To San Francisco!

I must admit, I left my heart there back in 2000.

That was the first time I went to San Francisco, and fell in love with that shiny city.  The colors, the sunlight on technicolor townhouses, the fog and chill and crashing waves, the energy of a place where people live and do so with abandon.  

I'm going there again tomorrow to meet up with a slew of old friends.  Old friends are the very best kind (especially when they happen to live in glorious destination cities).  

I know that SF is a destination itself for some of the greatest food in the West.  My old friends and I will surely hit a jewel or two, besides the wine tasting we're planning among the vineyards.  However, I fully expect that the most memorable meals I'll have will be the ones that are casually eaten, casually prepared by ourselves, at home and lounging on carpets and sofas. 

I'll be sure to collect photos and tidbits of bites to seek out... I already have a few in mind to return to from the last journey.

See you soon.

Campfire Crackerjack

No, not a model.  I won't fix your car in exchange for a load of firewood.  I know nothing about installing cabinets... no, not a model... street performers are needed for tonight!... freelance travel writing, well, that would be cool but I haven't travelled anywhere exciting in a decade... no, not a model... dancers needed?  sounds like fun, um, wonder if they need ladies with a little junk in the trunk... not a graphic designer who can do your logo... no, not a model... Isn't there anything I'm qualified to do on Craig's List?  

I suppose I could just whip up a few batches of organic double fudge brownies, put out a card table near Pike Place Market with a large "Bake Sale" sign and see who has pity on the nutrition intern whose pennies are screaming from being pinched so damn hard.  Before being arrested, I would probably end up having to pack up and leave after being asked for the thousandth time "Why is a nutrition intern selling brownies?"  Well, I don't believe that wheat grass shots have quite the market value, kay?  

Don't think I haven't thought about converting my commuting bike into an umbrella-ed rickshaw to transport gawking tourists from one fish and chips stand to another during the rainy spring break season.  

Ideas?  Anyone?

I've been putting off grocery shopping for almost the entire month.  Things have gotten a little dire around here, kids.  Of course Mark has been smiley about the whole situation, because all it takes to make pizza is flour, water, tomato sauce and cheese.  We've had pizza twice in one week.  But when the time came that I had used almost every ounce of edible foodstuffs lurking in our cabinets - wow, pinto beans from '97! He was grumbling when I suggested he use salted peanuts as a topping on his favorite bowl of morning oats.  Not amused.  

We were both not amused as well when at 5:30 on Saturday night we realized we had nothing to bring to an appetizer party that started at 7:00.  I looked in the bare cabinets for the fifth time that day, somehow believing that there would magically appear a baguette, bunches of fresh green fragrant basil and a mound of fleshy red and purple heirloom tomatoes... 

Popcorn.  Buckwheat groats.  Brown rice.  Cane sugar.  I grabbed the popcorn, the sugar, and raced to my computer to look up that awesome blog entry from David about how to make your own caramel.  I didn't have any butter or any cream... but I did have olive oil and some vanilla soy creamer (I know, cover your eyes, David.)

Let's just say that it turned out much better than it sounds like it would have, even though I was a few seconds shy of burning that sugar into a blackened, sticky mess.  Beginner's luck.  The flavor came out more like a mildly sweet cracker jack... with the caramel reminiscent of burnt marshmallows.  Yes, Campfire Crackerjack - genius! And I would have added the salted peanuts if it weren't for Mark eating them all on his oatmeal.  Sheesh.

Making caramel sounds daunting, but it really is a fun little adventure.  Just don't try it with 45 minutes till showtime, because you'll want to take your time and be careful not to burn yourself (or the caramel).  

The moral of the story is that even poor people can have fun in the kitchen.  Now,  back to Craig's List... and to read up on pipe-fitting and swimsuit modeling... much more lucrative surely than selling green smoothies on Pike Street.

*** for the caramel recipe - using the real ingredients- see the link on David's name above.  There are many recipes for caramel out there, but David's technique can be applied to many of them. 

 

     

Out of Place

Local. Organic. Seasonal.

These are the father, son and holy ghost of the 'save the world through food' movement, now omnipresent, in the Pacific Northwest.  We get a little haughty about it, a little holier-than-thou at times, in the midst of our trying to do good for our bodies and the planet.  Gasp!  Are those mass-market organic canned tomatoes in your pantry?  Those blueberries are little blue chemical bombs!  Ack!  Were you planning on making me a pesticide smoothie with those??   

I've been following these principles for a few years now, trying like mad to keep my dollars at the farmer's markets and out of Safeway, eating out at restaurants that label every carrot and bean sprout with the local farm that sowed them with care, loving words, soft music, and loads of flowery-smelling manure.  I even, at times, knew the name of the cow from whence my stinky cheese came (Red Darla exhibits some real sophistication for a cow.  Moo.) 

I've been trying to keep the unavoidable melodrama and panic to a minimum (although Mark would probably disagree, as I've been known to hurl slices of major-brand supermarket wheat bread across the kitchen at his HFCS-loving head).  

Alas, I try.  I try to do good while eating well, enjoying food, and keeping my perspective.  It doesn't help that my dining room table is strewn with conscious-eating magazines, organic market fliers, and recipes torn from every local, organic and seasonable publication you can imagine.  It's an occupational hazard, the obsession to vote well with every dollar I spend on food.  Us nutritionists, neurotic as we are, don't always sleep so well some nights.  

But I have learned, after years of extremist experimentation, that raw foods/vegetarian-only/vegan-without-grains/macrobiotic/pesca-ovo-vega-mega-tarianism (all local, organic, and sustainable of course) is not the only answer.  As the buddha says (or as I paraphrase from reading Siddhartha so many years ago) the middle path is the way to go.  The key is finding what your own middle path is, as each person's extremes may be entirely different.  

I'm getting into my own groove these days, finding comfort in my middle path.  It's March here in Seattle, and we're at the point where the new sprouts and buds are crying out from underneath the transient morning snow. The winter vegetables are just about depleted, with no Spring ones yet to take their place.  My fridge has been dutifully filled with carrots and parsnips and big bunches of kale.  The fruit basket is always filled with apples, pears and bananas since they're organic and fair-trade.  The lettuces I cheat on, as my salads hail from down south on the coast, but organic, are all but comfort food to me now.  If I buy meats, I buy them organic and even from the farmers who think organic is just ridiculous - why would anyone do anything but?  A long time ago, farming organic was the only way to do it.

I love my local food, and what abundance we have here in the midst of our rainy, mild Winter.  The clouds have made for grey skies most days.  The sun peeks out, then turns shy and hides behind those clouds once again. We'll have hail, rain, snow and then sunshine all in a single day.  My dinners have turned to brown or pink beans, stewed with vegetables and grains, sometimes squash.  Deep earthy colors, dark tones that fit in with the darkened sky.

But at the market, on a quick trip to our favorite market that always seems to be bursting with color, fruits and flowers - I had to have this.

On a cold rainy day, my body yearned for sunshine, for sweetness, for the memory of sitting outside, breakfasting in Cabo San Lucas and taking a bite of this all covered in lime and sea salt.  The beach breeze blowing through my hair -  the cafe con leche, sipped overlooking the sandy beach.  Spring was getting me all rowdy.  Delicious, sweet, juicy papaya... probably full of toxins and imported from Mexico.  But hey!  This is my middle path... and it's covered in little black seeds and spent wedges of lime.

I sliced this big green papaya right down the middle, spooned out the caviar-like black seeds, and chunked the buttery-melt-in-your-mouth flesh into a mound in my big white china bowl.  Respite from the chill, a bit of color to remind me it still exists in nature among the earthen greens and browns of Winter.  

 

Crunchy Hippy in Seattle Soda Bread

"Why the heck haven't I made this before?" I ask myself as I take the first bite.  This is like a scone, a muffin, and a piece of sandwich bread all in one bite.  It's so soft and crumbly and so sweet but not sweet at all - like a savory muffin, but a little dryer.  "This is really good"  I think, as I take another bite.  I think I could continue taking bites until this whole loaf disappears.  

I made this today, prompted by my unexpected day off, a huge pot of butternut squash soup wailing for a sidekick, and an email from Mark's mother (who reads this site) mentioning that she was going to make Irish Soda Bread this week.  She's very holiday-oriented... you should see her collection of Christmas sweaters. (Hi Joan!)  I'm not Irish, and not so into this holiday, but I am American.  Although sometimes I claim to be a bit more European, especially when I'm particularly irked by the size of a particular Chrysler "mine is bigger than yours" Expedition that blew past me on my bicycle the other day.  I'm one of those people who believes the streets should be rebuilt no wider than a Smart Car, with dedicated bicycle lanes on each side.  Soccer moms, I apologize, but if you think you really need that much space for little 50 pound Jimmy and his one other 45 pound teammate, then maybe you can buy two Smart Cars and make yourself a little train.  Modular vehicles - it can't be that tough, people.

So to relieve my curiosity on this little loaf (that may actually rival the Smart Car in both size and ingenuity), I of course turn to my Joy of Cooking and flip in the index to 'Bread'.  Not there.  Oh, I know it's here somewhere... so I flip to 'Quick Bread' and there it is, much to my relief. I'm not just relieved it's there, but relieved it's 'Quick'. I'm hungry.  The bike ride in the cold Seattle rain will do it to you every time.

The chatter at the beginning of the recipe mentions that this bread is in the American category due to its raisins, caraway seeds, and sweetness that Irish soda bread wouldn't know what to do with.  Us Americans always add sugar to everything!  Because I'm the kind to question whether or not the earth revolves around the sun, I questioned why I needed all that stuff in this recipe anyway.  But seeing as how I hadn't ever made this bread before, I didn't want to deviate to the point that I couldn't get the Soda Bread picture, ya know?  So I reduced the 2 tablespoons of sugar to 1, left out the caraway, and put a few raisins on top for good measure.  I also used a combination of soymilk and yogurt (half and half for each) for the buttermilk.  I also subbed in some olive oil for the butter.  The loaf came out so tender and flaky, probably because I used whole wheat pastry flour instead of all-purpose... oops, I guess I have to add that to the list too.  So maybe we'll call this bread 'Crunchy Hippy in Seattle Soda Bread'.  

Instead of scoring a large X in the top before baking, just score a large peace sign.  

 

Irish American Soda Bread

8 servings (1 round loaf)

1 2/3 cup whole wheat pastry flour

1 tablespoons sugar

1 teaspoons baking powder

1/2 teaspoon baking soda

1/2 teaspoon sea salt

1 large egg

1/3 cup soymilk or milk of choice

1/3 cup plain yogurt (or 2/3 cup buttermilk, total)

4 tablespoons olive oil (or butter)

raisins to top loaf

In a large bowl, mix the first 5 ingredients well.  In a separate small bowl, beat together egg, milk, yogurt and olive oil.  Pour the wet mixture into the dry and stir until just incorporated.  The batter will be wet and sticky.  Scrape the batter onto a baking sheet into a big round lump.  Top the mound of batter with some raisins, and then with a knife score a large X into the top of the loaf.   Put into a 375 degree oven for about 25 minutes, until golden brown on top.  Let cool and remove from baking sheet.  Top with some salted butter and let your toes curl up next to the fireplace.

 

Surprise, Surprise

Who knew I'd be duped like that, by someone I thought was way too honest

Who knew I'd be 31 and still feel like a fool

Who knew that I wouldn't be able to eat any of the two dozen chocolate cupcakes sitting before me, all for me (due to nervous excitement)

Who knew I'd be given a heaping pile of firewood, bottles of red wine, a gallon of kombucha and so much laughter, for being here so little time on this planet (much less in these beautiful people's lives)

Who knew I'd have these friends, creating this life for myself after 2 1/2 years here

Who knew the surprise was on me.  I thought I was such a smarty pants.  Humph.  

Birthday parties, you never get too old for them.

Chicken Man

I somehow ended up with 3 bottles of toasted sesame oil in my pantry. Toasted sesame oil? That's potent stuff. What the heck ever am I gonna do with 3 bottles of something that I normally use as sparingly as Spam in my kitchen? Not that I'd equate sesame oil with Spam or anything... it's just that I don't know much about Asian cooking. I ended up with those little bottles after I overbought for a cooking demo awhile ago, and not one to toss, waste, or give away anything (not when you're livin' on a student budget, sugar), I put them on the shelf and wished for the fairy of Asian Cookery to descend upon my kitchen in a flourish of kimono and chopsticks spouting inspiration and Zen wisdom... Or at least just hand me a copy of Better Homes and Gardens with the dog-eared section "Fourth of July Egg Foo Young for 40!"

But eventually, and slowly, I began to use that oil on more and more dishes. I began putting it into salad dressings, tossing it with maple syrup, rice vinegar, soy sauce and hot peppers to pour over noodles, I started to think of it more as just another oil (albeit one with lots of personality) to use on things that, well, I use oil on all the time.

But opening myself up to using that oil meant I also began to use much more ginger, soy sauce, garlic and lime. What a revelation. I started cooking 'Asian' all the time. Yes, I know that using Asian ingredients doesn't mean the dish is 'Asian' but you gotta start somewhere. So when I was planning out our Sunday night supper to be shared with our friend Austin (who when asked what he liked to eat, he replied "meat"), I decided to do some sort of creative take on sweet and sour chicken. I don't cook chicken much, but I like to think that it's just like tofu, but with blood and stuff. Not too hard really.

So I pulled out that sesame oil, some organic chicken, and grabbed a recipe for Spicy Orange Tofu from Vegetarian Times (I realize now you may be appalled). In my head I pictured the plate, tasted the chicken and thought, "coconut rice." A chewy, creamy mound of Basmati rice with coconut milk and lemongrass would go so well lying right underneath that tangy and spicy skewer of chicken.

The dish turned out well enough that our meat-boy Austin was impressed, and the other meat-boy Mark couldn't help but eat the leftovers the next night for dinner - straight outta the skillet.

That's my boys.

Spicy Orange Chicken Skewers
adapted from a recipe from Vegetarian Times Magazine
serves 4 -6

1.5 pounds boneless, skinless organic chicken breasts
1/3 cup orange juice
1/3 cup lime juice
1/3 cup maple syrup
2 tablespoons toasted sesame oil
2 teaspoons dried hot chili pepper (whatever's spicy and hanging around your spice rack)
4 large garlic cloves, minced
2 tablespoons fresh ginger, minced
2 tablespoons grated orange zest
1 small sweet onion, diced
handful chopped cilantro
1 tablespoon soy sauce or tamari
bamboo skewers

Cut the chicken breast into pieces small enough to skewer. Skewer the chicken on the bamboo, making sure to leave a few millimeters of space between each piece. Prepare the marinade. Mix all of the rest of the ingredients together and marinate the skewers from 1 hour to 1 day. The longer the better.

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees. Remove the skewers from the marinade and reserve the marinade. Place skewers on a broiler pan with a slotted sheet so that the liquid and fats may collect underneath. Cook until your tester skewer is no longer pink in the middle. A few times through baking, brush the skewers with the marinade. Add all of the marinade toward the end, so that it reduces a bit and gets syrupy. Serve the skewers with the sauce over coconut rice.

Coconut Basmati Rice
serves 4 - 6

You may use fresh lemongrass in this recipe, if available, but the dried is a good option too if you don't have access to an Asian market.

1.5 cups brown Basmati rice
2 cups coconut milk (lite or full fat)
1 cup water
2 tablespoons dried lemongrass

Bring the water to boil. Steep the dried lemongrass to make a strong tea. Strain out the lemongrass and set water aside. Bring the coconut milk and lemongrass water to a boil, then add rice. Stir once, then cover and cook until all the liquid is absorbed, about 50 minutes to 1 hour.

My Cookie's Better

These days, anything can become famous. If you want to pass around a funny video of your kid on YouTube drugged up and babbling after his dentist appointment in a manner of hilarity approximating your putting a little herb into his brownies, it can become famous. If you want to create an internet community, linking your friends with each other and then their friends with each other until you prove beyond a reasonable doubt the Kevin Bacon phenomenon, you can become famous. If you decide to use your first karmic lifetime as the blond, snotty daughter of a hotel investment baron and flash your cookie to the cameras upon exiting your limo, well… you get the picture. Hey, I want my cookie to become famous too. However, before I go showing it off to you shamelessly, I must express to you the utter superiority of the cookie in question.

First, a bit of history. My cookie was actually discovered quite by accident. You see, I was fooling around in the kitchen one afternoon, feeling experimental and even a little shy with having to tinker with someone else’s cookie. I’m usually not so shy about these things (normally I go at it with wild abandon), but this cookie was so delicate and, may I say, tasty to begin with that I hesitated to even begin flirting with that seductive, addictive thing. But I had to. There was no way around it. I needed a cookie, and I needed one right away. I was out of my usual cookie-making supplies and I had to do something. Fast. I knew I had to win that cookie over, romance it even, with chocolate.

But no chocolate bars? No hot coconut oil either? Would this rendezvous end in calamity?

The cookie would eventually see it my way.

Yes, the cookie yielded, and became mine. Cocoa powder was thrown into the air, olive oil slicked the kitchen tiles as the intense heat poured from the oven, steaming the windows and increasing my passion. I stirred and sifted and poured molasses all over. I rolled and sweated and used all the sugar in the house. The cookie looked pleased, covered in chocolate, hot and chewy. Yes! Yes! Yes! My cookie is the one! My cookie must be shown to the world, displayed in all its gooey sweet goodness!

My cookie is special. My cookie should be famous. If the requirement to be famous these days means you gotta show a little cookie, then that’s just what I’ll do.

The Money Shot

Chocolate Passion Cookies

Recipe by Chrissy and Mark

And now a word from Mark, my baker in crime. “I love chocolate chip cookies, so what could bring out the spontaneity, the passion, the indulgence, and a unique turn on the established, supreme reign of the traditional chocolate chip cookie? Bring on the chocolate-chocolate chip cookie. But what about a nod to fudge? What about dark chocolate? What about molten-lava cake? This cookie combines all three. It’s about richness, it’s about the moist draw of something…. I needed a cookie that fulfilled a special place—in my tummy—and fulfilled a special role in my heart.

Behold… the modified recipe!

I propose two of the most interesting qualities of this cookie: The molasses that gives it the edge of a very slight fudgy-ness, and the final step: gingerly pressing 3-5 chocolate chips into the tops of the cookies as they are cooling. Yay to spontaneity! And in that spontaneity, may you all find your inspiration to create something—anything—and may it be something new.

1 cup whole wheat pastry flour

1/2 cup white flour (spelt or all-purpose)

1/2 cup cocoa powder

1/2 cup finely shredded unsweetened coconut

2 teaspoons baking powder

1/4 teaspoon sea salt

1/2 cup butter, olive oil OR coconut butter

1/2 cup sugar

2 heaping tablespoons of molasses

1/2 cup maple syrup (the real stuff)

1 teaspoon vanilla extract

Chocolate chips (see below for variable quantity)

Preheat oven to 350, combine flours, coconut, baking powder and salt in a large bowl. Melt butter in small pan, combine with sugars, maple syrup, molasses and vanilla. Beat well with large whisk or electric beater. The mixture should be creamy & integrated.
Add the wet ingredients to the dry. Bake 10 - 12 minutes. No more, no less. The cookies should almost seem underdone, but as they cool they will remain chewy and perfect!
After coming out of the oven carefully and gingerly push approximately 5 chocolate chips into each cookie (depending on size of cookie: if smaller cookies, go with 3, or simply add or subtract to your heart's delight).
Let chocolate melt into cookies, and let cool completely.