, I was in a car accident last week. No one was hurt, but my car went through over a grand worth of repairs. The other car was fine. I suppose it was all officially my fault, but those tourists stopped at a green light!

Okay, so I’m sick and I caused a car accident that has set me back a considerable chunk of green. All in the first week and a half of a new year that I am heralding as auspicious. Hey, I’m in a good mood, what can I say?

Things look bright. I am going on a mini getaway next weekend to someplace called Inverness. Apparently I will not even have cell service there. I find this to be both frightening and tantalizing. It looks like it will rain there that weekend, so we are anticipating much cooking and snuggles. Works for me. Then, in February, my dad and his girlfriend are coming to visit. I always get excited for some QT with Pops. Plus we always eat out a lot at all the fun places he hasn’t been yet. Cha-ching!

Anyway, things just feel right in 2012 despite the sickies and the car situation.

In case you, my fellow Angelinos, have not noticed, 2012 thus far has hardly been Wintery. In fact, it’s been downright Summery. I do believe it was in the nineties last week. I guess it’s fine. I can’t do much about it anyway. Although, being sick seems even worse when it’s warm and blue and sparkly out. It makes me feel guilty for curling up in a ball with my box of tissues, hot tea and a blanket.

So I won't.

I like to pretend I’m not sick. I’m out in the world. I’m sitting at one of my haunts, Cheebo, having something I have been eating at least once a week for a couple of years, now. It doesn’t matter if it’s Winter or Summer, I can eat their chopped salad any season. I often come here to write (free wi-fi), and Uncle Dougertons and I historically meet up about once a week-ish to have dinner. We always split the chopped salad to start. And we always sit at the bar.

The staff knows me, and my glass of sauvignon blanc is always placed in front of me right as I seat myself. They know not to allow me to eat more than one ramekin of their complimentary home-made potato chips. Sometimes I bring the kitchen fresh herbs from my garden to use. When the power goes out in the canyon I will camp out at Cheebo and read and graze and sip for hours.

Cheebo is not cool or hip or in or sceney. It’s really orange inside and has pretty garish artwork on the walls. The music is usually a little bit too loud and not as calm as I’d like. There is a television above the bar that is always on (though I do appreciate that during baseball season). But there is something to be said for our neighborhood spots. The places that provide us with a sense of community and comfort. Places that are inexpensive with solid food and perfectly acceptable wines by the glass.

So, here I sit, sick with an appetite, at the bar at Cheebo, in the middle of a Wednesday. I’ve got a glass of ice water, a bowl of cream of broccoli soup and my favorite salad. Ever. As I’ve been writing this I realized that, while I have Tweeted and Four SquaredCheebo and my salad love, I have never written about them. And so I feel they deserve their due (and they deliver!).

I’m pretty sure the guy sitting next to me at the bar is sick too. He’s drinking hot tea and has a tissue. I sure hope he is because my ears are blown out from blowing my nose and I can’t hear. So I can’t tell if I just burped loudly or quietly, and more importantly, if he heard me.

Cheebo: Good To Go

7533 W. Sunset Blvd.

Los Angeles, CA 90046

323.850.7070

One year ago: Cremini Mushroom & Meyer Lemon Risotto

Two years ago: Chocolate & Chile de Arbol Brownies 

FOUR years ago: Oyster Stew