cucina nicolina

new site

2008-03-03T13:01:00.000-08:00

remember! here i am these days:

http://cucinanicolina.com

see you there!

Newish

2008-01-31T09:13:00.000-08:00

When I started this blog about three years ago (?!), my friend set it up for me at a site titled cucinanicolina.com. I sort of half-heartedly posted things now and again, knowing that I really should be writing more I give so many dinner parties geez! I will regret not keeping a record of things later on. Then, without warning or provocation, my little .com inexplicably died and so I thought, what the heck, I'll move to blogspot so I can lose that awful old layout (it was pretty awful) and post pictures and do all sorts of things.

And so I started writing a bit more regularly, and then even more regularly, and all was good.

Until ...

Well, there's really no 'until.' I just recently decided I wanted to move back to the old .com, and so I bit the bullet and bought a hosting program, installed wordpress, and fooled around with plug-ins and such (I only pulled out my hair a few times), and though it looks very similar to what's been going on over here, I've moved cucinanicolina back to its very own domain name.

So, darlings, please clickety-click! To entice you over that'away, I've put up a more comprehensive recipe index (that, I promise, will keep growing) as well as a monthly newsletter subscription; also, now you can print or email posts and recipes.

It's a new year and it's good to have a fresh start, non?

I'll see you over there ...

Banana + Peanut Butter

2008-01-26T17:07:00.000-08:00

I forgot what nine miles is like: hard. The first half is all sweet and lovely, going along at a good clip and looking up at the birds, with a nice little downward slope at the end leading to the beach (the view, too, is worth the push). But what was so effortless going down is excrutiating coming back; that long, gradual uphill through Golden Gate Park is a killer.

Still, I did it, and I'm glad. It's been a bit of a road back this past half-year or so due to injury -- this summer, even, I had to lay off the running for over six weeks, which, to a runner, is nearly unfathomable. I have secret hopes of a marathon next October, but I also know I shouldn't get ahead of myself; to run nine miles today and feel mostly OK, is enough, and I am grateful.

If one of my new year's goals is to incorporate more core training into my daily routine, I should also try to be better about refueling when I finish a run. I'm ashamed to admit -- and Runner's World would surely chastise me -- but more often than not, I come back and unless I've run longer than usual, I rarely eat anything other than quickly drinking a glass of orange juice or water before moving on to the next thing. Today was particularly deplorable: there wasn't much in the house (we were out of my favorite post-run meal of a veggie burger slathered with cheese and avocado) so I tried to satiate myself with a bowl of rather stale organic corn flakes doused with soy milk.

But then, oh then, I dragged myself up the hill to the store, and bought bananas.

I dream about this snack (truly), and really it's the perfect post-run (or post-work, or post-walk or or or) sustenance. Protein in the peanut butter replaces the calories burned, and the potassium in the banana soothes the weary muscles. Plus, oh yeah, it tastes really good. I prefer my peanut butter to be very cold, straight from fridge to fruit to mouth.

This afternoon I brewed a strong cup of Typhoo to wash down that gooey-sticky deliciousness and stretched out my legs, knowing they will be super sore tomorrow. But I don't mind.

See? Perfection.

Also: I am migrating this little blog to http://cucinanicolina.com pretty soon, but there will be fair warning.

Happiness Is

2008-01-22T11:46:00.000-08:00

[Requisite Pacific Ocean shot, January 2008.]

There's been some happiness talk going round lately, which in turn makes me happy, because I love thinking about good things. It's like when you cook something you've never made before, and it turns out to be some kind of wondrous (for me, the first time I made roast cauliflower) -- totally unexpectedly. You can ride that high for days. And sometimes when I take a moment to really think about the things for which I'm grateful, or happy about, it gives me a little zing of goodness -- a sort of good-feelings shot. And who wouldn't want that, hm?

Today I'm jetlagged to hell and back; my super-secret mission involved a quick trip to DC this weekend for the bridal shower/bachelorette party of one of my best friends -- I wanted to surprise her, and I did. (She cried. I almost did. Then we ate a lot of pretty mini cupcakes and played funny games). I got to see some of my much-missed pals and had fabulous late-night chats, cookies, and the L-Word viewings with my very favorite cartographer (I don't think we stopped talking from the minute she picked me up on Friday night until she dropped me off at the airport Monday afternoon; and yet, there's still more to say). There was a lot of snuggling my favorite doggies. There was a little bit of red wine.

I bring up the happiness thing today because I'm sleepy from a flight delay, and wishing almost more than anything I could be tucked up in bed, hiding out from the rain and obligations. I need a little shot of goodness, to be sure. So I'm going to give myself one, in hopes it helps me perk up a little bit.

Things I Never Get Tired Of/Am Happy About/Grateful For (order is unimportant)

The drive along Highway One from Sebastopol to Inverness
My Dream of You, by Nuala O'Faolain
The Pacific Ocean
The Atlantic Ocean off of certain islands
Backpacking in the mountains
The smell of clean laundry (and, of course, the very fact of its cleanliness)
Opening a new cookbook, and being excited and inspired
The New York Times Sunday delivery
Possibility
Yosemite Valley, and the back country
Runner's World magazine
New shoes
Giving presents; and, cooking birthday dinners
Reconnecting with old friends
(All my friends, really)
Thinking about my brother building wooden boats in Maine
Getting so involved in conversation you don't notice the time, nor do you care
Warm sweaters
Planning dinner parties
The sound of wind in the trees from high up in the mountains, or on a hill; that stillness
Swimming in a natural body of water
A good run
Unexpected emails
Coming home to California after a trip
Fruit
Roasted cauliflower
Having dinner made for me
New Books
Old Books
Time off
Time off and money to travel
The memory of places
A new recipe that immediately becomes a favorite

OK ... that's mostly helped, though I still feel a bit dazed and confused. Now, what to make for dinner? I'll probably go the easy route, but a small part of me wants to give it more thought than just roasting a cauliflower and some potatoes; I feel like trying something new. I'll have to see how I feel at the end of the day ...

Springtime in January

2008-01-17T14:48:00.000-08:00

[Along the Pacific, January 2008.]

A few times a year I have an almost physical longing for spring, heightened on days (like Sunday) when the weather behaves very unseasonably and foreshadows what's to come. I feel the warming wind coming off the sea, see the bright sun blazing down on the green hills, feel that anticipatory energy that heralds the growing season and time of light -- and I get impatient. Can you feel it? There's only a few more months until Daylight Savings Time (March 9, not that I'm counting -- much), and I know I'll be ready.

I am feeling that wishfulness today, during this time when night descends so early. It's cold. The light is still bright, true, but in a different way. The Bay Bridge looks chilly and uncomfortable, and the headlights of cars blur sharply as they pass over it. I want to eat soup (and I have: the roasted- vegetable barley, and a potato-leek-spinach I made last night) and sandwiches stuffed with melted cheese; I want to wear the warmest sweaters and tall boots and stay inside in front of a fire.

Some of these I can do (the sweaters thing, and the boots) and some I can't (my apartment woefully lacks a fireplace, sob), but what really helps ease winter's bite is to bake. This past weekend I made a lot of vegan treats -- chocolate cake, a galette, sugar cookies -- to be discussed at a later date, but then on Tuesday night, possibly to remedy all that healthful stuff, I made a batch of chocolate chip cookies with loads of butter that were absolutely delicious.

This is a recipe I found ages ago on allrecipes.com when I was searching for a good-looking recipe that was also quick. It seems I have a pattern of always feeling pressed for time, and thus I'm often drawn to recipes that are time-saving as well as good (the good thing is imperative). This one is a little different from more traditional chocolate chip cookie recipes, but it's simple, and, dare I say, produces some of the best cookies I've ever eaten.

I don't know if it's the brown sugar or the melted butter that make them so soft, but they are, and it's wonderful. Still, they're not too soft -- their inherent chewiness saves them from being just ordinary, and if you use a good organic butter that clean flavor will sing through and you'll be glad you spent the few extra pennies for it (note to Bay Areans: I always buy Clover, not least of all because I have passed by some of the dairy farms out in Marin and Sonoma Counties, and I played against one of the family's girls in high school basketball -- they're 'local' to me, and I hope I'm making the right choice; plus, their stuff tastes pretty darn decent).

I could eat these cookies by the plateful, which is saying something for a girl who prefers salty to sweet. I try to limit myself but, well, sometimes I'm powerless. What can you do?

This weekend there are super top-secret missions in the works, that are so super top-secret they can't be shared until next week. Until then -- make these cookies. And then let me know what you thought.

Chocolate chip cookies, adapted from allrecipes.com

1 cup butter, melted
2 cups brown sugar
2 eggs
2 2/3 cups all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon baking powder
1 teaspoon baking soda
1 teaspoon vanilla
2 cups semisweet chocolate chips

1. Preheat the oven to 375 degrees F.

2. In a medium bowl, stir together the melted butter and brown sugar until smooth. Beat in the eggs one at a time. Add the vanilla. Combine the flour, baking powder and baking soda, gradually stir into the sugar mixture. Fold in the chocolate chips. Drop by rounded spoonfuls onto the prepared cookie sheets.

3. Bake for 8 to 10 minutes in the preheated oven. Allow cookies to cool on baking sheet for 5 minutes before removing to a wire rack to cool completely.

Note: I use a whisk to mix together first the butter, sugar, and eggs, and it really helps make that batter nice and smooth. I also use it when I add the dry ingredients but after that, just a wooden spoon is needed. I think you can make the batter in about six minutes, tops.

Today

2008-01-13T17:42:00.000-08:00

The New York Times front page story today broke my heart a little bit -- this coming on the heels of "Atonement" last night -- which, though a tiny bit over-dramatic, was as affecting and beautiful as the book -- and while I hate to wish a year away, I honestly can't wait too much longer for next January.

So this afternoon, melancholy and feeling a little weighted down after thinking about these things, I did what I usually do when I need to take a literal breath of fresh air -- I went for a run (6 miles, slow and steady as she goes) in the sunshine (o, glorious sun, thank you for making an appearance after far too long). It felt almost like spring -- the hopeful sun, the green grass in Golden Gate Park with the cool coastal breeze reminding me it's still winter on the calendar; and then I came home and to refuel had a bowl of the roasted vegetable barley soup I'd made yesterday afternoon.

This soup, I swear, can cure all ills -- or at least distract you from them for a little awhile. I came across the recipe years ago on the epicurious website when I was looking for a soup that incorporated barley because for some reason I had a lot of it (a good harvest? Or just overbuying), but the real bonus is that it's chock full of delicious vegetables, and if you're at all ambitious, you can adapt the recipe to incorporate whatever fresh veggies you have on hand (that's my strategy anyway). As in, you could go to the farmers' market and see what's available and looks good, and then use that (you'll see what I mean when you read the recipe). I love the versatility of it.

[Mushrooms, for soup, January 2008.]

So today I'd hoped to be more productive than I was, though I did manage to make my 'office' look more like its name than a storage closet, and I baked and photographed a whole slew of things that I should have written about for an article but will, tomorrow or the next day (darn it). Now I am drinking red wine and listening to Mozart's C-Minor Mass, which has strangely made me think of Greece (but, then, what doesn't?) and the scant summer weeks I spent there in 2005.

In particular, it makes me think of a moped ride I took on the Halkidiki peninsula, because of the little shrines scattered here and there, in which candles were lit at dusk, and these burned all through the long, slow twilight; it must be, then, because of the religious connection. That August was my second time there, and my first with someone who actually spoke the language (we know, of course, that it's only gotten better from that point on), and especially wonderful because it was with my best friend. But there's something about this music that can transport you -- either to a deserted road in Greece where you have to pull over to let a herd of goats cross the road, or to a little town along the coast of Northern California as the fog steals softly in over the hills to cover the bay -- and comfort, even when you think about the hard things.

I haven't written much here about new year's resolutions -- I hesitate to name them as such, because they are more like things I wish and want to incorporate into my life -- but one of them is to go listen to live classical music more often, which then leads to making time to play the piano more (and by 'more' I mean 'more than once a year when I remember'). I'm not sure why, but the winter months makes me want to sit down on the bench again to re-find what I spent 10+ years studying. What usually happens is that I dream of playing -- sometimes even wake up in the mornings with my hands still moving over phantom keys -- which thus motivates me to pursue it again, but I lack longevity. Since I don't have a piano in my apartment, I will only plot and plan until I can indulge again up in Sebastopol, and I hope I really will do it.

In the meantime, I shall make vegetable soups and listen to as much Mozart as I can stand. I suggest you do, too.

[Vegetables simmering, January 2008.]

Roasted vegetable and barley soup, adapted from gourmet.com

Olive oil
4 large plum tomatoes (about 1 1/4 pounds), halved lengthwise
3 medium carrots, trimmed, peeled, quartered (about 8 ounces)
6 ounces fresh crimini mushrooms, thickly sliced
1 large onion, cut into 1-inch wedges through root end
1 red bell pepper, quartered
1 medium zucchini, trimmed, halved lengthwise
3 garlic cloves, unpeeled
2 tablespoons olive oil
8 cups (or more) vegetableo r mushroom broth
1 1/2-ounce package dried porcini mushrooms,* broken into pieces
thyme or herbs de provence
1 bay leaf
1 cup pearl barley

1. Preheat oven to 400°F. Spray large rimmed baking sheet with olive oil Arrange tomatoes and next 6 ingredients on sheet. Drizzle with olive oil; sprinkle with salt and pepper. Roast until vegetables are tender and brown around edges, stirring occasionally, about 55 minutes. Peel garlic and reserve. Coarsely chop half of vegetables and reserve. Transfer garlic and remaining vegetables from sheet to large pot (reserve sheet).

2. Add 1/2 cup vegetable broth to baking sheet and scrape up browned bits; add to pot with vegetables.

3. Add 7 1/2 cups broth, dried porcini, thyme, and bay leaf to pot. Bring to boil. Reduce heat to medium; cover and simmer until vegetables and porcini are very tender, about 20 minutes. Pour vegetables and broth into large strainer set over bowl. Transfer vegetables in strainer to processor and puree until smooth; set aside.

4. Return broth and bay leaf to pot; add barley and bring to boil.

5. Reduce heat to medium; cover and simmer until barley is tender, about 40 minutes. Add reserved vegetable puree and chopped vegetables to pot; simmer until soup thickens and flavors blend, about 10 minutes. Season soup to taste with salt and pepper. (Can be made 1 day ahead. Cool soup slightly. Chill soup uncovered until cold, then cover and keep chilled.

Notes: really, you could use almost any vegetable -- yellow squash? portabello mushrooms? though I'd forgo potatoes as with the barley, it would probably make the soup too heavy -- here, and to be honest, I often skip the dried mushrooms because of the price tag. I'd up the mushroom and garlic content to compensate -- it's still quite yummy.

Getting Back to It

2008-01-10T09:08:00.000-08:00

[Chocolate cake with chocolate buttercream, October 2007.]

This week: rain, re-reading "The Omnivore's Dilemma," going to bed too late, listening to (old) Joni Mitchell, forgetting my keys, contemplating core strength training, coming up with lots of project ideas, starting on some articles due soon, more rain, a good 5-miler, a slow 3-miler, even more rain, planning trips, making quinoa soup and roasted cauliflower and chocolate pudding (not together), working.

Last weekend: finally buying a bridesmaid dress, missing yoga class because it was full (and I was early!), the first dinner party of the new year an unqualified success (not a scrap of food was left over, which makes me worry that I didn't make enough, but no one seemed to mind, or was left hungry) plus we were able to watch the debates (my friend M: the wine helps), beginning a website design, the "Wire," kicking off its last season (alas!).

In general: too much coffee, not enough fruit, probably enough water.

So I haven't been cooking too much lately, though I made quinoa soup last night (omitting the corn, because I forgot it) and I have hot weekend plans of cake-baking (see above) and going to see "Atonement" now that I've finished the book (can't wait). Some baked tofu and sweet potatoes will probably figure in the next few days, but the kitchen -- recently cleaned within an inch of its life after a wee mousie made an appearance (it seems to be gone now. I think. Knock wood.) -- hasn't seen me enough since I got back from my little holiday break. Must remedy this, as I miss it.

Because -- whoooosh! -- it's January 10, and the newly-minted year is bowling along at its usual quick pace, and I am loathe to be left behind.

Welcoming the New

2008-01-04T12:45:00.000-08:00

[Sunset, Tomales Bay, December 2007.]

New Year's Eve, late afternoon, taking the long drive through the fields to Inverness, the sun hung low and sweet on the horizon. Clouds streamed across the sky in a sheet of feathery white that couldn't be captured by a camera, even though I tried, and Tomales Bay shimmered quietly as darkness crept over the hills. We pulled over every so often for one more picture, this is the last one, I swear; it simply could not be helped.

[Stream near Tomales, December 2007.]

The plan was to stay overnight in the house in the woods, and have dinner and a fire beforehand, with a walk the next day -- and so, we did all of these things, and they were all lovely. I brought wine and bread and cheese and a few things to make a soup -- vegetable broth, asparagus -- and though we arrived a bit late, I had a nice, sharp gin and tonic before settling in to cook. We talked of many things -- the upcoming primaries, the tiger attack at the SF Zoo, moving from Israel to Philadelphia, Michael Pollan, mice -- as I went back-and-forth from living room to kitchen.

I sautéed onions and garlic until they were soft and sweet, chopped parsnips, and threw a cauliflower into the oven to roast. My soup was a mishmash of things found in the fridge and things brought, but it actually turned out surprisingly well: a sort of potato-carrot-parsnip base, sprinkled with basil and a dash of soy sauce, with mushrooms and asparagus added just before serving. Along with some bread and cheese, and a bit of hummus, it was simple and nourishing -- just what we needed for the last meal of 2007.

There were a few glasses of Veuve Cliquot with dinner, relaxed and easy with the black Lab dreaming his doggy dreams under the table. We toasted to good health, good food, and good friends, and tucked in. Afterward, tea and mince pie tided us up to midnight.

[Tomales Bay, sunset, December 2007.]

And then it was the first day of the new year -- the morning clean, bright, and warm. Waking up late (9a), the only thing to do was eat a leisurely breakfast of scrambled eggs, toast, and tea, and then go to the beach.

It was so long (too long!) since I'd been out to Keyhoe, one of my very favorite spots. The drive through rolling green pasture land, marked here and there by Cyprus trees and the ubiquitous cows, is, too, part of the allure. After parking at a nondescript pull-off just before Pierce Point Ranch, you take a trail that leads to a wide expanse of beach and rocks, the ocean spreading out like a flag before you. Cows may graze on the cliffs above (I wrote a poem about this in college, to the fascination of my creative writing teacher) or they might be empty and still, populated only by birds and waving grass.

[Looking north from Keyhoe Beach, first day of the new year 2008.]

Oh, delicious day of sun and wind! You were perfect and shining, and foretold good things for the year ahead. How I miss you already.

For now I am again in the city after 10 days away in the 'country,' and it's a little hard to be back. Suddenly it's January, the rush of the holidays over and forgotten; rain piles up outside, spilling over the sidewalks and flooding the streets. My umbrella turned inside-out this morning on the way to work -- battered by the same wind that has uprooted trees and brought down billboards (!) -- and so I just forewent it altogether. I didn't (much) mind. These stormy days are what I missed about Northern California winters when I wasn't here; it's not too cold, but the air feels charged somehow, maybe because of the threat of thunderstorms, or because of the cloud mass. If I weren't so darn busy this weekend I'd like to pack up some cheese sandwiches and go tromping along the beach, empty and quiet as it probably will be.

[Footprints, Keyhoe, January 2007].

The rain makes a good excuse to stay in and have people over for dinner, though -- which I will do tomorrow night. If the storm doesn't keep her off the roads, my friend is planning to run 18 miles in the morning (prep for the upcoming Napa Marathon) and I want to feed her something nourishing, and hearty. So far, I'm planning a mushroom soup to start, then a spinach-fettuccine with lightly sautéed vegetables alongside, and a salad, and will finish with a chocolate pudding with whipped cream -- pure comfort food, yes, but also somewhat healthful.

Still, dinner plans and shiny new resolutions aside, my mind is a bit quiet today, with my thoughts along the windy coast. What are the pelicans doing in the rain? Do they still dive and wheel low across the waves, or are they tucked up somewhere under a rocky overhang to keep dry?

If a lot of my little hopes for this year involve things food and writing-related, they must also include more trips to the sea -- in rain and sun both. In the busyness that comes from this city life, the ocean reminds me to stop and slow, if only for a few hours -- which, honestly, is sometimes all I need.

Happy new year.

New Year's Eve vegetable soup

3 cups vegetable broth
1 cup water
1 onion, chopped
5 cloves garlic, chopped
2 carrots, peeled and sliced fairly thinly
3 parsnips, peeled and sliced
3 red potatoes, scrubbed
1 bunch asparagus, cut into 1-inch pieces with woody ends removed
1/2 pound mushrooms, coarsely sliced
dried herbs to taste
1-2 Tb. soy sauce

1. Sauté the onions and garlic in a tablespoon or two of olive oil on low heat for about 5-6 minutes, until soft, in a large soup pot. Add the broth, potatoes, parsnips, and carrots, and bring to a boil. Reduce heat to medium, and cook until the vegetables are tender.

2. Meanwhile, sauté the mushrooms in a frying pan with a tablespoon of olive oil until they release their juices. Add the asparagus and keep heat on low, stirring occasionally under the asparagus is tender.

3. Add the cup of water (or more, to taste) to the soup pot, and mash the vegetables well with a potato masher (you could also use a stick blender to make the soup more soupy; I used what was on hand). Toss in some dried herbs (I used thyme and basil) and salt and pepper to taste.

4. Add the mushrooms and asparagus and stir to combine. Taste for sweetness; if it's fine, forgo the soy sauce, but if you're like me and don't like things too sweet, add soy sauce to taste. I also sprinkled in a tiny bit of cayenne pepper (about 1/2-tsp.).

Serve hot.

For A Sweet New Year

2008-01-02T21:56:00.000-08:00

The holidays for most of us equal family time -- and this year was no exception. Now that I live near my parents I'm able to see them more often, and I love that the trip home has now been whittled down to about an hour, rather than the cross-country journey it once was. And even when my globe-trotting brother is off on yet another far-away adventure, the Internet keeps us virtually close. But this year I was twice blessed because he was in town and we were able to be together this holiday season.

The holidays are also a time when I reflect on the family I never met -- ancestors like my Greek grandfather, who left his small Mediterranean island for the United States when he was a teenager and never looked back. I have his name, and his olive skin tone, and perhaps even his penchant for cooking -- he worked in a New Jersey diner for much of his life here -- though he died before I was born. Regrettably, I don't speak his language, nor do I know much about the customs he grew up with; when I was young, this was a great tragedy for me. So I faithfully read my copy of the D'Aulaires Book of Greek Myths and dreamed of the day when I could finally visit Greece myself.

I've always wanted to learn more about this part of my heritage. I took Greek lessons in high school for a time and it's a not-so-secret desire of mine to take a class here in San Francisco and learn the language properly. And each year, I especially long for a large family to gather together and share the vasilopita on Jan. 1 in celebration of St. Basil's Day.

The smell of my dad's dolmades (grape leaves stuffed with seasoned rice) always means Christmas to me, even though they're not necessarily a traditional Greek holiday dish, and he's not necessarily a cook. And if my Anglo mom didn't make spanikopita (spinach and filo pastry layered with feta cheese), I'd feel as though something was missing from the celebration. Even though we aren't part of a wider Greek community, we try to relate to that part of our identity in our own small ways.

I've visited Greece three times in the past seven years, during the very hottest days of the summer -- it's strange to imagine that dry, dusty landscape quenched by winter rains, or as a backdrop to the holiday season. But Kurt, who just returned from a long sojourn on the small island of Spetses in the Saronic Gulf, told me Christmas had definitely arrived by early December. On his way back to California, he passed through Athens and saw Santa dolls that waved and sang, and heard Frank Sinatra Christmas carols in the stores (more so, even, than Greek carols). On Spetses, many people had put up and decorated their Christmas trees.

His friend George, who runs the Liotrivi restaurant on Spetses, makes a Christmas feast of turkey or lamb cooked in the oven, which differs from the other major holidays –- these include Easter, May day and August 15th, the day of the virgin 'Saint' Virgin Mary – where lamb is cooked, but over the coals. (He made a point to say there is no roasting on Christmas.)

For Greeks, Christmas lasts for much longer than just one day -- in fact, it lasts for a good month, culminating in a Jan. 1 celebration of St. Basil, complete with a special cake. The season begins on Dec. 6, with the Feast of St. Nicholas, and lasts through Jan. 6, the Feast of the Epiphany.

Traditionally, the women of the family bake the round, sweet, cake-y loaf with a coin baked inside. It's cut by the head of the household -- first a piece for Christ, then one for St. Basil, and then one for each member of the household. Whoever receives the coin is considered blessed, and will receive good luck in the coming year. Simon, whose family also runs a business, said they do two pitas a year: one for the house, and one for the business, to bring luck and prosperity.

(He should know -- two years ago he received the coin from the pita, and met Lena a month later.)

In my small apartment in San Francisco, I don't usually decorate too much beyond acquiring a little rosemary tree that, come to think of it, seems quite Greek-appropriate, and a few poinsettia plants. This year, to reconnect a bit, I decided to bake trigona (honeyed pastry and nut triangles) and finikia (spice bars) -- and, of course, a vasilopita, as a pre-St. Basil's Day test run.

As I creamed the butter and sugar to make the cake, making sure to tuck in the coin for luck, I thought about my grandfather and wondered if he ever baked vasilopita himself. My dad said he made rizogalo, or rice pudding, around the holidays in Jersey City, but doesn't remember a special cake. I wondered if his large family on Aegina made sure to cut the pieces small enough so everyone could have a bite, and if I'll ever meet that part of my family.

It’s funny how we can feel connected to ancestors we didn’t know and how they provide us with a personal history of traditions we ourselves want to perpetuate. As another year comes to an end and we slow down a bit to reflect, it’s soothing to think that there is a direct link – and an unbroken line -- between distant generations.

I take comfort in believing no matter how we grand-and great-grandchildren adapt to the times and create our own rites, we are better for the tributes of our fathers and mothers -- those gifts from them we treasure that they don’t even know they bequeathed to us.

And if those gifts happen to include a vasilopita, well, I’m all the luckier for it.

I wrote a story for the Chronicle about this reconnection (paraphrased a bit here), though I must admit I didn't celebrate the coin-in-cake tradition yesterday (instead, it was spent at Keyhoe Beach in wind and sun). I did, however, make the vasilopita that's shown in the article's photos, and I think I'll incorporate it into my New Year's Day celebrations from here on out.

[My vasilopita attempt, December 2007.]

A bit of luck is always a good thing, after all.

Vasilopita, adapted from allrecipes.com

1 cup butter
2 cups white sugar
3 cups all-purpose flour
6 eggs
2 teaspoons baking powder
1 cup warm milk
1/2 teaspoon baking soda
1 tablespoon fresh lemon juice
1/4 cup blanched slivered almonds
2 tablespoons white sugar

1. Preheat oven to 350 degrees F. Generously grease a 10-inch round cake pan.

2. In a medium bowl, cream the butter and sugar together until fluffy. Stir in the flour and mix until the mixture is slightly mealy. Add the eggs one at a time, mixing well after each addition. Combine the baking powder and milk, add to the egg mixture and mix well. Combine the lemon juice and baking soda and stir into the batter. Pour into the prepared cake pan.

3. Sprinkle the nuts and sugar over the cake, and bake for about 45-50 minutes. Remove from oven and let cool. Gently cut a small hole in the cake and place a foil-wrapped quarter in the hole.

Serve warm.

A Gift That'll Keep on Giving

2007-12-30T14:30:00.000-08:00

[Dinner the other night, December 2007.]

This year I tried very hard not to subscribe to the "one for you, two for me" philosophy that has sometimes plagued my holiday shopping. Three seasons ago in particular there was some retail therapy which resulted in lots of beautiful presents for my loved ones, but also a pair of black knee-high boots with little heels (still have 'em, though they're only worn on extremely special occasions, because while très stylish, the pointy toes are not what one would call confortable) for me, as well as some nice sweaters and skirts.

But seriously, this year I was better. I made a lot of gifts, and I really didn't go overboard (in my mind, at least). Didn't I tell you about all that applesauce? Many jars found their way to good homes for only the price of the glass (and the shipping). Then, too, I recycled a chocolates tin for cookies, made all my own cards -- and goodness, here I am on December 30 with the whole thing nearly done for another year.

Except, not quite. I must confess: I succumbed.

Yesterday afternoon the enduring allure of Le Creuset caused me to fall so hard and fast there was no way I was leaving the store without a new, tourquoise, 8-quart stockpot (pardonnez, pot au feu), vow to not selfishly self-gift or no. (Plus, it was on sale.) While I watched "Sweeney Todd" -- shuddering a bit at some of the very gory parts, even if they were mostly funny; though, mmm, Johnny Depp, brilliant as always -- my new beauty waited patiently for me in my friend's car, a consolation prize for watching roaches scuttle out of questionable meat pies (yet another reason to be glad I'm a vegetarian; couldn't she have, please, just once cleaned off her damned rolling pin?).

Ah well.

When I got home, I unwrapped my new treasure to fawn over a little bit

My "Caribbean blue" and I will be so very happy, don't you think? He's almost my precious, and certainly is my pretty. The soups and stews we'll simmer together will taste better than any I've ever made before, I'm quite sure. My kitchen is tiny, and I try not to fill it up with unnecessary things (which is why I have one beloved copper soup pot -- but only one -- and a couple of other smaller pots, and then one rather large pot sans a lid that someone picked up at a yard sale but which really is not that useful), but a good home cook needs a few good pots, so -- darling -- welcome to the family, I'm so glad you're here.

Confirmation was given the other night over leftover chard-and-pesto lasagna and a Whole Foods salad: The best meal is one you don't have to cook yourself. Well, almost. I'll amend that to: The best meal is one you've either made in advance so when you don't feel like cooking it's already set to go, or one someone else makes for you. Like I said, when the new year kicks in, there will be much more culinary activity, but until then I'm coasting.

[An easy-dinner night, December 2007.]

Big Bleu will get a lot of use soon enough, I'm sure. My gift to you, then, in this more-for-you (but-still-one-for-me!) mentality of 2008, will be lots of season-appropriate recipes to ease the winter chill.

Giving never felt so good ...

Oklahoma on My Mind To-night

2007-12-28T11:04:00.000-08:00

{Lemons in the backyard, December 2007.]

It's been chilly here the last few days; winter seeps in the doors and the cats are reluctant to go outside. My brother left for the East Coast yesterday morning, and I saw the sun make its way up the horizon as his old truck rumbled off up the street, dad as copilot for the long trip across the country. They're driving something like 12 hours a day, and are far more ambitious than I. When I think about the temperatures he'll experience in Maine in the coming months I know I'm pretty much a wimp for layering on the sweaters when it's only in the 40s.

Tonight they reached Oklahoma City with clear skies and below-freezing on the thermometer, and I wish a little I had gone along for the ride. I'd have loved to have seen New Mexico shining still and cold in December.

I'm in that quiet in-between period post holidays -- all the wrapping paper has been neatly tucked away, the cookies nearly consumed, the bills from all the gifties still a few weeks off. I had the food blogger's worst nightmare of having an unhappy stomach, and I've had to eat lightly (though, of course, I still ate!) the past week or so. Luckily my appetite is finally creeping back, and the other day I had a dish of peppermint stick ice cream from the ice cream shoppe in downtown Sebastopol that was so good I've been thinking about it ever since. Screamin' Mimi's, I love you and your to-die-for ice cream, and I love that I've been been able to indulge since I was in high school.

In these last few days before the new year I've been holed up with books to read ("Atonement" and Laurie Colwin's "More Home Cooking") and lots of tea. Leftovers have been the norm, and that's quite fine by me. I'm filing away cooking projects for '08, but I'm savoring this lovely quiet period before the rush begins again.

[The ocean on Christmas, December 2007.]

So on Christmas after I saw that gorgeous view, we came home and opened presents (for me, some lovely new Le Creuset baking dishes, a book, a bit of jewelry; for others, baked goods, a salt dish, the new Eagles cd) and Kurt and I made dinner. He cut up some root vegetables and rubbed a turkey with olive oil, and put them all in a dish and roasted for about three hours or so. In the meantime, I made a vegetarian gravy, crumbled up cornbread and mixed it with dried apricots and walnuts, and prepared two heads of cauliflower to roast as well. We didn't sit down to eat until well after 8p, but it didn't much matter; the fire was going strong and the white wine was very cold, and there was plenty of time to linger over dinner.

In the morning before breakfast, I made cookies for my dad's Christmas present, from a recipe I adapted from here. I swapped the butter for vegetable shortening to make them lower-fat, and made half as chocolate-chocolate chip and half as spicy-sugar cookies, heavy on the ginger.

I packed the lot up for the cross-country journey, and I hope the trail of crumbs from Sebastopol to Flaggstaff, to Oklahoma City, to Indianapolis, to Philadelphia, leading finally to to Pemaquid, brings my wanderer back to Northern California one day not so long from now.

[Holiday cookies, before the oven, December 2007.]

Slice-and-Bake Cookies, adapted from Dorie Greenspan, by way of smitten kitchen

Makes about four dozen cookies.

2 sticks unsalted vegetable shortening of margarine, at room temperature
¾ cup confectioners’ sugar, sifted
1 large egg yolk, at room temperature
Pinch of salt
1 teaspoon vanilla
2 cups all-purpose flour

1/2 cup chocolate chips
1/4 cup cocoa powder
1 tsp. ginger
1/2 tsp. cinnamon

1. Beat the margarine or shortening at medium speed until smooth. Add the sifted confectioners’ sugar and beat again until the mixture is smooth and silky. Beat in the egg yolk, followed by the salt. Reduce the mixer speed to low and add the flour, a 1/2 cup at a time, beating just until it disappears, until you've put in 1 3/4 cups.

2. Divide dough in half. Add 1/4 cup cocoa powder to one half, along with the chocolate chips. To the other half, add 1/8 cup flour spices. Wrap each piece of dough in plastic wrap and refrigerate for about 30 minutes.

3. Working on a smooth surface, form each piece of dough into a log that is about 1 to 1 1/4 inches thick. Wrap the logs in plastic and chill for 2 hours. (The dough can be wrapped airtight and kept refrigerated for up to 3 days or stored in the freezer for up to 1 month.)

4. Position the racks to divide the oven into thirds and preheat the oven to 350°F (180°C). Line two baking sheets with parchment paper.

5. Using a sharp knife, slice each log into cookies about 1/3-1/2 inch thick. Place the cookies on the lined baking sheets, leaving about 1/2 inch space between them. Dip each spice cookie in granulated sugar before placing on the cookie sheet.

6. Bake the cookies for 12 to 14 minutes, or until they are set but not browned. Cool before serving.

Packed airtight, the cookies will keep for about 5 days at room temperature, or in the freezer for a month.

Happy happy

2007-12-25T09:32:00.000-08:00

[My holiday cards this year, December 2007.]

We're off to the beach to soak in some of this beautiful, sunny, clear (and cold) day -- after breakfast, that is. The past few days have been a whirlwind of eating some really good meals, visiting friends and eating cookies (and pumpkin pie with piles of whipped cream!), and baking. I made some dried fruit-and-nut cookies dipped in chocolate for my dad, as well as some low-fat chocolate-chocolate chip cookies; I also made cornbread for the cornbread dressing tonight, and an apple pie. Whew. After today, I take a little break!!

Wishing you lots of good cheer and delicious food today and every day.

[Cranberry cake, December 2007.]

Christmas dinner menu:

Roasted turkey (Willie Bird; local, free-range, organic, and on sale), with vegetables in the pan
Tangle of sauteed portabello mushroom slices (vegetarian option)
Mashed potatoes
Roasted cauliflower
Sauteed kale with onion and garlic
Cornbread-apricot dressing with rosemary
Vegetarian gravy
Cranberry sauce
Apple sauce

Cake from a local bakery
Apple pie
cookies

Solstice Eve

2007-12-22T16:59:00.000-08:00

'I have everything to make me glad I am alive. I am filled with dreams and mysteries. I am all sun and air and sparkle. I am vitalized, organic.'
-Jack London

This photo of the waves at Ocean Beach this fall makes me think of my favorite quote by Jack London -- he of the stories of the far north; a local boy -- especially tonight, on the Solstice. As I look out the window of my little room in Sebastopol, the sky is streaming pink clouds and the moon is, if not full, then nearly.

[Tonight's sky, December 2007.]

I'm not really religious, though I celebrate Christmas secularly, and Chanukah (and Passover, and Rosh Hashanah), and sometimes Easter, too -- no, for me, my favorite 'holiday' is the Winter Solstice, because while it means the long, cold months of the year are just ahead, it also begins the lengthening of days until summer bursts forth again.

[I have to remember this in late February, when it seems the chilly grey rain will never end; I am an 'all sun' girl to be sure.]

[Rocks at Ocean Beach, September 2007.]

Today is December 22, and the year is nearly over -- the dinner parties of the past 12 months blur into one long, happy memory; all the dishes are washed and neatly put away, waiting for an opportunity to be brought out in 2008; the jars of applesauce are quickly dwindling, after being distributed as holiday gifts; the oven is finally taking a well-deserved rest; and I am reading "A Child's Christmas in Wales" to put myself in the proper holiday spirit.

"But that was not the same snow," I say. "Our snow was not only shaken from white wash buckets down the sky, it came shawling out of the ground and swam and drifted out of the arms and hands and bodies of the trees; snow grew overnight on the roofs of the houses like a pure and grandfather moss, minutely -ivied the walls and settled on the postman, opening the gate, like a dumb, numb thunder-storm of white, torn Christmas cards."

How could one not feel holiday-ish after reading something like that, I ask you?

There won't be a white Christmas where I am in California, of course, but I hope at least for a few days without rain. My tradition for many years was to go to Bodega Head at the Solstice and watch the sun set low over the ocean if it was clear, but this year there wasn't time; we've postponed the trip until Tuesday, after breakfast and present-opening.

[Clementines, December 2007.]

I have just a bit of baking to do yet (an apple pie; some low-fat cookies or treats) and many presents to wrap, but these are the fun things, really. I get to hang out with my brother for four more whole days, and there is no work to attend to for at least a week. Tonight I am taking a deep breath and stretching out my arms, sore from yoga class this morning, to feel grateful for this first day of winter, this time, this food, this life.

Happy holidays.

Looking through my bedroom window, out into the moonlight and the unending smoke-colored snow, I could see the lights in the windows of all the other houses on our hill and hear the music rising from them up the long, steady falling night. I turned the gas down, I got into bed. I said some words to the close and holy darkness, and then I slept.

(Dylan Thomas, "A Child's Christmas in Wales")

Foodish Gifts

2007-12-20T20:42:00.000-08:00

It's almost time -- I'm nearing the home stretch, and I'm ready. Just two more days of work (and hard work it is, darn it!) until the weekend, and then the holiday, and a few precious days off. I can hardly wait.

There is still baking to be done, of course -- a tin of low-fat treats, babka, vegan cookies and maybe some other little things -- but what I've done so far I'm pretty well pleased about: loaves of lemon tea cake, packed and sent off; chocolate butter cookies, which turned out much better than I thought they would; my favorite holiday dessert of an upside-down cranberry cake; a few other little tidbits along the way.

[Cake, before the oven.]

I love to give handmade gifts for Christmas -- for years I made up bags of fun treats for my local friends and passed them around at every opportunity.

[Cranberries, for syrup, December 2007.]

One year I made limoncello, grating more lemons than I really care to remember and then cramming the zest and sugar into a big bottle of vodka. After it marinated for about a month, turning syrupy sweet and very lemony, I divided it up into small bottles (saving some for myself, of course) and made little illustrated labels for each one (when did we finally finish it up, do you remember?). I think that year I also made poppy-seed bread -- a "family recipe" from my mom -- and dried bean soup mix in jars, and some other stuff I can't remember. But it was fun to do, and I think everyone liked what they got.

[Lemon sea salt, December 2007.]

This year I didn't go quite as overboard, though I did manage to make a few things I'd never tried before, including a citrus sea salt perfect for finishing off a salmon dish, or a pan of roasted potatoes. I invested in the zester that would have made that limoncello-making process so much easier back in the day, and scraped the skins off a few organic lemons I then mashed together with a pile of sea salt. I baked the lemon-salt mixture in the oven on 200 F for about 15 minutes and poured the results into pretty jars I'll be wrapping up for next-week gifts.

[Chocolate butter cookies, December 2007.]

The holidays crept up on me in a rush this year -- the past few weeks I've felt like a dog who's swimming (you know how they sort of tread water, and don't go too fast?) in a river, paddling furiously to get to the other side, but it's taking a long time and where is that awesome stick?? Usually I more leisurely bake cookies and sweet breads, taking my time to savor and enjoy the process. Alas, the past month has passed in a blur of deadlines and stacks of work, and here it is mere days until Christmas and I haven't had much of a chance to catch my breath. So next year, I hope, I'll make more time to take my time.

That's the plan, anyway.

But, I shouldn't complain too much, because last night my brother whisked me across the bridge to Berkeley (why do I never go there? I should, more) for dinner at Chez Panisse. It was a surprise, and I have to say I gave a very girly shout -- and possibly clapped my hands together -- in the truck when I realized where we were going. We ate at the 'cafe,' which really is a full restaurant, and we had: delicious fresh sourdough bread with butter; beet soup with creme fraiche; chicory salad with blue cheese and walnuts; green garlic ricotta pudding souffle with cauliflower (me); roasted lamb with chickpeas and fennel (him); coconut ice cream with chocolate sauce and chocolate cookies. I will have to elaborate on this further, but had to make note of it today.

I'm spoilt. He's fantastic.

Tonight I have a hot date with a vaselopita recipe (details to come Jan. 2 if all goes well) and gift-wrap. I've mailed five packages and most of my cards; there's a few more to go, and then, perhaps, I'll have a bit of a breather.

How're your holiday treats coming along?

[Lemon bread, crookedly.]

Lemon tea cake, adapted from gourmet.com

I've been making this tea bread for a few years now, because the first time I sent a loaf each to my grandmother and my uncle I got such rave reviews I just couldn't make it a one-time thing. This has become the traditional sweet I send to them every year at the holidays.

2 large lemons
3 cups all-purpose flour
2 teaspoons baking powder
1/2 teaspoon salt
1 1/2 sticks (3/4 cup) unsalted butter, softened
2 1/2 cups sugar
4 large eggs
1 cup whole milk

1. Preheat oven to 325°F. Butter and flour two 9- x 5- x 3-inch metal loaf pans, knocking out any excess flour (or four mini loaf pans).

2. Finely grate enough zest from lemons to measure 2‚ teaspoons and squeeze enough juice to measure about 1/2 cup. Into a bowl sift together flour, baking powder, and salt.

3. In a large bowl, beat together butter, 2 cups sugar, and zest until light and fluffy. Beat in eggs 1 at a time, beating well after each addition. With mixer on low speed add flour mixture and milk alternately in batches, beginning and ending with flour mixture and beating just until batter is combined well. Beat in 1 tablespoon lemon juice and divide batter between loaf pans, smoothing tops. Bake loaves in middle of oven until a tester comes out clean, about 1 hour (45 minutes for the smaller loaves).

4. While loaves are baking, in a small bowl stir together remaining lemon juice and remaining 1/2 cup sugar until sugar is dissolved.

5. Cool loaves in pans on a rack 15 minutes. Run a thin knife around edges of pans and invert loaves onto rack. Turn loaves right side up and pierce tops all over with a thin skewer. Repeatedly brush lemon glaze over tops of loaves until all of glaze is absorbed.

Cool loaves completely before serving. Can be frozen up to one one wrapped tightly in foil.

[Cranberry upside-down cake, December 2007.]

Also, Menu for Hope: still an option! Please go check out all the wonderful stuff!

'Tis the Season

2007-12-14T20:28:00.000-08:00

... for stress and baking. What? I think they go together, at least sometimes (the real question being, of course: does baking alleviate stress or does baking cause the stress? Discuss!).

It's also the season for allowing oneself to take a break, even if for just half a day. On Saturday I baked, but on Sunday I hiked.

We went to West Marin and it was not only warm-ish, but sunny, too, and walked through the cow fields bearing burritos and water. We sat on a patch of rocks and ate, straining to see the bright blue of Tomales Bay in the distance.

The cows never seem to find me amusing when I wave at them, but I do without fail, every time.

This hike is an extra nice one for me, because it brings back memories of a glorious hike I took on my 25th birthday on the Isle of Skye, in Scotland. That morning we ate an enormous breakfast of stewed tomatoes and mushrooms, baked beans on toast, oat cakes, scones, porridge, and tea to fortify for the hike ahead. As we were finishing, the proprietor at the bed and breakfast pointed out the window (they had a wonderful view of empty hills and the ocean) at a sea-hawk wheeling and dipping over the fields.

I knew my birthday would be a good one after that. And it was.

[On Skye, 2003.]

The landscape in the highlands is quite similar to West Marin and Sonoma County in parts, though I think it is wilder; the fields are dotted by sheep as well as cows (more sheep, really) and the ruins of old crofting cabins. I don't think we saw anyone else the whole way down the sloping hills that led to the sea, and though it was cold, the sun shone strong and bright the whole day.

The land spilled quickly into the ocean -- greenly, sharply rocky; the night before we'd perched high above a lighthouse to watch a sunset that spread across the sky like a flag. The landscape of West Marin is gentler somehow (though when you go from Bear Valley out to Arch Rock and stand in the middle of crashing ocean and sun it doesn't feel too, um, domesticated), but you can see the similarities:

[Marin County hills, near Olema.]

Some days I miss Scotland fiercely, even though I was only there for a week. I was living on the East Coast then, so perhaps I fell for it so absolutely because it reminded me of my beloved Northern California hills -- but I think it was more than that: I loved it simply and utterly for itself.

I realized this fall it's been four years since I was there -- four whole years! I miss my friends in Edinburgh, and cream scones, and endless pots of tea, and the sweet evening light as it falls over the sea. If time and money allow, I really should try to plan a trip soon.

[Pre-birthday sunset in the highlands, October 2003.]

But, after all, I really can't complain too much about California. Sunday finished up in Iverness in front of the fire, playing with the dog, and postponing the long drive back to the city for as long as possible. Though this week has been crazily busy with work, holiday gatherings and an article due -- mixed together with a dash of a cold -- at the very worst of it I've taken a deep breath, remembering my little stolen afternoon, and have been made more peaceful for it.

Just one week 'til the Solstice! It may be the shortest, darkest day of the year, but each day after that the light will linger just a little bit longer, and I think that's the best holiday gift I can ask for this year.

[Trees on Redwood Ave., December 2007.]

And! Don't forget about Menu for Hope! There's still lots of time to bid on delicious goodies ...

Menu for Hope 2007

2007-12-12T12:25:00.000-08:00

Menu For Hope is an annual fundraiser put together by food bloggers around the globe to raise money for a world cause -- the U.N. World Food Programme, and this year a school lunch program in Lesotho, Africa -- which runs December 10-24. For every US$10 donated, the donor receives a virtual raffle ticket toward a prize of his or her choice. The full list of raffle prizes is here.

My contribution to this very worthy cause is a coffee package from San Francisco -- specifically, a delicious 1/2 pound of Blue Bottle coffee made right here in the Bay area, a pretty new mug to drink it in, and a yummy home-made baked good such as the cupcake above (made to specific dietary restrictions, ie: vegan, gluten-free, extra butter, etc.) or a batch of cookies, or or or.

Please go to Firstgiving.com to donate and check out all the fab prizes. If you'd like a little bit of love from the West Coast, enter enter code UW35 -- but definitely look around at all the other amazing things offered.

The winners of each raffle prize will be announced Wednesday January 9 on
Chez Pim.

[Fr'example, these cookies could be yours ...]

Thank you so much for participating!

Thursday Night Pasta and Poetry

2007-12-06T19:32:00.000-08:00

Another run in the rain, this time colder and faster than the last. My shoes and shirt were sopping by the time I made it home, and after a very hot shower to warm up again, the only thing I wanted was to drink a lot of water, and then to eat a big bowl of pasta.

Sometimes all you need is a little comfort food, a little carbo-loading to ease yourself into the weekend -- and in these instances I think it's wise to give in (isn't that what multi-vitamins are for, after all?).

A bit of butter and spaghetti, a sprinkling of parmesan, a good dash of salt and pepper ... this is the stuff my weeknight dreams are made of. I certainly don't eat like this often, but sometimes it's essential, especially when the rain is coming down in steady streams against the windows. I put in a lot of pepper to heat up my blood after those chilly miles, and the tiniest bit of spinach made me feel like I at least nodding to my vegetable love (I did have home made vegetable soup for lunch, so all was not lost).

After our turnaround near the flower conservatory, we picked up the pace unconsciously -- probably because the rain had picked up, too. It slanted into my eyes so that I could hardly see; the last few miles we were mostly silent, just concentrating on finishing up. It was energizing to be out in the cool dark, but by the time I dragged myself up the two flights of stairs to my apartment I was pretty much done in.

So all I did was: boiled some water with a bit of salt in it. Then added about two hands-full of spaghetti, broken in half. Stirred, and let cook until al dente. Then I drained and saved some of the water, returned the pasta to the pot with a sliver of butter and heated up until it melted and the pasta was hot. Added a drip of the reserved water, a good shake of pepper, a little salt, a drizzle of parmesan, and that was my sweet and easy Thursday supper.

Then I read poetry and ate a for dessert a leftover chocolate cupcake, made specially for my favorite Grecian wanderer, returned to the States at last.

Tonight I ask the universe to let this rain turn into snow that falls, soft and heavy, in wide swaths across the Sierras, blanketing the sharp mountains with that great, still quiet. And let it stay, just for a little while.

[This is long, but it's beautiful:]

Last Night the Rain Spoke to Me

Last night
the rain
spoke to me
slowly, saying,
what joy
to come falling
out of the brisk cloud,
to be happy again
in a new way
on the earth!
That’s what it said
as it dropped,
smelling of iron,
and vanished
like a dream of the ocean
into the branches
and the grass below.
Then it was over.
The sky cleared.
I was standing
under a tree.
The tree was a tree
with happy leaves,
and I was myself,
and there were stars in the sky
that were also themselves
at the moment
at which moment
my right hand
was holding my left hand
which was holding the tree
which was filled with stars
and the soft rain –
imagine! imagine!
the long and wondrous journeys
still to be ours.

Mary Oliver

ETA: my friend just told me we were doing an 8:40-minute mile for 4 miles -- that is fast, at least for me! I think I need to incorporate some speed work, as I won't always be able to count on the rain to push me along.

Latkes, Darling

2007-12-05T11:52:00.000-08:00

Well, the Times agrees: babka is worth the effort, just like I wrote
about the other day. The crumbs from my efforts have long since been swept away, but the memory lingers; I think I'll be baking another few loaves in the coming weeks.

For oh, delicious holidays, you are here at last! I know I moan and groan a bit about the stress of the season, but really I should stop. There are pretty white lights in the trees all along Fillmore Street and Divis, and it's not even the Solstice yet; they make me inexplicably happy, even as I'm still a bit wistful for summer's long, slow afternoons.

The other night because of the rain it got dark before 5p and I winced. But we need the rain -- the high mountains need the snow (all the better for ski trips in January, you know), my beloved West County hills need to lose their unfashionable brown attire, and the reservoirs need to be filled up again. So I will bite my tongue and try not to complain too much about winter, and the wet.

Also needed at this time of year are pretty poinsettia plants, dinners by candle light, potato pancakes, and matzo ball soup (which -- come on now -- is always in season). The favorite Jewish holiday for this very non-Jewish girl is Chanukah, of course, and if you know anything at all about me you'll know why: Latkes. I dearly love potatoes, and I love them even better when they're fried into crisp little morsels that are the perfect vehicle for a blend of ketchup, apple sauce, and sour cream.

[Latkes, December 2007.]

Last year I made sufganiot, or "Chanukah donuts;" this year time and inclination did not allow, but I thought about them all the same and, alas, wish I'd made them after all. So it goes. Luckily, I have a delicious slice of pumpkin-walnut bread to tide me over and make up for what will be an admittedly lackluster lunch. I call it 'lackluster' because I'm dreaming of latkes, and nothing else will suffice.

Can you feel the yummy latke-love? I'm sending a little bit your way.

Potato latkes, adapted from allrecipes.com

3 large baking potatoes, peeled
3 Tbs. grated onion
1/4 cup all-purpose flour
2 eggs, lightly beaten
1 teaspoons salt
1/4 cup cilantro
1/2 teaspoon pepper
Vegetable oil, for frying

1. In a food processor or on a box grater, coarsely shred the potato and onion. Transfer to a colander and squeeze dry. Let stand a few minutes, then squeeze dry again. Transfer the potato mixture to a large bowl. Add the flour, egg, salt and pepper, and cilantro and stir to combine.

2. In a medium skillet, heat 2 tablespoons of vegetable oil until shimmering. Drop packed teaspoons of the potato mixture into the skillet and flatten them with the back of a spoon. Cook the latkes over moderately high heat until the edges are golden, about 1 1/2 minutes; flip and cook until golden on the bottom, about 1 minute. Drain on paper towels. Repeat with the remaining potato mixture, adding more oil to the skillet as needed.

Serve hot, with lots of sour cream, apple sauce, and ketchup.

Sufganiot (Jelly Donuts), from A Mighty Appetite

2 tablespoons active dry yeast (or 2 envelopes)
4 tablespoons granulated sugar, plus sugar for rolling
¾ cup water or milk, warmed to 105-110 degrees
2 ½ cups all-purpose flour
2 egg yolks
pinch salt
1 teaspoon cinnamon
1 1 /2 tablespoons unsalted butter (Margarine for Kosher; I may also try soy shortening here)
About 1 quart vegetable oil
About ½ cup seedless jam - plum, apicot, raspberry, blueberry

1. Sprinkle yeast and 2 tablespoons of the sugar over the warmed water or milk and with a fork, mix to dissolve. Allow to get foamy, at least five minutes.

2. In a large mixing bowl, make a well in the center with flour. Add yeast mixture, yolks, salt, cinnamon, butter and remaining 2 tablespoons sugar. With hands, mix to combine and turn out onto lightly floured work susrface. Knead about 5 minutes, ensuring that butter is integrated, and dough is elastic.

3. Put dough in a greased bowl, cover with plastic and place in refrigerator, allowing it to rise overnight.

4. Dust work surface with flour. Remove dough from refrigerator and allow to warm up slightly. With hands, press dough and rotate in circular fashion, until you arrive at 1/8 inch thickness. Using a 2-inch cookie cutter, cut out circles. Cover with a cloth towel and allow dough circles to rise for an additional 15 minutes.

5. Meanwhile, pour oil into a heavy-bottomed pot and heat until very hot, about 375 degrees (check this with a food thermometer).

6. With your hand, form dough circles into balls. Gently drop dough into oil, 4 or 5 at a time, using a slotted spoon. When golden brown, turn dough on other side. Doughnuts will cook in under five minutes. Drain on paper towels.

7. With a paring knife, make a slit on the side of each doughnut. Using a pastry bag fitted with a "800 series" tip, add a teaspoon of jam at a time, and fill slit with jam. Roll doughnut into a bowl of granulated sugar.

Note: I served the donuts with a little bowl of jam and a large bowl of whipped cream alongside, rather than attempting to insert the jam as earlier attempts to do so had, um, failed.

Of Babka and the Cold North

2007-11-30T09:32:00.000-08:00

[Babka for Thanksgiving, November 2007.]

Poised on the last day of November for the quick slip-side into the madness of the season (for me, the true holiday period begins in December), it's chilly here in San Francisco -- we Californians would call it cold, even, though I know it's not East Coast cold, or Norway-cold, or mountain-cold -- not even close. But I wore my winter coat and scarf and wished for gloves all the same. At least it's sunny, which feels sort of like a consolation prize.

Another consolation on a day when the temperature dips into the 30s (at least that's where it hovered when I left for work early this morning) is a slice of chocolate bread (or, babka) and a perfectly sweetened cup of coffee with half-and-half. I don't always get the ratio of coffee to cream to sugar just absolutely right, but I did today, and I am immensely grateful (to bottle up that knowledge and save for the future, now, that would be a fine trick). Also, it's Friday, and I have grand plans to visit the Ferry Building market tomorrow morning, so I have no complaints on that front.

Back to the babka: Last year, my mom ordered two loaves from Dean & De Luca for the long Thanksgiving weekend -- cinnamon and chocolate -- and we nibbled at them when we weren't indulging in all the other holiday-centric dishes. I think they made an appearance again at Christmas, which reinforced my feeling that perhaps those Seinfeldians were on to something (I haven't yet had a marble rye, though, so I can't verify that one), and thus forced me onto the back roads a bit more than usual to counter all that indulging. Babka is incredibly rich, buttery and chocolate-y, but it's also a bread at heart, with a sweet, yeasty base; it's almost challah-like, in a way -- which is perfect for a typically non-breakfast-sweets eater such as myself.

[Babka, before the oven.]

So I found a decent-looking recipe for the chocolate variety (because, um, chocolate yes please) on gourmet.com, and planned to make up the babka Tuesday night before I left for Sebastopol. Probably my first setback was not reading the recipe properly through to the end (my usual predicament), where it clearly states that the second rise takes two hours. When I realized this, it was about 9.30 pm, I'd just finished scraping off the last bits of dough from my wooden cutting board -- and I was done in. So I let it rise overnight in the fridge (I set my alarm for 6, so I could remove it and let it come to room temperature before baking), and as I was working from home until noon, I had plenty of time to bake, cool, and wrap, thank goodness. I also didn't realize just how darn sticky the dough would be, and it caused me some angst because I worried it wouldn't turn out OK in the end.

But it did. And even as I silently cursed the unwieldiness of it, when I was turning the dough all around in my hands and seeing it come together, I thought yes, this is what I love about cooking -- and was grateful to remember it.

As I coaxed the babka into submission, I thought, of course, about the upcoming holiday, but also about Norway, and the wintry north. Now, I don't think babka is a traditional Norwegian baked good, nor is it anything remotely close to resembling a staple (though lord knows they love their sweets -- talk about piles of whipped cream). Still, as I smeared softened butter on the dough and folded in the chopped chocolate, I thought about the month I spent there a few years ago, split between a farmhouse along the southern coast, and a little wood-paneled, sod-roofed cabin in the mountains -- mostly because a lot of my time was marked by baking.

Norway can get pretty gloomy in November (not February-in-Iceland- cold and grey, but often clouded over just the same), and it's the kind of weather that makes you want to hole up in the kitchen making multi-grain bread and large pots of vegetable soups, watching a slate-colored sea toss and shake itself onto the rocky shore. It was an interesting time. Sometimes I'd do some writing, sometimes I'd read one of the many books I'd lugged with me from the States, sometimes I'd model for a painting, sometimes I'd even, when the sun struggled through, take a long walk through the deserted countryside. But more often than not, I'd be in the kitchen, trying to adapt my American recipes (with their very American measurements) to the Norwegian ingredients and tools at hand.

I suppose a reason I love to cook when I'm traveling anywhere, really, for any reasonable length of time, is because it makes me feel as though I'm a part of the place just for the while that I'm there. (Also not to be discounted: the money saved by not going out to eat.) If Greece now to me is roast chicken and vegetables and feta salads, Norway is many loaves of bread, vegan chocolate cakes, home made tortillas, an enormous Thanksgiving dinner thrown by we two Americans, and soups pureed by hand (the farm kitchen lacked a blender).

My enduring impression of Norway is that it is all beautiful mountains and trees and the Oslo Fjord cutting into the land. We went to little seaside towns through the rain for coffee and cake in the dark afternoons, and I marveled again at their penchant for sweets. The high mountains reminded me of Yosemite, with its lakes small and large, and I still dream wistfully of heated floors, cozy 'hyttene' (cabins), and long train rides. Oslo shone bright and clean in the deserted early morning streets, and we ate still more cake in front of fireplaces after helping to feed horses in the snowy fields out of town. Some nights the wind howled all around the buildings, and when we went down to the sea we would be nearly blown into it; the puppy kept close to my knee on our walks, and his eyes rolled up white to look at me nervously as the waves frothed and foamed.

[Oslo harbor, November 2005.]

Today's Northern California chill comes nowhere near to what, I'm sure, the temperature is in Scandinavia right now -- the early dark already come down, the dinner dishes washed and put away, and everyone tucked up in bed for the night. It's good for me to remember this, when I stuff my hands into my pockets and shiver and wish for summer. There's a long winter ahead.

I need to get baking.

Chocolate Babka, from Gourmet, 2006

Yes, it's a lot of work. Yes, it's worth it. I recommend letting the dough rise in the fridge overnight and then baking the next morning after it's returned to room temperature, otherwise you'll be tethered to the kitchen all day waiting on the second rise. What I did was: made the dough the night before a day when I was working from home in the morning, so I set the alarm for 6a. Then I put it on the counter while I went back to bed for a few hours, and then baked it around 10a. Of course, an unplanned weekend could also lend itself just fine to making this...

(Makes 2 loaves, or one plus two mini loaves.)

For dough
3/4 cup warm milk (105–115°F)
1/2 cup plus 2 teaspoons sugar
3 teaspoons active dry yeast (from two 1/4-oz packages)
3 1/4 cups all-purpose flour plus additional for dusting
2 whole large eggs
1 large egg yolk
1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
3/4 teaspoon salt
1 1/4 sticks (10 tablespoons) unsalted butter, cut into pieces and softened

For egg wash
1 large egg yolk
1 tablespoon heavy cream or whole milk

For chocolate filling
5 tablespoons unsalted butter, well softened
2 (3 1/2- to 4-oz) bars fine-quality bittersweet chocolate (no more than 60% cacao if marked), finely chopped
1/4 cup sugar

Special equipment: a stand mixer fitted with paddle attachment; 2 (8 3/4- by 4 1/2- by 2 3/4-inch) loaf pans; parchment paper

1. Stir together warm milk and 2 teaspoons sugar in bowl of mixer. Sprinkle yeast over mixture and let stand until foamy, about 5 minutes. (If yeast doesn't foam, discard and start over with new yeast.)

2. Add 1/2 cup flour to yeast mixture and beat at medium speed until combined. Add whole eggs, yolk, vanilla, salt, and remaining 1/2 cup sugar and beat until combined. Reduce speed to low, then mix in remaining 2 3/4 cups flour, about 1/2 cup at a time. Increase speed to medium, then beat in butter, a few pieces at a time, and continue to beat until dough is shiny and forms strands from paddle to bowl, about 4 minutes. (Dough will be very soft and sticky.)

3. Scrape dough into a lightly oiled bowl and cover bowl with plastic wrap. Let dough rise in a draft-free place at warm room temperature until doubled in bulk, 1 1/2 to 2 hours.

To assemble

1. Line each loaf pan with 2 pieces of parchment paper (1 lengthwise and 1 crosswise).

2. Punch down dough with a lightly oiled rubber spatula, then halve dough. Roll out 1 piece of dough on a well-floured surface with a lightly floured rolling pin into an 18- by 10-inch rectangle and arrange with a long side nearest you.

3. Beat together yolk and cream. Spread 2 1/2 tablespoons softened butter on dough, leaving a 1/2-inch border all around. Brush some of egg wash on long border nearest you.

4. Sprinkle half of chocolate evenly over buttered dough, then sprinkle with half of sugar (2 tablespoons). Starting with long side farthest from you, roll dough into a snug log, pinching firmly along egg-washed seam to seal. Bring ends of log together to form a ring, pinching to seal. Twist entire ring twice to form a double figure 8 and fit into one of lined loaf pans.

5. Make another babka with remaining dough, some of egg wash, and remaining butter and chocolate in same manner. Chill remaining egg wash, covered, to use later. Loosely cover pans with buttered plastic wrap (buttered side down) and let babkas rise in a draft-free place at warm room temperature until dough reaches top of pans, 1 to 2 hours. (Alternatively, let dough rise in pans in refrigerator 8 to 12 hours; bring to room temperature, 3 to 4 hours, before baking.)

Then

1, Put oven rack in middle position and preheat oven to 350°F.

2. Brush tops of dough with remaining egg wash. Bake until tops are deep golden brown and bottoms sound hollow when tapped (when loaves are removed from pans), about 40 minutes. Transfer loaves to a rack and cool to room temperature.

Cooks' note: Babkas keep, wrapped in plastic wrap and then foil, frozen 3 weeks.

My note: It tastes better fresh. Really, really. I made one regular loaf and two mini-loaves and froze one for when Michael came back from DC; while it's still good, it's just not quite the same.

Quinoa, for Health

2007-11-26T08:45:00.000-08:00

Remember how I wrote that article for NPR about quinoa? And how surprised I was that so many people also share the quinoa-love (it's still hanging in there in the top-emailed story list, nearly a month later)? Well, now I feel like I've totally kept back the best recipe of all -- except, I only just realized it -- and, I swear, I didn't mean to!

Let me backtrack.

Thanksgiving was wonderful (how could it not be, right?). There were cheese plates and cranberry margaritas, mushroom soup and mashed potatoes, chard lasagna and pumpkin pie (not necessarily in that exact order). It's become traditional for the vegetarian main entree to be a mushroom galette -- a delicious mix of wild mushrooms, leeks and Gruyere cheese folded into a flaky, light crust -- which I dream about all year but really is so rich you should only eat one piece at a time (admission: I had two pieces at Thanksgiving dinner. Oops). Add to this many slices of pie with piles of whipped cream, slices of babka (recipe upcoming), even more slices of cheese to accompany the pre-dinner cranberry drinks, and you have the makings for a very full weekend (I'll not even go into lunch the next day, and the day after that, though if you have a chance to go to Copia and eat at the restaurant there -- do. If the Godfather II happens to be on later that night on A&E, just look at it as a strange, serendipitous twist.).

Anyway -- it's Sunday late afternoon and I've just had a nice, long run in Golden Gate Park in the chilly sunshine, and I'm feeling a bit sniffly, not to mention starving. My refrigerator is full of amazing leftovers but all I can think is: Soup. And, how quickly can I make some (don't worry -- those leftovers will be savored for my lunches this week; they certainly will not go to waste!)?

When I'm not feeling so hot, I want something that's brothy, nourishing, and high in protein. Quinoa, of course, came immediately to mind yesterday, as did spinach and garlic. I remembered a recipe in Vegetarian Cooking for Everyone for a quinoa, feta cheese, egg, and scallion chowder, but I knew I didn't want any cheese dear god please no more cheese for a little while (except for, maybe, that Havarti, just not right now). So I got some mushroom broth, a handful shiitake mushrooms, spinach and corn, and it was easy as pie from there.

This soup/chowder is not glamorous in any way, but it's certainly satisfying. (It's also the perfect antidote to being back in the city with a full work week coming up.) The funny thing is it manages to be both hearty and light all at once -- meaning, it will fill you up, but you won't feel over stuffed. With just salt and pepper to enhance its flavor, the taste of the vegetables linger long after the last bowl has disappeared (and, truly, it's difficult to have just one). A hint of soy sauce takes the quinoa far away from its Andean origins, but it works beautifully nonetheless. A little bread and cheese or, if you feel like indulging (and I always do) a little bowl of potato chips rounds it out as a dinner option (vegans, try hummus and toasted pita bread).

And, you know, I'm not feeling very sniffly at all this morning.

[Quinoa Sunday dinner, November 2007.]

I often fall prey to the Sunday blues, especially on the last night of a long weekend, but last night somehow it wasn't so bad. I'll attribute this to a lovely, relaxing few days full of sunshine and visiting, but also to my new favorite way to prepare quinoa. Try it next weekend and let me know if you agree.

Quinoa, mushroom and spinach chowder, for beating the flu, or the end-of-weekend doldrums

1 cup quinoa
6 cups mushroom or vegetable broth
2 cups water
4 cloves garlic, thinly sliced
4 cups spinach, washed and chopped
about 7 shiitake or crimini mushrooms (more, of course, if you like)
1 cup frozen corn, or fresh if you have it
1 tsp. soy sauce
salt and pepper

1. Wash the quinoa and put into a large pot along with four cups of broth (I did two cups broth + two cups water). Add the garlic. Bring to a boil and then reduce to a simmer for 10 minutes.

2. Meanwhile, thinly slice and sautee the mushrooms in a frying pan in a little olive oil over low heat until soft. Add a dash of soy sauce if you like.

3. When the quinoa is cooked, add two more cups of broth, the spinach and corn, and cook a few minutes. Add the mushrooms and stir well to combine. Add the rest of the broth and simmer for 10 minutes to combine flavors, adding more water of broth if you want a more soupy chowder. Add salt and pepper to taste, and serve very hot.

Notes: I say "salt and pepper to taste" because in this case it's definitely dependent on personal taste. For example, I added a lot of pepper because I always like pepper when I'm feeling under the weather, but it's not absolutely necessary. Also, add a bit of water to the leftovers to get the broth going again, as the quinoa will absorb a lot of the liquid (look at it like a 'never-ending' pot o soup).

Giving Thanks (and Pear Cake)

2007-11-22T09:32:00.000-08:00

[Bodega Head, December 2006.]

Each year on Thanksgiving I can't help but reflect on the things for which I'm particularly grateful. Today, I feel very thankful for

- This beautiful place in which I live -- in all its bright sun and crashing ocean, redwood forests and bay trees that sweeten the air

- The 6 miles I ran this morning, up and down the hills of the back roads (and every run I have, really)

- A farmers' market within walking distance of my house for most of the year

- Finally finding yoga, and its continuing presence in my life

- All the fabulous travel opportunities in which I've been able to indulge this year

- The hope of peace

- All you lovely people who read these words and comment on them -- including those I've just met, those I hope to meet soon, and those of you who've been here all along

- My funny, interesting, and wonderful friends and family, always

- That it's sunny and warm today!

But enough of all this. There's real, important things to discuss, and I don't mean swoony poems about yoga, or more love letters to California. No, I'll cut right to the chase: dessert.

[ Apple pie, August 2007.]

You might want to try my apple pie recipe that I turn to again and again (I made it last night, for example), though I'd expect (hope?) you've already taken care of your sweet course. I hope you'll have a pumpkin pie -- which is my favorite kind of pie, and I'm not even really what you'd call a pie person -- or perhaps you'll serve tiramisu, to shake things up.

But I have to ask: What about Saturday's dessert? Now, you'll say you have leftovers enough to feed an army, but what if you don't? What if, after today's cooking orgy, you're inspired to do more? You might be left feeling a little lonely this weekend, after the guests have gone home, a cold oven is staring you in the face, and no stomach for anything resembling baked squash in any form.

If so, I entreat you to consider this luscious pear cake from Deborah Madison's wonderful Vegetarian Cooking for Everyone (veggies please take note: you must acquire this book). It's really just a pile of buttery, caramelized pears couched in a soft, nutty cake that slips down ever so easily, and looks so pretty. After all the agony of wondering how the pie crust will turn out, making this cake is a breeze. Not to mention, your house will get all warm and cozy again; along with a cup of strongly-brewed tea, it will completely dispel the post-holiday blues.

In the meantime: Buon appetito! I'll save a big slice of cake for the next time you come over.

Pear-Almond Upside-Down Cake, from Vegetarian Cooking for Everyone, by Deborah Madison

The Pears
3 Tb. butter
3/4 light brown sugar, packed (I used dark, and it was fine)
2 large Conice or Bartlett pears

The Cake
1/2 cup butter, at room temperature
3/4 cup granulated sugar
1 tsp. vanilla
1/4 tsp. almond extract
3 eggs at room temperature
2/3 cup blanched almonds, finely ground
1 cup flour
1 tsp. baking powder
1/4 tsp. salt

1. Preheat the oven to 375 F. Heat the butter with the brown sugar in a 10-inch cast-iron skillet over medium heat until the sugar is melted and smooth, then remove pan from heat. Peel, halve, and core the pears. Cut halves lengthwise into slices about 1/4 inch thick (try to keep them uniform, but honestly, who can ever get this right?!). Overlap the slices in the pan, going around the outside.

2. Cream the butter and sugar until light and fluffy, then add the vanilla and almond extract. Beat in the eggs one at a time until smooth. Stir in the nuts, followed by the remaining dry ingedients. Spoon the batter over the fruit and smooth it out with an offset spatula.

3. Bake in the center of the oven until the cake is golden and springy, about 35 to 40 minutes, Let cool in the pan for a few minutes, then set a cake plate on top to the pan, hold tightly, and flip over. Carefully ease the pan off the cake.

4. Let cool to room temperature and serve with vanilla ice cream, or whipped cream.

Note: If you don't have a cast-iron skillet, a plain old baking dish will do; melt the butter and sugar in a pan, and then pour into the baking dish (round or square) and proceed with the recipe.

Thanksgivings Past

2007-11-21T14:48:00.000-08:00

[Arch Rock Trail, Pt. Reyes National Seashore, 2006.]

Truth be told, my ideal Thanksgiving doesn't take place inside. No; it is intead in a forest -- a redwood grove, such as Jack London State Park, perhaps, or Armstrong Woods -- on a day when it's chilly enough to snuggle into your favorite down vest, but not cold enough to warrant gloves or hats. Here, we sit around an old wooden table, long enough to accommodate at least 20 people; the outdoor fireplace spits and cracks, sending long wisps of smoke up into the afternoon sky.

We cooked the meal in the house nearby where, of course, we're all staying (there's a fireplace indoors, too). Large platters of vegetable dishes are scattered along the worn table; bottles of local red wine stand at the ready. It is cool, crisp, and infinitely clear. Birds soar overhead and call to each other as they settle into the tall trees. Somehow it seems right to be outside, giving thanks in such a beautiful, quiet place with simple, delicious food.

But this is the Thanksgiving I haven't yet had -- though I hope to one day -- and, anyway, I truly cannot complain about any of those that have passed. There was the year, for example, when I cooked my first "grown-up" meal for my brother and a Spanish friend who had never experienced the holiday before; I was so excited to prepare the meal all by myself for my loved ones. I don't remember much of what I cooked except for a broccoli-and-potato soup that became a staple, and it was so cold when we took our walk in Rock Creek Park that we cracked the creek ice when we stepped over it.

Then there were all the years I spent with my aunt and uncle the little condo in Dupont Circle, eating my cousin's amazing vegetarian lasagna. Or the Thanksgiving I went up to their place in Vermont, where it somehow worked out that there was a pie per person (about 15); I brought cherry, balancing it carefully on my knees on the plane the whole way. And one of my favorite meals was last year's feast, my first spent in California in a decade.

I reminisce about my years hosting big Thanksgivings dinner in Washington in my column in today's Chronicle, and now I'm a bit nostalgic for them! I must admit: Though they were sometimes a little stressful, I'm so glad I had every single one.

Happy (almost) Thanksgiving, all.

Tomorrow: Late-breaking dessert ideas.

[Fingerlings, before the oven.]

THANKSGIVING ---> Le Main Meal

Roasted butternut squash, three ways

Thanks go to Gourmet for including a vegetarian Thanksgiving menu this year, proving a meat-free Thanksgiving is not only possible, but faultlessly elegant, too. If I weren't making this, I'd definitely go for the baked pumpkin (with a few tweaks, of course); if you don't care for pumpkin, here are a few options for that quintessential fall vegetable, butternut squash. I've chosen to highlight it because -- while I do love a nice polenta-stuffed acorn squash with homemade sundried tomato pest -- I like to keep things simple and if not easy, then easier.

1 large butternut squash, halved with seeds removed
olive oil

1. Oven to 350 F. Lightly oil a baking sheet, and then lightly oil the cut halves of the squash. Place cut-side down and bake for about a 1/2 hour, or until soft (check occasionally to make sure it's not too soft).

2. Remove from oven and put, cut-side up, in a baking dish. Serves 6.

With tomato-bean "salsa"

1 can black beans, or 1.5 cups prepared dried beans
1 onion, chopped
2 cloves garlic, sliced
2 tomatoes, coarsely chopped, or one small can crushed tomatoes
1 bay leaf
dried basil or oregano
olive oil

1. Sautee the onion and garlic in olive oil in a heavy saucepan over medium heat, about 5 minutes. Add the bay leaf and herbs, and cook about a minute more. Add the tomatoes and reduce heat to low. Simmer a few minutes to let the flavors blend, then add the beans. Stir to combine and simmer on low about 5-10 minutes, adding a little water or red wine if you have some open (and I hope you do).

2. Pour the tomatoes and beans over the squash and return to the oven to keep warm.

With polenta and pesto

1 cup polenta
3 cups vegetable broth or water
1/2 cup pesto

1. Bring the water or broth to a boil a heavy saucepan. Slowly add the polenta, whisking to combine, then reduce heat to low. Keep on low for about 10 minutes, stirring often.

2. Stir in the pesto (add more if you like). Fill the butternut squash halves with the polenta, and serve immediately. (If not serving immediately, cover with foil and return to oven to warm. You can definitely make this earlier in the day and gently reheat before sitting down to dinner.)

With wild rice and mushrooms

2 cups wild rice
4 cups vegetable broth
2 cloves garlic, minced
1 medium yellow onion, chopped
10 mushroom (shiitake or crimini work well here)
1 bay leaf
1/4 cup white wine
olive oil

1. Put the broth and a dash of olive oil in a heavy saucepan. Add rice and bring to a boil. Reduce heat and simmer, covered, until water is absorbed.

2. Meanwhile, sautee the onion and garlic over medium heat until softened, about 5 minutes. Add the bay leaf and salt and pepper to taste and cook a few minutes more. Add the mushrooms and cook a few minutes until beginning to soften. Add the wine and cook until mushrooms are soft.

3. Remove bay leaf. Add the mushrooms and onions to the rice and stir well to combine. Pour the rice over the squash and serve immediately. (Again, if making in advance, cover with foil to make sure the rice doesn't dry out if you put in the oven for a bit.)

Mashed sweet potatoes with soy milk and sesame oil

The thing is, if you make that sweet potato dip, the sweet potato soup and mashed sweet potatoes, you might be a little sweet-potatoed out. Still, this is one of my favorite ways to prepare sweet potatoes, and I couldn't resist sharing it.

3-4 medium sweet potatoes
4 Tb. sesame oil
1/4 cup or so of soy milk

1. Peel and chop the sweet potatoes and put in a medium saucepan with enough water to cover. Bring to a boil, then reduce heat and simmer until soft. When potatoes are tender, drain, reserving a little of the cooking liquid.

2. Return to pot and stir in the sesame oil, soy milk, and cooking water. Add a bit of sea salt to taste. Stir vigorously to combine.

Serves 6.

Baby spinach salad with walnuts, clementine, and lemon

My friend Sonia made salad every year we spent -- and cooked -- together in DC. I'd never served a salad with the Thanksgiving meal before, but it's such a welcome addition; even if you're going the vegetarian route, all that cooked food can sit a bit heavily by the end of the evening, and a salad is a lovely palate cleanser.

Baby spinach (I am deliberately leaving off an amount here because how much you'll use depends on how many people you're feeding)
2 clementines, peeled and seperated (or one small can mandarin oranges)
1/2 cup walnuts, chopped

1. Toss the spinach with the fruit and walnut to well combine.

For the vinaigrette:

1 Tb. lemon juice
1 tsp. finely chopped lemon zest
1 shallot, finely diced
salt and pepper
5 Tb. olive oil

1. Combine the lemon juice, zest, 1/4 tsp. salt and shallots in a small bowl. Let stand 15 minutes.

2. Whisk in oil and season with pepper to taste. Taste, then correct the balance, adding more oil if necessary.

3. Pour dressing over salad and toss well to coat.

Roasted fingerling potatoes

I've gone on about these enough already but they're still delicious. If you can't get fingerlings, small yellow or red potatoes, quartered, will also work.

25 fingerling potatoes, or 15 small red potatoes (or a mix of yellow and red)
5 cloves garlic
olive oil
salt

1. Preheat the oven to 375 F. Wash the potatoes, scrubbing well (do not peel). In a large baking dish, spread out the potatoes. Press the garlic, and add to the dish along with enough olive oil to coat. Add a sprinkling of salt.

2. Swirl the potatoes, garlic, oil and salt around with your hands, turning the potatoes as necessary to coat well. Put in the oven and bake about 45 minutes, until pierced with a fork.

Serves 6.

Green beans with zucchini squash and fresh corn

1 1/2 pounds green beans
4 small zuchini
fresh corn from two ears
1/4 cup fresh basil
olive oil

1. Wash and slice the zucchini into thin circles, then halve. Wash and trim the green beans, and cut into third. Cut the corn off the cob and reserve, and wash and coarsely chop the basil.

2. In a large saute pan, heat as much olive oil as you'd like (I start with about 2 Tb. and add more as needed). Add the squash, and keep heat on medium high, stirring frequently to make sure it doesn't burn. Reduce heat to low as the squash softens, adding a little more oil or water if necessary, then add the green beans. Cook for a few minutes, then add the corn and the basil and stir to combine.

3. Cook over low heat for about 5 minutes to let the flavors blend, and for the vegetables to reach desired consistency (I like mine pretty soft, but it's all personal). Season with a little salt and pepper, and serve. For 6.

Cornbread Dressing, adapted from williams-sonoma.com

1 cup water
4 Tbs. olive oil
1 yellow onion, chopped
2 shallots, minced
2 cloves garlic, minced
1 Tbs. minced fresh rosemary
2 tsp. minced fresh sage
1/4 cup dried apricots, chopped
8 cups crumbled dried corn bread (or one loaf of the vegan cornbread)
1/4 cup chopped fresh flat-leaf parsley
Salt and freshly ground pepper, to taste
2 cups vegetable stock, warmed

1. Preheat an oven to 325°F. Butter a large, shallow baking dish.

2. In a small saucepan over high heat, combine the apricots and water and bring just to a boil. Remove the pan from the heat and let the apricots stand until softened, about 10 minutes.

3. In a large sauté pan over medium heat, cook the onion, shallots and garlic in the olive oil, stirring occasionally, until tender and translucent, about 5 minutes. Add the rosemary and sage and sauté, stirring frequently, until fragrant, 1 to 2 minutes.

4. In a large bowl, combine the corn bread, the onion mixture, apricots, the parsley, salt and pepper and stir gently to mix. Add the warmed stock and stir to blend. Adjust the seasonings with salt and pepper.

5. Transfer the dressing to the prepared baking dish and bake until the top is browned and crispy, about 1 1/4 hours. Serves 12.

Setting the Scene

2007-11-20T13:47:00.000-08:00

[Table setting, August 2007.]

A good meal needs a good presentation, which is why I often spend at least 10 minutes thinking about what dish ware to put on the table to make it look nice. (I suppose 10 minutes really isn't that much time, but there's that whole full-time job thing I have going on which sometimes doesn't leave many extra minutes in the day.) I love polishing the silver (i.e., ensuring the forks and knives are free of water spots), ironing the linens (errr ... checking that they've been recently washed), unpacking the crystal (taking out the wine glasses), and buying flowers. It sets the tone for a lovely evening -- and meal -- ahead when I think a little bit about how to well set the table.

As Laurie Colwin wrote

Oh, domesticity! The wonder of dinner plates and cream pitchers. You know your friends by their ornaments. You want everything. If Mrs. A. has her mama's old jelly mold, you want one too, and everything else that goes with it -- the family, the tradition, the years of having jelly molded in it. We domestic sensualists live in a state of longing, no matter how comfortable our own places are.

which resonates with me, in part. I think one of the reasons I love so much to cook, and to invite people over, is for the necessary ceremony of it. All the little flourishes that go into a dinner party make it worth doing -- even if it's a simple gathering -- for it's marked by the quiet excitement that comes with plotting and working out the details. Holidays, then, are even more special for their rarity.

For the Thanksgiving meal, the beginning of the season's madness, I love a few small squashes as a centerpiece, flanked by tall candles. Fall-like, you know. At one of my Thanksgiving holiday extravaganzas in Washington, a friend gathered some bright red leaves from the tree outside my apartment building, and we scattered them over the table to bring the outside in. Unfortunately I don't have a photo to share, but -- it was so pretty, and I recommend this trick for your own Thursday dinner.

I won't be cooking the whole meal this year (though I do have some assigned dishes, including an apple pie), but I'll be in my small hometown, hoping for one of those brilliantly clear, cool days in Sonoma County that occur after the morning frost has burned off. I have an important afternoon rendez-vous with a cranberry margarita, and a catch-up with old friends and dogs to attend to, so I'll be wishing for sun, and the air to snap with its familiar sweet smokiness.

November, when it doesn't rain, is wonderful here.

Tomorrow: A reminiscence on Thanksgivings past, and some main-meal vegetarian suggestions.

[Fall apples, Sebastopol, 2007.]

THANKSGIVING ---> Soups and Sundries

Potage Jacqueline, adapted from New Recipes from the Moosewood Cookbook [the copy editor in me is compelled to point out that there is a misspelling on the listing]

I've been making this soup for years and years, and it's always clamored-for by my friends. It's also deceptively simple to make, so you can focus on the more elaborate (and important) parts of the meal, like dessert, while still serving a dreamy and delicious first course.

2 Tbs. olive oil
2 cups chopped onions
1 stalk celery, chopped
1 tsp. grated fresh gingerroot
3 medium-sized sweet potatoes, peeled and thinly sliced
4 cups water
1 bay leaf
1/2 tsp. salt
Black pepper to taste
1 cup milk
1/2 cup heavy cream (or milk; see notes)
4 or 6 thin slices lemon for garnish

1. Sauté onions in the olive oil until translucent, stirring occasionally. Add celery and ginger, and continue to cook until onions begin to brown. Add sweet potatoes, water, bay leaf, salt and pepper, and bring to a rapid boil. Reduce heat, cover and simmer 15 to 20 minutes, until sweet potatoes are tender.

2. Remove and discard bay leaf. In blender or food processor, purée small batches of soup mixture with milk and heavy cream. Adjust salt and pepper to taste, and reheat gently, but do not boil.

3. To serve, garnish with 1 thin lemon round on each serving.

Notes: I usually leave out the heavy cream, subbing in a 1/2-cup of milk, because I don't like soups to be too heavy. If you're going the vegan route, you could use (unflavored) soy milk instead of dairy, or if you don't like soy, use about 2 cups of vegetable broth. The lemon slices may seem an unexpected addition, but please don't leave them off -- you'll be pleasantly surprised by how their tartness cuts the creamy sweetness of the soup.

Vegan cornbread with sage and fresh corn

I actually like this vegan version better than many non-vegan versions; friends at my pre-Thanksgiving harvest dinner last year concurred. Some corn breads are a bit too eggy for my taste, so this one, obviously, is not.

2 cups cornmeal
1 cup unbleached all-purpose flour
2 teaspoon baking powder
1/3 cup canola oil
2 tablespoons maple syrup
2 cups soymilk
2 teaspoons apple cider vinegar
1/2 teaspoon salt
corn kernels from two ears of corn
1/4 cup fresh sage, coarsely chopped

1. Preheat oven to 350 F and line a 9x13 baking pan with parchment paper or oil the bottom of the pan.

2. In a medium bowl, wisk together the soymilk and the vinegar and set aside.

3. In a large bowl, sift together the dry ingredients. Add the oil and maple syrup to the soymilk mixture. Wisk with a wire wisk until it is foamy and bubbly, about 2 minutes.

4. Pour the wet ingredient into the dry and mix together. Add the corn and the sage and stir to combine. Pour batter into the prepared baking pan and bake 30-35 minutes, until a toothpick inserted into the center comes out clean. Slice into squares and serve warm or store in an airtight container.

Note:This if also fine to use in the forthcoming cornbread dressing recipe.

Vegetarian gravy, adapted from all-recipes.com

1/2 cup olive oil
1/3 cup chopped onion or shallots
5 cloves garlic, minced
1/2 cup all-purpose flour
4 tablespoons light soy sauce
2 cups vegetable broth
1/2 teaspoon dried sage
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/4 teaspoon ground black pepper

1. Heat oil in a medium saucepan over medium heat. Saute onion and garlic until soft and translucent, about 5 minutes. Stir in flour and soy sauce to form a smooth paste. Gradually whisk in the broth.

2. Season with sage, salt and pepper. Bring to a boil. Reduce heat, and simmer, stirring constantly, for 8 to 10 minutes, or until thickened.

Note: The gravy thickens up quite a bit, so keep some warm water or vegetable broth on hand to thin it out before serving, and for the next day's leftovers.

Apple sauce

I'm bringing a jar of the stuff we canned last month up to Sebastopol for the long weekend; it's nice to have it already prepared, although this recipe is so quick and easy, I wouldn't mind making it again if I had to.

4 apples, peeled (or, if organic and you like the texture, unpeeled)
Bit of water

1. Peel, core and slice the apples. Place in a heavy saucepan with about an inch of water. Bring to a boil, then let simmer until apples are tender, about 15 minutes.

2. Remove from heat and mash with a fork, or potato masher. Let cool before serving.

Notes: This seems really boring I know. But I love a simple, direct applesauce that's not too sweet -- and if your apples are sweet enough you won't miss any additional sugar. However, if you have a hankering for maple syrup-y apples with cinnamon, do this: after cooking, stir in 3 Tb. of maple syrup and one tsp. of cinnamon. Some fresh or ground ginger would be nice here, too.

A Birthday, and Thanksgiving Prep

2007-11-19T07:39:00.000-08:00

Today is my 'little' brother's birthday -- happy birthday Kurt! He called me all the way from Greece this morning so it was more like my birthday than his, in a way. But that's OK because he knows I love him even though I didn't send a card (right, baby? You know I do) and I was going to call. He just beat me to it.

It's a little chilly right now in Spetses -- perhaps like San Francisco today? -- and would probably be the perfect day for his (delicious-looking) roast chicken -- if only he had an oven. Alas, he does not, so we'll instead have to revisit the night this summer when went to see the horse farm and then cooked dinner in 'my' little apartment. After zooming around town on a moped (and holding on for dear life), Kurt brought over a load of vegetables, picked up a chicken along the way, and we quickly set to work.

The thing was, this was not a full kitchen in any sense of the word; it was very small, with a hot plate rather than a proper stove, but it did have an electric oven. Nor was there a sharp knife, so we had to wait for the proprietor to stop by to water his flowers before we could procure one. There was a large roasting pan, but all the essential things I take for granted at home -- salt, olive oil, herbs, pepper -- also had to be brought over as the larder was very bare; luckily, he didn't forget anything. For seasoning, Emily and I snipped a few herbs (basil, oregano) from the potted plants growing just outside (oh, bliss!), which added more than enough flavor to the meal.

This roast chicken and vegetables isn't fancy, but it's delicious (full disclosure: I didn't eat the chicken, but those two seemed to enjoy it very much, and I did nibble on some of the veggies). What you do is: put the oven to at least 350 F, and rub the chicken all over with a good amount of olive oil, salt and pepper, and herbs (fresh or dried), and place in a large pan. Cut up some vegetables -- such as potatoes, onions, tomatoes, garlic, or whatever else you like -- then drizzle with olive oil and arrange in the pan. Add a 1/2-cup (or more) of white wine, and put in the oven for about an hour. Check every so often to make sure the chicken is cooking well, adding more wine or a bit of water if necessary.

[Kurt, carving the chicken, Spetses 2007.]

I hear there was a nice grilling of meat and fish (and possibly vegetables, too, although, oops, I forgot to ask) last night with a fellow November-baby coworker and friends; today was perhaps more mellow -- punctuated, though, I'm sure, by a chat with his favorite (oh yeah -- and only) older sister.

Happy birthday, frère! I hope this next year is even better than the last one.

Meanwhile, it's nearly Thanksgiving here in the States, and I've finally wrapped my head around the reality that it's not summer any longer and no, I'm not still on vacation. So in these last few days leading up to Thanksgiving, I'm going to post a few of my favorite recipes in preparation for the big day. They'll all be vegetarian, natch, but I think you'll find them satisfying additions to your meal, whether you eat meat or not.

What are some dishes you've got cooking?

THANKSGIVING ---> Appetizers

Phyllo and vegetable parcels, adapted from the San Francisco Chronicle

I made these last year for the first time, and substituted quite a few vegetables from the original recipe because I just went with those I picked up at the farmers' market. I think you can use nearly any variation here, but I love the spinach especially. The Chron version also calls for goat cheese which ... just ... no (Nicole doesn't do goat cheese), so I omitted it, and swapped melted margarine for the butter to make them wholly vegan.

1 cup dry-packed sun-dried tomatoes, cut into 1/4- inch dice
1 tablespoon minced red onion
1 small yellow onion, finely chopped
1 tablespoon minced garlic
1 tablespoon olive oil
2 tablespoons balsamic vinegar
1 tablespoon brown sugar
1 tablespoon (scant) finely chopped mint (optional)
1/4 cup torn basil leaves
3 tablespoons butter
3 tablespoons chopped thyme (optional -- can use oregano or another fresh herb)
about 6 mushrooms, diced
1 bunch spinach, washed, with stems removed, and chopped
Salt and freshly ground pepper to taste
1 package phyllo dough
1/2 cup melted butter

In a heavy, small saute pan over medium heat, saute tomatoes, yellow onion and garlic in the olive oil, stirring frequently, until onions are softened, about 5 minutes. Add vinegar and sugar; saute, stirring constantly, until vinegar evaporates. Remove from heat; stir in basil. Reserve.

In a large saute pan over medium heat, saute red onion, mushrooms and spinach in the 3 tablespoons butter, stirring frequently, soft 10 to 12 minutes. Remove from heat, in remaining herbs; season with salt and pepper. Reserve.

Unfold phyllo dough; keep unused sheets covered with damp paper toweling. Lightly brush 1 sheet of phyllo with melted butter. Top with another sheet of phyllo; brush lightly with butter. Using a sharp knife, cut phyllo dough in half, width-wise. Cut each half into 4 even strips to make 8 strips.

Place a generous 1/2 tablespoon of spinach mixture at the base of 1 strip. Top with a scant 1/4 teaspoon of sun-dried tomato mixture. Fold a corner of the strip over the filling to enclose it. Continue to flag-fold the strip into a neat triangle. Lightly brush edges with some butter. Repeat with remaining strips.

Repeat process 6 more times, using 14 sheets of phyllo in all. Chill triangles for 20 minutes.

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Bake the triangles until golden brown, 15 to 20 minutes. Cool briefly on a rack. Serve warm.

Note: Follow the instructions on the phyllo package in terms of thawing the dough; most is sold frozen, so you'll need to place in the fridge before using. Try to plan ahead it will have enough time to thaw properly before using.

Sweet potato dip, via Kim O'Donnell at the Washington Post (who also has a new holiday cookbook out)

I like to call this vegetableshummus -- meaning that it's a kind of hummus, only with sweet potatoes instead of chickpeas. I usually add a little more tahini than the recipe calls for, because I love its taste. The texture should be thick and creamy, so be careful not to add too much extra if you go that route.

2 medium sweet potatoes (about 1 1/2 pounds)
1 medium onion
2-3 cloves garlic (my addition)
Olive oil
At least 2 tablespoons tahini paste (I go with a bit more)
Salt and pepper to taste
1/2 teaspoon cayenne pepper (optional)
Dash lemon juice (my addition)

Preheat oven to 400. Slice onion in half, and remove papery outer layer. Rub the onion and garlic with oil to lightly coat. Wrap in a large piece of aluminum foil. Slice sweet potatoes in half or quarters, depending on size. (Smaller pieces will cook faster. Also, as the recipe specifies not to peel, I recommend using organic sweet potatoes). Repeat oil/foil step with potatoes. Bake until the sweet potatoes are soft, about a 1/2-hour.

Remove veggies from oven and puree until mixture is creamy. Add tahini. Season with salt and pepper, and the 1/2 teaspoon of cayenne if using. Add a splash of lemon juice. Taste for tahini, and add more if flavor is not coming through.

Serve with crackers, or thin slices of apples and pears.

End of Season

2007-11-15T10:15:00.000-08:00

[Happy Boy Farm tomatoes, summer 2007]

The Fillmore Farmers' Market -- my neighborhood market -- closes this weekend for the season, and I'm sad! I'll just say it plain: I love having a market within walking distance; I love the gorgeous live jazz played while I browse the fruits and vegetables; I adore the smallness of it, and the growers who remember me each week; I love that the girl who sells the eggs steered me to H&M last month, where I bought my new fall coat. And I'm feeling a bit waaa that I have to give it up for four months.

But maybe it's a good thing (trying to be positive here)? If the market was open year-round, I wouldn't appreciate it so much (but I would, I know, just give me a chance!). I might never get to sleep in because of rousing myself somewhat early on Saturday mornings to go get my weekly haul. In fact, I might take all that fabulous and affordable organic produce for granted if it was constantly available. So doing without will definitely make me look even more forward to next March, and the turn into spring.

[Summer bounty from the market]

All season long I've been gorging myself -- and whoever comes over for dinner -- on fresh organic salad, heirloom tomatoes, sweet and delicious little potatoes, corn, pears, plums and strawberries, baby chard, radishes ... need I go on? Almost every week I've faithfully loaded up my enormous canvas bag and lugged it all home -- happily -- while planning the week's menus out in my head. Of course I can, and will, go to the wonderful Ferry Building market but -- whine -- it's not within walking distance. I suppose I'll manage somehow.

Moving on: This weekend, I have lots of eating activities planned, but I rather think I'll keep them under wraps for the time being. Just know they will involve many sweets, and probably also tea.

Eating my solo dinner tonight of: a glass of Ravenswood Zin, roasted fingerling potatoes with lashings of sour cream, a faux sausage, sauteed chard, and a glorious salad of roasted beets, tiny tomatoes, and greens. An unexpected, quick 5-miler with the girls (and dog!) after work has made me even hungrier that usual, and it all tastes so good -- yum. I think I'll have a couple of squares of milk chocolate to finish it off.

Oh, the simple is so divine sometimes, no?

Roasted beet salad with greens, for one

One bunch beets, stems removed
Handful organic salad greens
2 Tb. pumpkin seeds
grape tomatoes
olive oil and vinegar

Oven to 400 F. Roast the beets until tender when pierced with a fork, about 45 minutes or so. Remove from oven and let cool a bit, then slip from their skins and coarsely chop. In a bowl, toss the beets with the greens, tomatoes, and pumpkin seeds, and drizzle with the olive oil and vinegar. Salt and pepper to taste.

ps: She has a lovely post about farmers' markets up right now that does them much more justice than I.

Rainy Day Lasagna

2007-11-10T13:49:00.000-08:00

[Rain on the road, October 2007.]

We runners are a funny bunch. On a chilly, drippy day like today, most sane people would be curled up inside with a book and a cup of tea, or stirring a pot of soup, letting the house get warm and steamy. But to the runner, Saturday morning is prime running time, rain or no rain. Today I was definitely that person you look at and think, what? It's raining! You're crazy!

But listen: When I started out, it was just a little drizzly, and sometimes -- honestly -- I do love a good run in the rain. No, I'm serious! It's not just obsessivess -- there's something special about dodging the drops. Not too many other people are out and about (although, surprisingly, there were a decent amount of runners today, and we all sort of nodded at each other as we passed silently by), and though I love the sun, the fog is nice, too. As I went deeper into the park the rain increased; not sure if this was because I was getting infintissimally closer to the ocean, or because the rain was just picking up. In any case, I was thoroughly soaked by the time I reached my 2.5-mile turnaround.

As I ran, I thought a bit about Ryan Shay, the runner who collapsed last weekend during the Olympic Marathon Trials in New York. He was just 28, and recently married, and life truly doesn't make sense sometimes. I suppose it sounds silly, but I felt like my five miles today were in memory of him a little, and in solidarity with all the rest of us who lace up our shoes and get out there even when it we're tired, or it hurts, or it's freezing cold. Wiping the water out of my eyes, I thought about how lucky I am that I get to be outside, breathing this air in the this lovely city on this Saturday afternoon -- yes, even in the rain (I tried to look at it like I was getting a free shower).

So then I came home and drank a hot cup of tea to warm up, and wished I had a piece of lasagna. Not just any lasagna, mind, but a very untraditonal, very different, very delicious chard-potato-and-pesto lasagna.

When I was first presented with a plate of this pasta, I didn't mind at all that it was sans the familiar red sauce. Maybe a small part of me thought, potato and chard in a lasagna? hmmmmm ...., but since I love potatoes, and I love chard, and I love pesto, I figured I'd like it well enough.

Uh, yeah, I did (I feel like I'm channeling Kate here). Why would I even hesitate? I think I like this version of lasagna better than the usual kind -- for one thing, it's somehow less heavy, even if it still has lots of cheese, and I wouldn't consider potatoes necessarily light, but somehow, it works. Salty, creamy, a little cripsy, and then conversely soft from the piles of chard, each bite almost floats its way into your mouth. A jumble of sauteed vegetables, such as carrots and green beans or squash, and a simple green salad provide a bit of snap alongside.

[Untraditional lasagna, October 2007.]

This is especially good to eat after you've logged some miles on the road, so you don't feel guilty about all that cheese -- but really, we should never feel guilty about eating wonderful and delicious cheese. I take it back.

Lasagna with pesto, Yukon golds, and Swiss chard, from mom, by way of the SF Chronicle

1 pound Yukon gold potatoes
1 bunches Swiss chard, stems removed
8 ounces lasanga sheets
18 ounces ricotts
1/2 cup parmesan
1 to 1 1/4 cups pesto
14 ounces mozzarella (she uses less)
1/2 bunch basil, leaves roughly chopped
1 cup pesto
salt and pepper to taste

Oven to 350 F. Lightly grease a 13-by-9 inch baking pan and a large cookie sheet with olive oil. Bring a large pot of salted water to a oil.

Put the potatoes in another, medium pot, and cover with well-salted water by two inches. Bring to a boil, then reduce to a simmer and cook until tender with pierced with a knife (about 20 minutes). Drain, let cool slightly, then quickly peel and slice about 1/4-inch thick.

Meanwhile, blanch the chard in the large pot in two batches until tender (note: I think quickly sauteeing/steaming in a pan would work just as well). Remove with a slotted spoon and keep the water at a boil for the pasta, then roughly chop the chard leaves and squeeze out as much liquid as possible. Return to a colander to drain.

Cook the pasta until al dente (when draining, reserve a little of the water). Place on the large cookie sheet, cover with wax paper and top with more pasta.

In a medium bowl, combine the ricotta and parmesan cheeses.

To assemble, line the bottom of the baking pan with two sheets of pasta, overlapping a bit. Dollop the top with spoonfuls of half the cheese mixture. Drizzle or dollop with pesto. Cover with the potato slices, placed ended to end, filling in any gaps with half-rounds. Season with salt and pepper. Top with one cup of the mozzaralla, then half the basil.

Add another layer of noodles, the remaining cheese mixture, the rest of the pesto, all of the chard, one cup of mozzarella, and the remaining basil.

Add a final layer of pasta and cover with the remaining mozzarella. Bake until bubbly, about 25-30 minutes. Put under the broiler for 5 minutes until golden brown. Remove from oven and let rest 20 minutes before serving.

Note the second: This looks like a lot of work, but is it worth mentioning that even if it is, once you taste the results you totally won't mind?

Weekend Snaps

2007-11-05T10:27:00.000-08:00

[Sun at Limantour, November 2007]

Today is a day heavy on the coffee because I woke up early this morning to talk to NPR a little bit about my quinoa-love. And by "early" I mean "5:10 a.m.," which, well ... I don't know about you, but that's pretty early for almost anyone, I think; it's certainly very early for me. But it was fun, and it was totally worth it, and if you want to listen, click that first link and go in a few minutes and there I'll be.

So after all that mooning on about summer last week, I finally felt ready to face fall. I mentally prepared myself for the early-dark (my least favorite time of year), but weighed it against the upcoming holidays (one of my favorite times of the year -- all those cooking opportunities!). I pulled out some of my thickest sweaters, readied my winter boots, and brushed off my heavy coats -- and then yesterday I wore shorts. What?

It was a balmy, almost-spring day out at Limantour and I really can't complain about it at all, mental preparedness or no. We brought cheese-and-tomato-cucumber-sandwiches, chips, fruit, and chocolates for a picnic on the beach, read the Sunday Times in the blazing sun, and almost managed to forget we'd 'fallen back' an hour.

Sunday's bit of sloth was countered by Saturday's cooking frenzy, during which I found myself planted firmly in the kitchen for a good few hours (happily so, I shall add). Here is the proof:

[Upside-down pear cake, from Deborah Madison's "Vegetarian Cooking for Everyone," half of which was packed up and taken to Inverness.]

[Vegan blueberry muffins, from the "Candle Cafe Cookbook."]

Not pictured: roasted vegetable and barley soup; dog biscuits; a cranberry bean sautée with baby chard and red pepper; and roasted fingerling potatoes with garlic.

So it was a good weekend for kitchen-stuff -- if my pots and pans got an extreme workout -- and a good weekend all 'round (of course, any day I get to go to Pt. Reyes/Inverness is a marvelous one). I played with the dog, had a wee dram of Jameson on ice, and talked of all sorts of things in the house in the woods before the drive back into town through the silent, sleeping hills.

Though I've been living back in California for about a year-and-a-half now, I'm still quietly so glad that I'm here. There may not be the glorious abundance of fall colors one might find in Ohio, say, or at my aunt's place in Barre, Vermont, but the ocean and its environs have a special beauty all their own -- and one which completely satisfies me. Trees may not burst into brilliant reds and yellows as their leaves drift down to earth, but an impossibly blue Tomales Bay, as seen from the Inverness ridge in the late-afternoon sunshine, comes awfully close.

What can I say? I'm a Californian, through-and-through; I'll always love this place.

[Pomegranate on the beach, November 2007]

Here's a recipe I've meaning to post for ages; it's appropriate at any time of year, and at any time of day. You may substitute any berry in for the blueberries, and feel free to play around with the flour -- also, it's one of those lovely vegan recipes which calls for using a whisk rather than an electric mixture; meaning, of course, a little less effort and definitely less dishes.

Yummy and Delicious Vegan Blueberry Muffins, adapted from the Candle Cafe Cookbook

2 cups flour (can mix wheat/white)
1/4 cup sugar
1 tsp. baking soda
2 tsp. baking powder
1/2 tsp. salt
1/2 cup veg. oil
1/2 cup maple syrup
1/2 cup soy milk
1/2 cup lemon juice
1 cup blueberries

Oven to 350 F. Grease a muffin tin or line with papers.

Sift flour, sugar, baking powder, baking soda and salt in a large mixing bowl and whisk to combine. In a separate bowl, whisk oil, maple syrup, soy milk and lemon juice until foamy. Pour wet ingredients into flour mixture and mix until batter is smooth. Fold in blueberries.

Bake in muffin pan for about 20-25 minutes until a cake tester inserted into the center comes out clean.

Variation: substitute one cup of the flour for cornmeal.

Note: the muffins are more crumbly than "regular" muffins, but they have a certain addictive consistency all their own, once you get used to them.

Chasing Summer

2007-11-01T09:31:00.000-07:00

{Spetses, view from the road, August 2007.]

November first: San Francisco is grey, and a little chilly, and the fog swirled around the buildings along California street very prettily this morning, almost as if it was preparing to be photographed (I didn't). Last night for dinner I made a quick and delicious butternut squash, shiitake mushroom, and orzo dish baked in the oven for 15 minutes, and a simple stir fry of summer squash (the last of it!), spinach and chickpeas, and we ate it properly at the table with candles and a glass of red wine. Tonight I'm planning: baked tofu, mashed sweet potatoes, salad, and roasted cauliflower.

It's fall.

And yet, because I can't quite let summer go, regardless of what the calendar tells me, this morning I am thinking of Greece, and Spetses -- in particular, one of the best meals I've ever eaten in my life.

[The beach after the ride, August 2007.]

First off, my brother's girlfriend Emily loves food. Loves it. (She's a girl after my own heart). She's also a fantastic cook who can whip up a steaming platter of sauteed vegetables on a two-burner hot plate while setting the table and opening a bottle of wine all at the same time -- and make it seem effortless. So when she kept talking about a taverna by the sea -- an almost mythical place, really, because it was only open at certain times on certain days, but no one was sure what times and days those were, and good luck if you bike out there because there's no guarantee it'll be open -- I knew we where we would eventually end up.

The day we made the trek it was very hot, as all the days were, of course, but it seemed especially hot; we also started out in the very hottest-heat part of the day, when most of the island was -- wisely -- napping or swimming. It was a 4-mile bike ride past small, wind-blown farms perched on the edge of hillsides, the Mediterranean winking and sparkling to the right, mykanakis zooming by every so often, me grumbling a little and pushing the sweat out of my eyes, with a dusty dirt road part to finish it off.

It really was hot. Once we finally got there we jumped in the water immediately to cool off.

When we sat down to eat, though, all was forgiven. The taverna was open-air -- a big deck with tables and seating with an awning over it with a kitchen in back -- so we slung our towels over the railing to dry, and settled in. There were just a few dishes on the menu, but they were sublime -- everything made there, fresh and simple and perfect.

In addition to the requisite horiataki (salad), we ordered bread, tziki (good and garlicky, as it must be), Mythos beer, chicken and potatoes, a lamb dish, eggplant -- and a plate of macaroni (spaghetti) for me.

[Spaghetti, in Greece, August 2007.]

It doesn't look like much, but it was the best plate of spaghetti with olive oil-tomatoes-and-garlic-and-cheese I've ever eaten. Seriously! Maybe I was just starving after the bike ride, but I think there was more to it than that; it was made very well, with exactly the right balance of olive oil to cheese -- not too much, but not too little, either. The cheese was melty and salty and it slipped down so smoothly I couldn't help but eat it all.

After, we lingered over tiny cups of Greek coffee and slices of cold watermelon, then walked back down to the beach to rest, digest, and visit with a friendly dog before getting back on the bikes to go into town.

It was the perfect summer meal, enjoyed with the perfect company and the perfect view -- and I wish I was there today.

Instead, I'll think about when I'll make my favorite, very fall-appropriate roasted vegetable soup and how lovely is my new fall coat. But just not quite yet ...

All Hallows

2007-10-31T08:43:00.000-07:00

Round about the cauldron go;
In the poison'd entrails throw
Toad, that under cold stone
Days and nights has thirty-one
Swelter'd venom sleeping got,
Boil thou first i' the charmed pot ...

Scale of dragon, tooth of wolf,
Witches' mummy, maw and gulf
Of the ravin'd salt-sea shark,
Root of hemlock digg'd i' the dark ...
Add thereto a tiger's chaudron,
For the ingredients of our cauldron.

Double, double toil and trouble;
Fire burn and cauldron bubble.

-Wm. Shakespeare, Macbeth (4.1.5-37)

What I won't be making for Hallowe'en this year -- and not only because I'm not sure where to find a dragon's scale on such short notice ...

No: Instead, I've made pumpkin cupcakes with a chocolate ganache frosting, with which I think even Sir Shakespeare could not find fault. With enough butter and cream to make one of those horrid witches forget about rooting under rotted logs for newts and worms and other creepy-crawlies, they're still light, fluffy, and pretty enough for human consumption. And pumpkin = squash = vegetable = good-for-you, right?

[Pumpkin cupcake batter, October 2007.]

As this is a holiday marked by begging the neighbors for sweets and treats, perhaps we can forget about eating healthfully just this once (and like I mentioned before, pumpkin is a vegetable so really you're getting a bit of nutritional value -- vitamins C and E make a notable appearance -- anyway). I made these cupcakes last year and brought them in to work; when I asked if I should do it again the answer was, overwhelmingly, yes please. So, then, I did.

Slightly reminiscent of pumpkin pie, but thoroughly cake-like -- all that butter, you know -- and crowned with a lovely swirl of rich chocolate ganache, I think this is now a yearly tradition. I've made pumpkin bread, and pumpkin cookies (and pumpkin pie, of course), but I think my new favorite sweet pumpkin configuration is les petits gateaux.

Plus, making these was also a chance to test out my new birthday cupcake-carrier -- and luckily for me, the bus wasn't too crowded as I made my way down to work in the early-morning gloom.

[Cupcakes, after the oven.]

If you can't stomach the thought of lots of melted butter, four eggs, and heavy cream, here's something that might be of interest instead: A story I wrote for NPR about quinoa, which includes three recipes, as promised. I do adore quinoa, and I hope you do, too.

Coming soon: roasted vegetable and barley soup and a delicious potato-chard lasagna that's perfect for fall.

In the meantime, of course -- cupcakes. And try not to walk under any ladders.

Pumpkin cupcakes with chocolate ganache, adapted from marthastewart.com and williams-sonoma.com

2 cups flour, all-purpose
1 teaspoon baking powder
1 teaspoon baking soda
1 teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1 teaspoon ground ginger
1/4 teaspoon freshly grated nutmeg
1/4 teaspoon ground allspice
1 cup packed light-brown sugar
1 cup granulated sugar
1 cup unsalted butter, melted and cooled
4 large eggs, lightly beaten
15 ounces pumpkin puree

Preheat oven to 350 degrees F. In a medium bowl, whisk together flour, baking soda, baking powder, salt, cinnamon, ginger, nutmeg, and allspice; set aside. In a large bowl, whisk together the brown sugar, granulated sugar, butter, and eggs. Add dry ingredients, and whisk until smooth. Whisk in pumpkin purée.

Divide batter evenly among liners, filling each about halfway. Bake until tops spring back when touched, and a cake tester inserted in the center comes out clean, 20 to 25 minutes, rotating pans once if needed. Transfer to a wire rack; let cool.

Makes 2 doz. cupcakes.

Chocolate ganache frosting

10 oz. semisweet chocolate
1/2 cup heavy cream
Pinch of salt

Put the chocolate in a heatproof bowl. In a small saucepan over medium-high heat, bring the cream and salt just to a boil. Immediately pour over the chocolate. Using a whisk, stir until the chocolate melts and the mixture is smooth. Let cool to room temperature and frost cupcakes.

ETA: Wikipedia describes pumpkins as a "squash fruit" rather than a vegetable.

Beaucoup de Pommes

2007-10-25T11:27:00.000-07:00

[Canning, messily, October 2007]

Tuesday night, nearly 11 p.m.: I am standing at the stove watching the last few jars of applesauce bubble themselves away to sterilization, cursing the ambitiousness that had me take four boxes of apples home from Inverness last week. I'm exhausted, I think, and then -- I don't even really like applesauce, anyway!

Nevertheless -- the apples, they are sauced, and the sauce, it is jarred. We now have two dozen lovely specimens to either eat (um, but there's so much) or else distribute to friends and family for the holidays (I think this is the likelier option). There's still about a half-box left, though (I also filled three gallon freezer bags with slices), and I've made one pie, and will make a couple more tomorrow; then -- I hope -- the darned apples will be all used up.

It was an adventure, to be sure, and one I'm not sure I'll repeat (or, if I do, it will definitely begin earlier than on a Sunday early evening, or a Tuesday night after work -- like, say, a leisurely Saturday with all the time in the world). I recently read Barbara Kingsolver's Animal, Vegetable, Miracle: A Year of Food Life, in which she details a year of living (and canning) from her garden, and thought dreamily about how great it would be to do the same. Her descriptions of luscious organic tomato sauce year-round, along with salsa! applesauce! spinach, corn, and zucchini straight from the garden and frozen, for mid-February consumption! are truly enticing, and inspiring.

Well, yeah: it is awesome. All that terrifically good stuff, grown right in your backyard -- how could you go wrong? But it's also so much work; in fact, I was not prepared for just how much work it really is -- and I only made 24 (plus one) jars of applesauce! I may have to re-think my lofty future plans. It is hard work. It is intense.

But, yes, it is also fun. No matter that the kitchen floor was spattered and splattered with sticky bits of apple mush that missed the jar, or that my stove needed an indecent amount of scrubbing to make it somewhat presentable again. No matter that I stayed up way too late, to the point of monosyllabic conversations because I was so tired. People, I have applesauce. And we did it all ourselves.

Kingsolver's point -- and one which I take to heart -- is if you commit to doing this, you'll have an enormous amount of work for about 6-8 weeks, but if you hold on and make it, come winter, you won't have much work to do at all. It's a kind of doing your work in advance, to some extent, and I like that idea. Just don't let me start it at 8p on a work night.

The apples we used were quite sweet, so we didn't have to add any sugar (bonus!). Basically, all we did was to quarter them and stuff them into my two big pots with a little water, and then boil until soft. Then it was into the food mill to remove the skins, seeds, and cores before re-heating and pouring into hot, sterilized jam jars. Put that way, the process doesn't seem too bad, but it can seem to go on forever when you have a large pile of fruit still to go. (Having a decently-sized kitchen and proper equipment would, I'm sure, make it all go much more quickly.)

But now we have lots of applesauce, and while I'm still a bit worn out from it, those softly glowing jars give me no small amount of pride.

I will say this -- I'll never, ever take a jar of homemade anything for granted again.

Quick! Use up the apples applesauce

Lots of apples
as many large pots as you have
1/2 cup water per pot
food mill
12 Mason jars

Quarter the apples and put into a pot along with the water. Bring to a boil, then lower to medium heat and simmer until apples are soft and getting mushy. Put into a food mill that's positioned over a large bowl, and press out as much of the fruit as possible, discarding the peel and seeds. Pour apple puree back into a pot.

Meanwhile, boil the jars and lids in another large pot for 15 minutes. Pour the hot applesauce (carefully!) into the jars and screw on the lids tightly. Return to the boiling water for another 10-15 minutes. Let the jars sit overnight to cool.

*If your apples are not too sweet, you may add some sugar to taste. I prefer a very simple applesauce, with nothing else in it -- just the pure, apple-taste. But if you want cinnamon or cloves or more sugar, you can take your jar of this sauce and gently heat it up later, adding whatever spices or sweeteners you like before serving.

Saturday Mixed-Bag

2007-10-20T11:51:00.000-07:00

[Farmer's market haul: basil, strawberries (I know they're out of season but they were organic and $2/basket so there was just no way I couldn't get some), red peppers, butternut squash, salad greens, 1/2 doz. organic eggs, eggplant, green beans, corn, October 2007]

A few fun (?) items:

- I have an article in the Chron today about -- wait for it -- vermicomposting. Try it, you might like it.

- A redesign of my site, which I did all by myself (mostly; I had some generous on-email tech support as I muddled through). It took a lot of waffles, and a few tension-releasing runs in the Indian-summer sunshine, but I finally finished it and will actually leave it up in its current incarnation for awhile! (Well, probably.)

- Food-relatedly, I've been working on some quinoa recipes that I hope to share in a few weeks -- quinoa, of course, being one of my favorite go-to dishes. I've picked up some red peppers at the farmers' market perfect for stuffing.

- Things in addition to the (three) cakes I have made in the past week: vanilla cake with chocolate frosting (1); large batch pesto; roasted cauliflower. It was a light week for cooking.

- Tomorrow afternoon is slated for a massive apple project to use up the many, many (seriously many) gorgeous organic apples I brought back from Inverness on Tuesday and which are now making my apartment smell like a cider mill. Plans are to delve into canning for the first time -- for apple butter, and sauce -- and to hopefully freeze a bunch of slices for eventual baking-with.

You think I'm kidding about many apples I have? I'm not:

(and that's only one of the boxes)

Whew. Bountilful harvest, indeed.

We Should All Eat More Cake

2007-10-16T21:01:00.000-07:00

Shouldn't we? For it is comfort and light and sweetness and heft all wrapped up tidily (or messily, depending on preference) into a delicious-smelling packet. A day that includes cake is always a good one.

So I suppose it follows that I don't believe in holding back when it comes to birthdays -- and, for me, one of the most important aspects of the birthday celebration is cake.

This weekend, for a pre-birthday wine and cheese party with the friend with whom I share both the date and year of my birthday, I madethree cakes -- not necessarily because I am an overachiever, but because I thought it would be pretty (and fun!) to have an assortment of differently-flavored small cakes, rather than one large one.

And how pretty (and fun!) they were.

I initially waffled about what kind to make: I knew there would have to be one chocolate (because, really), and probably one white cake, and while I was at it, why not do the opera cake I had made three years ago for my birthday dinner, and which I vaguely remembered as outstanding? So I gathered some well-used and loved recipes, and set to work.

I stayed up rather late Friday night, littering the kitchen with flour and bits of melted chocolate (luckily I didn't have to do most of the dishes). I was almost dropping by the time I finished (I also made an enormous batch of hummus and baked a batch of mini madeleines because in for a penny, in for a pound -- right, Jeremy? -- and what's good enough for Proust is certainly good enough for me). But when Saturday night -- and the party -- rolled around, I was so glad I'd made the extra push.

[Sur la table, October 2007]

The chocolate cake was very good -- a classic, if not terribly exciting. The opera cake, the bane of my existence the night before when fatigue settled in and I had to re-do the coffee syrup not once, not twice, but three times to get it right, was a hit after all. My own personal favorite, however, was a coconut-pineapple dream, piled high with whipped cream.

I [almost] hesitate to share this recipe because it's really my thing when it comes to birthday cakes, except that everyone should eat this cake at least once in his or her life (preferably more often than that). I've made it for so many beloved friends throughout the years, and I'll keep on making it because it's just that good. Enrobed in velvety whipped cream and sprinkled over with coconut, this cake tastes like a cloud -- and looks a bit, as my friend said the other night, like a snowball. The cake layers are thinly sliced and stacked with crushed pineapple and more coconut in between; and it is light and moist and tropical all at once.

Today, my actualy birthday, it is grey here, but I am headed off to Pt. Reyes for a hike and a visit. I am thinking of my other birthday pal, and wishing for a good year for we three -- and, yes, lots of cake, too -- and for all else who might share this birth-date with me.

For the rest of you, I wish a lifetime of delicious cakes, made for you by those you love.

Coconut-pineapple layer cake, long-ago adapted from gourmet.com

For cake layers
2 1/3 cups cake flour (not self-rising)
2 1/2 teaspoons baking powder
1/2 teaspoon salt
1 cup milk
1 1/2 teaspoons vanilla
2 sticks (1 cup) unsalted butter, softened
1 1/2 cups sugar
5 large eggs, beaten lightly

For filling
a 28-ounce can crushed pineapple in unsweetened juice
1 tablespoon cornstarch
a rounded 1/4 cup sugar

2 2/3 cups sweetened flaked coconut (a 7-ounce bag), toasted golden
and cooled

Make cake layers:
Preheat oven to 350°F. Line bottoms of 2 buttered 9- by2-inch round cake pans with rounds of wax paper. Dust pans with flour, knocking out excess.

Into a bowl sift together flour, baking powder, and salt. In a glass measuring cup stir together milk and vanilla. In a bowl with an electric mixer on medium speed cream butter 1 minute and add sugar in a steady stream, beating until light and fluffy, about 4 minutes, scraping bowl occasionally. Beat in eggs, a little at a time, beating well after each addition, until pale and fluffy. Stir in flour mixture in 4 batches alternately with milk, beginning and ending with flour mixture and stirring after each addition until batter is smooth.

Divide batter between pans, smoothing tops, and bake in middle of oven until a tester inserted in center comes out clean, about 30 minutes. Cool cake layers in pans on racks 10 minutes. Run a thin knife around edge of each pan and invert cake layers onto racks. Remove wax paper carefully and cool cake layers completely. Cake layers may be made 5 days ahead and frozen, wrapped in plastic wrap and foil. Thaw cake layers in refrigerator 1 day before proceeding with recipe.

* delicious and dreamy photos by Michael.

The Perfect Sandwich?

2007-10-09T14:14:00.001-07:00

Yes, it does exist, and it's made by the Acme Bread Company at the SF Ferry Building.

It's composed of:

"rustic Acme baguette"
Mt. Tam triple creme, from Cowgirl Creamery
quince paste
arugula
black pepper

I was down there today doing some very important birthday shopping, and I stopped by the bakery to pick up a loaf of my favorite whole-wheat walnut (that soft purple crunch gets me every time). A sign advertising their new (!) sandwiches caught my eye. I had a leftover dish of cauliflower-mushroom soup for my lunch, but it definitely needed to be augmented by a little something. How lucky, then, that I had stopped by the bakery.

Now, I'm sure I could make this sandwich at home, on my own, but I doubt it would taste quite as good. I'd probably put too much quince paste (note: my first time ever trying it, and it was good) or my bread wouldn't be quite as crisp, or I'd put in too much cheese, as is my wont. I'm almost embarrassed that I'm going on about it so much because it's so simple but like I said, it's so good I don't even care. The bread is very crisp but also delectably chewy, and stuck in between it are thin wedges of cheese, which are offset perfectly by a smear of sweet quince paste and the sharp bite of wispy arugula leaves.

I ate it too quickly to take a photo -- and I don't have my camera with me anyway, which also means no picture of the very, very (very) tiny and cute dog who visited today -- so this means I shall have to go back very soon to get another, only so I can provide you with some evidence. I'm doing this for you my lovely one (or two?) reader -- and yes, OK, a little bit for myself, too. But mostly for you. No really, I mean it.

Remember how I just wrote about how pretty and blue and lovely was the sky this weekend? And about how it wouldn't last? Well. Today it is grey and chilly, and last night was even worse:

[Fog at Ocean Beach, Oct. 2007]

Luckily we were driving about and so didn't have to brave the whipping wind while waiting for the bus, and luckily I had lots of heirloom tomatoes to make up into a quick and delicious sauce that was tossed with bow-tie pasta, sprinkled generously with parmesan, and accompanied by a market salad crammed full of things like radishes, carrots, and almonds, as well as a sautée of zucchini, basil and fresh corn, as soon as we got home. [I feel the extreme yum-ness of the meal justifies that run-on sentence.]

As I simmered the tomatoes and stirred the squash, the windows got all steamy in that way they do, and it felt very cozy inside against the ever-earlier dark. After getting fog-drenched and chilled out at the beach, I finally felt, well, almost warm again. All I needed was a glass of red wine. Next time.

Late-season tomato sauce

1/2 of a large onion, chopped
3-4 cloves garlic, chopped
4-5 large-ish heirloom tomatoes (or more, as you like)
good handful (1/2 cup) torn basil leaves

Prepare a pasta you like (spaghetti would be great).

Meanwhile, sautée the onion and garlic in a pot with olive oil over medium heat until soft, about 10 minutes. Wash and coarsely chop the tomatoes (you can remove the skins if you like by boiling until they split, then putting immediately into an ice bath, but last night I was HUNGRY, people, and there was just no time). Add the tomatoes to the pot, and raise heat to high. Stir vigorously. As the tomatoes begin to break, you may add a little vegetable broth, or pasta water, for consistently. Bring to a boil and cook for a few minutes, then lower heat and simmer for as long as you have, at least 10 minutes.

Add salt and pepper to taste, and throw in the basil. Stir until wilted. Pour in heaping spoonfuls over your pasta and stir well to combine.

Serve very hot, with parmesan.

October in the City

2007-10-08T10:42:00.000-07:00

Green afternoon serene and bright, along my street you sail away
Sun-dappled like a ship of light that glints upon a rippled bay ...
And all those afternoons once danced and sparkled in the sapphire light
An iris shade as you have glanced, green afternoon, in vibrant flight ...

From 'A City Afternoon,' by Edith Wyatt

This quotation makes me think of October -- the imminent waning of daylight, its crisp, brilliant blue skies (the kind that made a woman in Golden Gate Park exclaim the other day "That sky!" while looking upward, and I silently agreed with her as I ran past, a sort of golden light that holds on just a bit longer to Indian summer while foreshadowing November's chill all at the same time.

October is my favorite month -- not least of all because it is my birthday month -- for it eases me into true fall and almost (almost!) makes me feel prepared for the coming winter. It makes me dig out my warmer sweaters and think about roasting vegetables; it makes me think of baking and the holiday gift boxes I'll put together in a few months; it also makes me appreciate the occasional 70-degree day ever more so because I know how precious and ephemeral it is.

See?

[Sunday afternoon, October 2007]

That blue! It's intense and clear and endless all at once. This weekend I was lucky enough to be outside for most of it, either running, or listening to Gillian Welch in the park, or walking home from yoga class, or finishing up a few books on the roof as the Blue Angels buzzed about. It was probably the last really warm weekend for awhile, and I tried to soak it up as much as possible (a good thing, too, for today is again grey and chilly).

So, to celebrate these gorgeous early-autumn days, I did what, really, one can only be expected to do: I made waffles.

[Waffles, with peaches and strawberries]

Years ago, when I lived in DC, we were on a regular brunch circuit with our group of friends. No matter how late the night before had gone, if we'd planned a brunch, then by god a brunch we'd have. Some mornings I'd be verysleepily stirring eggs for an asparagus and mushroom fritatta and sipping on my first cup of coffee while waiting for the guests to arrive. Another time I made waffles from a Cook's Illustrated recipe touted as The Best waffle recipe ever created. It was pretty darn good.

As I've mentioned before, I'm not a big fan of sweet breakfast foods. It's usually oatmeal or peanut butter on toast; sometimes a lone egg gets fried up in a bit of butter, paired with a slice of cheddar, and presented lovingly on a crisp piece of sourdough. I've often thought I'd do better with eating soup or savories for my first meal, but mostly I go along with my basic standbys. But then sometimes I go against even my healthiest instincts and make something so full of butter it might make one nervous where one really to think about it.

[So I suggest you do not.]

After some Internet digging, I came up with a good approximation of that long-lost recipe and set to work. This recipe requires some forethought, because it uses yeast, and needs a good 8 hours -- overnight or longer -- to rise in the fridge. But it uses just a few ingredients, and can be put together so quickly it's not really extra effort but rather doing in advance to make the next morning's fry-up go seamlessly (really, it's true).

Probably because these are yeasted waffles -- and perhaps also because of the butter -- they are very crisp and light, never soggy. With some fruit and a generous (inappropriate?) pour of maple syrup, they satisfy even a picky breakfaster like me. Smear some peanut butter onto leftovers and roll up into a pre-run snack, or flaunt convention by topping with ice cream for a post-dinner dessert -- either way, you won't be disappointed.

Waffles, adapted from Marion Cunningham's "Lost Recipes"

1/2 cup warm water
1 package dry yeast
2 cups milk, warmed
1/2 cup butter, melted
1 teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon sugar
2 cups all-purpose flour
2 eggs
1/4 teaspoon baking soda
1 tsp. vanilla

1. Choose a large mixing bowl because the batter will
double in bulk as it rises. Put the water in the
mixing bowl and sprinkle in the yeast. Let stand to
dissolve for 5 minutes. Whisk in the milk, butter,
salt, sugar and flour and beat until smooth. Cover the
bowl with plastic wrap and let stand overnight in the refrigerator.

2. Preheat the waffle iron. Just before cooking the
waffles, beat the eggs and baking soda into the
batter. (The batter will be thin.) Pour ½ to ¾ cup
batter into the waffle iron. Bake until waffles are
crisp and golden brown. Extra batter will keep for
several days in the refrigerator.

Makes about 8.

Serve with fruit, maple syrup, and faux (or real?) sausage. Post-dinner, serve warm topped with chocolate or vanilla ice cream, with chocolate sauce if you're so decadently inclined.

[View from the roof, October 2007]

A Cup by Any Other Name Would Taste as Sweet

2007-10-01T21:39:00.000-07:00

[My old French press.]

The other night at Nopa, I had something listed on the menu as "wild mint tea -- Greece" (at $3 a pot), which made me laugh a bit because in Greece? I never had tea, nor did I hear a word about it. What I did have, of course, was coffee in many variations.

(Greeks love their coffee.)

A good friend of mine swung by from Jerusalem, where he is working for the bureau there as a tv producer (we are old Reuters pals), to hang out with me. The afternoon he arrived, we popped into one of the little corner markets to pick up a few essentials. One of these was a jar of Nescafe, which I'd never had before except as shaken up into a frappe. I wasn't sure I'd be OK with drinking it even for a week -- but lo! I had no problem, even without sugar (I couldn't bear to pay the 4 euros for a box when I knew I'd hardly make a dent in it). We got a small bottle of milk, some yogurt, cheese, already-made tziki, crackers ... but the truly important thing for both of us was the coffee.

Which is why I had to stifle the giggles at seeing Greek mint tea on the menu. I have only observed one one Greek-American drinking tea, and even then it was tea made from strange dried herbs that looked like sticks; honestly, knowing him, it could have come from anywhere, possibly even his backyard in Rochester (sorry, Simos). The Greeks in Greece drank: Greek coffee, frappe, and ouzo, and that was pretty much it.

The thing about coffee is that it's just so good. Sometimes I drink too much and get anxious, and then I have to stop for awhile, which is a shame, for I dearly love the taste of it. I mostly drink Peet's, but as previously mentioned, I learned to stomach, and then embrace, the Nescafe instant. True coffee-philes might scoff at this penchant for what is an admittedly cheap brew, but I have to say it's not bad. It's even better iced, with a little sugar and milk. (Now that I'm back in the States, however, it's Peet's and Blue Bottle pretty much exclusively, for I'm a bit of a snob.)

Most mornings on Spetses went like this: rise late, have a Nescafe and a light breakfast, talk about what to do that day, meet up with Emily for an iced coffee downtown, or at the kafenio near to my brother's shop. I don't know exactly why I have such a thing for frappe, except that I do: really, it's just Nescafe shaken up with cold water, and then poured into a glass with ice and milk, if you like, and as much or as little sugar as you wish. But it hits that dry, parched spot on the hottest of days. One of my favorite frappe-drinkings was on an afternoon after we'd settled on a little beach after driving halfway around the island on a mykanaki. We went into the restaurant and got tziki to eat with our bread, and frappes, then sat under an umbrella looking out at the sea. The tziki was garlicky, the bread very fresh, the frappes cold ... All was right with the world for a few hours.

My second night on the island we went for dinner at a taverna downtown that Kurt liked, and it was, indeed, very good: I had roasted tomatoes stuffed with rice and baked white 'elephant' beans in an oniony tomato sauce. At a nearby table was a group of guys -- presumably old friends, by the way they spoke to each other -- who slowly worked through small bottle after bottle of ouzo; their table was littered with the detritus of their meal, people stopped by to say hello from time to time, and occasionally they ordered more ouzo. But they didn't get drunk -- it was just a way of savoring the evening. We didn't stay long enough to see, but I'll bet they capped off the meal with a cup of Greek coffee.

Coffee, for me, is meant to be savored and sipped slowly. It's the gentle slide into waking up and facing the day. I like it strong (one of the best cups I've had was at the "Hard-Core Espresso" stand/strange roadside jumble that is the epitome of West County in Sebastopol), with just a teaspoon of sugar and half-and-half or soy creamer. I'll do iced in the summer (the iced chicory coffee from the Italian coffee stand next door is delicious, and keeps one zinging along for hours), but mostly I like it hot -- unless, of course, I'm in Greece and it's 100 F every day -- and brewed in the little French press that has served me faithfully and well for many years.

Today is the perfect coffee-day: drizzly as I left the house before 7.30 this morning, but not cold. Now the sun is pushing its way through, and I have a freshly-brewed cup to tide me along 'til lunch (couscous salad redux, if you must know). I do adore tea, but for the time being I've gone over to the darker side (or, really, slightly milky).

I don't mind a bit.

Couscous Salad, Unexpectedly

2007-09-27T10:56:00.000-07:00

[Santa Monica, September 2007]

I went down to Santa Monica last weekend for a little art show viewing at a fab gallery and requisite beach time (of course). Who knew Southern California was so mellow, with such an endless, sunny beach? I certainly did not, and will probably be back at some point to soak it up a bit more.

Saturday night we were invited to a discussion and potluck dinner, and I thought initially I'd just pop over to the next-door Wild Oats market and pick up something pre-made. Oh, silly me. At this point, I should just accept that prepared foods are rarely an option unless I'm in a real rush; most of the time I've gotta make it myself, even if I'm fairly far from home.

I didn't know what the crowd would be like -- would there be many vegetarians? Would there be none at all? Would there be more desserts than main dishes? What, oh what, to do? -- and while I contemplated baking a quick and easy vegan chocolate cake, the first thought which came to me, unbidden, was to do an even quicker and easier couscous salad with my now-beloved feta cheese added in at the last minute.

So, you know, I did.

I just bought about two cups-worth of couscous, a packet of feta (I went with the "tomato-basil" variety for a change, and was not disappointed), a few vegetables, and a can of (organic) chickpeas, and allowed myself 15 minutes to put it all together. And that's all it took!

Couscous is one of my favorite things to make because it's delicious and quick -- 5 minutes, usually, is all you need -- and the feta was a perfect accompaniment. As I let the couscous absorb its water, I chopped a cucumber, sliced an onion for some bite, and washed a basket of orange cherry tomatoes. After the couscous cooled enough so as to not melt the cheese, I tossed all the vegetables and chickpeas, along with a healthy amount of olive oil, into the couscous. I didn't have any fresh mint, but I will definitely use some the next time; plain feta would be fine, too, if you would rather forgo the fancier stuff. I'd also add some lemon juice, and top each serving with a dollop of garlicky yogurt sauce.

But this dish was fine as it was. I made sure to pile a decent amount on my plate from the start, and it's a good thing I did, because it went fast. It's in keeping with my Mediterranean, beach-y mindset of late -- perfect for an early fall foray to a place where the sun seems always to shine (well, except for Saturday morning, when it rained, and was chilly; an aberration, I heard). Plus, I've found an unexpected addition to my roster of quick and healthy weeknight meals, and I can't wait to make it again.

Couscous salad with feta and chickpeas

2 cups [whole wheat] couscous
2 Tb. olive oil
2 1/2 cups water or broth
1 cucumber, peeled and diced
1/2 red onion, chopped
cherry or grape tomatoes (1 basket, more or less)
2 slabs of feta, coarsely chopped
fresh mint
1 can chickpeas, drained and rinsed

Boil the water with the olive oil, then turn off the heat, add the couscous and stir and cover. Set aside for about 10 minutes. Meanwhile, prepare the vegetables. When the couscous has absorbed the water, fluff with a fork and put into a large bowl.
Let cool a bit before adding the vegetables.

When the couscous has cooled, throw in the vegetables and chickpeas. Add a bit of olive oil if you like; sometimes it seems a little too dry. Salt and pepper to taste, along with the mint (dried oregano or basil would also work). Stir and toss to combine well. Add the feta and stir gently before serving.

[Omit the cheese for an almost-as-delicious vegan version/]

Also! this would taste yummy yum stuffed in roasted tomatoes or peppers.

Challah's Back!

2007-09-25T09:32:00.000-07:00

For a limited time only ...

The holidays have come and gone, and a half-loaf of my challah bread remains, frozen solid for consumption as French toast some weekend morning.

Anyway, I must be a bit vain here and boldly state that this challah was one of the best I've ever made -- perhaps even the very best! And here is the proof:

I've made this version before, but for awhile I got caught up in making a very sweet, cake-y challah loaf from williams-sonoma.com; it was delicious, but the kind of bread you'd have for a late-morning snack, with a bit of butter, rather than as a foil for cheese or even hummus. It was slightly too sweet for me, and I'm pleased with myself for actually pulling down a much-loved cookbook for the first time in ages to revisit this old recipe. Because it is good.

The Thursday night before our belated Rosh Hashanah dinner, I came back late from my run and tried to multi-task with laundry and phone calls and making dinner and putting the yeast on to rise. While I'm mostly very good at the doing many things at once, I couldn't pull it off this time 'round, and my challah dough woefully ended up in the trash. I contemplated buying a loaf at the local organic market instead -- must have challah for the new year, you see -- but since I got out of work a little early the next day, and as I must make everything, always, forever from scratch, I took a deep breathe and tried again.

So glad I did, too.

This challah is simple and light, yet never plain. It's good for cheese sandwiches, as toast, or soaked in milk and beaten egg and cinnamon to make French toast (on the agenda soon). I'm sure it would even do well in a bread pudding if one were so inclined (I'm not, but that shouldn't stop you, of course).

It's the perfect way to quietly usher in a new year -- or season. For now it's fall, and despite toasting my toes in Santa Monica this weekend, there's a decided chill in the air. I'm still getting used to it, but hopefully my first batch of roasted vegetable soup should dispel summer's lingering allure, and put me back to rights.

Challah, from Vegetarian Cooking for Everyone, by Deborah Madison

2 1/4 cup warm water
2 1/4 tsp. active dry yeast
3 Tb. sugar
3 eggs, beaten, 2 Tb. removed
1/4 cup olive oil
1 Tb. salt
6-7 cups flour

Mix yeast with 1/4 cup of warm water and a teaspoon of sugar in a small bowl. Set aside until foamy, about 10 minutes, then stir it into two cups of warm water in a mixing bowl along with the rest of the sugar, eggs, oil, and salt. Add the flour a cup at a time to make a smooth batter. When the batter becomes heavy, turn out onto counter and knead in the rest of the flour until dough is satiny smooth, about eight minutes. Set aside in an oiled bowl, turn once, then cover. Set aside until doubled, about an hour. Push down, divide in half, then divide each half into three equal pieces.

To shape, roll each piece into a rope about 10-12 inches long. Cross the strads over each other in middle, then begin to braid. Tuck the ends under and place on an oiled baking sheet. Set aside 45 minutes; during the last 15, preheat oven to 375 F. Beat reserved egg with one Tb. of water andd then then brush over the bread.

Bake for about 45 minutes, until golden.

Note: for the new year, challah should be baked in a round, not braided.

Timeless (and, pistachios)

2007-09-19T19:02:00.000-07:00

[The Med, August 2007.]

Unrelatedly: I have a piece in the Chron today.

But back to the good stuff: my Grecian adventure.

I think one of the reasons I came back from Greece filled to the brim with joy at its very existence was because of the way time slowed and simmered there. It was a true vacation for me; I packed my old backpacking pack, which has faithfully accompanied my on each trip out of the country (and lots of places within the U.S., too), with books and skirts and a swimsuit and not much else. I told Kurt I wanted to sleep, eat, and swim prodigiously, and oh, how I did. And it was grand.

There is something about the ocean that endlessly fascinates; when I lived in Washington, what I most missed was the option of an ocean nearby (the Potomac, while lovely, did not suffice). I loved my trips to the Eastern Shore each summer (Lewes, Delaware, how I miss you now!), but they were always such productions: getting up very, very early on a Saturday morning to beat the Bay Bridge traffic, sleepily getting coffee at the little shop in town, setting up camp for the day on the beach. I first read The Art of Eating while there, and I remember hardly even being able tear myself away to take a swim -- which, you know, means it was good.

So being back in Northern California, and living in a city which runs right up to the Pacific Ocean, has been wonderful for me. I don't get to the beach every day, of course, and there's hardly ever a hope of swimming, but knowing it's there, and is accessible, is enough.

Then: Spetses. To live on an island, even for ten days, surrounded by a calm, clear sea, eating so well of simple food, and soaking in a benign sun was truly magical. While I might not get back there for a long time, the memory if it should last me for a good long while. I keep making Publish Posthref="http://cucinanicolina.blogspot.com/2007/09/food-of-gods.html">feta and tomato salads and nibbling on the pistachios I brought back with me, trying to make them last.

Before I left, I heard from both my brother and his girlfriend the pistachio nuts in Greece were "amazing." Perhaps even "out of this world." Definitely "much different than the American version." Now, I love pistachios. I don't know how good they are for me, but as I am a salt-lover, they completely satisfy. Sometimes I have a little bowl with a glass of red wine and sit in my blue chair by the window and read on a Friday early evening, and it is perfectly wonderful. Unfortunately, after tasting the nuts from Aegina island (near to Spetses, and where my grandfather was born), the regular old Trader Joe's pistachios simple won't do.

And what makes Greek pistachios so much better? They are smaller, for one thing, and lighter -- somehow they taste very fresh. When you bite into them they are tender, with a hint of sourness, but the saltiness quickly cuts that away and you're left with a bit of nutty Greek goodness. I could eat them by the fistful and of course, they taste simply glorious in a baklava or a little ball of honeyed pastry dipped in chocolate which was, in case you were wondering, one of the best things I've eaten in my entire life (thanks, Emily!).

These pistachios taste like the Mediterranean. I'm not kidding when I say I've been dreaming of it almost every other night, and then waking, disoriented in my own little room. You know I love California, but this time 'round to Greece has made me realize my heart is big enough to encompass other places -- especially if they include a warm and lovely ocean, and lots and lots of sunshine.

"The greatest gift the sea has to give is its timelessness. Beside it, if you are able to receive it, that vast blue amplitude of space and time soothes, simplifies, heals. Beside it, if you are very quiet and still, you see clearly that life is and always has been outside time, a thing apart from it, and so you need have no real fear of time's poison fruits ..."
-Anne Rivers Siddons

New Year, New Potato

2007-09-14T07:39:00.000-07:00

I'm not Jewish, but someone very close to me is, and I have lots and lots of friends who are, too. So what this means is, I inevitably celebrate the major holidays as they roll around (my favorite is Chanukah, of course, because latkes, I mean, really). Last fall we had a small group of four, and this year will be smaller still, but I think it's nice to mark the slip into another year, even if quietly.

As I read over the post I wrote almost a year ago, I'm shocked (shocked!) to realize I have nearly the same menu planned. I suppose I could try to shake myself out of the rut I've fallen into, yet it's such a delicious one I just don't see the point. I hate messing with success -- but in order to maintain some semblance of an adventurous spirit, I'll take a deep breath and switch up the potatoes. I'm living on the edge, here.

Of course it's rather not as scary as it seems, because I've been making roasted fingerling potatoes all summer long -- or, at least from the time I discovered the Fillmore Farmers' Market, a mere five-minute walk from where I live. I've roasted them, mashed them, boiled and churned them into soups ... and I still can't get enough. I'm trying not to think about that dark, awful time also known as mid-November-May when the market is closed for the season.

For these babies are sublime. They truly are. I would not have served
them at an important dinner party, nor would I have made them again and again for quick-and-easy weeknight suppers if they were not absolutely perfect.

{See? Cute fingerling potato, September 2007]

One of the greatest things about these little gems is the very fact of their littleness; you don't need to peel or cut them up (caveat: no need to peel if they are organic; if not, I would) as you might with red or russet potatoes. You don't even need to season them! All they want is a bit of olive oil, garlic, and salt, and a nice roast for about a half-hour until tender and steaming -- their clean, pure taste needs little else, though I admit to running them through a pool of sour cream from time to time, and adding an extra sprinkle of salt once cooked.

Simple, yes; inelegant, never.

Thus, my Rosh Hashanah (a couple days late, but it's the effort that counts) dinner is a simple -- and vegetarian -- one, but it incorporates produce from local and organic farms, which I think is a fine way to start off a new year. In addition to the requisite round and glossy challah loaf, I'll make matzo ball soup (like latkes -- any excuse); chickpeas, garlic, and baby chard; roasted cauliflower; roasted fingerlings; a big market salad; and a tarte tatin. Those with good memories (or who clicked the link above) will see this is an almost exact reprise of last year's feast, albeit with a few tweaks. I've been working all week, though, so I'll give myself a pass on the creativity aspect.

Shanah Tova!

Roasted fingerlings with garlic

This is a very loose recipe, and who am I to say that fresh rosemary or even finely chopped basil wouldn't make a nice complement? It's just that I never have enough time, and these potatoes helps me round out a quick meal nearly every week. Plus, did I mention? They're delicious. I try to always keep some in the fridge.

10 or so fingerling potatoes, scrubbed
2 cloves garlic, pressed
olive oil
salt

Oven to 400 F. Put the potatoes and garlic in a bowl. Dump in about 2-4 Tb. olive oil, and add salt to your taste. Mix thoroughly until the potatoes are well-coated with the oil and salt.

Place potatoes in a baking dish and roast for about 30 minutes, checking to make sure they do not get too dry. Shake the pan every once in awhile, and add a bit more oil if necessary. Remove from oven when potatoes are tender when pierced with a fork.

Food for the Times

2007-09-11T01:35:00.000-07:00

[Banana loaf, September 2007]

Six years ago the world collapsed and turned into itself, and nothing has been the same since. Can it really be six years? It's hard to fathom -- life has bowled on at its usual pace; that the sun can rise and set on its regular rhythm seems both impossible and comforting.

That day in 2001, my friend walked me home from work through the deserted Washington downtown, all the way up to Adams Morgan to my friend's house where we ate macaroni and cheese, drank Sierra Nevada, and talked and talked, trying to make sense out of the nonsensical. It was such a blank, awful day -- the kind where, when you wake up the next morning, it feels like a terrible dream until you remember.

Every year on the anniversary, all I want to do is to be outside for awhile, and then to cook something sweet and nourishing.

This year I will make banana bread, because it is comfort food in the extreme -- plus, it smells so good while it's baking and tastes even better. My recipe is somewhat time-worn, from an old copy of the Better Homes and Garden cookbook I picked up at a yard sale with a pile of books for $1 (my first copy -- perhaps my first cookbook ever? -- having long since been singed beyond use).

This recipe is quite basic, but if you use a lot of bananas, it's elevated to something a bit beyond the ordinary. Moist, sweet but not too, with those homey, safe flavors of cinnamon, nutmeg, and ginger. it's a bread to soothe the soul.

A trick to keep in mind is one I picked up ages ago when I first started dating Michael; it's both thrifty and practical: when your bananas start to turn -- as they inevitably might -- and you can't stand the thought of eating any more, throw 'em in the freezer to save for making banana bread at your leisure. I read somewhere it's best to remove the skin before doing so, but I often forget to do this, and the bananas freeze up just fine.

Serve as is, or toasted with a bit of butter or margarine, and a hot cup of tea.

Last year, a simple and savory chard-and-potato lasagne also sure to bring comfort on difficult days.

Banana Bread, adapted from the Better Homes and Garden cookbook

1 1/2 cups all-purpose flour
1 1/2 tsp. baking powder
1/4 tsp. baking soda
1/2 tsp. ground cinnamon
1/4 tsp. ground nutmeg
1/4 tsp. ground ginger
1 egg
1 cup mashed bananas (3 medium)
3/4 cup sugar
1/4 cup vegetable oil
options: 1/2 cup chopped walnuts
handful chocolate chips

Preheat oven to 350 F. Grease the bottom and sides of a loaf pan. In a medium bowl, combine the flour, baking powder, baking soda, spices, and 1/8 tsp. salt. Make a well in the center of the dry mixture and set aside.

In another bowl, combine the egg, mashed bananas, sugar, and oil. Add the wet mixture all at once to the dry mixture and stir until just moistened. Fold in walnuts or chocolate chips, if using.

Bake in the prepared pan for about 50-55 minutes or until a toothpick inserted in the center comes out clean. Cool in pan for 10 minutes then remove from the pan and cool on a wire rack (note: I just let it sit in the pan until it's cool). Wrap and store the loaf overnight before slicing.

I have a feeling this could be made vegan very easily just by omitting the egg and adding another banana, or just taking a chance with the ones you already have; bananas are often used as an egg substitute so I think you'd be fine.

You can also divide the batter into smaller pans; it makes two mini loaves, like so:

An Apple Pie Kind of Day

2007-09-08T15:48:00.001-07:00

Nicole's Apple Pies
Originally uploaded by pixelrandy

Today seems like a day John Steinbeck would have loved -- it is cloudy with drifting fog and the sun, while struggling to get through, can't quite make it. I'm not sure why I feel it's so Steinbeckian; he, of course, also wrote a lot about the cool, crystal light of Monterey and Salinas, where it is often very clear.

But there's something about this afternoon ... perhaps I am thinking of that bit in "Sweet Thursday" when Doc has a proper ocean feast with a hermit, complete with sea urchins, along a wind-blown stretch on the central coast, and if the author could have written a scene like that, I think he would have liked today as well.

Steinbeck, to me, is California -- is America, too -- and while I'm on the subject, what, really, is more "American" than apple pie? (Or so it's said; not really sure I agree with that claim.) And I do love to make apple pies. About a month ago I stayed up late on a Friday night feverishly baking four apple pies to enter in the Sebastopol Gravenstein Apple Fair's pie contest -- and it's time to share my -- if not winning, still pretty good -- recipe.

I've been making this quick and easy version of apple pie for a few years now. The first time I made it was for a friend who had dairy allergies and I didn't want to take a chance even with organic butter; now I mostly make it for my dad or for my vegan friends, but I actually prefer a pie crust made without butter because it's overall much less heavy and ... buttery.

I think the trick to achieving a really light, really flaky crust is to start with very cold ingredients and then let it rest in the fridge for at least a 1/2-hour before rolling and filling. My standby recipe is adapted from the Fannie Farmer Cookbook, one of those oldie-but-goodies with a lot of fine, staple recipes for baked goods (that's pretty much all I use it for; the Boston Favorite Cake is my usual cupcake recipe). When I'm in Sebastopol, I use Gravenstein apples straight from the tree, but a mix of apples and pears, especially in the winter, is lovely, or you can use any kind of fruit you like. I made a peach-raspberry pie this summer that turned out well.

Today is also a day that makes me a bit nostalgic for September 2005, when I was training for the Marine Corps Marathon. I'd go out in the early afternoon (around 2p, which was after the kindergarten bus had finished depositing its valuable cargo, but before the end-of-school rush; the roads were too narrow to share) on days that were often as grey and chilly as this. I'd set my feet and mind straight ahead on the miles to run, and it was extradordinarily peaceful -- a sort of time out of time. My run today was about half of the standard daily 9.5-miles I ran that fall, but my mind wandered just the same, and the miles flew by.

I made a lot of pies then, too.

Apple Pie, adapted from the Fannie Farmer Cookbook

For crust:
2 1/2 cups flour (can use a mix of wheat/white)
1/4 cup sugar
1/2 tsp. salt
1/2 cup (or so) oil (I use a mix of canola and olive oils), chilled
6 Tb. ice water

Mix the flour, sugar, and salt. Cut in the oil with a fork or a pastry blender. Combine until the mixture resembles coarse meal. Sprinkle water over the flour, a tablespoon at a time, and mix lightly with a fork, using just enough so that the pastry will hold together when pressed gently in a ball. Wrap in waxed paper and let rest in the fridge at least 30 minutes.

For pie:
Pie dough
1 cup sugar
1/2 tsp. salt
1 tsp. cinnamon
1/2 tsp. ginger
1/2 tsp. nutmeg
1 1/2 Tb. flour
6 large apples, peeled, cored, and sliced

Preheat the oven to 425 F. Divide the dough in half and roll out and fit one half into a 9-inch pie pan. Mix the sugar, salt, spices, and flour in a bowl. Toss the apple slices in the sugar mixture, coating well. Pile into the lined pan and roll out the top crust and drape over the pie. Crimp the edges and cut several vents in the top.

Bake 10 minutes at 425 F, then lower the heat to 350 F and bake 30-45 minutes more or until the apples are tender and bubbly and the crust is browned. I usually place the pie on a baking sheet in case of spillage.

*Special thanks to my friend, Randy, who photographed my pies when I forgot, and who I really need to have over for dinner along with his lovely girlfriend, Sylvie. Soon!

My Favorite Things

2007-09-04T15:09:00.001-07:00

{Dinner and a book, June 2007]

Two things I love are books and food (or, reading and cooking). So it makes sense that I especially love books -- and not necessarily cookbooks -- about food. I think I actually prefer books whose characters are cooks, or who are deeply fascinated by food, to traditional recipe-books; I am at the core of me a fiction-lover, so when I read a novel that deals with cooking, it is like the best meal you could imagine, made with the freshest, most delectable organic ingredients, served on fine china on a deck overlooking the ocean (or in the mountains; a place with a view, at any rate).

I just read Ms.Tea's list of her own favorite food-y books -- inspired by The Perfect Pantry's Bookworms in the Pantry compilation, and I couldn't resist detailing a few of the novels and nonfiction works that have caught my food-centric eye ...

One of my most-loved books with a heavy food influence was recommended to me by my brother, who had read it the summer he worked on an organic farm in Virginia. I remember going deep into the quiet stacks of the Martin Luther King Library on a Saturday afternoon quest to find it for myself -- and it was so worth it. Diana Abu-Jabar's Crescent is the story of an Iraqi-American woman living in L.A. who is the main cook at a Middle Eastern restaurant. It's mostly about her reconnection with her cultural identity through cooking and her relationship with an Iraqi professor; the food descriptions are glorious. I haven't yet read Abu-Jabar's memoir, The Language of Baklava, but it's on my little mental list (and on hold at the library).

Another find I just came across (in the Atlanta airport, on the way to Greece, if you must know) is The Whole World Over, by Julia Glass, author of the more well-known Three Junes, (which also incorporates food, though not to the same extent). In Glass's latest novel, Greenie Duquette moves to New Mexico to be its governor's head chef, leaving her husband and bakery behind in New York. Amid all the finely wrought character studies are delicious-sounding menus prepared by Greenie as well as a friend who owns a restaurant (the description of the dishes she puts together for a sample meal was enough to make me buy the book).

This spring, a friend gave me Alice Waters and Chez Panisse: the Romantic, Impractical, Often Eccentric, Ultimately Brilliant Making of a Food Revolution, by Thomas McNamee, and I devoured it in a few days. I mentioned it a few months ago; it's satisfyingly gossipy, informative, and full of past menus and recipes, which I adore.

And Isabel Allende's Aphrodite: A Memoir of the Senses, or an "apothecary of aphrodisiacs" is exactly that -- a lusty, luscious tome with descriptions to make you giggle and blush at the same time.

In the queue: my beloved Barbara Kingsolver's Animal, Vegetable, Miracle: A Year of Food Life, which I've been saving as a treat for myself, and a re-read of M.F.K. Fisher's The Art of Eating, which I keep close by whenever I need a bit of inspiration -- or want to do some heavy lifting.

Any further suggestions?

Food of the Gods

2007-09-01T09:32:00.001-07:00

Saturday, slow and sweet. The first week back after a vacation is always the hardest, but luckily I have a piece in the Chron today to ease the transition into a lovely long weekend.

Today has been one of those sort of gloriously empty days: a sleep-in until 9a, breakfast out, a meander through the Fillmore Famer's Market (where I bought probably too much), a few much-needed phone calls. I took a sandwich to Alamo Square Park and ate and read in the sun, the wind rustling all the cyprus trees and the pages of my book. Now I'm savoring a cup of Typhoo (brewed strong) before I see where the evening takes me.

I'm not ready for the upcoming, inevitable slide into autumn -- though here in Northern California, of course, we are poised to enter some of the best weather weeks of the entire year -- but this weekend, the unofficial end of summer, I have two barbeques to attend, which might help me deal with it a little better. For one I've decided to make oatmeal chocolate chip cookies, but for the other I'll bring a plate of tomatoes, feta, red onions, and good olive oil -- a reminder to myself that just a few weeks ago I was basking under the hottest sun I'd experienced in years.

[Leftover salad, in Greece]

Most of my meals in Greece involved a Greek salad (and I'm awful because I can't remember the name in Greek!) composed of tomato, cucumber, red onion, olives, and a thick and luscious slab of feta. Sometimes tavernas threw in some peppers, or perhaps the feta was crumbled into big chunks, but these were pretty much the standard ingredients.

On my third night on Spetses, jetlag had settled in, and rather than go out, my friend, brother, and I had a sort of pick-up meal of souvlaki (the vegetarian version rather hilariously included french fries) from a little place downtown, tomato-y beans from a can, pre-made tziki, bread, and the leftover salad Kurt had brought over. We sat comfortably, chatting with the friendly proprietor and nibbling at the bounty on the little table outside the apartment in which I was installed for the week. It was very hot, and quiet except for the occasional blat of the mopeds racing by outside the courtyard walls.

The day before, the island had celebrated a religious festival, and Kurt's boss roasted lamb in the boat yard across the street from the shop and sent him home with leftover salad made from his garden tomatoes. Kurt, in turn, brought it over to my place for our impromptu dinner. And how I thank him for it!

There are times when I wish I was a much better writer, and this is one of them -- I really can't fully describe how delicious that salad was. We all know how much better freshly-picked tomatoes taste, but when they are grown under the blazing Mediterranean sun and paired with lots of local olive oil and salty, creamy feta cheese, they become almost transcendent. I should apologize in advance to my friends at tomorrow's gathering because while I'll do my best to replicate the salad, it just won't be the same.

Still, I will try, for I have some beautiful organic heirlooms I got this morning (at only $2.50/lb.!) I know are just longing for an olive oil-and-feta bath.

And lest you grow weary of my Grecian ramblings, I have grand plans this weekend to make a vegan honey cake and a zuchini bread, as well as a white bean, tomato, and orzo soup or main dish to break up all this island nostalgia.

[Third-night meal, Spetses 2007]

Greek Salad, my way, Spetses-inspired

I like olives, but not always, and half the time I leave them behind on the plate after I've finished the salad. So when I make my own version, I leave them out. And I love cucumbers, but, likewise. Tomorrow morning I've got an early yoga class, then brunch, and I want a quick, simple, and easy dish to throw together. If you have time, let the salad sit a bit at room temperature before eating to let the flavors mingle.

2 medium heirlooms
1 large slab feta cheese
1/2 red onion, sliced
olive oil

Chop the tomatoes coarsely, and try to retain their juices. Put in a large bowl. Add the onion and olive oil, and salt and pepper to taste if you wish, and stir until all is well-coated with the oil. Place the slab of feta on top; you may also break it into chunks and mix in with the rest of the ingredients, but it's more fun to pull it apart with your fork with your dining companions.

On Shopping Abroad

2007-08-30T11:01:00.000-07:00

[Spetses, Old Harbour]

I've been a very lucky girl in the past two years: I've traveled to Greece (Thessaloníki, Halkidiki, and the mountains), Norway (Oslo, the mountains, and the southern coast), Iceland (Reykjavik), and Greece again! And I'm not (yet) completely broke!

This time 'round, on Spetses, I stayed in a little apartment that cost 50 Euros -- about $70 -- a night with dusty, gray tile floors, a real shower in the bathroom, a patio where we sat with ice cream, a rumbly air conditioner -- and a kitchen. It was a tiny one, admittedly, but it still existed; I had a two-burner hot plate, a small oven, a mini refrigerator, and a few pots and pans with which to occupy myself.

So what this meant was, of course, that I could avoid having to go out for every meal, and that a trip to the local -- and only -- supermarket was in order.

On my first visit, with Kurt, I rather predictably wandered the aisles looking at the options and remarking on the differences between what I saw on the shelves there compared with the States. Orange juice, for example, was more expensive than here in San Francisco, and in a smaller container, and there was something in the refrigerated aisle entitled "Russian Salad" that I -- wisely, I'm sure -- steered clear of. I found a plethora of Nivea sunscreens attractively displayed (the spfs ranged from 4 to 10, and no higher) and lotions; lots of feta options; the brand of retsina I learned to love two years ago; a kind of candy made from pistachio nuts and sugar. I picked up a bottle of the ubiquitous "Fairy" dishwashing liquid (also available in Iceland) to outfit my little kitchen, and took a deep breath and committed to a small jar of Nescafe (I now enjoy, not just tolerate, it).

I knew before I left America that I wanted to eat a lot of yogurt, and I so got some of that at the market, too. Oh, Greek yogurt! I shall sing your praises for as long as I am able, for you are thick, creamy, rich, and with so much more character than some of these wimpy American yogurts (forget about forgoing the fat). I can't handle sheep or goat yogurt, but my favorite cow's milk variety came in a little earthenware container I was able to bring home with me to the States and will now use for ... something.

One night after we made dinner, we had a quick and easy dessert of one nectarine, sliced, arranged around a plate of yogurt drizzled with honey; I am making a reprise of that tonight it was so good. I ate yogurt and muesli for breakfast about half the time, and the other mornings I had a piece of bread spread with strawberry jam and topped with a piece of cheese. Though it sounds a bit odd, it was delicious.

I lingered over my cup of Nescafe in the mornings before I packed up my bag with my daily essentials: sunglasses, towel, water bottle, and swimsuit. One day I got up early enough to swim a few laps with the fish off the main beach, secure in the knowledge I could come 'home' to eat a good breakfast before going on about my day.

[My typical Spetses breakfast.]

In Reykjavik, I was pleased and delighted to be able to buy tofu in the "Bonus" supermarket; in Norway there was a strange abundance of broccoli and wheat flours in the bigger markets; in Greece, there were two kinds of oregano potato chips from which to choose, and I tried them both. Going to my local Safeway the other day to buy my bus pass, after the memory of my more exotic grocery shopping sprees, was somewhat deflating; life is back to normal, then.

There's really something special about being in another country for a short time but acting for that brief period as though you live there. I always get a secret thrill when I'm able to move through the supermarket, quietly filling my basket with products I couldn't get at home, carefully counting out my euros, and making a successful purchase -- all without coming across as a gauche tourist.

I hope I was able to pass, this time; you never know for sure.

But I sure was tan enough to blend in.

In Flames

2007-08-28T12:26:00.000-07:00

Though I've got so much to write about my wonderfully relaxing and lovely vacation, it's hard to go on about it now when parts of Greece are suffering so terribly. The stories I'm reading about the fires are just devastating; what's worse is that they were probably started deliberately.

Here is some information about aid and this is a place to donate to reforest the burned areas.

I am glad many E.U. countries -- and beyond -- are coming together to help.

The Island Life

2007-08-24T11:12:00.000-07:00

I slipped under Greece's skin this time round -- and it under mine -- so effortlessly I am still a little bewildered that I am now back in my lovely (and shining clean!) apartment in San Francisco rather than toasting my toes on a rocky beach by the Mediterranean with some of my favorite people.

It really was the most perfect vacation.

From the moment I stepped off of the plane in the newish Athens airport and whisked my bag through customs to hug my brother for the first time in six months, I capitulated, wholly and utterly, to the dusty hills (the heat on the subway down to Piraeus didn't bother me a bit, even), crowded streets, and sparkling, seductive water.

When I bought my ticket to visit Spetses, I wondered if nearly two weeks away would be too long. Would I miss my beloved Pacific Ocean and long for San Francisco's long, cool mornings? Would I be OK with the ... different ... plumbing system? Could I handle the long plane trip? Would I miss tofu too much?

Oh, silly me.

On this, my third trip to Greece, I fell hard, and I don't think I'll ever be able to shake it. Leaving in the early morning dark on the 6:05 ferry to Athens, I instead wanted to dig in my heels and plant my feet firmly there, along the rocky shore of the Mediterranean Ocean, for as long as I could bear to stand in the water (read: forever, please). Even the bus ride from Piraeus to the airport -- all through the dry, hot city -- was not as unpleasant as it might have been because oh! I was still there, even if just for a few more hours!

I definitely have a tendency to romanticize, but like all newly-infatuateds, I want to twirl in the streets and shout it from the roof tops: I am in love. I absolutely cannot wait to go back next July.

I have to thank my brother and his girlfriend, Emily, for giving me one of the best vacations I've ever had -- full of sleeping in, swimming, sunning, hanging out, and eating. A few nights we cooked in my little apartment kitchen (details to come), while on others we went out. The highlight of our eating-out was at a beach taverna about four miles (we biked) from town; we swam immediately upon our arrival because it was hot, and then sat for at least two hours eating a late lunch before biking home. About that I will say initially that I never knew spaghetti ('macaroni') with a simple sauce of olive oil and tomatoes and cheese could taste quite ... so ... good.

We had some simple and very delicious lunches, too -- Emily's way of preparing feta made me love it, truly, for the first time (they are both very good cooks). Sometimes we drank wine at noon and sometimes just bottles of the ever-present -- and necessary -- water; and every day, always, at least one frappe (a Nescafe with milk and no sugar, because I'm cheap, accompanied breakfast). I ate my beloved baked beans, lots of stuffed tomatoes, gorgeous and thick yogurt, bread and cheese, fruit, pastries ...

Mostly it was hot: blazingly, burningly, gloriously hot, and I swam at least three times a day (still, not enough) in that amazingly clear, warm water to which I think I've become addicted. I ate a lot, walked a lot, sweated a lot, bike rode a bit, saw a horse farm, met Kurt's friends, jumped off a rock into the deep sea, and rode three to a mykanaki (moto) through the narrow little streets, holding on for dear life. There is of course lots more, but that's the start of it; I'm trying to recover from the trip back to SF (over 24 hours) and am going to a party in Pt. Reyes tomorrow, so I must get myself to bed early. More food stories will follow soon.

Here's the thing: if you have a chance to go to Spetses, go. And go now, or as soon as you are able (though if you are a swimmer, June-September is the best time). Even if my brother has moved on by that point, it will still be more than worth the long journey.

What can I say? I told you I was in love, and I'm not selfish about sharing.

Emily's Feta

Take one block feta, and cut in lengthwise slices. Put a good amount of olive oil (she says at least 2 tablespooons) in a pan over low heat. Cook the cheese until warm but not melted. Put the cheese on a plate, pour the warm olive oil over it, and scatter just-picked oregano over the top.

Eat with lots of bread or pita to soak up the olive oil, but it is quite permissible to eat the cheese with your fingers.

Thanks, you guys! I miss you already!

Spetses

2007-08-17T01:14:00.000-07:00

The thing I forget every time is how clear the Mediterranean is, and how warm. Arrived to Athens Tuesday morning, and made it (with my brother's help) to the island via a ferry from Piraeus.

I have five minutes on the internet left, so in short: so far I've eaten my favorite and delicious baked white beans with tomato sauce (which I can never, ever perfectly replicate); lots of tziki; a delicious lunch prepared by Kurt and Emily of tortellini and vegetables, grapes, and salad and bread; lots of pastries ('bougaza' I think is the rough English translation); successfully ordered two frappes me galla and with little sugar; and lots of salad.

This is a very beachy island -- meaning that everyone here is bronzed to absolutel perfection with beautiful sun-bleached hair. After a week of grey skies in SF, to wake up to sun every day is gorgeous, and much appreciated. Yesterday we spent most of the day at the beach, and then sat outside on our patio drinking beer and eating and talking and baseball because while we may be in Greece, we're still American.

Today I am off on a boat with my pal to explore another beach. It's wonderful here.

Greece Tomorrow

2007-08-12T14:52:00.000-07:00

I'm off, very (very) early tomorrow morning for Spetses, by way of Atlanta and Athens. My backpack is packed, my camera is loaded with fresh batteries, my books are selected, and I'm ready for nine days of sun and sand.

Though I didn't even place in the Apple Fair's pie contest -- though yes, it was quite fun -- I have a sweet going-away present today. The good news I mentioned awhile back has come to pass: I have a brief article today in the Travel section of the New York Times! It's about my neighborhood in San Francisco, and was a treat to write, not least of all because I got to revisit some of my favorite spots.

But for now I am off to a (fairly) far-flung corner of the world, and I hope to write a bit from there, in between all the coffee drinking, swimming, and feta cheese-eating.

This is my third trip to my grandfather's country, and I'm sure it will be unique in its way; for one thing, I've never been to this island before, and I will be spending my time there with my only sibling. And anyway -- despite previous visits, my fascination with Greece still endures. If I grew up fed on its myths, my adult life has been watered by the clear, blue Mediterranean and the dusty stone steps of its villages.

But in less fanciful meanderings, I leave you with a recipe for dolmas, the traditional Greek dish of stuffed grape leaves. It's the one my dad makes, so you know it has to be good.

More to come from the Med.

Dolmades, from "Can the Greeks Cook!"

1 jar grape leaves, 15 oz. (or fresh, if you're lucky enough to have them)
1 cup rice
1 cup olive oil
1/3 cup lemon juice
5 cups water
3 onions, chopped fine
2 Tb. tomato paste
2 Tb. chopped parsley or mint
Salt and pepper

Soak the rice for 20 minutes in two cups of cold water and one teaspoon of salt. Drain. Saute the onion over a medium flame with one cup of the water until tender, about 15 minutes. Add oil and cook five minutes. Add rice and tomato paste, salt and pepper to taste. Cook for five, stirring occasionally.

Add parsley and cook for about three minutes. Add half the lemon juice and cook for five more minutes. Spread out the grape leaves and place one teaspoon of the filling in the center of each one.

Starting from the stem of the leaf, turn in the ends and roll tightly. Arrange in layers in a medium saucepan. Pour remaining lemon juice over the rolls, and add one cup of water.

Cover and bring to a boil for five minutes. Reduce heat to medium and cook for 15 minutes. Add one more cup of water if needed. Reduce heat to low, and continue to cook for 15 minutes or until rice is tender. Serve hot or cold.

Note: I have not made this recipe myself, but my dad makes it often.

A Very Plummy Dessert

2007-08-08T14:14:00.000-07:00

[The table, set for eight]

Saturday morning dawned early and grey, and I ran out for a bit into the gloom for breakfast, the paper, and a trip to the farmers' market. I worried a little about fitting eight people around my table, but I needn't have entertained such trepidations; all was absolutely well, as it usually is. We may not have needed that last bottle of champagne (though it was icy-cold and absolutely delicious) but the conversation was lively and the food was good -- even the ice cream and plum cake, both of which I'd never made before.

I have some tried-and-true recipes I love and use often (see: my lemony salmon and fruity upside-down cake), but it's good to break away from the old standbys every once in awhile. For some reason this time around -- perhaps because I hadn't done a big dinner in a long time? -- dessert had me stumped. I knew I would make something with fruit, but I didn't want to make a pie or a tarte tatin, and my upside-down cake was out of the question because some of my guests had had it just a few weeks before.

To the plums, then.

First, looked up a few recipes on epicurious, but nothing really caught my eye. Then I remembered something I'd seen ages ago on the Williams-Sonoma recipe index for an "Italian Plum Cake" and it stayed in the back of my mind while I scoured the Internet (but not my cookbooks) for the perfect dessert. Finally, I succumbed to the allure of something with "Italian" in its title (how could it not be good?), even if the ingredients seemed very plain -- just butter, eggs, flour, sugar, a bit of cornstarch and citrus zest, and a pound of plums.

Why did I forget that simple is often best? The cake is a kind of plum sandwich; half of the batter is baked for 10 minutes before being layered with halved fruit and topped with the rest of it. The cornstarch miraculously sops up the juice so it is not soggy, but the cake -- and plums -- are still moist and light. Plain it was not, even when I forewent the Grand Marnier the recipe called for. And the salted butter caramel ice cream ... oh, it was so good. I would make it every day, if I had the time.

For my first course, I made a very simple heirloom tomato soup I would also make again, and again -- and perhaps you will, too.

[Roasted heirlooms, for soup]

We must schedule another big feast when I get back from my trip.

Italian Plum Cake, adapted from williams-sonoma

1 lb. plums, halved and pitted
1 1/4 cups granulated sugar
14 Tbs. (1 3/4 sticks) unsalted butter, at
room temperature
4 eggs, separated
Finely grated zest of 1 orange
Finely grated zest of 1/2 lemon
1 tsp. vanilla extract
1 1/2 cups all-purpose flour
1/2 cup cornstarch
2 tsp. baking powder
1 Tbs. confectioners’ sugar

Preheat an oven to 375°F. Butter a 9-inch springform pan and dust with flour, tapping out the excess.

Place the plum halves in a bowl and sprinkle with 1/4 cup of the granulated sugar. Set aside.

In a large bowl, using an electric mixer set on high speed, beat together the butter and the remaining 1 cup granulated sugar until light and fluffy. Beat in the egg yolks one at a time, beating well after each addition. Stir in the orange zest, lemon zest and vanilla.

In a bowl, sift together the flour, cornstarch and baking powder. In another bowl, using the electric mixer fitted with clean beaters, beat the egg whites until stiff but not dry.

Fold the flour mixture into the butter mixture in 3 additions, alternating with the egg whites and ending with the whites. Do not overmix. Spread half of the batter in the prepared pan.

Bake for 10 minutes. Remove the pan from the oven and arrange the plum halves, cut sides up, on top of the prebaked batter. Carefully spread the remaining batter evenly over the plums. Return to the oven and bake until the cake is lightly browned on top, 50 to 55 minutes. Transfer to a wire rack and let cool for 5 minutes, then run a knife around the sides of the cake to loosen them from the pan.

Let cool for 45 minutes more, then remove the pan sides. Using a small sieve, dust the top of the cake with the confectioners' sugar (I forgot to do this, and it was fine). Serve slightly warm or at room temperature.

Serves 8 to 10.

I served this with David Lebovitz's recipe for salted butter caramel ice cream, which is a bit of work, but so worth it.

Roasted Heirloom Tomato Soup

5-6 heirloom tomatoes
1 onion, chopped
4 cloves garlic, chopped
bay leaves
basil or oregano

Turn the oven to 200 F. Wash the tomatoes and arrange them in a baking pan that has been rubbed with a bit of olive oil. Roast the tomatoes for as many hours as you can; in a pinch, you can slow-roast them for an hour or two, then turn up the heat to 350 F until they are soft. Remove from oven and let cool.

In a soup pot, sautee the onion and garlic in a good amount of olive oil until soft. Remove the skins from the tomatoes and throw into the pot along with the bay leaves. With a spoon, vigorously stir the tomatoes until they release their juice and disintegrate. Add about 3 cups of water and bring to a boil.

Turn heat to low, and simmer for about 20 minutes, stirring occasionally. Add the basil and salt and pepper to taste. Remove the bay leaves and then puree in a food processor or with a stick blender.

Return the soup to low, and add more water for consistency if desired. Serves 8.

A Dinner Party, Long Overdue

2007-08-04T11:10:00.000-07:00

[Whole-wheat walnut loaf, from Acme Bread.]

Item: I have an article in the Chronicle today about gardening inside. Yes, it's possible! I must admit I don't engage in much indoor gardening myself, but after some of these interviews, I realize it's quite do-able, and would be great fun.

Tonight I am throwing a dinner party for the first time in awhile -- and I am ready. Yesterday afternoon I bought a pinkly pretty piece of fresh, wild-caught Pacific salmon from the Ferry Building market, and this morning traipsed down to the Fillmore Farmers' Market for vegetables (I did not skip there blithely, carrying a basket over one arm, which seems to me the only thing to do when going to the market; however, I did bring a large bag in which to stuff all the produce).

I am terribly overdue for a dinner. I think it's been months, which is far, far too long to go. At the moment, I do not feel like indulging in fancy preparations involving exotic ingredients -- no, I am paring down and simplifying my menu as much as I can. I want us to taste all the rich flavors of summer, which, despite the 65-degree temperatures, is here -- all too fleeting and lovely.

From simplicity, after all, comes deliciousness.

Early August Dinner Party, for eight old friends

Hummus and olives; Acme whole-wheat walnut bread

Roasted heirloom tomato soup

Salmon, baked with white wine, lemons, and basil (a portabello mushroom for me)
Roasted fingerling potatoes with olive oil and garlic
Saute of green beans and summer squash with garlic and lemon zest
Sliced heirloom tomatoes with salt and pepper
Organic green salad

Italian plum cake with salted butter caramel ice cream

[Heirloom tomatoes, August 2007]

The countdown to Greece now stands at eight days, and I've just learned that a great pal of mine will be able to pop over from Israel to drink Greek coffee and retsine with me while I'm there! I've been requested to take lots of pictures and pick up some recipes -- all of which have been duly noted. I hope to post a few dispatches from my perch along the Mediterranean, too.

Next weekend, before I depart for the tourquoise sea and the much warmer climes of the isles, I am making pies to enter in my hometown's apple pie contest because, well, why not? There is a tree full of organic (by default) Gravenstein apples that need to be put to use, and I make a olive-oil crust that is rather to die for, despite its lack of butter.

Wish me luck.

Saturday Lunch in Pictures

2007-07-28T15:09:00.000-07:00

[Spinach salad with grape and cherry tomatoes, lemon cucumber, strawberries, hard-boiled egg and toasted bread with radishes and butter, July 2007]

All from the Fillmore St. Farmer's Market on a very blowy, sunny, late-July afternoon ...

[Toasted whole wheat sunflower bread with butter, radishes, and salt]

And for dessert

[Blueberries and dark chocolate!]

Bonne weekend.

Good Eats (and a mystery package)

2007-07-25T23:12:00.001-07:00

[Farmers' market dinner, July 2007 ]

I received an unexpected surprise the other day: a box containing two books (one, love letters between F. Scott and Zelda Fitzgerald -- oh, you do know me, whoever you are) and a journal perfect for writing down recipes, but there was no indication who sent it. I have my suspicions, but for the moment remain in the dark (as did much of the city a few days ago, when the power went out unexpectedly), though very appreciative and looking forward to delving into the books this weekend.

I have been thinking about memorable meals lately, and what makes them so: the particular juiciness of a tomato or the first slab of fresh feta that makes you realize all that's come before it was a poor imitation. One of the reasons I love M.F.K. Fisher so much is because of her ability to write about specific, lovely meals she'd eaten and for her whole-hearted appreciation of them. A certain glass of wine, a dense slab of ginger cake, or tangerine slices left on the windowsill all compelled her to stop and savor the food, and the moment. It's funny we can remember so vividly foods that touched us years ago -- my first tiny cup of Greek coffee, for example -- even though they have long since been digested.

Probably the dish I most remember is the zucchini I ate in a Tuscan farmhouse, bordered by sunflower fields, where we stayed for a few days in July 2000. It was located outside of Colle di Val d'Elsa, a little town about 15 miles from Siena, and felt somehow like home. This was my first time out of the U.S., I spoke only a bit of Italian -- luckily, my companion was more fluent, however -- and I was feeling slightly overwhelmed.

After a hot and dusty hike (a long story), we ended up at the "agritourismo" -- and how fortunate we did. We had no car (post-college trip, on the cheap!) and the family sweetly took us under their collective wing. We ate all of our meals there, prepared by Gabriella. Probably in her 70s, she had an inspiring and vigorous energy -- and she was an amazing cook. For some reason, though they raised wild boar, the family didn't eat much meat (she said her sons rarely at meat at all) and so it was not strange that we requested all of our food sans animals.

Of course I can't remember everything she served, but I do remember her zucchini. I think all the vegetables she cooked with were from her garden, and it was possibly the first time in my young adult life I ate fresh-picked produce and really tasted it. Her zucchini dish was quite simple: thinly sliced squash, sauteed in a good amount of olive oil and a bit of salt (and sometimes basil) on low heat until very soft -- and nothing else. It still remains my favorite way to make it, and I think of her (and her shrieking grandson) nearly every time I do.

[Zucchini!]

In retrospect, I realize this little foray was my first real "food experience." I had cooked in college, but mostly just pots of brown rice and tofu stir fries (though I did become known as the baker in my household). I didn't experiment too much then; food was mostly fuel. This zucchini saute, which I ate in a sweet little stone house in the Italian countryside we literally stumbled upon, changed that forever.

I wish I could go back and tell her grazie -- like, grazie mille a hundred times over. Or at least invite her over for dinner.

[Mozzarella, tomatoes and basil]

Squash with Basil

2-3 zucchini or summer squash, washed and very thinly sliced
olive oil (a good amount)
Handful shredded basil

Put the olive oil and squash in a pan and cook on high heat a few minutes or so, stirring so it doesn't burn. Turn the heat to low, add more olive oil (the key is to keep the squash very soft), and cook, stirring occasionally. After about 10-15 minutes, the squash should have soaked up some of the oil and will be wilted and drooping. Add the basil, and salt to taste.

In Season

2007-07-24T17:37:00.001-07:00

Tuesday afternoons after work are for listening to Beethoven on the classical station and watching the clouds stream past the windows very quickly on their way over to the East Bay. From where I sit at my table, I can see the tops of the trees at Alamo Square Park blowing about quite fiercely; it will be a windy night tonight.

Though it's true in summer the song sings itself (according to William Carlos Williams, anyway) -- especially when it is very hot, sunny, and clear along the coast -- today is not one of those days. But Sunday was, and here is proof:

[The Bay Bridge from the ferry]

The thing about summer is that usually all I want to do is eat ice cream -- preferably soft-serve -- and swim in the river, but this is San Francisco, a place where the weather frequently belies the season. Here, it is almost August and instead of tanning my toes I'm thinking more about roasted vegetable and barley soups, fall dinner parties, and edible holiday gifts. This is a strange place, and I love it so -- for that, and for other things -- but sometimes I miss swimming in the ocean ...

But this past weekend was a true summer stretch, hot and sunny, and that helps to make up for it. I spent it out of town, up in Sebastopol, with old friends and family where I pretty much ate and slept (and drank wine, oh yes) my way through to Monday. It started when I got dropped off Friday night at my parents' house; I petted the cats, checked out the new backyard, and then sat down to a delicious and unique lasagne: chard, potatoes, and mozzarella sandwiched between layers of slightly crisp pasta -- with no red sauce. The next morning I made scrambled eggs with mushrooms and parmesan which took about two minutes to make, but along with lots of strong coffee kept me going for hours. And then we trooped en masse to a party, bearing wine and champagne and cake.

[Plum-nectarine upside down cake for a party, July 2007]

There were a few things I couldn't eat -- bbqed oysters, and enormous salmon, sausages -- but plenty of things I could --pasta, salads, cookies, cheeses, breads -- and I thoroughly stuffed myself. I'm not running these days, so I really should be mindful of how much I'm eating (the runner's appetite is truly voracious), but it's impossible not to eat and eat when things taste so good. The breads were fresh-baked and local, the pesto was thick and garlicky, the fresh tomatoes juicy and delicious with more garlic and olive oil. We ate and talked outside for hours until the sun finally set and eventually I made my sleepy way home (thanks to a friend and her mom who graciously drove me). Now I'm really in the mood for Greece and dining out in the open air.

So tonight, despite the fog and the wind rattling my windows in their casings, I am going to remind myself it's still summertime by indulging in farmers' market bounty. Turning the oven on for tomorrow's book group anniversary fete (cupcakes, bien sur) should warm things up a bit, and I'll raise a glass of red wine to toast my very lovely, very summery, rather spectacular, weekend.

[Salmon, at the Gioseffis, July 2007]

Late-July Dinner

Fresh mozzarella with basil, market tomatoes, olive oil, and salt
Pesto with penne pasta
Slow-cooked zucchini with basil and olive oil

Baby Chard? Oh Yes, Oh Yum

2007-07-20T18:00:00.000-07:00

[Baby chard from the Fillmore farmers' market, July 2007]

The other day in San Francisco it rained and yesterday was cool and breezy, almost fall-like; this morning (very early) there was an earthquake! Strange days, to be sure. But rather than try to figure out the why of all this, I decided instead to make a very fall-appropriate dinner, albeit with very summery ingredients: fingerling potatoes, corn on the cob, squash, and baby chard.

That last one -- the baby chard -- I've never tried before. I picked it up at my favorite organic farm's stand at the Fillmore Market, because, why not? It looked pretty, I have been overindulging in baby spinach lately, and for the most part I do love regular chard, though it can be a little tough even when cooked well. A baby version would surely be almost as delicious.

To start, I quickly scrubbed the fingerlings, pressed some garlic, swirled them in olive oil and salt, and dumped them into my cracked, old, but still much-loved Le Creuset baking dish. I baked for about a 1/2-hour on 400F and washed the salad while they were cooking.

Potatoes on, salad coming together, I sliced some purple garlic and put that along with a good glug of olive oil into my cast iron pan. Going on a tip from a friend recently returned from Italy, I started it out "cold" -- meaning that I didn't heat the oil first, something she learned while in Tuscany. (Actually, I do this quite often, not because I've heard it's better for flavor, but because I'm trying to maximize my time. So, not sure if there's merit to the trick, but it was nice to hear those glorious Italian cooks do the same thing.) Then I cut up two small summer squashes into very thin slices and sauteed them until they were soft and curling; then I added a can of -- drained and washed -- chickpeas. The chard was thrown in at the end and cooked until wilted (it took less than a minute).

Well, I'm hooked. The chard was was great. Make that great. It cooked up in a flash and was tender, light, and so much better than its grown-up sibling could ever hope to be. I've been quietly counting the days until I can get back to the market to pick up some more (please let there be some this week!). We might be experiencing a typical San Francisco summer complete with fog, chilly temperatures, and a few tremblings of the earth, but at the market -- and now in my kitchen -- it's truly summer, and I love it.

Midsummer Weekday Dinner

Roasted fingerling potatoes with garlic
Summer squash sauteed with olive oil, garlic, baby chard, and chickpeas
Market salad (organic greens, cherry tomatoes, sunflower seeds, radishes, lemon cucumber)
Corn on the cob (one yellow, one white)

[Wednesday dinner, July 2007]

This weekend: a summer fruit upside-down cake to bring to a welcome-home (!) party in Sebastopol.

Soup, Bean

2007-07-17T15:30:00.000-07:00

[Onion and garlic for soup, June 2007]

As most vegetarians know, beans are an essential part of the meat-free diet. Loaded with protein and calcium, beans are beautiful churned into hummus, sauteed with garlic and seasonable greens, or boiled into soups. Lately I've been making very simple (but delicious) meals of mashed sweet potatoes with sesame oil, some sort of roasted vegetable or salad, and chickpeas cooked in olive oil with garlic, shiitake mushrooms or summer squash, and basil.

A few weeks ago I made a soup I've been dreaming about ever since I finished the last bowlful: a white bean and tomato soup made with Rancho Gordo marrow beans. The tomatoes were heirloom, from my farmers' market, the red onion and garlic organic and freshly-picked, and the bay leaves from my beloved Pt. Reyes did their usual woodsy, get-outside-now thing. But the beans were the real stars.

I hesitate to make this sweeping proclamation, but I think in this case it's warranted: these are the best beans you'll ever eat, no question. Unlike the dried supermarket varieties -- which, when soaked and boiled, are often chalky and tasteless -- these dried beans are fresh (less than a year old) and retain their integrity even after being simmered for a couple of hours (meaning: no mush). They also have a sweet, smoky flavor that made me forgo an addition of vegetable broth altogether (which I love). A variety of restaurants around the Bay Area -- including The French Laundry and Greens as well as the Google Cafe 150 -- are loyal customers. Even if they were not, however, these are worth checking out.

First off, I hate soaking dried beans. Detest. I never remember to do so far enough in advance and I'm left scrambling for menu alternatives because I've run out of time. Then there's the whole rinsing thing, and changing out the water, and then boiling, and then simmering for hours, after which I'm pretty much ready to make something -- anything -- else simple. So for me, these beans were especially appreciated because the soaking time is minimal, you don't need to switch in fresh water (proprietor Steve Sando believes you'll lose flavor if you do so) and they go from tough to edible in about an hour. And they taste so good.

Rancho Gordo is based in Napa and sells its beans at Rainbow Grocery in the city as well as at the Ferry Building farmers' market (and in one of the chi-chi stores in there, too), and online; most of the "heirloom" bean seeds were gathered in South and Central America and are native to the Americas -- best of all, they really do taste rather wonderful.

I made my soup very simply, as per usual, but it was really very good -- almost surprisingly so -- which I attribute solely to my ingredients. I think roasting the tomatoes is key here, though you could just slip them from their skins, chop them up, and throw them in if you don't want to turn on the oven, as were the bay leaves and lots of garlic. If you don't have RG beans, any kind of white bean will do, though try to get ones that are fairly fresh!

If you can stand more bean-y goodness, serve this with bread and hummus, or cheese, and a green salad.

Roasted Tomato and White Bean Soup

1 purple onion, chopped
5-6 cloves garlic (or more), sliced
3 largish tomatoes, roasted and coarsely chopped
2 cups dried white beans (I used Rancho Gordo marrow beans)
2 bay leaves
4-5 cups water
Fresh herbs (I threw in some basil and thyme leaves)

Wash and soak the beans for about an hour (or more, if you have it) in fresh water in a soup pot; they should be covered in about an inch of water.

Roast the tomatoes on 400F for about a half-hour. Remove from oven and set aside to cool. Meanwhile, sautee the onion and garlic in olive oil over low heat until very soft. Add the bay leaves and simmer to let the flavors blend.

Add the vegetables to the beans (making sure they are still covered by at least an inch of water) and bring to a hard boil for about 5 minutes. Reduce to a simmer and cover, adding more water if necessary. Salt to taste.

When the beans are cooked through, add the tomatoes and enough water to make a soupy broth. Add a little more salt and pepper to taste (if you like) and fresh or dried herbs.

*Other additions that would be nice here include carrots (cook 'em up with the onions) and (baby)spinach, added at the end.

Sometimes, That's All it Takes

2007-07-14T15:06:00.000-07:00

[Saturday lunch, July 2007]

I'm often starving after -- and during -- my runs, and all I can think of, really, is: veggie burger, cheese, avocado. Imagine me chanting this to myself as I make the turn down my street, and you will have some idea of how important it usually is that I eat, immediately, I'm hungry, NOW.

The empty stomach must not be denied.

At times like these, the most satisfying thing is a Gardenburger, loaded with cheese, and piled on top with delicious and wonderful avocado slices. I swear, if I had to be stranded on, say, a Greek island or in the Maldives (real hardship duty, natch), with nothing but a stack of books, sunscreen, and red wine, and could choose only one food item to bring along, I'd choose the avocado. Some may rudely call them fatty, but it's all good fat anyway; sprinkled with a bit of salt they are the most lovely and luscious funny-looking fruits out there.

I've made avocado soup (it was OK, but I did not repeat it), and always add them to my bagels, sandwiches, veggie burgers, quesadillas, black beans ... you get the idea. I know some people don't like them, but I can think of nothing better when I'm craving something rich and creamy. Sometimes they're even on sale for less than a dollar and when that happens, it's a very good day.

[Avocados je t'aime.]

I'm looking at exactly one month until touchdown (are we tired of the Greece stories yet? Too bad!) and to get myself in the mood I'm drinking some strong coffee and thinking about pistachios.

[Of course, on this quatorze juillet I am contemplating going for mojitoes, and listening to Belgian-Arabic music, though she at least sings some of the songs on the album in French.]

I'd be lying if I said I could wait even a moment longer for vacation.

Tomorrow: Giants. Please don't lose.

French on the 4th of July

2007-07-10T21:23:00.000-07:00

Bastille Day is rapidly approaching (this Saturday, for those keeping track), and I for one will be celebrating with a bottle of French wine. I'm not throwing a party this year, or even making a meal française , but I do think I will have a reprise of the Pissaladière strips I made last week. The recipe is, of course, from my beloved Gourmet; I made it as well as their uniquely delicious basil lemonade recipe to savor during the long, hot afternoon of Independence Day.

It's too bad I didn't take any pictures over my lovely 5-day weekend (I thought I'd left the camera at home, but shockingly -- and not for the first time -- I did have it in my backpack, yet somehow couldn't find it. I blame the heat.) because I saw some sights: deer, lakes, the cool, brown Russian River on the way back to Sebastopol on Saturday afternoon, lots of oak trees, peach orchards, and the ubiquitous dry, dusty California summer landscape I so missed when I was living on the East Coast.

But the season is bowling along, as it tends to do; here we are nearly at mid-July, and my thoughts have turned again to la France in all her glory. I've said it before, and it's true: I am shameless. I adore France and all things French. If you make this light pastry, you might, too.

The true Provençal recipe calls for olives but though I fly my Greek flag proudly, I can most often leave olives as take them (accompanied by glass of ouzo, now, that's another story) -- so I've omitted them here, and substituted portabello mushrooms. I also eliminated the butter in favor of vegetable oil, and threw in a handful of spinach at the last minute. I made this the night before my bbq and was worried the strips would get soggy during transport up to Sonoma County; they did, a little, but a quick fix in the toaster oven perked them right up.

As we waited for the mini grill to heat, I made a batch of basil lemonade vodka gimlets and we nibbled on a taste française. Despite the lack of butter, the pastry was light and flaky, and the filling was sweet from the caramelized onion. The fresh basil I'd used was a nice tie-in to the basil lemonade, which had a sweet-tart taste all its own. Honestly, I think I could have been happy eating just a plateful of this pastry for my dinner instead of the feast that followed.

[Oh, who am I kidding? I'd have been happy with a plateful and then eaten an entire meal anyway..]

This weekend, I'll test out how they go paired with a glass of red wine.

[Pissaladière, July 2007]

Pissaladière Strips, adapted, and made vegan, from Gourmet

For filling
1 medium red onion, finely chopped
1 chopped red bell pepper
1/2 teaspoon finely chopped fresh rosemary or basil (I used basil)
3 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil
2 portabello mushroom caps, coarsely chopped
Handful of torn baby spinach leaves

For dough
1 1/3 cups all-purpose flour
2 teaspoons baking powder
1/2 teaspoon salt
3 1/2 tablespoons vegetable oil
1/2 cup soy milk

Make filling:
Cook onion, bell pepper, mushroom, rosemary or basil, a rounded 1/4 teaspoon salt, and 1/8 teaspoon pepper in oil in a heavy medium skillet over medium heat, stirring occasionally, until onion is golden, about 10 minutes. Add spinach and cook until wilted. Transfer to a bowl to cool.

Preheat oven to 400°F with rack in middle.

Make dough:
Whisk together flour, baking powder, and salt in a bowl. Blend in the oil with a fork or your fingertips until most of mixture resembles coarse meal with some small (roughly pea-size) lumps. Add milk and stir with a fork until a shaggy dough forms. Gently knead dough 8 to 10 times with floured hands on a lightly floured surface.

Assemble tarts:
Roll out dough into a 12-inch square (1/4 inch thick) on a lightly floured surface with a floured rolling pin. Cut into 3 equal strips. Arrange strips 1 inch apart on an ungreased baking sheet and spread with filling, leaving a 1/2-inch border around edges.

Bake until crust is golden, 20 to 25 minutes. Transfer to a rack using a large metal spatula and cool to warm or room temperature. Cut crosswise into 1-inch pieces.

• Pissaladière strips can be baked 3 hours ahead and kept, uncovered, at room temperature.

Basil Lemonade, from Gourmet

2 cups basil lemon syrup (recipe below)
2 cups cold water
2 cups ice cubes
1 ¼ cups fresh lemon juice

Stir together all ingredients in a large pitcher or bowl. Pour into tall glasses half-filled with ice. For an alcoholic version (which I recommend), add 3/4-cup vodka to the mix before serving.

Makes about 6 drinks.

Basil Lemon Syrup

2 cups water
1 cup granulated sugar
4 (4- by 1-inch) strips lemon zest (I left these out)
2 cups packed fresh basil sprigs

In a medium saucepan, combine the water, sugar, and zest. Bring to a boil over medium-high heat, stirring until the sugar is dissolved. Remove from the heat, add the basil, stir to combine, and let stand at room temperature, covered, for 1 hour. Transfer the mixture to a medium bowl and chill until cold, about 1 hour. Strain the syrup through a sieve into an airtight container, pressing hard on and then discarding the solids.

Makes about 3 cups.

Note: Make sure you are not half-asleep when straining the basil from the syrup; if you are in a daze, you may pour most of the liquid down the sink before realizing your mistake, and have to re-do the whole thing. Not that I would know, of course.

All I Want for Christmas ...

2007-07-09T08:52:00.000-07:00

I have been a baking fool lately. Last week, a good friend of mine arrived in the States from his post in Jerusalem to spend some time at home on the Cape (sigh ...), so of course I had to make him some treats (chocolate chip cookies, peanut butter cookies, banana bread) to send across the country. Then I made a peach cobbler and a blackberry cobbler for the 4th of July. And today is a co worker's birthday, so last night I baked one batch of vegan chocolate cupcakes, and one batch of plain cupcakes, both frosted with a chocolate buttercream.

Whew.

Well, it's all fun, and I love it. But I realized this morning, lugging my stacks of cupcakes in to work on the bus yet again, that the odd shoebox, or Tupperware (or, in this case, a mini cooler), is just not going to cut it anymore. I need a cupcake carrier -- I saw one last week at Crate & Barrel (though I'm sure there are others out there) and became quite covetous. And while we're at it, a cake carrier, too. For too many years to count I've carted around assorted baked goods in bags or boxes, and it's time to step it up a notch. If I had a wish list, those would be at the top.

[An aside: the bbq turned out just fine. If the salmon was left on just a bit too long (and thus was perhaps a bit too dry) and the vegetables were not perfectly cooked through, all tasted reasonably good, and the batch of basil vodka lemonades I made up earlier in the afternoon dulled the slight disappointment the grill was not as perfect as I would have liked. Still, it was the first try, and I've always needed a slight learning curve. So the next time I will know to keep a closer eye on the fish than on my glass of wine, and that pre-marinated tofu is a sure bet.]

Now, about that cobbler ...

Dad wins again, with a blackberry-nectarine concoction that's totally low-fat and sans cholesterol. I picked up 3 pints for $5 (organic, too) at the farmers' market last week, and quickly whisked up some biscuits for the top and threw it all into the oven. My peach cobbler was pretty darn good, but this one is about its equal -- even without the butter. The topping is light and flaky, the fruit sweet and juicy, and together it is summertime in a pan.

I cannot, cannot wait another month for when the blackberry bushes in the field at home will be heavy with fruit ripe for the picking, and I can turn them into jams, cakes, pies, and, oh yes, more cobblers.

Blackberry-nectarine cobbler, adapted from gourmet.com

1 1/4 cups plus 1/2 teaspoon sugar
1 tablespoon cornstarch
2 nectarines, pitted and cut into 1/2-inch-thick wedges
3 pints blackberries
2 cups all-purpose flour
2 teaspoons baking powder
3/4 teaspoon salt
1/2-cup (or so) vegetable oil
3/4 cup soy milk

Preheat oven to 425°F. Whisk together 1 1/4 cups sugar and cornstarch in a large bowl, then add nectarines and blackberries and toss to combine well. Transfer to buttered baking dish and bake in middle of oven until hot, 10 to 15 minutes.

While fruit bakes, whisk together flour, baking powder, and salt in another large bowl, then blend in oil with your fingertips or a fork until mixture resembles coarse meal. Add milk and stir just until a dough forms.
Drop dough onto hot fruit mixture in 6 mounds, then sprinkle dough with remaining 1/2 teaspoon sugar. Bake cobbler in middle of oven until top is golden, 25 to 35 minutes.

Grillin'

2007-07-03T09:54:00.001-07:00

Tomorrow marks an experiment I fervently hope will be successful: grilling salmon and veggie kebabs on a mini portable grill. Merci to Crate and Barrel for this marvelous invention (and at only $30!) -- it is just large enough to, I hope, fit a 1/2-pound of salmon steak and a few tofu and vegetable skewers, yet small enough to fit inside its own little traveling cooler/suitcase.

[Plus, it is very cute.]

Because the 4th of July surely must be celebrated with a barbeque, and because Gourmet has such lovely summer recipes in this month's magazine, I am bringing the grill to the people -- namely, my parents, who haven't yet gotten a grill of their own.

So my menu will be as follows:

To start, a savory tart called Pissaladiere, from Provence, from Gourmet's July issue (adapted to be vegan, of course), with peppers, onions, olives, and rosemary

Grilled salmon with a lime-soy sauce glaze
Marinated tofu and vegetable skewers (with mushrooms, squash, and onion)
Grilled heirloom tomatoes
Israeli couscous salad with roasted tomatoes, spinach and garlic
Corn on the cob

Basil lemonade (also from Gourmet, and possibly avec vodka, as they suggest)

And to finish, a vegan blackberry-nectarine cobbler, as well as a 'regular,' buttery peach cobbler.

[Peach cobbler, July 2007]

I am off the rest of the week, and it is supposed to be very hot here, so I am going camping, and swimming, and hopefully eating lots of icecream. It is a mini-break, after all.

ETA: Check out my article in the Chronicle today!

Summertime Peach Cobbler adapted from gourmet.com

6 large peaches, cut into thin slices
1/4 cup sugar
1 tablespoon fresh lemon juice
1 teaspoon cornstarch

For biscuit topping
1 cup all-purpose flour
1/2 cup sugar
1 teaspoon baking powder
1/2 teaspoon salt
3/4 stick cold unsalted butter, cut into small pieces
1/4 cup boiling water

Preheat oven to 425°F. Toss peaches with sugar, lemon juice, and cornstarch in a 2-qt. nonreactive baking dish and bake in middle of oven for 10 minutes.

Make the topping while the peaches bake: Stir together flour, sugar, baking powder, and salt. Blend in butter with your fingertips or a pastry blender until mixture resembles coarse meal. Stir in water until just combined.

Remove peaches from oven and drop spoonfuls of topping over them. Bake in middle of oven until topping is golden, about 25 minutes. (Topping will spread as it bakes.)

*In the future, I might double the topping recipe, as it comes out a bit thin. Not too thin, but if you're looking for something more substantial, I would reccommend doubling it.

Serve with vanilla ice cream, homemade if you have time / are overly ambitious.

Greece, Baby!

2007-06-29T08:49:00.000-07:00

[Spetses harbor, photo by Kurt]

It's official. I'm going. In a little over a month. And I will hopefully see these views many, many times ...

Also, I plan to swim a lot, sleep, read, try not to think about how exorbitant my plane ticket was, and eat. And perhaps also drink a glass of ouzo while nibbling on some oregano potato chips. I may not speak the language, but I sure do appreciate the food.

So to celebrate, this morning I had a bowl of Greek yogurt for breakfast, sprinkled with raspberries (on super sale at the Safeway! Because yes, while I mostly try to go the farmers' market route, I confess I cannot pass up a sale), slices of white nectarine, and drizzled with honey. If only I'd had a cup of Greek coffee to sip alongside ... soon.

Hellas!

Pesto and Sugar Snaps

2007-06-26T15:36:00.000-07:00

Basil, pungent and sweet, waits for me again this week at the markets. If I were not afraid of falling into a dull pattern I might do again what I did last week: turn it into green, glorious pesto.

[Though maybe I will, anyhow ...]

I like to think pesto is healthy, but perhaps it's not; it is, certainly, very simple: a bunch of basil, washed and the stems removed; a few tablespoons of pine nuts; some olive oil; a fair amount of Parmesan cheese and a dash of salt all pureed together in a food processor. I like it especially on spaghetti or angel hair pasta, with a sprinkling of cheese and chopped basil on top. Last fall I made a version with faux Parmesan -- for my dad -- and it was OK, but if you're not vegan, I'd say stick with the regular version.

The other night when I served up heaping bowls of wonderful, delicious pasta-with-pesto, I also made a quirky little salad. At Nopa a few weeks ago our "taste from the kitchen" was a small sugar snap pea, each, dressed in a light coating of olive oil and served with a tiny bowl of sea salt. Now, I don't know where they got their sugar snaps, but they were to die for (no, really, they were). Crisp-tender with a satisfying crunch, it was a travesty to have only one; our plate emptied quickly and some members of the party were seen to glance forlornly at the kitchen while awaiting the main meal.

So, being that I was left wanting more after that initial wee bite, I had to try my hand at making them myself.

What I did was: bought a nice, organic bunch of sugar snap peas at the market, then brought them home for a bath. Afterward, I blanched them in boiling, salted water for one minute, then put into a bowl of ice water (I did taste a few along the way, yes). While they would have been quite good on their own, I had also picked up some breakfast radishes and I thought they would pair well; I cut these up very thinly and then mixed the sugar snaps with the radish slices in a bowl with a few drips of olive oil and a sprinkling of salt.

It was so good. And I'll have to make it on its own in the future because I was so busy mooning over the salad I didn't really give the pesto appropriate attention. Next time.

[Radish and sugar snap pea salad, June 2007]

Summer Market Pesto, adapted from willams-sonoma.com

4 Tbs. pine nuts
2 garlic cloves
2 to 3 cups firmly packed fresh basil leaves
1/2 cup extra-virgin olive oil, plus more as
needed
3/5 cup grated Parmesan or Parmigiano-Reggiano cheese
Salt and freshly ground pepper, to taste

In a food processor, combine the pine nuts and garlic. Process to chop coarsely. Add about half of the basil and process to chop coarsely. Add the remaining basil, the parsley and olive oil and process until a thick green sauce forms. If the sauce is too thin, add more basil; if it is too thick, add more olive oil.

Add the cheeses and season with salt and pepper. Process briefly. Pour into a glass jar or other container and top with a thin layer of olive oil to prevent the surface from discoloring. Cover tightly and refrigerate for up to 2 weeks. Makes about 1 1⁄2 cups.

To the Fields

2007-06-23T15:01:00.000-07:00

How sweet I roamed from field to field, and tasted all the summer's pride. -- Wllm. Blake

It's my season, at last.

Oh, today was a lovely day. A luxurious sleep-in until 9.30, then breakfast, then a trip to the newly discovered Fillmore Street farmer's market. It was a day in San Francisco that felt like fall -- that cool, crisp, breezy air -- but it wasn't cold, and the sun shone all the while. The air tasted clean and fresh coming in off the ocean; if I could see it, I'd have to say it was sparkling.

What else to do, then, but to get outside and forage for vegetables? And I'm so glad I did -- my neighborhood market reminded me of all the little farmers' markets in Washington, which I came to know well three years ago when my brother was working for Virginia's Wheatland Vegetable Farm.

I like the Ferry Building market very much, but unless I want to walk for over an hour, it's only accessible by bus; on Saturday mornings, the best morning of the whole week, I want to save my time. Also, it's always so crowded on the weekends and I usually don't wake up nearly early enough to beat the rush and I end up just forgoing it altogether and waiting for Tuesday.

So it's utterly delicious there's now a good farmers' market just a five-minute walk from my apartment. And with so much organic produce! In the picture above, you'll see baby salad greens with edible flowers, cucumbers, fingerling potatoes, a pepper, strawberries, and white nectarines -- all organic. And this was not even the entire haul: I also got three heirloom tomatoes (for a soup), an eggplant (not for me, however), and a red onion.

Next week I will have to try the bread (from Sonoma County, so it must be good) and the bing cherries if they don't sell out (today I waited just a tad too long and saw the last few baskets disappear before my eyes). The experience was sweetened by listening to a jazz quartet while perusing the produce and chatting with the friendly growers.

What I love about shopping for my fruits and vegetables at the farmers' markets is that it challenges me -- this week, OK, I have a lot of squash and chard, so how I can use them up in interesting ways? Should I bake with the peaches, or just eat them in long, juicy slices? I try to hold off a mad dash to the store to get mushrooms; maybe I can just do without when I have so many other things from which to choose. Of course, everything tastes so much better when it's been picked in the last few days.

Plus, supporting your local organic farmer is sure to earn some good-cooking karma down the road.

Just look at those tomatoes:

To see a world in a grain of sand and heaven in a wild flower / Hold infinity in the palm of your hand and eternity in an hour. -- Wllm. Blake

Fava-licious

2007-06-22T11:11:00.000-07:00

First things first: I've started a little recipe collection here (a link is to the right, as well) that's pretty slim at the moment, but will grow in time! Just like all those summer gardens ...

Which leads me to second things second: fava beans.

When I took Michael to Millennium for his birthday, we had an appetizer of fava beans on whole grain bread (I think?) with pea shoots and endive. It was delicious: fresh, lightly cooked and tossed in olive oil, and all the vegetables were perfectly tender. I've been wanting to try making favas myself, though I haven't really had the opportunity.

But Tuesday's surprise trip to the farmer's market reminded me to buy some and experiment. I decided to make a simple pasta dish with roasted tomato sauce, leftover vegan sausage, mushrooms -- and favas.

The first fun thing about favas is that you get to de-pod them not once, but twice. The initial de-podding is the most interesting, I think, because the seeds are couched in a rather ugly, lumpy casing (see above), but inside, the pod is very soft and velvety. The beans themselves need to be boiled for a couple of minutes in salted water, and then placed in an ice bath before being slipped from their skins. It seems like a lot of work, but like many cooking-related activities (pitting cherries by hand, anyone?) it is soothing, almost meditative. And the end result is, undoubtedly, worth the extra effort.

{Favas, shelled, and ready for use]

Next time, I'd like to use them in a salad, or even just tangled up with a bit of pasta dressed with olive oil and salt and pepper. The dish I made the other night was delicious, but the favas were unfortunately a bit overshadowed by all the other ingredients warring for attention. As always, for me, simplicity is best.

[Tuesday dinner, June 2007]

Pasta with Mushrooms, Tomatoes, Vegan Sausage, and Fava beans, inspired by a recipe on smitten kitchen

1/2-pound angel hair pasta, broken into 2-inch pieces
2 sundried-tomato faux sausages (or whatever you like), sliced
1 onion, diced
2 cloves garlic
1 medium tomatoes
bunch fava beans, shelled, blanched, and ready for use
2 cups vegetable broth or water

Roast the tomatoes on 400 F for about 15 minutes until skins are slightly blackened. In a food processor, combine the tomatoes, garlic, and onion puree until combined. In a large pot, pour in about a 1/4-cup of olive oil and heat until very hot. Add the pasta, and cook over medium heat until it browns slightly, stirring constantly. Add the tomato puree and cook a few minutes, stirring often. Add the vegetable broth or water and bring to a simmer, then cover and cook for about 15 minutes, or until pasta is soft.

In a frying pan, saute the mushrooms in olive oil and a splash of red wine (if you have one open, or -- who am I kidding? -- just open one). Add the faux sausage and cook about a minute.

When the pasta is cooked thoroughly, add the mushrooms, sausage, and favas, stirring and tossing to combine well. Add fresh basil and salt and pepper to taste.

Unexpected Bounty

2007-06-20T09:41:00.000-07:00

[Starting out on the Tomales Point trail, June 2007]

I have had a string of quite delicious days lately -- a party on Sunday, with an old friend, lots of good cheese, and gin and tonics in the West Marin sun; a 9-mile hike out to Tomales Point and back, during which we saw herds of elk, wildflowers, and three (!) whales spouting and churning off the coast; and then yesterday a spontaneous trip to the Ferry Building Tuesday market where I bought vegetables (and a few fruits) with abandon.

My haul included:

fava beans
sugar snap peas
radishes
spinach
summer squash
2 bunches basil
chard
2 white peaches
2 nectarines

[all organic, and I think I only ended up paying about $15 for the lot.]

I eyed some blueberries and strawberries, but unfortunately decided to hold off because they were a little more pricey than what I had hoped to spend; I regret my prudence now, of course! I cut up the peaches last night and they were the perfect after-dinner (pasta, with two roasted tomatoes pureed with basil, onion, and garlic, vegetable broth, faux sausage, mushrooms, and favas cooked all together in a big pot for about 15 minutes) treat, no ice cream necessary.

I also indulged in some more vegetable love on Sunday, for Father's Day breakfast. I rose early (well, 8:45) and stumbled into my parents' kitchen to sleepily put on the coffee maker (essential, if one has not gotten her requisite eight hours). I whipped up some low-fat blueberry muffins (substituting oil for butter, non-fat milk for whole -- remember, my dad is on a low-cholesterol diet), boiled red potatoes for home fries, and chopped red peppers, an onion, and mushrooms. Then, I made a frittata.

Now, a frittata made with egg whites might be all right, but would it be edible without cheese (a necessity, to keep it low-cholesterol)? Well, I took a chance. I thought that if I filled it with a variety of vegetables, it might be more palatable -- and I was correct. In fact, I never even missed the cheese, which for me is saying a lot! With some warm muffins, a fry-up of potatoes, onion, and mushrooms, and a bowl of fresh pineapple and watermelon, this was a truly satisfying breakfast -- even I wasn't hungry again for at least four hours.

[Father's Day frittata, June 2007]

Egg White Frittata with Vegetables

6 egg whites
splash non-fat milk
1 red pepper, seeded and diced
6 mushrooms, sliced
1/2 onion, finely chopped
handful spinach, washed and torn
herbs to taste

Beat the eggs with the milk and set aside. Saute the onion, mushroom, add the vegetables. Sprinkle in some herbs (I used herbs du provence, but basil would also be nice) and salt and pepper. In a frying pan, heat a splash of oil or a pat of margarine until melted. Cook the egg/vegetable mix on medium-low heat, pricking the top with a fork and using a spatula to lift up the bottom every so often. Cook until the bottom is lightly browned, the edges are coming away from the sides of the pan, and the top is set.

Slide the frittata onto a plate and cut into wedges. Serves four, probably with no leftovers.

Birthday-Love

2007-06-15T09:06:00.000-07:00

[Presents! from the Ferry Building, June 2007]

I got a piece of rather spectacular news the other day, but I'm going to hold on to it a bit until I have something more concrete to show for it. Needless to say, an already gold-star day of 80-degree temperatures here in San Francisco was elevated to new and glorious heights.

Yesterday was my friend Logan's birthday, and the girls drank sparkling wine and went out to eat. We opened a bottle of Gloria Ferrer for a pre-dinner libation, and noshed on baked white beans and feta, Moroccan vegetable tagine, a seafood soup, and halibut at Nopa. And after all that we feasted on a chocolate cake I had made the night before despite the heat. For birthdays, there is never an excuse to not have cake, and in this case, I definitely served it forth.

I also made the cake in question last fall, for a wonderful lunch I did for a close family friend -- it was her birthday, too, and as is my wont, I put on a bit of a do. This was right around the time my blog in its previous incarnation crashed and burned, and the lovely write-up I did of that luncheon was lost forever. But as it's a shame to miss out chronicling an extraordinary meal, I feel the need to briefly recount it here: to start, a very garlicky hummus with whole wheat bread and olives, then a first course of roasted red pepper and tomato soup; the main course consisted of salmon with lemon and tomatoes, fresh basil pesto (one made vegan, for my pa), and a large salad; dessert was chocolate cake and champagne. We sat around the table for three hours which in my book is the mark of a good party.

I love this cake because it's not too fussy, yet still very decadent. There is a lot of butter (1.5 sticks), eggs (4), and buttermilk (a cup), and I top it with a rich sour cream-chocolate ganache type of frosting (note to self: next time try with a basic chocolate buttercream). It comes together in about 40 minutes from mixing bowl to out-of-oven, which for time pressed cooks like myself is very important.

Plus, it tastes really good. And in the end, isn't that the most important consideration when baking a birthday cake?

Feel the love:

[Birthday cake for Logan, June 2007]

Devil's Food Cake with Chocolate Frosting, from williams-sonoma.com

2 1/3 cups all-purpose flour
1 cup unsweetened cocoa powder, sifted
1 1/2 tsp. baking powder
1/2 tsp. baking soda
1/2 tsp. salt
12 Tbs. (1 1/2 sticks) unsalted butter, at room temperature
2 cups firmly packed light brown sugar
2 tsp. vanilla extract
4 eggs, at room temperature
1 1/2 cups buttermilk, at room temperature

Preheat an oven to 350°F. Lightly butter the bottoms of two 9-by-2-inch round cake pans and line with parchment paper. Lightly butter the paper and the sides of the pans and dust with flour.

In a large bowl, sift together the flour, cocoa powder, baking powder, baking soda and salt; set aside.

In another large bowl, using an electric mixer, beat the butter on medium speed until smooth. Gradually add the brown sugar and continue beating until fluffy. Beat in the vanilla. Add the eggs one at a time, beating well after each addition.

Reduce the speed to low and add the flour mixture in three additions, alternating with the buttermilk and beginning and ending with the flour, beating after each addition.

Divide the batter between the prepared pans and spread it out evenly. Bake until a toothpick inserted into the center of a cake comes out clean, 25 to 30 minutes. Transfer the pans to a wire rack and let cool for 15 minutes. Let the cake layers cool completely before frosting.

Serve immediately or keep covered at room temperature until ready to serve. Makes one 9-inch cake; serves 10 to 12.

Frosting

4 Tbs. (1/2 stick) unsalted butter
1/4 cup heavy cream
10 oz. bittersweet chocolate, chopped
3/4 cup sour cream
1 cup confectioners’ sugar

In a medium-size, heavy saucepan over low heat, combine the butter and cream. Heat, stirring frequently, until the butter melts. Add the chocolate and whisk until melted and smooth, about 2 minutes. Remove from the heat; let cool to barely lukewarm, about 8 minutes.

Whisk in the sour cream until fully combined. Then whisk in the confectioners' sugar. Let stand until thick enough to spread, about 10 minutes. If the frosting becomes too stiff to spread, rewarm briefly over low heat and whisk again until smooth.

I served this with Strauss raspberry ice cream (thanks, Carolynn!), and champagne.

Learning to Love You

2007-06-13T10:36:00.000-07:00

Of the fruits Nicole Previously Didn't Like (TM), grapefruit probably topped the list. Wait -- tops. I'm still not completely convinced.

I once read a book where one of the characters tells her lover that she knew a lot about him the first time she saw him eating grapefruit for breakfast; he made some nasty reply, she stormed off in a huff -- and needless to say, the relationship didn't last. But I wonder if there is something to her comment ...

Mostly, I've not liked grapefruit. It's too sour, too messy, too just not for me. Pretty, yes, and loaded with Vitamin C, which is all well and good. It's even purported to lower cholesterol and contain those lovely antioxidant properties. All of these things are very nice, of course, but the taste! It always left me feeling a bit cheated: the fruit is so beautifully, wonderfully pink that I expect it to taste be gentle and sweet; that bitter aftertaste is hard to swallow.

So I didn't. And while eating something known as the "forbidden fruit" of Barbados is very tempting (beaches! tropical breezes! cloudless skies!), I have been quite obstinate about abstaining.

Then I decided, what the hell, to give it one last try. The grapefruit in question was from Trader Joe's, and was exquisitely juicy, just the right amount of sweet. I was amazed. I tried another -- and liked it, too. Now I've been eating them -- occasionally -- straight out of the fridge for a morning pick-me-up. That coolness, perhaps, cuts the sourness, and after I dig out all the sections I squeeze out the leftover juice from the rind so as not to waste any, and oh, it's so good.

I don't know if I've been getting up too early, or if there's been a particularly wonderful crop this year, but I've been rethinking my position on grapefruit. I am cautiously optimistic. We may work out, after all.

Next, I shall have to bake with them.

Not tonight, though; my friend's birthday is tomorrow which means dinner at Nopa, a chocolate cake to bake, and presents to procure.

Last weekend was spent in gloriously hot, mostly deserted Pt. Reyes, in sun and wind. We brought bread and cheese and hummus, baby carrots, and apple turnovers up to Mt. Vision and ate on top of the world while looking out over Limantour. There was also lots of good food, wine, and tea drinking, and a visit with a new dog. On Sunday we bought the first organic peaches of the season at the Sebastopol Farmers' Market and the juice dripped down my arms and onto my toes, sticky and delicious.

To think that I get to do (most) of it all again this weekend: I am a lucky girl.

Ciao, Arreviderci, Buh-bye

2007-06-08T12:25:00.000-07:00

This Sunday I will be racing back from Sonoma County in hopes of making it home by 9p to order Little Star pizza and watch the final episode (say it ain't so!) of the "Sopranos" on HBO. This may seem a bit over-zealous, given that I have On-Demand and could watch it anytime, but as I am a person who will text a friend to find out the score of a basketball game, or stay up late watching the Giants go into extra innings, this is nothing.

My post-college room mate introduced me to the show, and, riveted, we watched on her tiny television the videos her father taped for us. Then my parents got hooked and I spent a trip home one spring watching two or three episodes each night. On a winter trip to Rochester my best friend and I holed up in his warm(ish) apartment and watched DVDs obsessively over the weekend. Now I have HBO myself and have watched it faithfully all season -- and it's almost over. Alas!

But it's time to go. The violence, the cursing, the gratuitous bad behavior demonstrated by most of the characters has taken a toll after years of viewing. Can people really behave like that? Isn't the show furthering Italian-American stereotypes? Can Carmela really be that shallow? Will A.J. grow up already, for pete's sake??

Well, no matter. It's made Sunday nights a little special-er, and has eased the transition into another work-week for too many months to count -- and I'll miss it. And because I'll be out of town and can't prepare a proper Italian-inspired feast (pizza, gelato, and red wine will have to suffice), I will leave you with the menu for one I did a few years ago at the close of the season. Fortuitously, Gourmet had done a big spread on Italy around then, and I took my cue from there.

Would Tony have approved?

R.I.P. Sopranos Dinner

Home made Italian bread
Tomatoes with basil and mozzarella

Farfalle pasta w.asparagus/garlic/mushrooms/fresh basil in a white wine/lemon sauce
White beans and roasted tomatoes with pearl onions
Green salad

Lemon olive oil cake with homemade cherry preserves

Two kinds of wine

A Baking Frenzy

2007-06-06T08:32:00.000-07:00

[Oatmeal-chocolate chip cookies, June 2007]

What better to do on a Tuesday night than stay up until nearly 11p making cookies? I can think of little else that is as satisfying -- except if you add on baking a loaf of banana-walnut bread and a simple, yummy jam cake.

I certainly can't think of anything else I'd rather be doing. And the apartment still smells delicious. Remember that thing I said about not eating enough sweets? Yeah. I think I'm making progress.

The Sweetest Thing

2007-06-05T10:05:00.002-07:00

Things lately making me especially happy: a new book, discovered at random at the library (Sarah Waters' The Night Watch); a good run; a new pair of summer shoes; the imminent return of Big Love; learning the Greek name for this blog is "kouzina nicolina"; and a renaissance of my love for chocolate.

Or, more specifically, Scharffenberger.

When I first had a chocolate from the Berkeley-based company, I wasn't immediately enthralled. I found it too dark, if that's possible, and almost too bitter. Though I'm coming to really appreciate dark chocolate, for most of my life I've been a milk chocolate kind of girl with a real humdrum penchant for Trader Joe's "pound plus" milk chocolate bars.

But something happened this week and I've revised my opinion. I'm saying "yes" to Scharffenberger. I'm saying "yes" to dark chocolate. And I'm saying "yes" to sweets in general. For you see, I've learned that with a cup of green tea, a little square of dark, dark chocolate is a small revelation of yum -- and don't even get me started on the milk chocolate. When I think of all the chocolate-eating I've missed out on because I was so foolishly averse, I think also that I must make up for lost time.

As I've probably noted before, I lean more toward the salty when I want to indulge myself. When I'm craving something a little bad-for-me, I always, always reach for the bag of Kettle Chips (salt and pepper, natch) that permanently reside in my pantry. I love cheese. Sweets -- though my recent baking frenzy may belie this -- are not typically my favorite, though j'adore le chocolat, bien sur. It's just not always what I want.

Yet I remember certain childhood moments with perfect clarity, though they were so long ago: tucking up in bed on a rainy March afternoon at the start of spring vacation, with a bar of chocolate and a stack of Tintin books [note: interesting article in last week's New Yorker on the Belgian artist Hergé and his subject]. Or digging through a bucket of Halloween candy in search of a Mounds bar because I loved so the way the dark chocolate paired with the overly sweet coconut. Or swiping a spoonful of my brother's favorite peanut-butter-chocolate ice cream.

Somewhere along the way I must have misplaced my desire for sweets. Well, that's not quite accurate: I still like to eat them, but I am not greedy for them in the way I was. I love to bake them, love the way a lush and heavy chocolate cake smells when it's first taken out of the oven steaming hot and crackling along the edges, but I'm pretty satiated after a small piece. But then what to do with the rest of it?

I shall strive to change that, calories be damned. I refuse to miss out on this wonderfully sweet and chocolaty world any longer. I'll start with the cookies I will make tonight [for guests! And maybe also for myself].

Oatmeal Chocolate Chip Cookies, adapted from the Better Home and Gardens Cookbook

I make these when I'm sick, or when it's GREY ALWAYS GREY outside, as it's been here in San Francisco for the past eight days (not that I'm counting, ahem). They have enough sugar to ease me back into the dessert aisle, but yet still feel 'healthy' because of the oats.

3/4 cup butter
1 cup packed brown sugar
1/2 cup white sugar
1 egg
1 teaspoon vanilla
1 1/2 cups all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon baking powder
1/4 teaspoon baking soda
1/2 teaspoon salt
2 cups rolled oats
1 cup semisweet chocolate chips

Preheat oven to 350 degrees F. In a large bowl cream shortening, brown sugar and white sugar. Add eggs and vanilla and mix thoroughly.

Combine the baking soda, baking powder, salt and flour and stir into creamed mixture. Add the oats and chocolate chips, and stir until well blended.

Drop by teaspoonfuls onto a greased cookie sheet. Bake for 15 minutes.

UPDATE: The sun is out! The cookies will taste just as good, though, I bet.

Friday Dinner, on the Fly

2007-06-03T22:11:00.000-07:00

Friday night, even after a 'short' week, is always my night for relaxing. Though some weeks there are trips to Sonoma County straightaway on the commuter bus after work (blessedly quiet is the 72X), or visits to art galleries, or even guests visiting from across the country, when I'm in the city and it's been a tiring five-day stretch, I am very happy to make dinner, and settle in at home.

It's been grey here -- again -- for awhile. Today the sun peeked out a bit, but on the whole the fog has been socked in and down along the coast, and we've been living in a perpetual state of mist. I'm ready for summer. I'm ready for fruit and swims in the river and long, lazy afternoons stretched out in the backyward with a stack of magazines. But this is San Francisco, and I must be patient; there are months yet before the warm weather comes to stay.

So if it's cold, I feel fully justified in turning on the oven and roasting something delicious -- like, say, my beloved asparagus. One might find herself appeased a little by the thought of cupcakes to counter the chill, and if the oven is already on then it would be a travesty to not bake a batch. Well then. Thus, a recent Friday involved a bunch of asparagus roasted until their tips were perfectly crisp, a pile of fresh sourdough bread slices, an assortment of cheese (Havarti, brie), and a small salad of organic baby greens and grape tomatoes.

Heaven, really, and super easy to throw together. With a glass or two of red wine, the classical music station, and a nearly-due library book, Friday was all I could have ever dreamed it could be. The cupcake for dessert only signified a stellar weekend to come.

Weekend next I am taking the out-of-towners to Pt. Reyes for a long and lovely walk on Limantour Beach, a stroll through town, and then at long last I shall meet the sweet Lab puppy I have been hearing about for months. It should be a grand time.

[Boston Favorite cupcake, from The Fannie Farmer Cookboook, with chocolate buttercream]

Salmon, and a Reminisence

2007-05-29T16:20:00.000-07:00

[Mother's Day Salmon, May 13, 2007]

Two years ago on Memorial Day weekend, I threw a dinner party to rival all dinner parties I'd ever thrown before. It was a sort of celebration for many of us who had worked (and sweated!) together at Reuters and who were now moving on to bigger and better things -- it was one last time to get the gang all together again.

At the time, I lived in a studio apartment in Adams Morgan, with a small kitchen and limited counter space, but as I am rarely daunted by these things I invited all and sundry from my former workplace, some of whom graciously contributed to the menu. Extra guests came, too: a friend's brothers, an old college room mate and his partner, various husbands and wives.

I think the total in attendance was 17.

Seventeen. Even now, that number makes me quake. What was I thinking? Or not thinking? I had hardly enough plates, and definitely not enough chairs. Rather than having a buffet, I insisted on courses (multiple appetizers, soup, a soufflé) and miraculously all came out of the oven on time, and at the right temperature. Some of us ate with spoons instead of forks, and forget about the knives. But to my astonishment and happiness, no one seemed to care, and it was still very festive and merry and pretty and so easy with the conversation and laughs and everything else.

I really do think it was the shining moment in my dinner party career -- and I've given a lot of dinner parties. There is something about sucessfully cooking for a large crowd of people, with late-comers and last-minute additions to add to the mix, that is incredibly satisfying. [I threw a surprise welcome home party last January that was also a standout, but that was not a proper dinner party.] We ate and drank (and drank, and drank -- starting with mojitoes and champagne and working our way through a cooler of beer) until late into the night and I remember somehow all the dishes got done, nothing broke, and, oh yes, everything tasted pretty delicious.

I made salmon for that party, and I think I almost always make salmon for special occasions. For Mother's Day, I bought a pound of local, wild-caught, from the Ferry Building Fish market (how sweetly, beautifully pink it was, as you can see) and cooked it in my usual way: a splash of olive oil, a splash of white wine, a bit of water, some salt and pepper and chopped basil, and layered with lemons baked at 400-ish F for about 15-20 minutes.

I don't eat fish, but when it's fresh, it smells wonderful when it's cooking. It seems like spring to me, and signifies that certain specialness parties always bring. I think I should throw another one, soon.

Over-the-top Menu for a Crowd

Rosemary foccacia and red onion foccacia with an arugula pesto
Hummus and pita

Roasted red and orange pepper soup

Salmon with a white wine tomato sauce
Roasted asparagus
Corn on the cob
Spinach salad with strawberries
Pearl couscous with chickpeas and roasted tomatoes
Tabbouleh
Spinach and green garlic soufflé
(melon slices I forgot about)

Cherry upside down cake
Waffles with chocolate and strawberry sauce

When Life Hands You Cherries ...

2007-05-23T07:36:00.000-07:00

[Upside-down cherry cake, May 2007]

I'll just get this out of the way: I love cheese. Love, love, love it. I like a thin slice of cheddar on a piece of crisp apple, smoked Gouda and avocado piled atop toast, or a wedge of creamy brie with fresh bread. My neighborhood deli in Washington made an emmenthaler and avocado sandwich I still dream about. Cheese and me, we're true pals.

However, I realize cheese is not always good for the arteries, and so I look to whole grains, beans, and fresh vegetables for my daily sustenance. I indulge in a grilled cheese once in awhile, but I'm mightily satisfied by a plate of black beans and rice (a dash of apple cider vinegar in those beans in a nice trick I picked up from a Goya can a few years back), sprinkled with lime juice and accompanied by thick slices of avocado (I also love, love, love the avocados, but I'll save that for another time).

This is fortunate for the local vegans in my life, because whenever they come over for dinner I scour my many cookbooks to find dairy-and-egg-free dishes to delight and satiate. Last Saturday, I turned to an old favorite neglected for too long: Madhur Jaffrey's World of the East Vegetarian Cooking. It was published over 20 years ago, but the recipes are still fantastic; some incorporate dairy, but the majority are vegan.

So the dinner menu was under control (a cucumber salad, a bulgar wheat pilaf, stewed butter beans and tomatoes, roasted vegetables), but what to do for dessert? I make a very good vegan pie crust, but I just wasn't in the mood for pie. I had come across a great sale on cherries the day before, and bought a few pounds; so naturally (?) my thoughts turned to cherry cake -- cherry upside-down cake, to be precise. And what would go better with cherries than cornmeal? Well ... would it, really? There was only one way to find out: experiment.

Luckily, my oven was fully functioning this weekend, and as I've made my peace with it (as evidenced by my piece today in in the Chronicle), I bravely forged ahead. After plumbing the depths of the Internet, I came up with a (non-vegan) recipe for a sort of cornmeal shortbread cake, and decided to use that as my starting point.

It's annoying to pit cherries by hand, but it's also somewhat soothing -- with the right music (Gillian Welch felt just right on Saturday morn), you can zone out a bit and the time goes by pretty quickly. That's the hardest part of this cake, anyway; the rest is a quick toss of flour, sugar, cornmeal, and vegetable oil whisked with a little lemon and vanilla. The batter was somewhat crumbly, and I was worried the cornmeal might overpower the flavor of the cherries, but luckily all melted and meshed and baked together into a sweetly-scented, slightly lemony, very homey cake.

There was only a little bit left over, so I think they liked it, too.

Cornmeal Cherry Upside-Down Cake, vegan, adapted from an online recipe

1 1/4 cups sifted cake flour
6 tablespoons yellow cornmeal
2 teaspoons baking powder
1/4 teaspoon salt
1/2 cup vegetable oil
1 cup sugar
egg substitute for 2 eggs
1/4 tsp. lemon extract
1/2 cup soy milk
1 teaspoon vanilla extract

2 cups cherries, washed, pitted and halved
1/4 cup brown sugar

Preheat oven to 350 degrees F. Grease the bottom and sides of a 9-inch round cake pan. Sprinkle the bottom of the pan with the brown sugar, and scatter the cherries thickly over the top.

In a bowl, stir together the cake flour, cornmeal, baking powder, and salt.

In another bowl, whisk the oil and sugar together until well combined. Add the egg substitute (I used 2 T cornstarch mixed with water), whisking well. Add lemon extract.

Combine soy milk and vanilla. Add the dry ingredients in three batches, alternating with milk. Whisk just until blended, scraping down sides of bowl once or twice. Spread batter evenly in prepared pan over the cherries.

Bake until top is golden brown and firm to the touch, 35 to 40 minutes. Let cool in pan 20 minutes. Invert the cake onto a cake plate and let cool to room temperature before serving.

*I served this with vanilla soy ice cream but it would also taste quite delicious with whipped cream, for those non-vegans.