Summertime Bing Cherry Pie

Photos By Mark West

I have no idea how I'm typing this post at this moment. My brain and body should be lying in a slump on the shiny living room floor, leaking random food facts into small uninteresting puddles at my head and feet. That's what 5+ hours of studying for the RD (Registered Dietitian) exam will do to a girl. But somehow, I feel alive and fresh after going through hundreds of study flash cards with my nutrition partner-in-crime Nathanya. Over some prime Seattle java at Ballard's Caffe Fiore, we quizzed each other for hours, taking in the summer sunshine on the cafe's back porch.

The last few days have been both exhausting and energizing at the same time. It's that feeling that only comes in summer when you're out using your body in ways that would seem strange or uncomfortable in the winter months. The feeling of letting everything in, taking deep breaths of air and stretching out with bare legs on the grass, instead of contracting in tight postures, arms crossed, against the cold and the damp. Even studying takes on a different feeling, when you know that you can lay outside on a blanket, or end the study day with a bike ride from Ballard to West Seattle. On the way home at rush hour this evening, a bit caffeinated but elated with the day's progress, I caught the West Seattle bridge right when it was turning for a large tanker to pass into Elliott Bay. Nine times out of ten I'll get lucky and go over without delay, but today I was in a light enough mood to not bother with feeling annoyed. When I approached the gate, I could scarcely believe the crowd of cyclists that was waiting to cross, commuting back home from working downtown. In cold, wet, and heat, year-round I cross this bridge. In the wintertime or in the rainy fall I'll meet maybe 5 others when waiting for the bridge to turn, but today I counted 60. I guess I'm not the only one feeling the summer in her belly on a 70 and sunny Monday.

Mark and I have been walking more in the neighborhood, taking advantage of the long evenings and dry pavement. Last week we found ourselves meandering on the side streets, keeping an eye out for a few of the cherry trees that we've been seeing with ripening fruit. There was a street in particular that I had been stalking as of late, watching two trees with Rainiers and Bings ripen their fruit, and now letting them fall to the ground. Clearly, trees whose owners didn't have the time or inclination to see the delicious possibilities... but I'm a bit of a free-fruit opportunist, of course, and I wasn't about to let this chance pass me by. I knocked on the door of the home, and an older man with a big white beard (Fruit Santa?) answered. He gave us permission to pick as much as we'd like. Seven pounds heavier, (not including a few more pounds of Rainiers in our bellies) we returned home.

We had just enough Bings for a pie, and the Rainiers I made into a jar of conserve. The results were pure summertime. I used a crust recipe that David Lebovitz uses, an all-butter affair that I wholeheartedly believe in... because who wants anything but the Real Thing when it comes to dessert? Shortening is for...well... cheaters and liars. So there.

I used 1/2 cup whole wheat pastry in addition to the white flour to give the crust some texture and additional flavor. I made the filling very haphazardly, using instinct and a tad bit of experience to tell me what to throw in the bubbling mass of garnet-colored fruit cooking on the stove. The sweet smell expanded to fill the entire kitchen, and then the whole house. It was a deep, rich sweetness that nothing but dark cherries could achieve. I cooked down most of the fruit, but left some of the firmest and sweetest cherries fresh so I could combine them with the sweetened and thick filling. This was a trick I read and committed to memory a few years ago. What a pity to throw into a pot all of this perfect peak-season fruit and cook it to smithereens! It seems so unjust. Instead, you cook 2/3 and leave the remaining fresh. I would have left them all fresh, but there was clearly too much liquid in the fruit that would have made an imperfect pastry.

Here's Lebovitz's crust recipe, with my own pinch-of-this recipe for cherry filling following. If you're not in the Northwest or up in the U.P. (yoyoyo shout out to Michigan) and don't have a bumper crop of cherries in your backyard, I can't imagine this recipe not working just as well for strawberries.

Pie Dough

Makes enough for a 9 or 10-inch double crust pie

This is taken from Lebovitz's book Room for Dessert. The explanation is a bit lengthy, but truly necessary. I've found that if you want a truly flaky crust, it's all in the details. Keep it cold, kids! No joke! When he says cold butter and ice water, he means it. I would even go so far as to refrigerate the flour until cold as well. This cuts down on the time you have to chill the discs of dough. For my pie, I baked the bottom crust for about 10 minutes to make sure it would bake through, as I knew I wouldn't have to bake the pie for as long as I would a pie without a pre-cooked filling. It worked out well, even if the top crust edges got a little droopy as I was forming them, the butter in the dough melting from the heat of the hot pie tin. I have yet to master the perfect pie edge!

2 1/2 cups flour

1/2 teaspoon salt

1 tablespoon sugar

1/2 pound (2 sticks) butter, cut into cubes about 1 inch square and refrigerated

6 to 8 tablespoons of ice water

1. Mix together the flour, salt, and sugar. Use an electric mixer equipped with a paddle attachment, a food processor, or a hand-held wire pastry blender.

2. Add the chilled butter to the dry ingredients and continue mixing just long enough for the cubes of butter to become incorporated into the flour and broken up into roughly 1/4-inch-size pieces. Add 6 tablespoons of the ice water all at once and continue mixing until the dough just begins to hold itself together. If necessary , use the remaining 2 tablespoons water.

3. Form the dough into two balls. Wrap each one in plastic, and flatten them into disks about 1 inch thick. Refrigerate for at least 1 hour before rolling out.

4. To roll out, fill, and bake a double-crust pie, first have your filling ready. Position the oven rack in the center of the oven, preheat the oven to 375 degrees.

5. On a lightly floured, surface, roll out one of the disks of dough into a circle 14 inches in diameter. Fold it in half and drape it into a 9 or 10-inch pie dish. Unfold the dough, centering it, and gently press it snugly into the dish with your fingers. Cut away dough that is overhanging the edge of the pie plate with a sharp paring knife. Add the prepared filling, smoothing it evenly in the shell.

6. Roll out the other disk of dough into another 14-inch circle. Dip a pastry brush or your fingers in water and moisten the exposed edges of the dough in the pie tin. Center the other piece of dough over the filled pie tin. Working all the way around the pie, lift the lower crust and tuck the edges of the upper crust between the edge of the lower crust and the rim of the pie tin. Work your way around the pie again, crimping the edges decoratively by repeatedly pressing downward with one thumb, while from the side, the forefinger and thumb of the other hand pinch the dough around the thumb pressing down.

7. Bake the pie in the preheated oven for 50 to 60 minutes, until the top is browned and the filling juices are thick and bubbling. Cool before serving.

Bing Cherry Pie Filling

Makes one 9 or 10-inch pie

Approximately 6 cups fresh Bing cherries, pitted (tip: they taste better if they're free)

About 2/3 cup Sucanat (evaporated cane juice or white sugar)

Juice from 1/2 lemon

3-4 tablespoons pectin (such as Sure-Jell, may substitute arrowroot starch or cornstarch)

Reserved: 1 1/2 cups fresh bing cherries, pitted

Put the 6 cups cherries in a saucepan over medium-high heat. Add the Sucanat and bring to a boil. If you'd like to sweeten to taste, start with 1/2 cup sugar, and taste the product right before the end. You can always add more sugar according to your own preference, and the ripeness of the fruit will determine this as well. After the cherries and their liquid begins to boil, turn the heat down to a strong steady simmer, leaving the pan uncovered. At this point you're cooking off the excess liquid and concentrating the fruit. Once it thickens and condenses (maybe 30 minutes or so?) add the lemon juice and pectin, and stir until well-combined.

Place the fresh pitted cherries in the bottom pie crust (par-baked or not) and pour the filling over until it reaches about 1/2 inch below the top. Put the top crust over and pinch the edges (as stated above), make 4 large slits in the crust and bake until browned. Serve with vanilla ice cream.

Sand, Suds, and Sundaes

Without cheating and looking at the last post, by the photo above can you guess where we went last week? Was it Big Sur? Hawaii? Maybe Ireland? Nope, something humble-sounding, no big tourism pushes, nobody in big flowery shirts, with odd brogues or zinc-white noses or thong buns anywhere. Well, I guess we did see some surfers in Florence, but they were completely covered, even out of the water. No, not Florence, Italy but Florence, Oregon. The most spectacular place to be where spectacularity is still a little undercover.

We made our way down Highway 101, chomping sweet, dark sugar-bombs that turned our tongues mahogony red.

After making it over the wide Columbia River, we stopped in Astoria, Oregon and bogarted a table at an ice cream shop to eat our brown bag turkey sandwiches and homemade lemonade (incredibly sour, because I believe lemonade should be more sour and less sweet). Sitting at the shop, we looked out over the Columbia and felt the cool wind sweeping off of the water. We were practically sitting under the great big bridge that brought our little car from the Washington side to Astoria, Oregon. The ice cream parlor sign said 'Tillamook ice cream served here". We'd see those Tillamook signs all down the coast, well past the town of Tillamook with its big fancy dairy palace churning out cheeses and ice cream that show up on our store shelves back in Seattle.

Before we hit our first town to stop and camp for the night, we made a few little stops to look out at the beaches and the haystacks that rise from the water like rocky, cruel guardians of the coastline.

After a night camping in Pacific City, we decided to take our morning run on the giant sand dunes and beaches in the tiny downtown. Amidst the surfers and sandboarders (yes, I swear there is such a sport, think snowboarding, but with sand.) we dodged the towels and sunbrellas to take a long run. It was an experience, and if I would have had my camera with me on the run, to take snapshots of the sunbathing seals, the views of clifftop mansions peeking through the hazy sea mist, and mile after mile of the widest beaches I've ever seen, I'd have photos for you now... but alas, the photos came after.

Beer. The Pelican Pub and Brewery lives up to its hype. I usually avoid the big huge Bar & Grills that look like I'm about to enter a really bad chain restaurant with burgers as big as small dinner plates. I was proven wrong, however, after I relished their Pelican Microbrew beer sampler (I believe every food and beverage should be made into flights in restaurants, it would save my wandering fork from invading table territory). I had the Ono fish sandwich and a perfectly made green salad. I especially enjoyed the post-meal (and post a few ales) banter. Mark: What kind of fish did you have in your sandwich? Cod? Chrissy: Ono. Mark: Salmon? Chrissy: Ono Mark: Halibut? Chrissy (laughing hysterically) ONO! Mark: Well fine, you better just tell me because I have no idea.

Next on the agenda: More coastline, and camping in Florence. The views on Highway 101 were no less stellar down south.

Seals sunbathing

Haceta Head Lighthouse

Me taking advantage of the model-like wind conditions at the lookout

The little town of Florence made me want to stay another night, to experience all of the way-too-cute but chic restaurants lining the river. After setting up camp, Mark wanted to have dessert in town, so we made our way to the business on the riverfront that had the most traffic, with people spilling out onto the porch of what looked like a large old house. BJ's ice cream served him up quite the hot fudge marshmallow cappuccino ice cream sundae. I looked in puzzled amusement as he scooped up the gooey, sickly-sweet mess. But he seemed happy.

For our next stop we headed inland, spending a night in Salem as a time out from camping. The next day we were to drive out to wine country. Salem is quiet and seemingly a bit backwards, but it was mostly a cheap place to rest our bodies after camping. However, the town of McMinnville in the Willamette Valley was everything I thought it might be. A little bit Napa, but a whole lot more Oregon. The Hotel Oregon owned by McMenamin's pub is a fine place to stay, and you're within walking distance of just about everything in the historic district. We poked around in the few shops that were open on July 4th. In one of the more trendy clothing stores where Mark was trying on shirts, the chatty shop owner recommended we check out one of the tasting rooms in town that her daughter managed. "Just tell her I sent you!" and gave us a flier. A little bored and not feeling like driving out to the vineyards after one too many days of driving, we walked 10 blocks in the heat of a 93 degree afternoon to taste wine at Walnut City Wine Works. It was worth the walk. When we arrived, as soon as we breezed through the door, a pretty young lady behind the bar yelled "You two! my mom told me you were coming! I knew you by your cowboy hat!" gesturing toward Mark's head. Gotta love small towns. She quickly filled our glasses with some of the most amazing Pinot Noir. It was wonderful, and I barely walked out of there without a few bottles in hand.

That night we watched the fireworks while standing on the rooftop bar of the Hotel Oregon. No better way to end the night... except, well, with maybe more ice cream.

Summer is finally here.

Tangential Tuesday - Off to the Oregon Coast

Tomorrow, Mark and I are going off on a Tangent.  This trip is a little tangent to our 'get up and make the coffee and turn on the computer' lives right now.  Mark has been having an affair with his new job these past few months, staring intently at his computer screen for hours on end, whispering sweet nothings to his new trophy wife - the gleaming and angular Mac Book Pro with 14" screen.  Oh, I occasionally get a wink or a peck on the cheek now and then, but usually it takes the smell of frying sausage from the kitchen to pull him away from his mistress.  

He needs a little vacation, and though I feel a little guilty for saying it, I think I need one too.  Not as if I've been working the 9 to 5 racket very much these days... but I have been working.  The click-clack of my computer can be heard fairly loudly at 8am, when I'm dashing off cover letters to jobs.  When I haven't been calling and networking and job searching, I've found other ways to feel like I have some purpose on this earth, proving to myself that my life IS in order... really.  So I straighten and clean and reorganize the closet.  I wash linens that haven't been washed in ages, I water the tiny garden, and every 10 minutes between activities I check email. God forbid should a response come in from Dream Job when my back is turned, dusting the salt and pepper shakers!  

So maybe I need a vacation from my neuroses.  

When Mark suggested a getaway down the Oregon Coast, there's no way I could say no.  I tore through my books and binders and pulled out the travel article, ripped from the Seattle Times last summer, chronicling an adventure full of sand, suds, and surf.  We'll camp and do morning runs on the beach, hang at the local pubs and sample Oregon's famous microbrews... follow lunch with a beach hike and then eat peanut butter and jelly sandwiches by the campfire.  I so need an adventure.  Getting away and getting some perspective wouldn't hurt either. 

We've decided, ahem.. okay so maybe I've decided to tack on some time with the grape juice at the end of the trip.  He gets his brews, I get my grapes.  The Willamette Valley just outside of Portland is home to some famous Pinot Noirs, so why not jog over and experience the wine life?  If you've ever been to this area and have some must-see suggestions, I'd love to know your thoughts.

We'll be back from our crazy Tangent on Sunday, and I'll be sure to post some photos and, of course, tell you all about the brews and the grapes.  Oh yeah, and maybe I'll mention the sand and wildlife too. 

Berries and Life

Life is like picking thimbleberries.  Or maybe, my life has felt like a bowl of thimbleberries lately.  Until about a month ago, I had no idea what thimbleberries were, and now I think I can find in them some sort of metaphor for what life feels like right now. 

This spring, in the vast expanse (for urban living, we consider it vast) of our yard, out perched on the cliff-like edges of our little private hilltop, are seemingly hundreds of bushes that cling on for dear life.  With leaves that look like maple, and berries that could pass for raspberries to some girl who doesn’t know the difference, they reach up and up the hillside, climbing and growing, toeing their way onto the lawn.  Every few days I have to pull thimbleberry starts that spring up in random places, green, happy and defiant in the middle of patches of brown prickly grass.  Plants thrive where they’re meant to, they grow best where they’re supposed to.  The grass is obviously misplaced, but the thimbleberry, well, they know where they belong.  Somehow I’ve managed this past month to plant a tiny patch of vegetables right next to those monster knots of thimbleberry.  In the sandy soil, I put down a few heirloom tomato plants, a few basil and six dinosaur kale.  I couldn’t tell right away if they too, were going to feel misplaced… because the sagebushes next door are smiling, the oregano is a wild little beast, but what seems to grow best in my sandy little patch are thimbleberries.  I pull a few thimbleberry babies each day, reaching up from beneath the soil to take up residence in this benevolent place.   

I go out to pick the thimbleberry’s little red dome-shaped fruit.  Each one I pick yields easily to my fingers.  They are perfectly round, and hollow inside, like thimbles.  Their soft structure collapses as soon as you drop it into your picking bowl.  So small, a half hour’s work is about two cups.  Now I know how the saffron gatherers must feel.  Slow progress, and your fingertips stain fuschia red.  Leaning in to pick the biggest ones, they easily rub their redness into your shirt, your forearms, the color of fake Halloween blood.  Coming back into the house after picking, Mark takes one look at me with wide eyes and begins laughing hysterically.  “I know” I say with a sly smile, “I look as though I’ve come out of a thimbleberry horror movie.” 

The berries were a mound of mush in my bowl, and I had absolutely no idea what to do with them, so I plopped them into the blender with some vanilla ice cream and milk, and made a thimbleberry shake.  It was so sweet and a bit tart, with thousands of tiny seeds, crunching like poppy seeds, and the color was bright party pink (Mark said it looked like I was drinking Pepto-Bismol, but I ignored him.)

This past month, I have found myself fighting pretty hard.  I’m the kind of person who, when faced with certain circumstances, either thinks her way out of them with creative problem-solving, or else fights her way out with sheer pavement-pounding hard work.  So when I find myself these days with circumstances that require both creative problem-solving and sheer hard work, I put myself to the task – and it is all-consuming.  For weeks I was running on overdrive, juggling assignments and job hunting and working and with help from some divine force, keeping us both well fed.  I felt overwhelmed as I ended one part of my life as a dietetic intern and entered another as a job hunter.  I worried, and fretted, and worried some more, because I think sometimes that worrying is what I do best.  I began fighting against what was put on my plate, feeling pressure to find a job and pressure to find a job to hold me over until I find a real job.  I wasn’t doing much berry picking, and downtime never felt like anything other than time when ‘I should be doing something productive.’  But now, after my fight has fought itself into exhaustion, and I’m finally beginning to accept what life is giving me, I’m picking thimbleberries.

They grow best where the soil feels right to them.  Their presence on our hillside is neither good nor bad, it just is.  They are there because they grow best there.  Unlike my little patch of struggling vegetables, the thimbleberries aren’t fighting very hard against their circumstances.  I’ve been given what I’ve been given, and I can either smile and work it out, or make life hard, resisting and struggling against it.  Being upset about this part of my journey is like being upset with the berries as they stain my fingers with their juice.  To get what you want, you have to get your hands a little dirty. 

We all somehow feel as though it’s necessary to judge things and people and situations as either good or bad, but maybe it isn’t.  Maybe it’s all just berry juice.

 

Upcoming Workshop at 5 Focus

Wanted to let you know about my upcoming workshop at 5 Focus integrative center on June 7th.  I'd love to see you!

From Chocolate to Kale…

Spruce up your summer with new foods on your plate!

Sunday, June 7^th

2 - 3:30p.m.

Cost: $30 –food samples included!

 

·    Are you tired of your food routine? 

·    Love shopping at organic markets but can’t pronounce or identify many of the foods on the shelves? 

·     Are you curious about quinoa, kale, or other ‘exotic’ grains, vegetables, and natural sweeteners?

Join Bastyr-educated nutritionist Christine Weiss for a lively and tasty class on demystifying the many healthful ingredients found in natural food stores.  Christine will discuss the health benefits of kefir, agave nectar, buckwheat and other foods that can liven up meals and snacks.  You’ll also have a chance to taste a variety of products new to your palate – traditional socca made with chickpea flour, homemade ginger root tea and an energy bar made with almond butter and maple syrup.  Go home with new flavors and new recipes for a new healthy start.

Christine received her MS in Nutrition from Bastyr University in 2008 and is currently a dietetic intern at Sea Mar Community Health Center.  She has a passion for food and wine, which she shares with her students as a culinary instructor for PCC Cooks.

For more information or to register, please call 206.631.2818 or visit www.5focus.com

How to Roast a Chicken

I really never thought I'd be doing this but, lately I've been roasting chickens.  I've never considering myself the 'throw the hunk of meat in the oven and shut the door' kind of gal.  I mean, it wasn't that long ago that I considered myself a completely raw vegan.  Yeah, it's a bit of a leap, but lately I've been roasting chickens.  I suppose you learn a lot about food and even more about yourself when you go through 3+ years of nutrition education.  Juice it or eat it whole?  Got milk or got propaganda?  Honey or sucanat?  Eat meat or go veg? Along the way you confront those decisions, one by one.  Along the way you make those little decisions as they come to you, and before you know it you're eating entirely differently than you did before.  Stripped of your bias, your political proselytizing, your internet heresay, you have yourself a new outlook on food - and hopefully on cooking too.  

After years of taking a hard look at my food, and years of loving an omnivore (I say omni, because I finally got him to eat broccoli) I've made a bit of peace, and some subtle compromises, with my choices. 

Clarification: now I'm roasting organic chickens.

I still don't eat beef, and my meat intake continues to be much less than the average Jane, but I have a hungry guy to feed (and I'm usually pretty hungry too).  So I turn on the oven, slap that chicken onto the roasting pan, and call it dinner.  I feel... so... so... wifey.  Yes, I know how to make roast chicken for my man, and I can still be a confident feminist while saying it.

The first time I attempted this, I had to look up how to do it online.  I then looked into my good old reference cookbooks with all the classics.  Somehow, after doing it the fifth time, I finally got the hang of it.  It isn't complex, and even the first 5 times yielded something quite edible (and some would even say delicious).  It's actually so much more simple than making a big pot of chickpea stew.  You don't even need a meat thermometer, although I would advise picking up one for a few bucks simply for piece of mind.  

If you have an hour and a half to cook it, then the prep time is 15 minutes.  I mean, less prep time than some frozen dinners!  I don't understand why every graduate from every college across America isn't required to demonstrate how to properly roast a chicken before given his or her diploma.  I mean, we could seriously solve some pizza take-out issues in this country if all the 20-somethings could just throw a bird in the oven every couple of days.  I know I could have used the skill at age 21 when I was trying to save my food pennies for stiletto heels and short sparkly skirts to go out dancing in.  

A big hunk of animal can be terribly intimidating.  How do you cook it all the way through without it becoming something resembling jerky?  What if I don't cook it through and all my guests are keeling over onto my dining room table with food poisoning?  What if I touch it, it feels slimy and then I don't want to eat it for dinner anymore?  Okay, I can't help you with that one.  Just tell yourself it's a big slippery piece of tofu or something.

Step One:  What kind of chicken to buy?

I always recommend buying an organic chicken.  If you're lucky enough to have farmers at the local markets who sell their chickens, then I would recommend those.  The best chickens come from farmers who take care of their animals, give then space to roam and bugs to eat... happy chickens!  Otherwise, go to your natural foods store and ask about organically-raised animals.  At the very least you won't be eating the pesticides that they had been eating... and just maybe they were well-raised too.   However, I would always go with the happy chickens first, and you can't find those anywhere but roaming on small organic farms.  Find a chicken that's around 3-4 pounds.

Step Two: What do I cook it in?

I really like those roasting pans that happen to come with many ovens.  For most people who don't cook very much, those are the largest pans in the house.  Just take the bottom pan (not the top slotted part) and put the chicken, wings-down, in the center of the pan.  

Step Three: Prepping the chicken

This part is easy - just use the veggies and herbs you have in your kitchen!  With the chicken in the center of the pan, surround the bird with chopped potatoes, carrots, onions, garlic, celery, kale, sliced lemons... whatever you have lying around.  If you have fresh herbs, load in tons of thyme, rosemary and sage on the veggies.  Stuff the bird with some herbs too, and some lemon slices as well.  Dried herbs are also nice, just don't skimp.  Dump 1/4 cup of the dried stuff around the bird.  Take some peeled garlic cloves and tuck them under the chicken's skin.  You may need to loosen it up with your fingers first (poke them under and explore around, separating the skin from the flesh underneath).  Put sea salt and cracked pepper on the skin and veggies.  Now take some flavorful liquid - water or white wine will do... or vegetable stock... and pour it around the chicken until you can't pour more, fearing you'll dump it everywhere when you lift the pan. 

Step Four:  Roasting It

Heat the oven to 425 degrees.  Put your chicken in the oven, and just let it cook for the first 20 minutes or so.  Open the door after that and pour the liquid over the chicken and the vegetables, moistening the skin.  You don't want the chicken to dry out.  Do this every 20 - 30 minutes.  The chicken should take no more than one and a half hours to roast.  You can make yourself feel more assured that you're not making chicken jerky by inserting the thermometer into the thigh meat - what does it read?  You know your chicken is just about done when it registers 160 degrees.  I like mine to be at 180 degrees, because then it is fall-off-the bone tender. You'll need the full hour and a half to reach this point.  However, if your chicken is larger you'll need more time.

You're done, now isn't that easy?  There may be a few finer points here and there to make it rock star awesome, but you can literally throw it in the oven and be a slacker, and it would still be delicious.

Okay everybody, your homework assignment is to roast a chicken.  Now get to it.  

 

Tangential Tuesday - Rosemary

There used to be a renowned restaurant here in Seattle (now closed) that served a famous Douglas Fir Martini.  Yes, you heard that right.  A pine tree snowball dropped right into your vodka 'tini.  Though 'pine tree' isn't exactly a flavoring that sounds appetizing to me at first glance, I nonetheless was intrigued.  Pity that I didn't have a chance to try it, as the place closed not long after I moved here.  But isn't it telling, the fact that you could actually find an evergreen cocktail here in Seattle.  Here in the Emerald City, I think we're a little obsessed with our evergreen surroundings.  I really can't blame the Seattle foodies for breaking out the tree-flavored cocktails (and not just because we're known to be the tree-hugging type).  

We actually use evergreens all the time to season and add flavor to foods and spirits. You taste that juniper in your gin?  Yup, it's the berry from an evergreen in the cypress family.  And the most common herb with a pine-like flavor and aroma? Rosemary.  The evergreen rosemary bush has long been used in cuisine but also for religious and spiritual purposes in Roman times.  Although it's an evergreen, it actually belongs in the mint family.  That piney smell comes from an aromatic compound called pinene found in the needle-like leaves. 

There are many other herbs whose flavor is enhanced by pinene.  Sage, thyme, marjoram, nutmeg, fennel and many others possess this pungent chemical that awakens our tastebuds.  Rosemary, however, is one of my favorites.  When I first moved to Seattle from the Midwest, my neighbors' choices for hedging were shocking: rosemary bushes.  You mean that people just grow this stuff outside as decorative landscaping?  My thoughts turned to my desperate attempts at keeping a tiny, woody, scrappy-looking rosemary plant alive in a small terra-cotta pot in the dead of a Chicago winter.  But here, in the land of plenty, even the decorative shrubs spelled dinner.  Soon, every pasta sauce, omelet, and chickpea stew had at least a few branches of rosemary thrown in.  Mark was even more addicted to the stuff, taking my cue and pilfering the neighbors' yards when shades were drawn so we could have a few leaves to add to the roast chicken and Sunday night's pizza.  I can't even imagine buying the stuff now... would be kind of like buying dandelions.

Rosemary can be used  in so many interesting concoctions.  I've had a rosemary lemonade at Cafe Flora, rosemary cookies, the thicker branches may be threaded through meats for outdoor grilling, and Martha Stewart even suggests getting a little pleasantly tipsy with a rosemary pear vodka cocktail.    

So tell me, what's your rosemary inspiration?