Small Fish

Someone wrote to Martha Stewart this month and asked, "What are some easy ways to add more small fish to my diet?"

And she was all like, "Just put some tinned sardines on some toast with parsley and lemon! Easy breezy!"

Because apparently, their little edible bones have calcium that you wouldn't get from boneless fish, plus they have lots of omega-3 fatty acids.

Plus, they are low on the ocean food chain, which means this.

So I picked up some Spanish sardines --Martha says they haaaaaaave to be Spanish-- at the Ferry Building in San Francisco last week, already had some lemons and crusty bread, and got big ol' leafy parsley at the farmer's market on Saturday.

I didn't bother to make this on a day when my husband was home. He likes fish and all, but sardines on toast? No, no, and no.


Small Fish Toasts
-slices of your favorite crusty bread (ciabatta, rustic, baguette, etc)
-a little mayo, butter, aioli, or olive oil for brushing on toast
-tinned sardines (mine came 4 fish to a tin)
-lemon wedges and minced parsley for garnishing
-salt & pepper, if desired

1. Toast slices of bread. Spread mayo or other moistening agent on one side of slices.
2. Add a fish to each slice, mashing slightly to keep fish in place.
3. Garnish with parsley and lemon juice to taste (I liked a LOT of lemon juice), and salt and pepper if desired.

Don't live near the ocean (or the Ferry Building)? Martha says you can get good tinned fish at marxpantry.com

Panzanella

This might be my favorite summer lunch ever.

Tomatoes from the farmer's market. Leftover crusty bread. Really good balsamic vinegar and some olive oil. So. damn. good.

Yeah, it's peasant food. It's a way to use up stale bread bits that you might not use otherwise. It's also how you use up all those tomatoes from your garden. And basil, if you happen to grow it. And maybe a cucumber if you are going all out.

The quality of your balsamic matters here. Splurge on the good stuff, and skip the crap that has flavor and color added that you buy at the grocery store.  Bonus: the good stuff is ridiculous drizzled on your summer strawberries.

Summer Panzanella

Ingredients:
maybe half a loaf of some leftover crusty bread (ciabatta, baguette, sourdough, whatever)
a couple of ripe tomatoes (heirlooms are my favorite, but even little cherry tomatoes will work)
a shallot (or maybe 1/4 onion)
a small cucumber (optional)
a few basil leaves (optional)
a few TBSPs olive oil
a generous drizzle of balsamic vinegar
salt & pepper to taste

NOTE: Your bread may be very dry, or not so much. Your tomatoes will be super juicy, or not. These factors will determine how much olive oil and vinegar you need. Start with a little. Add more if needed. Don't drown your salad in oil. Just add enough to moisten the bread.

1. Cube bread and place in a medium bowl. My cubes are maybe 1" or 1.5" around.
2. Cut up tomatoes (and cucumbers, if using) into pieces a little smaller than your bread cubes. Add to bowl.
3. Slice or finely dice your shallot/onion, depending on how much raw shallot you can tolerate in each bite. Add to bowl.
4. Roughly chop basil and add to bowl. Or chiffonade if you are feeling fancy.
5. Add olive oil and balsamic, and S&P to taste. Toss and set aside to absorb liquid, 10-15 minutes. Toss again and serve.

The Texan's Shortbread

First, just because it was beautiful and delicious:

All weddings should have towers of cupcakes, don't you think?

That's a champagne buttercream frosting with strawberries right there. 

Our cutting cake was cinnamon-chocolate cake with spicy chocolate ganache and Kahlua buttercream. I KNOW.

One of my favorites is this one: Guinness-chocolate cupcakes with Bailey's buttercream. Fine, they're all my favorite.

Wedding photos by Sweet Poppy Studios.

Our wedding was so much fun! We decided to have a brunch reception, and just happened to pick a gorgeous June day for it. Many people pitched in to make it great, including three people who loaned us cake stands to hold our seven zillion cupcakes.


In the months after our wedding, our conversations about food have started to change. Sure, we got some cookbooks as gifts and have found several new favorite recipes, and we are usually eating meatless twice a week instead of just once, but there's been another kind of change, too. The Texan, who literally didn't know how to hold a knife properly and has been known to take 15 minutes to cut up an avocado, took a knife skills class. So now dinner prep goes like this:

Me: Could you please cut up that bell pepper?
Texan: Do you want that diced or julienned?

And weekends sound like this:

T: What do you want to do this weekend?
Me: I dunno. Swimming, maybe. What do you want to do?
T: I feel like making shortbread.

Just this weekend, I come home from an out-of-town conference, and the next day happens to be my birthday. I walk in the house and smell fresh-baked brownies, which later get served to me with a side of lemon sorbet.

Me: You made brownies? For me? Wow.
T: Yep. With pecans on top. How do you like the sorbet?
Me: It's good. Where'd you buy it?
T: I made it.
Me: Seriously?
T: I squeezed the lemons by hand. It took forever! Guess what else is in it? Here, I'll just tell you. I added some of that tea you like. Plus a splash of bourbon.

What in the actual fuck?

I decided to take him up on his yen for shortbread. A long-term substitute teacher at my school, who also happens to be a puppy raiser for Guide Dogs for the Blind, had come to the end of her assignment, and we wanted to throw her a mini party to say thanks for all her hard work. She has dog-themed everything: shirts, earrings, sweaters, socks, quilts, placemats, you name it. And she is raising her 19th puppy, who came to school each day, for Guide Dogs. So what better theme to use than Bone Voyage?

I didn't think of this theme on my own. I've been to one other Bone Voyage party, so I knew shortbread shaped to look like dog biscuit would be the perfect treat. There was a straightforward recipe on the back of the bag of flour, so the Texan jumped right in. My only contribution was blitzing some nuts for half the dough. The rest was all him.

Coworkers specifically stopped me and told me how much they liked the shortbread bones. Not just the cuteness, but the actual shortbread. It was really simple, but really good. Possibly even the best ever.

And I have to agree with them.

The Texan's Brown Sugar Shortbread
adapted from our bag of Natural Directions organic AP flour

1 C butter, softened
1/2 C brown sugar
1/4 tsp vanilla extract
1/4 tsp salt
2 C AP flour
1/3 C finely chopped nuts, such as pecans or almonds (optional)

1. Preheat oven to 325 degrees.
2. Cream butter, brown sugar, and vanilla extract until fluffy. 
3. Add salt, flour, and nuts if using, and mix well.
4. On a lightly floured surface, roll dough into 1/2" thick rectangle.
5. Cut into shapes with cookie cutter, or cut into rectangles 
   1.5" x 2.5"
6. Place cookies onto baking sheets lined with parchment or silicone mats. Prick with fork.
7. Bake for 20-25 minutes, or until light golden brown. Cool completely on wire rack.

Homemade Soda #1

The Texan and I don't drink much soda. We might order a glass to share once a month or so. But recently we've been eating lunch at a restaurant that makes its own fruit-plus-herbs soda, and we're hooked. So naturally when we found a book on the subject on our honeymoon, we snapped it up.

A couple of Christmases ago, the Texan received a Soda Stream machine as a gift, and has been making his own carbonated water for almost as long as I've known him. While I'm happy drinking still water, I appreciate the Soda Stream because it eliminates the waste of bottles, plastic or glass, of seltzer, and the carbonator tank is refillable. If there is such a thing as eco-friendly soda, this is probably the start of it.

I like weird and unexpected savory ingredients in sweet things. The Texan doesn't. So we made two batches of soda syrup: Basil for me, and ginger-lemon for him. Plus, we happened to have Mason jars we'd already repurposed in our wedding, and it's a well-known fact that soda-y things look best in vintage-y Mason jars, so we got all nostalgic as we poured.

Politely, the Texan tried one sip-- but not more-- of my basil soda. (Hey, I liked it.)

His ginger soda wasn't gingery enough, so we tossed another chunk of fresh ginger in the jar and let it infuse overnight in the refrigerator. The next day, the flavor was more intense, and the ginger flavor increased with each day. The same could be done with a slice of lemon if the flavor isn't strong enough for your taste.

We had some fresh blueberries and mint in the house, so the Texan also tried his hand at muddling the two together to add to his ginger-lemon drink. He was unimpressed: both the blueberries and mint leaves were chunky and needed to be chewed before swallowing. After swallowing, hello dental floss! I'm not ready to give up on that technique, though, so next time we will muddle, infuse, and STRAIN.

from Make Your Own Soda by Anton Nocito
Basil Syrup

2 C water
1 2/3 C granulated sugar
25 large basil leaves

1. In a medium saucepan over medium heat, bring the water and sugar to a boil. Remove from heat. 
2. Add basil leaves and cover pan. Steep for 15 minutes. 
3. Strain syrup through a fine-mesh strainer and discard leaves. Can be stored in airtight container in refrigerator for up to 4 days.
4. To make basil soda, fill a tall glass with ice. Add 3 TBSP syrup, top with seltzer, and stir.

Ginger-Lemon Syrup
2 oz fresh unpeeled ginger, grated
1 C water
3/4 C granulated sugar
2 strips lemon zest

1. In a medium saucepan over medium heat, bring water and sugar to a boil. 
2. Add ginger and lemon zest, and remove pan from heat. Cover pan and steep for about 45 minutes. 
3. Strain syrup through a fine-mesh strainer and cool. Can be stored in airtight container in refrigerator for up to 14 days. 
4. To make ginger ale, fill a glass with ice. Add 3 TBSP ginger syrup, 1 TBSP fresh lemon juice, top with seltzer, and stir.

How to Roast a Chicken

Oops, it's been a while. A really long while. I'll spare you the details (it's nothing tragic), but I'll confess that part of it is laziness. And a full-time job. And a wedding to plan. And. And. And.

So the other day some colleagues and I were discussing the ins and outs of roasting a whole chicken. I said I thought it was super-easy and really delicious, but my colleagues had questions about the process, and had experienced failure enough times that they didn't think they were willing to take another stab at it. I hadn't planned to write about it, but I was suddenly feeling inspired by these women, so here goes.

Whether or not you choose to buy organic, free range chicken is really up to you. It costs more than conventional chicken for sure. But it is also never fed GMO feed, or ground-up animal parts, or feed with any vile pesticides or fertilizers. The chickens themselves are allowed to walk, run, preen, dust themselves, etc. You know, like real chickens. 

The ingredients for this dish are simple and you already have them in your kitchen: about a tablespoon of butter, and about a half-teaspoon each of salt, pepper, paprika, and whichever herb you like best. I used a pinch of thyme and some oregano here, but I have used rosemary, tarragon, and dried basil also. You can adjust the amount of each spice as you see fit. (I used to drizzle a little olive oil on the chicken, but then I saw a Julia Child episode where she roasted a chicken and rubbed, like, 20 pounds of butter on the chicken instead, so now I do it this way too.)

The process is also simple. No seriously, even the Texan can do it. He kept exclaiming how easy and delicious it was after his first attempt. I totally agreed.

1. Preheat the oven to 375 degrees. 

2. Rinse the chicken (run a little water inside the body cavity too). Remove the bag of organs if included. 

3. Drip or pat the chicken dry. No need to be all OCD about this. Just blot a little and move on. Cut off any obvious blobs of fat, which usually occur at the tail end. Place in roasting pan, breast side DOWN. Julia Child says this keeps the moisture in the breast meat, which is right where you want it.

4. Rub the butter into the skin in chunks. My pats of butter don't always stick, so I usually wind up with several pats near the top. I figure this is fine because the butter is going to drip down the body of the chicken as soon as it goes in the oven anyway. Sprinkle some of the spice mixture on top. 

5. Place on middle rack in oven and roast for 90-120 minutes, depending on the size of your bird. It is safely cooked once the internal temperature reaches 165 degrees. You can baste the chicken once or twice if you like. More is not necessary. To do this, use either a large spoon or turkey baster and spoon some of the drippings onto the top of the bird, coating the skin. This will result in a crispy-on-the-outside-but-moist-on-the-inside skin.

6. I boil a kettle of water to pour in my sink after I've rinsed the chicken to kill salmonella and other creepy germs. You can also use bleach but bleach is so not environmentally friendly. 

7. I put the organs in a little pot with water, and cook them over very low heat for a while. My dog and cats love a bit of this in their dinner too.

You don't need all that fat rendered off into your pan, so remove the glob!

Buttered, spiced, and ready to roast.

I put a piece of tin foil under the pan so the fat splatterings don't spray all over my oven. Trust me, it's a pain to scrub later. Technically, you aren't supposed to do this because it interferes with even heat distribution, but I do it anyway.

I used to throw root vegetables in the pan with the chicken to roast, but I found that some pieces of potato or carrot or beet were done, while others were too firm. So now I toss them in a single layer on a baking sheet with a bit of olive oil, salt, pepper, praprika, and whatever herb I'm in the mood for. I stick them on that top rack for about 20-25 minutes, and they are done perfectly.

Digital thermometers are easy to use and inexpensive: this one was $10 at Sur La Table. Be sure to insert the probe far enough to measure the center of the meat, where it heats up slowest. Here I put it into the center of the thigh.

The bird will shrink a bit when it is cooking.

Add caption

Leave the meat you aren't eating on the body until you need it. Otherwise all the juices run right out, making your meat dry. I like to carve off (and eat) the legs first, then the wings, then the breast meat. We usually have some breast meat left for a meal the next night, such as chicken pot pie, chicken enchiladas, or chicken soup. The Texan and I can usually get 8 meals out of a single chicken, which makes this a great choice for weeknight meals with enough left for lunch.

Foodie Pen Pals: Revealed!

The last time I had a pen pal was in 6th grade. Her name was Sophie and she was frumpy-looking and British. But she wrote great letters.

I have some new pen pals this month. Neither is British or named Sophie, I don't know what either one looks like, and we send each other boxes of food instead of long letters.

We all signed up for Foodie Pen Pals, a program designed by fellow food blogger Lindsay at the Lean Green Bean. Participants get matched with two people each month: a pen pal to send a box to, and another to receive one from. We email back and forth, asking about each other's likes and dislikes, interests, and food preferences. We shop and bake, packing boxes for strangers that are filled with things we love, things we hope they might love, and things that say something about each of us in some small way.

My sender pen pal, Donna M, shipped me a box all the way from South Carolina. I told her I liked to eat healthily, but that I'd be the first to admit I loved sweets, especially chocolate. I also like to try foods from other cultures, something Donna was happy to help with. She sent me:

-TWO kinds of Godiva!
-chocolatey caramel-y granola bars
-chocolate-covered dried plums
-creme brulee mix
-steel-cut oats
-soba and udon noodles
-Asian snack mix

Donna included plenty of chocolate in my box. Obviously, it didn't take her long to figure me out! I'm pretty sure getting a box with chocolate in the mail is one of life's best moments. The package of steel-cut oats even has a recipe for chocolate chip cookies on it, which I will be making shortly.

Donna told me that her grandmother was Japanese, and she used to eat the rice cracker snack mix with her when her grandmother was alive. It was clear to me that the snack mix was important to Donna, and reminded her of someone special. I think this is also why she chose the two kinds of noodles, both of which I love too, and I was touched that she would include such personal information in her letter to me, tucked inside the box. 

My recipient pen pal, Jenna M, said she likes to eat healthily most of the time too, loves to try new energy bars, loves nuts of all kinds, and prefers sweet to salt. I was tempted to fill her box with about 39 kinds of chocolate, but kept reminding myself that a) it's about 1 zillion degrees out and chocolate will melt in the mail, and b) chocolate is what I love, not necessarily what she loves. So for Jenna I packed:
-coconut water
-a chocolate-covered greens energy bar
-a spice grinder from Trader Joe's that has coffee beans, sugar, and chocolate in it
-homemade granola
-homemade toasted almonds with rosemary and salt
-a little bag of Himalayan pink rock salt

The Himalayan rock salt was slightly outside of her parameters, but because it can be used in savory dishes as well as sweets such as caramel, I thought she might like to try it. Plus, it's just pretty. I sneaked little bits of chocolate in her products to try, but chocolate wasn't the dominant flavor in the box. Judging from Jenna's enthusiastic thank-you email, I think she liked her box! Visit her Facebook page to see her photos and comments about the experience.

I can't think of a better way to connect with strangers than through food, and while this program has the potential to get a bit pricey (most of us used flat rate Priority Mail boxes, which are around $12 to ship, plus there is the cost of the food items themselves), I will definitely participate again. There is something comforting about receiving food, and better still, someone else does the shopping.

The Cupcake Craze, Part 1

Frosting isn't easy, you know.

Sometimes it's too thin and runs down the sides of the cupcake, leaving bald spots on the top.

Sometimes it's too sweet because the powdered sugar you used to thicken it is enough to choke a horse.

Sometimes it's grainy, or clumpy, or both, or is made with things like Crisco and really isn't food.

But this frosting is perfect. It's smooth, provided you coax it to the correct temperature, and perfectly sweet and chocolatey and has just five ingredients:

1. cream
2. powdered sugar
3. chocolate
4. butter
5. vanilla extract

For once, my cupcakes look like the ones in the picture in the cookbook. That never happens.

Of course, frosting is nothing without a good cupcake to rest upon. These vanilla cupcakes are also perfect, and versatile: they could support lemony frosting, or cream cheese, or vanilla, or mocha, or whatever else your little heart desires.

I've been resistant to all things cupcake because, well, everyone's doing it.  I hate doing what everyone else is doing. Plus, cupcakes really do need frosting. Otherwise they are just muffins that seem to be missing something. And I believe I have made my position on frosting quite clear. But I have to admit that the last two cupcake batches I've made have been awesome enough to make me a believer.

A believer in cupcakes.

If the frosting is too cold, it doesn't spread or shine as nicely.

Vanilla Cupcakes with Truffle Cream Frosting
adapted from Chocolate Obsession by Michael Recchiuti

makes 12 cupcakes

For the cupcakes:
1 1/2 C AP flour
1 tsp baking powder
1/2 tsp baking soda
1/4 tsp salt (kosher is best)
1 C (8 oz) creme fraiche, at room temperature (I substituted full-fat plain yogurt; DO NOT use low-fat or nonfat!)
2 eggs, at room temperature
1 tsp vanilla extract (I also added seeds from 1/2 vanilla bean)
6 TBSP unsalted butter, at room temperature
3/4 C granulated sugar

For the frosting:
8 oz chocolate (65% dark)
2/3 C heavy whipping cream
2/3 C plus 2 TBSP confectioner's sugar
4 TBSP unsalted butter, at room temperature
1 TBSP vanilla extract

1. Preheat oven to 325 degrees. Line 12 standard muffin cups with paper liners, or coat with cooking spray. Set aside.
2. Sift flour, baking powder and soda, and salt together into a medium bowl. Set aside.
3. Combine creme fraiche or yogurt, eggs, and vanilla extract and seeds (if using) in a medium bowl and whisk by hand until well-mixed.
4. Beat butter on medium speed until butter is creamy. Add granulated sugar and beat until fluffy and pale.
5. On low speed, add the dry ingredients in 3 additions, alternating with the wet ingredients in 2 additions.
6. Divide batter among muffin cups, filling each about two-thirds full. Bake for 15-20 minutes, or until the cupcakes are puffed, slightly browned, slightly cracked on top, and a toothpick inserted in the center comes out clean. Let cool completely in the pan on a wire rack. Remove from muffin pan.
7. Place chocolate in a medium bowl. Put cream and confectioner's sugar in a small saucepan over medium heat and bring to a simmer. Cook for one minute at a simmer and remove from heat.
8. Pour hot cream mixture over chocolate and whisk by hand until chocolate melts. Whisk in butter, and then vanilla extract.
9. Cover bowl with plastic wrap so that the wrap touches the surface of the frosting, and refrigerate until mixture reaches 70 degrees. This will probably take 30-40 minutes, but start checking after 20.
10. When frosting is at 70 degrees, beat on high speed until it is lighter in color and less dense.
11. Frost cupcakes as desired.

Meatless Mondays: Sushi Night

You can put pretty much anything in a sushi roll.

Like tempura asparagus.

And orange segments.

And Mexican-style salsa.

No, seriously. The Texan and I have eaten all of these things and more in various rolls we've tried, and loved them all.  So we figured fishless sushi would feel like a kind of roll we just hadn't tried yet.

We found a recipe for quinoa maki (the type of roll that is made with rice and filling and wrapped in seaweed, or nori) with avocado and Cajun portobello fillets in The Conscious Cook by Tal Ronnen*. The author argues that quinoa is more nutritious than white rice and has an interesting texture to boot, so is perfect for sushi. I was a little skeptical, so I made some sushi rice just in case, but the Texan and I both really liked the quinoa rolls.

Also just in case, I seared some extra-firm tofu in a bottled teriyaki marinade, because I was a little worried the portobellos would be gross. Which they weren't. At all. I marinated them in a mixture of white wine, Cajun seasoning, white wine vinegar, and some spices, and later seared them so they would dry out a bit and get crispy-ish. Perhaps they were selected for a veggie roll recipe because they tend to have that slightly slimy-chewy-raw texture the way raw fish does, but these were no fish substitute-- these were just good in their own right.
 

A friend sent me a sushi mat and some chopsticks from Japan when she lived there, so our rolling efforts were, you know, authentic and whatnot. 

The Texan's roll of choice: tri-color quinoa, portobello, tofu, avocado, and carrot.

Our rolls were a little messy. We admit it.

Sushi Night #2: Veggie rolls with avocado and spicy mayo

I made some miso soup with little cubes of tofu and sliced scallions, the way they do in some Japanese restaurants.  I used yellow miso, never having used any miso before, and figured I'd try the middle-of-the-road strength for my first time. (Miso comes in three colors: white, the least fermented and mildest, yellow, and red, the most fermented and most intense.) I would be game to try red miso next time, for a little extra flavor.

The recipe calls for a little mayonnaise to be mixed with a tiny bit of sambal oelek (Thai chili-garlic sauce) and then rolled up with the rest of the fillings. I completely forgot to make it, but we have had sushi at restaurants that have drizzled something similar over certain rolls, and we like it a lot. The next time we make sushi we will have to try it. Yes, there will be a next time. Even the Texan said so.


Fishless sushi is ridiculously inexpensive to make. Packs of nori can be gotten for under $2, and contain 10-12 sheets per pack. Each sheet yields 5 or 6 pieces, so one pack makes at least 50 pieces of sushi. Sushi rice is a little more expensive than regular white rice, but not astronomical, and regular rice with some binder ingredients could be used in a pinch. I used only one portobello last night, along with a carrot, an avocado, a few pea sprouts, and half a pack of tofu. That's it. You can use whatever combination of vegetables (or fruit, if you are feeling especially avant garde) you like, but you probably won't spend more than a few dollars on all the fillings. Go Team Vegetables!



* The title makes the book sound like the hokiest bunch of hippie crap on the planet, but it isn't. And it contains recipes for dairy substitutes that don't involve soy milk, so I am all over it. Dairy and I just don't get along.

Meatless Mondays

It's Monday, and the Texan and I are going meatless.

                                                 ****************************************

After reading this article in the latest issue of my UCLA Alumni magazine, I was inspired to go totally meatless a minimum of one day a week. There was only one problem: I knew I had to get the Texan to try it. Otherwise, each Monday I'd be nibbling on tofu and salad greens while he chowed down on a steak, my martyrdom to the planet spilling over onto the table between us. But how was I going to convince a guy to go meatless who owns a t-shirt from a barbecue joint in Texas that says, "Vegetarian: The Indian word for Terrible Hunter"?

I decided to take the direct approach. One evening when I knew we were going out to an area with a large bookstore, I told him I had a proposition for him that involved reading a short article. I figured this would help my cause because a) he is an avid reader, and b) he loves facts. When he finished, I planned to just come out and say that I wanted to do Meatless Mondays and I wanted him to do it with me, please. I sat him on the sofa, handed him the article, and had this conversation:

Me: (silently rehearsing elevator speech)
Texan, finishing article: "You know, we should probably eat less meat. We could do Meatless Mondays or something like that."

Me: (silently) Wait, what?
(out loud) "Yeah, that's what I was thinking. We can stop at the bookstore tonight and look at vegetarian cookbooks."

Texan: (silently) That's EXACTLY how I wanted to spend my evening: perusing tofu and bulgher wheat recipes.
(out loud):  "Great! Let's go!"

As luck would have it, we found not one but two cookbooks we both liked, one of which is appropriately titled The Meat-Free Monday Cookbook and offers three seasonally appropriate meals for each week of the year.

Over dinner that night, we had this conversation:

Texan: "You know, it's really just one day a week. We can totally do it."

Me: "Yeah, and we already eat vegetarian breakfasts, so it's just two more meals that day that have to be veg."

Texan: "But if we like it and find recipes we like, we could make it two nights a week. Or even three."

Me: (silently) The fuck?
(out loud) "That'd be cool. I have to admit, though, I was surprised when you suggested doing Meatless Mondays."

Texan, waving hands evangelist-style: "As I read the article, I was worried you had, like, seen the light and wanted to go totally vegan or something. So that's why I suggested Meatless Mondays before you could say anything: I figured one day a week was better than seven."

Ah, there's my carnivore.

                                                          **************************************

Tonight's meal? Homemade tamales, salad, and maybe some vegan chocolate cake for dessert.

Fall from Glory

First, there was this:

Then, there was this:

And when I wasn't sure it could get any better there were these:

For vanilla-sea salt caramels in dark chocolate

So I decided to go really big and enter the California State Fair, and instead of entering two items, I figured I'd go for broke and enter three. All of which, of course, I wanted to be as fresh as possible so I waited until the day before the drop-off to make them. And so there was this:

Yep, two second places and a third place. And the most ironic part is, the third place entry won Best Of Show at the previous fair; the espresso-hazelnut truffle that placed second here placed first not once but twice at previous fairs!

The competition wasn't really that much stiffer at the state fair. The system of judging was different, but not necessarily harder. The problem was me: making three totally different products in a single day and expecting all of them to be cosmetically perfect is just plain stupid. Candy is time-consuming to make and chocolate is finicky to work with-- it can't be rushed, no matter how big a fair I enter. And sometimes I get impatient, and then I make tiny mistakes that no one else but me and the judge would notice, and then I don't win.

I would love to be able to say that I never make the same mistake twice, but I can't. Usually I have to make it a few times before I finally learn my lesson.  This isn't the first time I've made cosmetic mistakes on my candy, but I'm hoping that three non-blue ribbons, framed on the wall, will help me make sure it's the last.

Especially next summer, when I enter the state fair again, and WIN.

Taco Night

The Texan loves fish tacos. Like, to the point where I wouldn't be surprised if he up and moved to Baja and grew his hair all long and stringy and started wearing board shorts every day.

The first time he suggested we eat them, I wasn't altogether sure I'd like them, much less love them. I admit now that I do love them, but there are three problems with them.

1. Our favorite kind involves fried fish.

2. Fish is loaded with lead.

3. Many popular varieties of fish are overfished, or come from poorly managed fish farms.

On a weekend when the Texan happened to be out of town, my neighbor made fish tacos that offered a compromise to Problem Number 1. She breaded the fish filets in panko-style breadcrumbs, and then baked them in the oven. The breadcrumbs created the textural appeal of fried fish without all the fat and cholesterol. She sliced them into strips to serve, along with cabbage slaw, avocado slices, and lime quarters to squirt on top.

I liked them so much that I made them the next day for my dad, substituting shrimp for the white fish and adding a black bean-corn mixture to the fixings, as well as a little bit of jarred salsa. He seemed to like them, and they were ready in a ridiculously short time.

For a quick dinner before a date at the ballpark this week, I decided to make the fish tacos for the guy who loves them the most. I used shrimp again (I bought the 16-20 size, which I think is a little too big; in the future I'll use the next-smaller size), sauteeing it quickly in a little olive oil, salt and pepper, and a teensy bit of cayenne.

I couldn't remember exactly how my neighbor made the slaw, so I just sliced cabbage very thinly, added some cilantro, and then lemon juice, S & P, and an even teensier bit of cayenne. I think she added either yogurt or sour cream to hers, but I don't use dairy if I can avoid it.

I sauteed some green bell pepper with a bit of onion in some olive oil and S & P, sliced some avocado, and boiled an ear of corn, and put them in individual bowls to be used according to taste. I also had a ripe mango and some peaches just waiting to be used, so I diced those, added some cilantro, onion, lemon juice, S & P, and a teensy bit of cayenne to make a fruit salsa with a little kick.

The fruit salsa adds the perfect amount of moisture to the tacos, without becoming soggy and drippy.

He loved them. What surprised me the most was that he also loved the fruit salsa, because he is not the Number One Fan of either mango or peaches. Granted, I had just found his new favorite chip at Berkeley Bowl -- a blue corn-quinoa-chia-maca salt-free chip -- so he had reason to eat many of them, but he's perfectly happy eating the chips plain so he must have actually, like, liked it. 

                                            
The only way to deal with Problem Number 2 is to eat fish sparingly. This would put a definite cramp in the Texan's Baja style, but while we still live in northern California, this is Just The Way It Is.  And as for Problem Number 3, I screwed up this time around. Not only were the shrimp I bought too big, but they were wild-caught from Mexico, which, according to my Seafood Watch app, is not a well-managed source of seafood. Think tons, literally, of sea turtle and small fish bycatch. Had I bought the smaller ones, I would have purchased US farm-raised shrimp, which is one of the most sustainable options.   See what happens when I get all greedy?

Olive Oyl

My Italian ancestors would be mortified, I'm sure, to know that lately I've kept canola oil in my pantry instead of olive oil. Seriously, I haven't even owned a bottle of olive oil in over a year.

While canola oil is the better choice for baking, which is why I chose it, it doesn't give much flavor to salad dressings or anything that is sauteed. I figured this could be compensated for to a certain degree with seasonings, whereas the density that olive oil gives my baked goods can't. A brick, after all, is still a brick no matter how much sugar I add.

Enter the June 2012 issue of Vegetarian Times where, amidst a series of baking recipes calling specifically for olive oil, there just happened to be a cake recipe with berries, citrus, wine, and olive oil. I screamed silently at the editors of the magazine, "Gawwwwd, twist my arm, why don't you!" Then I ran to the store to buy a bottle.


Despite such terrible pain in my arm, I managed to come up with this:

I take back everything I ever said about baking with olive oil. This cake was light and fluffy, almost sponge-y but in a good way, and the flavor was not overly sweet or olive-y. The citrus zests and wine lent bits of flavor that were perfectly balanced, yet there was plenty of room for a berry compote or maybe a sorbet to accompany the cake.

The editors note that the "recipe calls for a sweet wine to flavor the cake, but you could also use white wine left over from last night's dinner." While several of my regular readers don't ever wonder what to do with last night's wine because there is never any wine left over, those who do might find their own arms twisted just enough to... well, you know.

Figs were tasty, but I suggest a juicier berry to serve with the cake.

Olive Oil-Wine Cake
from Vegetarian Times, June 2012

Serves 10

2/3 C olive oil
1 1/2 C AP flour
1 tsp baking powder
1/4 tsp salt
1/3 C sweet dessert wine, such as Moscato, Marsala, or Muscat
1/3 C orange juice
1 tsp grated orange zest
1 tsp grated lemon zest
4 eggs
1 C sugar
2 TBSP confectioners' sugar
1-2 pints fresh berries

1. Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Coat a 9" springform pan with cooking spray or olive oil. Line bottom of pan with a circle of parchment paper, cut to fit.
2. Whisk together flour, baking powder, and salt in a bowl. In a separate bowl, whisk together olive oil, wine, orange juice, and zests.
3. Beat eggs and sugar in stand mixer or with electric mixer for 4 minutes, or until pale yellow and tripled in volume. Add half of dry ingredients, and mix on low speed until blended. Add half of liquid mixture, and mix to blend. Repeat with remaining dry and liquid mixtures.
4. Pour batter into prepared pan, and set on baking sheet. Bake 50 minutes, or until toothpick inserted in center comes out clean. Cool 10 minutes, and then remove sides of pan to cool completely. Dust with confectioners' sugar and serve with berries (or compote).

The Blender Room

A few years ago, I was finishing my Master's program and had to complete an intensive practicum that summer. I was holed up in a room with five or six other candidates, where we provided intensive remediation to students with reading difficulties in the mornings and wrote, debriefed, wrote, attended meetings, and wrote some more in the afternoons. I was fortunate to be assigned to a room with like-minded women who agreed that food was the only way to get us through the demands of practicum. We took turns bringing lunch throughout those weeks, and for my final turn, I thought smoothies would be the perfect light lunch on a hot, humid Chicago summer day.

So I brought a blender.

The news went viral, the old-fashioned way. Maybe it was the whir of the machine, or that we were walking the halls of the building with glasses (like, actually made of glass) of smoothie, but within a few minutes ALL the other candidates heard that we had a blender in our room and were making smoothies. Our professors heard about it from the others. One or two candidates may have asked if they could have some. The smoothies were legendary. Practically.

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L to R: pineapple-orange-banana, sweet potato, blueberry-banana, everything-but-the-kitchen-sink, spinach-kale-banana.

I started making smoothies around the same time I rowed crew in high school, and would come home from practice even hungrier than the average teenager. Ever since, I've been drinking them as an easily-digestible energy boost before or after workouts, and for breakfast or lunch along with some toast. They're ridiculously easy to make, relatively cost-effective, and lend themselves to endless combinations. I even know some meat heads who will drink them. But only at the gym.

I make mine with non-dairy milk of some kind: soy, almond, hemp, rice, etc. I almost always use banana as the base for my smoothie, in part because the potassium goes well with workouts, and in part because it helps thicken the smoothie. I throw in whatever fruit I have: fresh or frozen, berries or citrus, tropical or North American.

Lately, though, I've wanted to try something a little different. A friend happened to be making a vibrant green smoothie as I was standing in her kitchen, and while the ingredient list didn't make it sound very appetizing, it turned out to taste pretty good. She put several handfuls of baby spinach in the blender, along with some frozen pineapple, protein powder, flax seed oil, and coconut water. It was definitely one of the prettiest smoothies I'd seen in a long time, so I made my own version, adding some kale after seeing a recipe for a greens smoothie on wholefoodsmarket.com. I took the advice of some of the commenters on that site who suggested using a 3:1 or 4:1 spinach:kale ratio. I threw in a banana, a little frozen pineapple, and soy milk and now have a new favorite smoothie. The spinach and kale flavors aren't masked, exactly, but they somehow blend really well with the sweet fruit flavors. There are two things to keep in mind if you make this smoothie:

1. My friend makes this smoothie at night and puts it in a Thermos-type container in the fridge. She grabs it on her way out the door, and it becomes her breakfast while she drives to work. This is a brilliant strategy to save time in the morning while still eating a healthy meal. However, the beautiful green smoothie becomes seriously un-beautiful by morning, and the first time I saw her drink it in the car, I asked, "What IS that?"

2. Green things can get stuck in your teeth.

A fellow food blogger has several videos on her site in which she demonstrates recipes, cooking show-style. In one (episode 8), she makes a sweet potato pie smoothie with leftover sweet potato and a few spices. While I could do without the mmmmmmmmmmms and ooooooooooohs, I loved the idea, so made my own. I didn't use her exact quantities, but added dashes of this, that, and the other. I love the taste of the smoothie, but I haven't mastered the texture yet. Or maybe it's the temperature that isn't right: both times I've made it, I've cooked the sweet potato for the purpose of the smoothie, and so it was either warm or room temperature. If it were cold, and the soy milk were cold, it would probably taste more like a smoothie and less like baby food.

Even the Texan likes smoothies. A few hours after his workout, he makes a smoothie to fuel him until dinner. He uses plain or vanilla yogurt as his base, adds frozen berries, juice, a berry-flavored greens powder, and sometimes chia seeds (which, unlike flax, don't need to be ground to obtain maximum benefit from). The powder, he says, takes some getting used to, but also packs a solid nutritional punch, so a little grit is worth it.

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Not only did the news of the blender survive that day and become the talk of the hallway that week, it survived the summer. A few weeks into a fall semester class with a different professor, my friend Patti, who was one of my Blender Room mates, was discussing her practicum experience with the professor. As if little else mattered, she announced to the professor, "... and Mia brought a BLENDER!"

The professor's response? "So I heard."

The Clearance Rack

I know, I know-- covetousness is a sin. But I admit I've had my eye on something for a while now.

It's expensive. It's heavy. It's pretty. It's expensive.

Oh and also, it's expensive.

It's a Le Creuset Dutch oven. Or, as they call it, a French oven. It's essential for all those cuts of meat that get cooked for hours until they practically fall off the bone. It can be used on the stove top, the oven, or both for a single meal. Plus, it comes in a dizzying array of colors, nearly all of which I would be happy with, should one just happen to fall in my lap.

Actually, having a Le Creuset fall in my lap might break both my legs. But you know what I mean.

A couple of weeks ago, I noticed a store brand Dutch oven on sale for 40% off at Sur La Table.  As all mathematicians know, [Totally Ridiculous] x 0.40 = [Still Pretty Ridiculous], but the store brand's original price was Reasonable, not Ridiculous. It was available in only one color, but it happened to be a color I especially love: a deep, dark burgundy. So as not to be impulsive, I made a mental note of the item and kept walking.

I wondered, though, why is the SLT brand so much cheaper than Le Creuset? Its starting price was a mere forty percent of Le Creuset's for the same size, and the only visible differences were a shinier finish on the SLT and a stainless steel lid handle, not a composite handle. The SLT pot's weight was about equal to that of the Le Creuset, so I knew it was cast iron all the way through, not filled with aluminum or steel or some other muck.

China may have something to do with it. As I read the fine print, I noticed the SLT pot was made in China. Le Creuset pots, on the other hand, are still made in France (their bakeware is now made in China, just like everything else).  I would prefer to purchase things that are made just about anywhere but China. But I couldn't force myself to be quite stoic enough to shell out 60% more for the Le Creuset, especially when I returned to Sur La Table about ten days later.

A large sign outside the door of SLT called to me, "TAKE AN EXTRA 20% OFF ALL CLEARANCE PRICES!" Well, ok, if you insist.

The sale brought the price of the Dutch oven down to less than 50% of its original price, and to about twenty percent of the original Le Creuset price.

So far, my Dutch oven seems to perform well. The metal handle does get hot, so I must use a towel or pot holder each time I open the lid, but this is not a major disaster. I'll spare my readership a soap box speech on the downfalls of cheap consumer goods, though it plays in my head often, because for now the pot is a way to cook well, eat well, and be well.

Want Some Coffee With That?

Thumbing through John Ash's Cooking One on One, the Texan and I both said, "Oooooh!" when we turned to the page with a recipe for brisket braised in coffee.  Neither one of us knew exactly who John Ash was, but we figured he knew what he was talking about with that recipe, which combines two Really Good Things.

Wouldn't you know it that John Ash has had a restaurant and a radio show here in northern California for a few years. Or 30. He does the whole fresh/local/seasonal thing a la Alice Waters, only in Santa Rosa, and his dishes are created to match the wines being made in that region. He also does a few other things. Like teach at the culinary academy in the Napa Valley. Whatever.

Wouldn't you also know it that the Texan and I have somewhat different definitions of brisket. His version involves a barbeque and slicing the beef. Mine involves simmering in a Dutch oven for hours on end, a tomato-y braising sauce, and meat that just falls apart when it's done. So imagine his surprise when I spend all day simmering the meat, he spends all day thinking about the barbecued flesh he's about to eat, and he sits down to a meal that has no slices in sight. Poor thing.

With The Texan's homemade bread and some sauteed vegetables with toasted pecans.

Whatever our differences, we agreed that a) the meat was ridiculously tender and flavorful; b) we couldn't really taste the coffee, but perhaps its job was simply to tenderize, not to flavor-ize;  c) there is more than one way to cook brisket. In fact, the Texan liked it enough to want it for dinner the following evening, as we were getting ready to go up to our local observatory for a meteor shower. There was just one small problem:

I'm the blue. He's the white.

His surprise was not due to my having eaten the brisket for another meal. His surprise was due to the cut of meat I used WEIGHING TWO POUNDS and there being so little left that it wouldn't satiate him for dinner. As in, "Where the %@*# did you put it? Your hollow leg? Or are you now thirty pounds heavier?"

He swears he would love me at any weight. To which my response is, "Really???"

Brisket Braised in Coffee

adapted from Cooking One on One by John Ash

serves 6-8

(I cut the recipe in half)

4 lbs beef brisket, trimmed of excess fat

4 TBSP olive oil

3 yellow onions (1 1/2 lbs total), sliced

1/4 C sliced garlic

2 TBSP powdered chiles, such as ancho or Chimayo (this is NOT the same as chili powder, which is a blend of several spices and flavorings)

2 tsp whole fennel seeds

2 tsp cumin seeds

2/3 C packed brown sugar

2/3 C apple cider vinegar

4 C strong brewed coffee

1 C chicken, beef, or vegetable stock (or use canned broth)

1 14-ounce can diced tomatoes, with juice

salt and pepper to taste

1. Season meat with salt and pepper. Heat 2 TBSP olive oil in a Dutch oven or other large pot. Brown brisket on both sides over high heat. Remove meat from pot, discard excess fat, and leave about a tablespoon in pot.*

2. Saute onions and garlic in fat over high heat until they just begin to color. Add powdered chile and saute another minute. Add fennel, cumin, sugar, vinegar, coffee, stock, and tomatoes, and bring to a simmer. Return brisket to pot, cover, and let simmer over a low flame for 1 1/2 to 2 hours, or until meat is very tender. 

3. Adjust salt and pepper to taste. Allow brisket to sit (e.g. on an unheated back burner) for 15 minutes. Serve. 

*You can discard all meat fat and saute onions in olive oil if you prefer, but using the fat already in the pan yields more flavorful results.

Easter Eggs

My 6th grade science fair project, which won a blue ribbon thank you very much, involved dyeing bits of fabric with food. As in beets, cabbage, blueberries, onion skins, and coffee. I think my investigation was two-fold: which plants gave the strongest dyes, and how to set the dye so I didn't wind up with only vague stains on my fabric.

It turns out the same plants can also turn my Easter Eggs lovely colors. Beets and blueberries give the girliest colors, of course, but coffee gives a nice brown, and saffron turns the eggs a very spring-like pastel yellow.

Chickens can turn their eggs lovely colors, too. Not by will, of course. Or by eating beets. Different breeds produce eggs in different colors. Yep, that whole 'brown eggs are healthier than white eggs' thing is irrelevant. The two simply come from different chicken breeds.

Riverdog's arrangement (L) and mine.

 Several years ago, I stumbled across blue Araucana eggs at the Berkeley farmers' market. Actually, I stumbled across them in Martha Stewart-- she just so happens to keep like 20 different breeds of chicken at her eensy little estate. Er, estates-- and therefore recognized them at the market. But the vendor I bought them from was elderly and frail, so I had a feeling he wouldn't be there this year. I was right. Riverdog Farm, though, had these very pretty dozens for sale, so I looked through several cartons to find just the right mix. (They probably hate that, but for six dollars a dozen, I feel entitled to pick The Perfect Eggs.)

These are almost too pretty to dye. In fact, egg producers often raise Araucanas mainly for their novelty at Easter. But I think the combination of natural shell color and plant dye makes for some striking eggs in my Easter basket.

Last year's attempt

This year, I decided to pull a few dye tricks out of my 6th grade hat, since I wasn't thrilled with my results from last year. Red onion skins, which my local grocery store gave me for free, spinach, and turmeric were added to my blueberry-and-beet-and-coffee repertoire, with some unexpected results. For one, onion skins create a seemingly intense reddish-brown dye, but their impact on my eggs was not so intense. For another, spinach made an unimpressive dye. I was disappointed. For a third, dry blueberry dye that I put on a brown egg rubbed off when I rinsed the egg, leaving not a pale blue color but a pale brown color. As in, paler than the egg originally started, as if some of the natural brown color rubbed off, too. And fourthly, two years in a row beets have left my eggs speckled pink, not pink all over.

Blue and brown eggs, before and after a blueberry bath (and naked again)

 (Upper) Brown egg in coffee bath. (Lower) Coffee egg 2nd from left in back row.

Spinach dye (blah...)

Speckled beet egg

 (L, top to bottom) 1. Naked blueberry 2. Blueberry 3. Turmeric and blueberry 4. Spinach 5. Turmeric
(R, top to bottom) 1. Onion skin 2. Coffee 3. Beet 4. Onion skin 5. White egg boiled in beet bath

One of the things I love about these dyes is how not uniform and sometimes bizarre the results are. They look nothing like the food coloring-dyed eggs of my childhood, but don't quite look they way they did last year, either. I'm not sure that what I wound up with is prettier than what I started with, but either way, these eggs look lovely at the Easter table.