Moving

I have a pretty new home, here.

Please update any feeders, links, and the like. And please come visit often.

Lots of Beer, and the Pretend Hike

The holidays have come and gone with but one unadorned post from Cmoore. If you think I'm backtracking to make up for lost time, think again -- my gastronomic delights for the month of December shall remain largely anonymous. However, I did happen to spend two obscenely serene nights on the northern California coast. See?


We stayed in Mendocino (above), but stopped by Anderson Valley Brewing Company in Boonville on the way up. After sampling the full gamut on tap (12 brews total) we walked out with hefty bottles of their Hop Ottin' IPA, and Boont Amber Ale (not to mention a hefty buzz). The Winter Solstice may have been our favorite, but the rich creaminess and pleasant wintry spice that made it so pleasant might be cloying after a full pint. I kept hoping to hear a snippet of Boontling, but no such luck.


The next day we continued north up the coast to Fort Bragg, home of North Coast Brewing Company's brewery and brewpub. My lady finally indulged in the beer-batter fish and (garlic) chips she had been craving, and I revisited a childhood favorite with the buttered clams steamed in wheat beer (a grown-up twist).


We intended to order their 10-beer sampler, but a convincing server led us to the full 12-beer set. C. favored their flagship Red Seal and the various Belgian impersonators like Brother Thelonius, a pseudo-dubbel. I picked the ever-robust Old Stock Ale for my top choice. After a pint of that we postponed our intended 7-mile hike, possibly indefinitely (or at least until the next getaway).


Both breweries were excellent, but I'd have to say North Coast pulled ahead. The wines we sampled (Navarro and Pacific Star) were alright and awful, respectively. At least none of them tried to pull this pie shot stint like the "bakery" down the block...

Holiday Foods, with an Asian influence

I was assigned Christmas Eve dinner at the Tarr household (my standby locale for the winter holiday season). Growing up, Christmas Eve meant going to church and then eating clam chowder, so my mind automatically went to the happy soup-and-salad place. I like light food the day before Christmas, and even when my night in the kitchen got bumped from Christmas Eve to the night before the night before Christmas, I stuck with that idea.

I meant to serve minted goat cheese (with a hint of lemon zest) on whole grain baguette with pomegranate seeds as an appetizer, but that ended up paired with the second/soup course (see below). It was delicious -- I highly recommend you start mashing fresh herbs into your goat cheese on a regular basis.

Instead, we started with the salad. I have no photos of this salad because I was too busy making a three-course meal for five to document the results, but I am going to tell you about it anyways. I've never told you about my obsession with poached eggs, have I? Pity. It is real and it is encompassing, and it is largely unsatisfied. I have yet to poach an egg well. Still the quest continues, and the interest has yet to wane. So as I was planning this Christmas Eve-Eve salad, I started with the idea of a perfectly poached egg resting on top of some lightly dressed bitter greens (in this case, frisée, watercress, and a bit of arugula). After considerable deliberation I also threw in some edamame, roasted shitaake mushrooms, kalamata olives, and fontina croutons.

The dressing was the real star but I can't exactly tell you what was in it. I'd like to pretend that's because it's top-secret, classified information, but in fact I put so many ingredients into it that I don't exactly remember all of them. I know there was sherry vinegar, olive oil, tahini, pumpkin butter, black sesame seeds, and tamari, and that I may start a new love affair with the humble whisk.

The soup was a pile of roasted tomatoes, garlic, red peppers, and sage, pureed and simmered with a bit of vegetable stock, a splash of almond milk, and plenty of cajun seasoning (cayenne, smoked paprika, lemon pepper, onion powder, and sea salt). I left a little surprise of roasted chickpeas in the bottom of each bowl, and finished it off with a few more fontina croutons and some parsley.

And finally, for dessert I made almond meringues, which were perfect for dipping in Mexican hot chocolate (a favorite) made with almond milk, lactose-free cocoa powder, cinnamon, cardamom, chipotle powder, and brandy.

And now I hang my metaphorical apron until Friday. I find it fortunate that although I despise Christmas, my ladyfriend's day of birth happens to be the day after the big day. As long as I can find crab and artichokes there should be a stellar post coming your way this weekend...

Paella

Every other Monday night Lady and I stay in, so this week instead of a restaurant review I have a probably-more-exciting synopsis of my attempt at pescatarian-friendly paella. I've never made paella before, and was mainly excited that I finally had an excuse to purchase saffron. Saffron is one of those foods that should be given as a gift (along with, in my opinion, organic mangoes, avocados, chestnuts, truffles--chocolate or more preferably fungal, whole nutmeg pods, really incredible coffee, really bitter chocolate, marcona almonds, and anything grown in a windowsill or backyard).

I started with this recipe but tweaked it quite a bit and came up with something closer to this:

1 bag Trader Joe's frozen seafood blend (16 oz of shrimp, calamari rings, and scallops)
Olive oil
1 cup chopped onion
1 cup chopped red bell pepper
1+ tsp sweet paprika
3/4 tsp cayenne pepper
1/2 tsp crushed red pepper
4 + 2 +1 garlic cloves, crushed
2 cups uncooked Arborio rice
1 1/4 cup frozen green peas
3/4 cup chopped fresh parsley
1/4 cup fresh lemon juice
2 vegan sausage (I used Italian-style because I like the sun-dried tomatoes in this)
16 littleneck clams
1 can artichoke hearts, halved, liquid reserved
3+ cups vegetable stock simmered with 1 tsp saffron threads
1 1/4 cup beer (I used an IPA; a saison or pale ale would also do nicely)

Heat 1 tablespoon oil in a large paella pan or skillet over medium-high heat. Add seafood blend (not defrosted); saute 3-5 minutes with 2 cloves garlic, cayenne, and paprika (the seafood mixture will not be cooked through). Set aside, reserving liquid.

Add onion and bell pepper to pan, and saute 5 minutes. Add the remaining cayenne and paprika, crushed red pepper, and 3 garlic cloves; cook 5 minutes. Add rice and cook 1 minute, stirring constantly. Stir in broth, beer, seafood liquid, parsley, 4 cloves garlic, half the lemon juice, and peas. Bring to a low boil and cook 10 minutes, stirring frequently.


In a separate pan, brown sausage in a bit of oil, adding drained artichoke hearts, 1 clove garlic, and a bit of paprika near the end of cooking time.


Add clams to paella pan, nestling into rice mixture. Cook 5 minutes or until shells open; discard any unopened shells. Stir in the seafood and the sausage mixture. Add more liquid (from artichokes or extra broth) as necessary until rice is tender. Sprinkle with lemon juice (or rice vinegar), fresh parsley, salt (we used Tony Chacery's, but that's for another post), and plenty of cracked black pepper. Remove from heat; cover with a towel and let stand 10 minutes.


We were going to pair a crisp Spanish white or even a tempranillo blend with our paella, but really we both love beer and that makes more sense to my palate anyways. I deliberated between saisons and tripels in the grocery store, but ended up with North Coast Brewery's Le Merle. This is a truly excellent California saison, with just enough spice and hops to stand up to our flavorful meal, but still light enough that you would never guess it rings in at 7.9% ABV.

Next conquest: gluten-free vegan pizza. That tastes good. I know I've got you on the edge of your seat...

Confession.

It's a lazy Wednesday morning and while I should be memorizing the functions of the Stomach meridian I find myself nestled in borrowed boxers with a plate of leftover Chinese food in front of me with no desire to read about wind heat and borborygmus. Ladyfriend tried to make me one of her "delicious" green drink smoothies (frozen strawberries and bananas, protein powder, green..powder...of some nutritional sort, and almond milk), but I was having a distinct craving for leftover mu shu vegetables (I credit the midnight tequila, but that's subject matter for another post). Which reminded me of this draft of my gastronomic guilty pleasures.

I started this list months ago, before I had a real kitchen in San Francisco, and continued it through the days when memorizing muscle attachments took precedence over, say, purchasing produce. In the absence of free time I found myself taking shortcuts and falling back on my less sophisticated preferences. In fact, I distinctly remember pondering my Gastronomic Guilty Pleasures while sitting in a cafe that happened to be playing a (cough, country) song that falls into the category of Musical Guilty Pleasures. Hm. I'm also going to share that I seem to be falling for Ladyfriend, and even though this feels like an incredibly healthy dynamic it seems apropos to enumerate the less-than-healthy foods that I fall for every time.


* Leftover mu shu vegetables, generally without the rice wrappers and potentially cold.

* Mayonnaise. I could practically eat it with a spoon, but I usually make myself scrape it off the spoon onto some sort of bread product and top with salt. Maybe tomatoes if I'm feeling lypocene-deficient.

* Spaghetti-O's. From the can. With the same spoon (see above).

* I know organic, natural peanut butter is delicious and nutritious, but I'd be lying if I said I didn't have a weak spot for super-processed sugar-laden peanut butter (chunky). Jar --> spoon/finger --> mouth --> stomach.

* Macaroni salad from the Safeway deli. This should probably be a subset of "mayonnaise" but I do feel it warrants it's own line.

* Onion dip. You know. Marie's? The stuff that's basically sour cream and artificial flavors? Yeah.


There. I said it. Don't judge.

What are your guilty (gastronomic) pleasures?

Tuesday Review: Range

My posts have been rather sporadic as of late, as you may have noticed. I seem to have gotten a) overcommitted, and b) involved with a very nice lady, hence a predictable lack of blogging time. I additionally seem to be entering some sort of unexpected cooking hibernation, and I'm honestly not putting up much of a fight. However, ladyfriend and I have been exploring the gastronomic options throughout San Francisco and she recently had the brilliant suggestion to post lurid details about our adventures here. Thus: Tuesday restaurant reviews.

Last night we struck out to Range. I've been eyeing Range since I first moved to the Mission, and passed Range every day on my way to yoga. I sensed that they had particularly inveigling culinary delights to share, but I needed the appropriate occasion and dining partner to venture out.

I was so right. The atmosphere is warm, home-y, and inviting -- plenty of dark wood and brushed silver, pleasant lighting, and perfect acoustics for dinner conversation. We started with the Quercus Harmonia Pinot Noir 2007 since ladyfriend was looking for something sweet and light, and the Andre Brunel Cotes du Rhone 2006 on the server's recommendation, since I was leaning towards something earthy. We subsequently swapped wines but both were excellent, with a mutual pleasant dustiness that complemented the autumnal flavors of our meal.

The menu looked lovely, but since we have a host of dietary restrictions between us (gluten-intolerant, loosely lactose-intolerant, pescatarian) we selected an array of appetizers. We were hesitant to order the barley-vegetable soup with gruyere croutons, but we weren't disappointed: it was fantastically seasoned and chock full of greens and root vegetables. The Bartlett pears with arugula, celery root, goat cheese, and hazelnuts were the real star for me, showcasing a melange of flavors that synchronized beautifully against the backdrop of rosemary vinaigrette.

For our next course we shared the raw California Yellowtail with pickled beets, meyer lemon, and tarragon which was...a disappointment. Ladyfriend insists the cut of fish was sub-par, and I didn't particularly care for the preparation. Fortunately the sweet-potato-stuffed pasta with sage, lemon, and pecans made up for it -- the lemon in particular added a lovely bracing quality against the sweet heaviness of the wintry fillings.

For dessert we chose the bittersweet chocolate espresso souffle with cinnamon-caramel swirl ice cream, paired with Ottimino Zinfandel 2005 and the Taylor Fladgate late bottled vintage port 2000, and every single one of those flavors worked together so incredibly well. Port and chocolate have to be one of my favorite decadent combinations, and I give Sam the server major props for pushing me that direction.

Ladyfriend additionally notes the excellent service and lovely food presentation, for an overall score of 9.0 (our highest yet; retroactive restaurant reviews to come). I loved it all that and a little more for a 9.1.

A question for you, kind readers: what do you think about taking cameras into restaurants? I know certain New York establishments have banned photography at the table, and I do feel disgustingly overt/tacky/touristy/amateur whipping out my little Sony Cybershot before each course. But, I know that reviews with a view are significantly superior. Thoughts?

Fiats

Eggs should be consumed:

* With copious amounts of cracked pepper and kosher salt.
* In tandem with sourdough toast.
* Accented (color, flavor, spice) with sriracha; any hot sauce will do. I suppose.


Avocado should be consumed:

* Whenever possible.

Gardenburger Porta(/o)bella(/o) Patties

Remember that Gardenburger I had last Tuesday? It catalyzed not only the subsequent yam fries, but seems to have reversed my aversion to Gardenburgers.

Traditionally I like neither Gardenburgers nor portobella mushrooms, either as a sandwich or an entree, largely due to fourteen years of vegetarianism, which included the dark years when most tofu was only served in Chinese food restaurants and Starbucks didn't offer soy milk. Back in the day, vegetarians were stuck with the ubiquitous Gardenburger at every family BBQ, camp dinner, team function, and school lunch. Pretty much the only place you couldn't find a Gardenburger was at fast food joints on the way home from away games with high school sports teams, so you'd make do with a large milkshake and fries and remind yourself to bring an apple next time.

Times have changed, and I generally prefer to take advantage of the more exciting (and often more nutritious) options now available to the vegetarian crowd. However, portobellas (the spelling of which can't seem to be agreed upon -- variations include portobello, portabella, and portabello) are now treated as the "steak of the forest" (credit Ruth Ryus).

But for some reason as I was browsing through the grocery store these Gardenburger Portobella Burgers caught my eye, and when I got home from class this afternoon I knew exactly what I wanted. Layered with avocado, thick slices of tomato, spring mix, and mayo and mustard on whole grain bread, this managed to satisfy my lately insatiable appetite.

Next time, I'm using sriracha, kim chee, and alfalfa sprouts. Other good burger-topping combinations?

Yam Fries: Not as suave, but just as tasty

I splurged on a garden burger for my study snack yesterday (instead of my usual cafe-fare Italian soda), and made the healthy choice of salad over fries. Naturally I regretted this as soon as the young woman two tables down from me received her Rueben with fries (and ample ketchup -- I'm a sucker for ketchup).

As I wandered home that evening, my brain quickly turned from reviewing the functions of the Large Intestine Meridian to recalling a conversation at work (the bar, not the spa) about where to get the best sweet potato fries in San Francisco. Since my brain cells are occupied with Chinese characters and Latin terminology these days, I'm afraid I can't pass on the local secrets, since I forgot them nearly as soon as I heard them. But I can tell you that I made a lovely batch of yam fries with achiote powder and coriander last night. I know, I know -- "yam fries" just doesn't have the zesty charm of "sweet potato fries", but I was working with what I had on hand.



These are baked, not fried, but if you leave them in a hot oven long enough they still get nice crisp edges. Serve with sweet chili sauce, and/or plain ol' ketchup.

2 Yams, cut into short fry-like chunks, or any shape you prefer
A small handful of achiote powder (made from annatto seeds, red and delicious, available at Mexican markets and elsewhere if you're lucky)
An ample shake of paprika
A few dashes of coriander powder
Cayenne, chili powder, or tabasco (I used the latter, but would have preferred the former)
Liberal pinches of sea salt
A tablespoon or two of olive oil

Toss to coat, spread out on a baking sheet (perhaps lined with foil if you're smarter than me), and bake for 30-40 minutes, or until edges are crisp and cooked through. Resist the urge to keep peeking and stirring -- one flip once they start to crisp is all you get. Remove and let cool! If you're smarter than me...

And, if you're like me, enjoy with beer. I'm still enjoying the last of summer's wheat beers, but I think an appropriately autumnal pumpkin ale would do as well, not to mention a classic pale ale or more gutsy IPA. If it's made from barley, it will go well.

Winter Soup for a Summer Day

Every now and then I make something so good I surprise myself. Take, for example, this simple lentil soup I whipped up out of desperation when the cupboards were essentially completely bare (see previous post) and I was looking ahead to three days of nonstop work.

I don't particularly like lentils, and I don't especially enjoy making soups, but inspired by Vegan YumYum's post on making vegetable stock, I decided to brave the world of stockpots and slow simmers.

This soup is terribly wintery, which would be wonderful if it weren't 78 degrees and sunny in San Francisco! Still, soups are nourishing, and that just doesn't go out of season. You can choose to omit the wine, but a) then you're really missing out, and b) make sure you add an extra 1/2 cup of broth or water, and finish the soup with a few tablespoons of rice vinegar or apple cider vinegar.

1 red onion, chopped
2 carrots, halved and thinly sliced
6 cloves garlic, crushed
2 cups dry lentils
7 1/2 cups water or broth
1/2 cup white wine
1 acorn squash
Seasonings: I used cumin, oregano, chili paste

Preheat oven to 400 degrees F.

Heat a nice dollop of oil in a large stockpot. Add onions and carrots, cook part way, then add garlic and cook until everything is tender and fragrant. Add the lentils and a healthy spoonful of chili paste, stir to coat, then add cooking liquid, wine, and seasoning to taste (I did about 2 T crushed oregano and a whole lot of sea salt and cracked pepper). Let simmer about 20 minutes.

Meanwhile, halve acorn squash, scrape out seeds, rub with olive oil, sprinkle with sea salt and cumin, and roast for about half an hour. When tender, remove, peel, and chop.

When lentils are nearly tender (and liquid is nearly gone) scoop out a cup or two and puree with a bit of water. Add back to stockpot along with acorn squash and maybe 1 more cup of water/broth. Heat through and dish up.

Serve with parmesan toasts, a smooth and full white wine, and a good novel.

Catastrophe

No more Mother's Cookies?!

Check the link -- that includes Circus Animal Cookies. You know, the kind that were pink or white and covered with little round jimmies? A sad, sad day indeed.

As Halloween Approaches...

...Maybe You Should Clean Out the Refrigerator


I think most of you will agree that this is a universally daunting task. Today, I took it on. Not only did I scrub out months (years?) of food scraps and questionable green stains, but I also discarded a healthy bagful of expired jarred foods: store-bought tomato sauce, with a friendly fuzzy grey substance crawling across the inside of the lid; tubs of non-blue cheese marbled with unwelcome streaks of blue and green; half an onion, half-heartedly swaddled in plastic, as brown and slimy as any Halloween fright you could come up with.

I moved into this apartment in August, and rumor has it nine (9!) human beings inhabited my little abode before the three of us became residents. Furthermore, my current room was most recently vacated by a couple who both took off for the corners of the world, leaving an array of condiments at our disposal. We have THREE JARS of mayonnaise. We have two (large) bottles of sriracha, and something else that looks similar but a tad thinner. There are four kinds of mustard in my refrigerator, as well as five types of jam (techinically two are preserves, but you get the idea). Two jars of capers stand pillared next to two jars of olives, and there is a host of unidentifiable sauces labeled in Asian characters waiting patiently to spice up my next stir-fry.

I bet at this point you think I am going to post about how I used my culinary prowess to concoct a gastronomic miracle out of pickled ginger, a two-week-old cucumber, and three kinds of hot sauce.

You are (thankfully) wrong. But I am going to show you the very nice lunch I put together with sprouting potatoes, summer squash, and the dregs of a package of soy chorizo. There is ample garlic and oregano, a hint of mustard, and a generous dusting of parmesan on top for a proper finishing touch.



The real point of this post: do you know what's in your refrigerator?

Trouble Brewing

If you've been keeping any kind of tabs on the brewing world you know that hop prices have skyrocketed -- not to mention grain prices -- and consequently brewers everywhere are spiking the price of a pint. This is particularly true of the All-American super-hoppy beers, which obviously call for even more hops (money) per batch. However, this Wall Street Journal article on "The Future of Beer" points out that beer sales are nonetheless on the rise. This might, in part, be due to the appeal of a pricey pilsner or pale ale in our current downtrodden economy: "Craft beer is still one of cheaper luxury items people can buy". Good beer is a splurge, but an affordable luxury even in the midst of our crisis. So go on, shell out the extra few dollars and support craft brewers -- and enjoy doing it.

Check out this WSJ video on the hop shortage, and the brewers who are still coming out on top:

Chauvinism or Chivalry?

A friend passed on this New York Times article on gender roles in fine dining atmospheres. Author Frank Bruni notes, "Although the goal in many public places and in much of public life is to treat men and women equally, most upscale restaurants haven’t reached that point. Then again they haven’t really tried all that hard. They’ve learned that ignoring gender is risky, and often foolish, because men and women approach and respond to restaurants in different ways, looking for different things." What are your thoughts on this? Ladies, do you expect to be served first? If you were serving a group of people, who would you expect to order the wine? Does observing gender roles in a dining room enforce an unnecessary binary, or does it simply cater to the different needs already in place?

What do you want when you dine out -- and why do you want that?

Tuesday Omelette

My friend Megan and I have a standing coffee date...so to speak. We do in fact regularly get together, but usually neither of us actually drinks coffee, and we always at least tentatively plan the next round by the end of each rendez-vous. It's a nice way to explore the city, particularly under the pretense of studying (which, again, rarely actually takes place).

San Francisco is nice, but only nice so far. I hoped to fall hard and fast and it turns out we are still uncertain whether our flirtations will lead to a hot and heavy romance or simply a polite and casual acquaintance. However, I must give credit where due and proclaim the cafes of San Francisco the best I have experienced in the wide world (NB: This means SF beats out the likes of Paris, Venice, Rome, Prague, London, Wellington, Sarajevo, Melbourne, Portland -- Oregon as well as Maine, New York, and Nice; but I'm holding out for various locations throughout Austria, Turkey, Morocco, and Spain).

We most recently met at Cafe Du Soleil in Lower Haight, a charming boulangerie-style establishment with enchanting almond croissants and a decent hazelnut iced coffee. We split a bowl of almond granola with yogurt and chopped fruit, but when Megan departed and I tried to attack my overflowing inbox I kept getting distracted by the vegetable quiches lurking invitingly a few feet from my table. Round, puffy, and crammed full of unidentifiable verdure, they seemed an ideal afternoon companion.

However, the owners of this lovely locale, like so many others in San Francisco, decided to board up the various electric outlets scattered around the walls, presumably in a move to "encourage" patrons to move on once their (my) sparse battery power expired. Yes, I could have stayed and gobbled down the coveted quiche, but on principle if for nothing else ("nothing else" being a stand in for "my starving-student bank account") I vacated Cafe Du Soleil and headed home in search of a comparable (superior?) egg dish.

And now we're getting to it -- what a prologue for this little Tuesday omelette. However, I assure you this omelette warrants the prologue and perhaps a thoughtful after-word as well. Walking home I realized that in addition to craving eggs, I really, really needed sun-dried tomatoes. Immediately. There were other unmet needs I identified as well, and the bus ride home was quite nearly excruciating (we see that someone has let her hunger go a tad too long unattended). When I arrived home I set right to work:

1/4 onion, chopped, fried (ok, I meant to sweetly saute, but in my impatience I let the oil get just a little too hot and I can't say I'm sorry). 2 Tablespoons sun-dried tomatoes, nicely lubed up in their packing oil, sliced and given just enough time to flirt with those with those sizzling onions and let things heat up a bit. A shake of dried oregano and a few nice dashes of powdered coriander for some subtle spice, then in go two eggs beaten (aggressively) with a healthy spoonful of grated parmesan and generous pinches of sea salt and cracked pepper. Cook; flip; serve on sourdough toast with a rim of sriracha.

It was a hot kind of day.

Tart and Juicy Something-or-Others

When I moved into my apartment in early August we were in the middle of a perfectly frigid San Francisco summer. I didn't leave the house without at least two thick layers, and I found myself drinking copious amounts of hot tea.

My godmother generously stocked my new abode with a bagful of lemons fresh from her backyard, and this juicer. I had never seen such a thing before (nor had I ever met a juicer I liked), but now that they're part of my kitchen lexicon I see them everywhere, working their magic one citrus at a time.

I take Bikram yoga, which is that crazy yoga practiced by crazy people in a heated room (supposedly 108 degrees is ideal, but I've definitely seen the febrile arm of the thermometer fervently wobbling to the 116 mark). This means I am thirsty, constantly. My favorite instructor in Philly could and would literally read my mind: during one of the more sweltering classes in the dead of a Philadelphia summer (NOT frigid), I had been fantasizing about the extra-tart glass of lemonade I was going to whip up at work as soon as I got out of class (sometimes working in a bar has it's advantages). Leo leaned over and whispered into my teetering bow pose, "Sometimes, I just think, 'Lemonade'."

When I am really thirsty -- and I mean really thirsty -- I crave tart. I'm sure there is a biological explanation for this reaction; in Bikram, the instructors sometimes advise us to squeeze a healthy dose of lemon juice into our water to help the recovery period and expedite the hydration process. For me, lemonade, limeade, kombucha -- even a particularly vinegary vinaigrette will do the trick. Tart: "Sharp or acid in taste"; "Dress or make oneself up in order to look attractive or eye-catching" (there's a third definition related to promiscuity, and a fourth involving pastry shell, but we'll ignore those for the time being). Something about that sharp, biting quality is alluring, even if laced with a hint of severity.

Back in San Francisco, exiting class to a foggy, windy sixty-degree day tended to waylay my cravings for tart, juicy something-or-others. Fortunately our Indian summer has finally made it's much-anticipated entrance, and we are enjoying ideal limeade weather. Hence, today's selection:

Dissolve one heaping teaspoon of honey in a pint glass with a bit of boiling water. Add the juice of three limes, and fill with ice. Top off with water (sparkling or still). Sip, slowly -- if you can gulp it down it isn't tart enough.

Oblatory Potatoes (Secular)

Ever since my Penina (like My Antonia, but Jewish and Jersey) departed San Francisco to make a name for herself in the wilds of Brooklyn, I've struggled with the concept of cooking for one. It's just not as fun. I could and would cook Perrin breakfast, lunch, and dinner, and maybe an afternoon snack for good measure, but when it comes to feeding myself I'm just not as ambitious, nor as nourishing. In fact, cooking for one notably lacks the element of nurturing that I find so pivotal to the joy I garner from my culinary endeavors. And I don't just mean the act of solitary eating can be monumentally less satisfying, but more importantly that cooking, for me, is inextricably wrapped up with the idea of nurturing someone. It's a kind of offering: here, eat my food, absorb my affection, accept my care. Let me share with you. Share with me.

And so when I recently had the opportunity to cook for someone, I pulled out all the stops. I served a highly-tinkered version of this salmon ceviche with pickled cucumbers and tomatillos (don't let anyone, particularly the fishmonger at Whole Foods, tell you that salmon is a bad choice for ceviche); Smitten Kitchen's rosemary flatbreads (but substituting chives and wheat flour); my now-classic stuffed baby potatoes; wilted spinach salad goat cheese packets and a warm honey-balsamic vinaigrette; and drunken peaches with ginger sorbet. My guest's selection of a Macon-villages Chardonnay complemented my culinary choices surprisingly well, and a spot of pear brandy with dessert rounded out the meal. It's nice to have a hand in the kitchen, but mainly nice to have company in the kitchen...and help with the dishes certainly doesn't hurt.



These potatoes can be a bit time-intensive, but a good choice if you have a minion, er, assistant to help out. I particularly enjoy them as a tapas-style offering as they travel well and make good finger food. If you're especially finicky about presentation, cut off the rounded bottoms so that they sit flat -- myself, I'm a fan of curves.

8-10 Baby potatoes
3-4oz Goat cheese
~2 T Coarsely chopped herbs of your choice (I used chives and a sprinkling of dried thyme)
2-3 Cloves garlic, crushed
A few healthy pinches of sea salt and plenty of fresh cracked pepper
Capers (or, olives)

Boil potatoes with salt until just tender. Rinse, let cool, halve, and scoop out the fleshy insides. Mix with everything except capers/olives, check seasoning, then pack into potato skins. Top with capers or olives, garnish with chives or parsley, and chili oil if you're feeling especially decorative.

NB: You could also sprinkle with breadcrumbs and broil for a few minutes, but I prefer them cold, despite the persistent San Francisco summer fog.

Chocolate-Covered Kim Chi (Not a Mistake)

A friend who was living in Japan sent me a killer care package a few months ago, which included this tasty specimen. It tastes like...chocolate.  Wait!  Wait for it...oh!  There it is!  Now it tastes like...chocolate-covered kim chi.  Wowsers.  Spicy, pungent, salty, sweet, with a hint of...yes, yes that is in fact fermented cabbage on the finish.  Delicious cabbage? Undecided.  But props for fitting all four flavors into one foil-wrapped package.

Whole Grains, the Quick Way

Perhaps I should rename this blog, "Starving Student 101."

My fixation with one-pot meals continues, but this time I can at least pretend to maintain my product-focus premise by introducing Trader Joe's Harvest Grains Blend. A lovely combination of Israeli couscous, red and green orzo, baby chickpeas, and red quinoa, this whole grain blend is quick, easy, and nutritious. That said...I don't love Israeli couscous. It's so starchy! And, as per usual, I find couscous tends to be rather bland unless you put in a big effort.



Sooo, of course I put in a big effort: a handful of toasted almonds, some very garlicky sauteed mushrooms, a sprinkling of basil, and a generous crumbling of ever-creamy roquefort. Delightful, nutritious, balanced -- and did I mention cheap and easy? Those seem to be my tastes these days, in women and food...

Cheese Mania

Last weekend I held a pre-nuptial cheese-tasting for the illustrious Tarr clan and the parents of the eventual bride. It was a France vs. USA tasting: rather apropos considering the current festivities/competitions (I would have brought a Chinese cheese, but as previously noted the Chinese see cheese as solid phlegm, thus they aren't so big on dairies). Six rounds of cheese later, here are the group's rulings.

California Crottin (PG) vs. Le Lingot (PG)
served with Sancerre and apricot preserves
Crottins are dense little rounds of goat cheese, typically exhibiting the gamut of classic goat's cheese characteristics: chalky, tangy, lactic, lovely. The California Crottin is all of these things in a stocky, sturdy little nugget. Le Lingot, on the other hand, (the link is a great article from the SF Gate) is deliciously lemony with a voluptuous creamline. I thought it ripened beautifully on the train ride from San Francisco to Santa Cruz, yet the judging panel decided it melted, literally, against the stoic Crottin. Point one for team USA.

Cypress Grove Truffle Tremor (G) vs. St Maure de Tourraine (RG)
served with a New Zealand Sauvignon Blanc and local honey
Truffle Tremor is one of my all-time favorite cheeses, and it never fails to impress. Flecks of black truffles peek out of luscious goaty paste melting to a runny creamline nearing the rind. There is a balanced piquancy to this cheese that is unrivaled, even by the in-your-face spice of the ash-covered St Maure. Click on the links if you want to know the story behind the stick. Team USA is pulling ahead.

Jasper Hill Constant Bliss (C) vs. Brillat Savarin (C)
served with Champagne and balsamic strawberries
Ahhh the Brillat was just so ripe -- so perfectly, delectably, fragrantly, decadently ripe. I kept smelling the wrapper. This cheese always brings fabrics to mind: velvet, satin, silk. Paired with the champagne and peppery strawberry relish the entire experience can only be summarized as: rich. Still, when we followed our silky Brillat with the slightly firmer and more complex Constant Bliss we had to concede the latter's superiority.

Cowgirl Creamery Red Hawk (C) vs. Abbaye de Citeaux (C)
served with Norman cider and toasted almonds with honey
I had to make three trips to the cheese counter over the course of two weeks to get my hands, finally, on a round of Red Hawk. This stuff is popular! It's pungent, but balanced; rich, yet palatable. In fact, the group ultimately found it more palatable than the famous/infamous Abbaye de Citeaux, which I included largely because of it's dwindling availability: cheeses like Abbaye de Citeaux will no longer be allowed in the States because the moisture content (greater than 67 percent water). I don't quite understand this law, but you can read more here. At least we have Red Hawk to satiate our stinky cravings.

Gruyere Surchoix (C) vs. Beaufort D'Alpage (C)
served with a Cotes du Rhone and all of the accompaniments
Both these cheeses were pressed, cooked cow's milk cheeses featuring a toasty, earthy profile and a firm, snackable texture. Neither stood out as a favorite with the group, but both were superb -- round five results in a draw, although in my heart this one belongs to Wisconsin for their truly delicious gruyere. Both worked particularly well with the toasted almonds and honey, although in hindsight I would have preferred a beer pairing.

Point Reyes Blue (C) vs. Roquefort (S)
served with a Port, a Sauternes, cocoa fig spread and an almond fig cake
I had never tried the Point Reyes Blue but decided to trust the advice of the Whole Foods cheese counter when selecting a domestic blue. I think I regret my decision. "Mild" in this case seems to mean "bland", and "subtle" might be substituted with "boring." I'd stick with Black River Blue or Rogue's Oregon Blue next time. The ever-salty Roquefort therefore took the prize this round, particularly when complimented by the Port -- the dessert Sauternes didn't quite stand up to the blue punch, and the fig-based accouterments did little to enhance the cheese.


In the end, France: 1 USA: 4. Who knew our palates were so patriotic?

*Photos courtesy of Robin from Roto-Blog. Thanks, Ro!

P - Pasteurized; R - Raw; G - Goat; S - Sheep; C - Cow