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.

Detour

In the late 1940s and early 1950s the French were watching a lot of the popular films coming out of this country.  After a little while they stopped to pause and wondered what in God’s teeth was going on over here?! In these films there were men coming home from the war to find the women had taken their jobs, their wives cheating on them or leaving them for the men who weren’t even “manly” enough to go to war, and their children were completely alienated from them. We were full of cynical attitudes and sexual motivation. Absolute disillusionment. We were broken people. A broken country.

But we didn’t seem to realize that at the time.

The French called this era, this genre of film, Film Noir. Black film. These films all have elements of German Expressionism and Italian Neo-Realism. They all incorporate low-key lighting, unbalanced compositions, femme fatales, narration, hard-boiled detectives, and non-linear plot structures (a lot of flashbacks and flash forwards). They are almost always self-reflexive. Some perfect examples of these are: The Maltese Falcon, Double Indemnity, D.O.A., The Woman in the Window, The Lady from Shanghai, The Big Combo and Out of the Past. And I just adore The Blue Dahlia. Interestingly, most all of the material for these films evolved from the pulp novels of writers during the Depression (Chandler, Hammet, etc.)

It seems that usually when we, either as a body of people, or individually, go through big changes we don’t necessarily see it until after the fact. It then is something we went through to get to where we are or where we may be going. Change is more easily understood and seen in a future want, like a New Year’s resolution, but most commonly in retrospect. Others can usually identify our changes before we do.

But occasionally we have those times they are a changin’ that we are staring square in the face. You didn’t even make a New Year’s resolution but suddenly look around and every element of your life, especially the thing that is the most secure, is hanging in the balance. Everything is changing before your eyes, like it or not.

Good, bad, beautiful or ugly – welcome to my now. My change. And right at my birthday. And no, I’m not going through menopause.

This is good. Really. But admittedly, exceedingly daunting. I’ll let you know how it turns out when I can be less reflexive and more reflective.

One change that is occurring that I am conscious of and working towards is my panic with certain fruit related issues. I know I’ve touched on it at least once in the past, but let me really explain the way this works for me:

I do like fruit.
I don’t like fruit touching other fruit.
I don’t like hot or cooked fruit, but I’m getting a little better there.
I am usually wary of fruit in my savory dishes, but I’ve come a long way with that one.
Gooey fruit, such as that in most pies, crumbles, compotes, etc. disarms me. It’s unfortunate.
Fruit FLAVORED anything is a big no.
Any citrus is exempt from all of the above.
If I so much as see applesauce, I will leave the table. That will never change.

As I said, I’m working on most of these things. As a foodie it is a major detriment to hate anything edible. I’m aware of that. But I can proudly say that I will eat anything else in the world.
 
As you may know, my mom is the pastry chef for Dinner at Eight. The first dessert incorporated fresh strawberries. They were not cooked but they did have some liquid that made me a little edgy. I tasted every version we tested for that meal and enjoyed each one. But not without hesitation. For this last Dinner at Eight she made a rustic cherry tart with almond ice cream. Warm, cooked cherries. I tasted the first test and second test runs.

On the first tart we used whole, pitted cherries. They looked like bloody eyeballs to me. I did have a small slice, to make sure it was up to par for the dinner party, but no more than that. And it was really good. I just couldn’t get past the cherries staring up at me. Everyone else who tasted it thought it was divine. Round two is what is photographed here and its recipe is below. We just had to chop up those cherries a bit and I was okay with it (mostly). Again, everyone else that tried it was over the moon.

We’ll see what happens with my whole fruit thing. As I mentioned, I’m working on it. And I guess we’ll see what unfolds with all of these other big, broad strokes of my life. As my friend, Brian, used to always say, “Everything will work out. Or not.”

Rustic Cherry Tart with Almond Ice Cream

Crust
 
1/4 cup granulated sugar
1 cup + 5 tablespoons all-purpose flour
1/2 cup raw almonds
1/4 teaspoon kosher salt
8 tablespoons unsalted butter (melted & cooked a little)
1/2 teaspoon pure vanilla extract

Preheat oven to 375.
Toast almonds on baking sheet for 10 minutes.
Cool and place in food processor with sugar; pulse to coarse meal.
Add flour and salt and pulse to combine with almonds.
Transfer ingredients to bowl, add melted butter, vanilla extract and 1 tablespoon ice cold water.
Mix until just combined.
Press dough into a buttered 9" fluted tart pan.
Chill for a minimum of 2 hours.


Filling

1 pound fresh cherries coarsely chopped (chop around pits); toss chopped cherries with 3 teaspoons of sugar and leave in bowl until ready to use
5 tablespoons unsalted butter at room temperature
1/2 cup all purpose flour
1/4 cup sugar
1 large egg
1/2 teaspoon pure vanilla extract

Preheat oven to 400
Place butter, sugar, flour, egg and vanilla extract in a bowl; mix until combined.
Remove crust from refrigerator; prick surface with a fork.  Using an offset spatula, spread the mixture evenly over crust and chill 15 minutes more.
Remove tart from refrigerator; spread the cherries evenly over the tart mixture. Bake 20 - 25 minutes.



Almond Ice Cream

2 cups raw (whole) almonds
2 cups whole milk
2 cups heavy cream
4 egg yolks (large)
1/2 cup granulated sugar
1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract

Preheat over to 375
Toast almonds on baking sheet for 10 minutes.  Cool and chop coarsely.
Put 1 cup of the almonds in saucepan, pour in milk and cream.  Bring to boil over medium heat.  Remove from heat and cover- (30 minutes)-flavors will infuse.
Bring mixture to boil once again.  Remove from heat.
Whisk egg yolks and sugar together in a bowl.  Remove almonds (with slotted spoon or small strainer) from milk/cream mixture.  Whisk 2 to 3 tablespoons of warm mixture into the yolks & sugar.
Add remainder (slowly) while whisking.  Add vanilla extract.  Return to saucepan and cook over medium heat (stirring frequently with rubber spatula) for 8 minutes or until custard thickens and coats the back of the spatula. Strain mixture and chill for 2 hours.  
Process in an ice cream maker (refer to manufacturer's instructions).  Stir in remaining almonds when done.