A Spicy Meatball

My Adventures in Cupcakes

2006-01-27T19:46:00.000-08:00

Last year, during the first week of December, I had a dessert party. It was during the whole South Beach Diet craze, so I named it the North Beach Diet Party. I made seven different desserts. From scratch. By myself. In two days. It was awesome. Then I invited about 40 of my closest friends, and friends of friends over to eat everything. And they did. The reason I’m even mentioning this, is because my friend Sarah, her fiancé John, and Sarah’s mom Sally came over that night. By the time they left, Sally was stuffing cookies in her pockets to take home, despite my offer to give her a doggie bag. Then one thing led to another, and pretty soon I offered to bake Sarah and John’s wedding cake. It’s not as crazy as it sounds. They’re a super mellow couple, and the reception was small, so it was really fun to prepare for.

In the course of our discussions about what to make, I suggested different types of whole cakes, a croque en bouche, or a trio of cupcakes, two dozen of each flavor. In the end, the cupcakes won for two reasons. First, they’re cute. And second, three flavors are better than one. We tossed a whole bunch of flavor ideas around, until we settled on three good options: chocolate with coffee buttercream, vanilla with hazelnut buttercream, and ginger with lemon cream cheese frosting.

Like most women would, I started with chocolate. I researched on the web and consulted all my favorite cookbooks until I found a few recipes that sounded promising. I began with a Martha Stewart recipe after I found a blog post that said this particular recipe was the best she’d ever tasted. I figured that was high enough praise to make it worth trying. The recipe called for 3/4 cup of cocoa powder. That scored many points. It was easy too, earning it more points. The batter was thick and heavy with chocolate. I figured this would be the one and I would only make one test batch. The result was delicious, but they were too dense and dry. Almost the density of pound cake. Had they been pound cake, I think I would have liked them better, but as cupcakes, they weren’t right. I took them to work to make sure that my assessment was correct. Despite the fact that the cupcakes didn’t survive until lunch, my boss, who also likes to cook, confirmed my “too dry” verdict. I was validated, and went back to the drawing board.

I was really hoping that The Book of Great Desserts by Maida Heatter would have an amazing recipe, but sadly, she didn’t do much cupcake baking. Then I remembered a Cooks Illustrated issue I’d gotten a few months back that talked about the perfect dark chocolate cupcake. Could it be? A perfect chocolate cupcake? Realizing that the only downside to trying the “perfect” recipe would be a very delicious mistake, I went for it. And sure enough, they were exactly what I was looking for—light, moist, and oh so chocolately.

Once the cupcake recipe was decided upon, I needed a frosting recipe. I’d already tried a coffee buttercream recipe that took a long time and required so much butter I was afraid I’d have to buy my own cow, so I looked for a viable alternative. I remembered the sidebar on the Cooks Illustrated site had lots of frosting options for the chocolate cupcakes, so I took a peek and found an easy coffee buttercream option. It only called for half the butter of the other recipe, so I gave it a whirl. Not only was it super easy with half the butter, it was also twice as good. And so quick! One recipe, done. On to trial two.

The next two cupcake recipes were simple. A Google search for gingerbread cupcakes yielded a delicious and easy recipe from Martha, and I returned to Cooks Illustrated for the vanilla cupcake recipe after the success of the chocolate one. Both were excellent. Nigella Lawson had a fabulous recipe for cream cheese frosting that I paired with the gingerbread, and a dash of lemon oil added the yummy zing I was looking for. The only remaining frosting was the hazelnut flavor.

Since it had been a special request of the groom, I took my frosting task seriously. I went to supermarkets and specialty food stores in search of hazelnut flavoring. After some searching, my only option was at Surfas. They had the Lorann Gourmet brand of fake hazelnut flavoring. I don’t like anything that’s fake, and I’d read a bad review of the Lorann flavorings, but seeing as it was my only option at that point, I bought it anyway. The frosting I made with the scary concoction that came out of that bottle was so gross I’m amazed my friends ate it. I was heartbroken. Not wanting to give up on the hazelnut idea, I brainstormed.
Nutella? Hazelnut syrup like the stuff they put in coffee? What could I use? Then I remembered the hazelnut spread my aunt had raved about at Le Pain Quotidien. On my way home from work one day I slipped in just before closing and bought myself a jar of their hazelnut praline. In a moment of inspiration, it occurred to me to use it instead of peanut butter in a peanut butter frosting recipe. It was so decadent and rich, it tasted like truffle filling. It was perfect.

Over the course of a few weeks I baked so many cupcakes people started expecting them at work and were disappointed when there wasn’t a new batch to test. Thanks to all my practicing, by the time the wedding rolled around I was super efficient in the kitchen. Everything was perfect. I even built a cupcake tier to hold all the cakes. As cake toppers, I bought little mementos that each symbolized the bride and groom. John requested surfing as his theme, so he got a little wooden surfboard keychain. Sarah loves dogs, so I got a big red heart-shaped dog tag engraved with their names and the date of their wedding. On the third cupcake, their “one to grow on,” I put a chocolate coin to symbolize good fortune for their life together. My favorite moment from the wedding was watching Sarah’s dad and her two sisters stand in a circle passing the three different cupcake flavors around so they could taste them all.

And so as my first post in a very, very long time, I’d like to congratulate Sarah and John and wish them a very sweet life together. Thanks for the encouragement regarding my baking abilities, and the inspiration to try new things.

Since there are so many recipes, please email me if you'd like one.

Captain Julie, Requesting Fly-By...

2005-11-15T16:28:00.000-08:00

It’s been ages. What on earth have I been doing?
Traveling
Working
Working out
Working
Visiting my boyfriend
Working
Shopping
Working
Relaxing
Working
And a whole bunch of other stuff.
I’ve also been eating and cooking, but it’s just so hard to find time to write about it these days. It’s kind of sad. I think I lost a little bit of my blogging mojo. I’ve had blogging malaise. But here I am again, at the happy request of some of my favorite readers. Thanks so much for your comments and encouragement. It means the world to me.

I think I need to play a little catch up. You definitely need to hear about Elvis’s pound cake. And then there’s the cupcakes. Oh so many cupcakes. Four trials down, one to go. Hopefully only one more, we shall see. But I’ll get to that later.

Let us begin with Elvis. That grease loving monkey sure did grub with the best of them. A few months ago, in the September (gasp!) issue of Gourmet, they wrote about the intersection of music and food. As I flipped through the pages, looking for something delicious to make when I arrived on the East Coast to visit friends, I happened upon a recipe for Elvis Presley’s Favorite Pound Cake. Done. I love Elvis. I love pound cake. And I especially love recipes that begin: “This is the best pound cake we have ever tasted.” Could it live up to the hype?

Upon arrival, my friends were just as interested in trying the recipe as I was. So we got to work. Six ingredients, simple instructions, just add a little extra beating time to the batter. In the oven it went. And the result? It was good. Certainly not the best pound cake ever. It was too eggy for that. But it was soft, and light, and still rich with a dense crumb. It kind of had a bouncy texture to it, like it would make a comfortable bed. But it aged well. Instead of getting dry, it got richer, and smoother, and better. That was its greatest asset. Don’t get me wrong, I enjoyed it. But I am still in search of the best pound cake ever. I leave my hat off to Elvis. The man was decisive in his tastes. He ate rich food like there was no tomorrow. And then one day there wasn’t.

Elvis Presley’s Favorite Pound Cake

2 sticks (1cup) unsalted butter, softened, plus addition for buttering the pan
3 cups sifted cake flour (not self-rising; sift before measuring) plus additional for dusting
3/4 tsp salt
3 cups sugar
7 large eggs, at room temperature 30 minutes
2 tsp vanilla
1 cup heavy cream
10-inch tube pan, 4 1/2 inches deep, without removable bottom, or a 10-inch bundt pan, 3 1/4 inches deep, 3-qt capacity

Put oven rack in the middle position, but do not preheat oven.

Generously butter pan and dust with flour, knocking out excess flour.

Sift together sifted flour and salt into a bowl. Repeat sifting into another bowl. The flour will have been sifted 3 times total.

Beat together butter and sugar in the bowl of an electric mixer at medium-high speed until pale and fluffy, about 5 minutes in a stand mixer fitted with a paddle attachment, or 6 to 8 minutes with a handheld mixer. Add eggs 1 at a time, beating well after each addition. Then beat in vanilla. Reduce speed to low and add half the flour, then all of the cream, then remaining flour, mixing well after each addition. Scrape down the sides of the bowl, then beat at medium-high speed 5 minutes. Batter will become creamier and satiny.

Spoon batter into pan and rap pan against work surface once or twice to eliminate air bubbles. Place pan in cold oven and turn oven temperature to 350 degrees Fahrenheit. Bake until golden and a wooden pick or skewer inserted in middle of cake comes out with a few crumbs adhering, 1 to 1 1/4 hours.

Cool cake in pan on a rack 30 minutes. Run a thin knife around inner and outer edges of cake, then invert rack over pan and invert cake onto rack to cool completely.

Note: Cake keeps, covered well with plastic wrap or in an airtight container, at room temperature 5 days.

Recipe courtesy of Gourmet magazine, September 2005.

$1.20

2005-09-21T20:53:00.000-07:00

I love a good deal. I think it's in my genes. I also love delicious, fresh, unengineered produce. So when I was in Boston a few weeks ago and my friend told me about homegrown heirloom tomatoes for sale at a local home for only $0.15 apiece, I wanted to see it myself.

On a card table in front of a home in Acton, MA, a family of generous gardeners leaves their daily crop of gorgeous tomatoes, cucumbers, and other summer veggies for the locals to purchase—on the honor system. They just leave a little money box out there, open and unlocked, for us to pay them. At only $0.15 per tomato or basket of the tiny, sweet fruits, they don't net a huge sum of money. But the concept of trusting people to pay what they owe is a delightful throwback that I truly appreciate.

It's the end of the season, so they didn't have as many tomatoes as they had during peak season, but for just pennies a pop, the selection was great. We picked out two colorful baskets of cherry tomatoes and four fragrant, imperfectly perfect large tomatoes. Compared to the tomatoes they have in the grocery store, well, there is no comparison. My friend Judy would say that they taste like candy, and she'd be right. They burst on the tongue, sun-warmed and sweet, the perfect addition to any meal. And they smelled like summer. Sunny, sweaty, warm, wonderful summer.

Two nights ago, LA was surprised by a rainstorm. It just happened out of the blue, summer waved goodbye and autumn rocked us to sleep. It felt good to hear the rain outside as I curled up in bed. Given everything that the hurricanes have put the South through lately, I felt guilty enjoying the sound of rain. But if there's one thing I've learned in my life, it's that even if you feel other people's pain, you can't really do anything to take it away. So tonight, I donated a plane ticket on Southwest to the victims of hurricane Katrina. Maybe I can't eliminate their pain, but I can at least try to help them get home.

Hmmm, how to connect tomatoes with hurricane Katrina? I know. I'll spend another $1.20 on tomatoes so I can throw them at George Bush until he does something to help or speaks coherent English. Whichever comes first.

Cupcakes of the Caribbean

2005-08-28T21:40:00.000-07:00

Last weekend, my friend invited me to his tropical themed BBQ. It was a casual get together, with a bunch of his old friends, and a few of his new friends, like me. He and his wife provided a bountiful spread of themed food, and I volunteered to bring dessert. After a bit of thought, I decided to make rum cupcakes with coconut frosting. I then embarked upon a search for rum cake recipes, which led me to a recipe for a Malibu Rum cake. But here's the catch. It was by that blasphemous semi-homemade fake, Sandra Lee. I debated for a couple of days whether I should use her "recipe," since I'm normally against cake mixes because they contain so many ingredients that have nothing to do with food, like the copious amount of preservatives. In the end, time won out, and I decided that it wasn't cheating to use the mix for the cupcakes, if I made homemade frosting.

As you might expect, the cake mix turned out very good cupcakes. Her alterations of the recipe, namely adding rum (instead of water) and a package of pudding, made for very moist, rum flavored cupcakes. I'm actually reading a book right now entitled Something from the Oven, by Laura Shapiro, about the rise of the packaged food industry after WWII. It has some fascinating things to say about cake mixes, and the reservations women had about using them. I highly recommend it. As many 50's housewives did before me, I repressed my guilt about making cheaters cupcakes, and delved into the frosting preparation.

I took my recipe for frosting from the Cook's Illustrated website. Their coconut layer cake sounded delish, and the frosting seemed easy enough. I've made buttercream frosting before, and it was fairly easy, so I figured this would be similar. I thought the hardest part was whisking the eggs whites and sugar over the simmering water. I was worried I would cook them or overdo it or something, but all was well. After they reached their correct temperature, I assume to remove any chance of getting salmonella, I put them in the mixer and whisked them up to sticky peaks. The would have been gorgeous and delicious just like that, but I figured it would be wise to finish the recipe. The only warning I will give is that in the middle of adding the butter when making buttercream, the mixture looks like it's curdling or breaking or something has gone terribly wrong. It hasn't, don't worry. Add the rest of the butter and it will all return to normal and create lovely, creamy, obscenely decadent frosting.

This frosting was light as air when it was done, and it easily piped out of my pastry bag to create satisfying ploofs of frosting. I used the big round tip, because I wanted the frosting to pipe up thick and tall on the cakes. After a little sprinkle of coconut, they were finished. A little army of tiny cakes ready for battle.

Happily, they were well-received. I was shocked at how similar the frosting tasted to the etherial store-bought cupcake frosting, the ones that come in the special plastic cupcake containers. It was a little disappointing, actually. But my tasters all seemed pleased with the cupcakes, and they were legitimately homemade, so I quickly forgot about it. It's amazing how popular bringing homemade treats to a party can make you. That was a good thing too, since I knew no one but the hosts of this party. But everyone there was incredibly friendly, so I had a very nice time. Maybe I'll try making a different treat for next year's shindig.

Malibu Rum Cupcakes

1 package (18.25-ounce) Duncan Hines Moist Deluxe classic yellow cake mix
1 cup Malibu Rum
1/2 cup vegetable oil
1 package (3.4-ounce) Jell-O vanilla instant pudding and pie filling mix
4 eggs

Combine all ingredients in a mixer and mix until smooth. Pour into a cupcake pan lined with cupcake papers until cups are 3/4 full. Bake according to the directions on the cake mix box. Let cool completely before frosting.

Coconut Buttercream Frosting

4 large egg whites
1 cup granulated sugar
1 pinch table salt
1 pound unsalted butter (4 sticks), each stick cut into 6 pieces, softened, but still cool
1/4 cup cream of coconut (if you don't have that, use sweetened condensed milk + coconut extract to taste—this is what I used, and it worked great)
1 teaspoon coconut extract
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1/4 cup, or more, sweetened shredded coconut

While cupcakes are cooling, spread shredded coconut on rimmed baking sheet; toast in oven until shreds are a mix of golden brown and white, about 15 to 20 minutes, stirring 2 or 3 times. Cool to room temperature. Be vigilant when toasting the coconut—it can go from golden to burnt very quickly.

For the Buttercream: Combine whites, sugar, and salt in bowl of standing mixer; set bowl over saucepan containing 1 1/2-inches of barely simmering water. Whisk constantly until mixture is opaque and warm to the touch and registers about 120 degrees on an instant-read thermometer, about 2 minutes.

Transfer bowl to mixer and beat whites on high speed with whisk attachment until barely warm (about 80 degrees) and whites are glossy and sticky, about 7 minutes. Reduce speed to medium-high and beat in butter 1 piece at a time. (Don't worry if it looks like the mixture is breaking or curdling, it will be fine.) Beat in cream of coconut/sweetened condensed milk and coconut and vanilla extracts. Stop mixer and scrape bottom and sides of bowl. Continue to beat at medium-high speed until well-combined, about 1 minute.

Put frosting in a pastry bag fitted with the tip of your choice, and decorate your cupcakes as you like. Or spread onto the cupcakes with a knife or frosting spatula.

Sprinkle the toasted and cooled coconut on the frosted cupcakes. Enjoy!

Recipes courtesy of Sandra Lee and Cook's Illustrated.

Wabi Sabi Yummy in my Tummy

2005-08-26T09:01:00.000-07:00

Sushi. The great Californian obsession. Out here in the land of granola, we worship at the alter of raw fish, and the Japanese people know it. And boy do I love them for it.

My first experience with sushi was in Ohio. Really. I was in my last year of college and my friend Aleks convinced me to go to the local sushi place to try "sushi." I put it in quotes because I don't think what I ate qualifies as sushi. Even though I'd grown up in California, sushi was still foreign to me at that point, so I didn't really think things through when I agreed to eat there with her. Being far far away from the ocean, close only to a body of water that had caught fire from polution my freshman year, Ohio is not exactly the right place to try eating raw fish. So I suppose it's wise that she ordered a California Roll for my maiden sushi voyage, ironic for many reasons, not the least of which is it's the redheaded stepchild of the sushi world. Fake, cooked krabmeat and all. But I didn't know that, and I thought it was disgusting, which worried me immensely. What kind of foodie was I if I didn't like sushi? I swore that I would teach myself to like it. But I gave myself a break and decided to try again when I returned to California.

My first experiences were timid at best. I retried the California Roll, liking it only a tiny bit better now, but only when it was made with real crab. I liked most of the cooked sushi, unagi being my favorite. Mmmm, that teriyaki sauce is good. Then I started to branch out, tasting the different rolls, then different sushi, and ultimately progressing to sashimi. Now I am a fairly adventurous sushi eater, conservative by some standards, daring by others. But most importantly, I love sushi. I love sitting at the bar and watching the sushi chefs work their magic. I love ordering them beers and seeing what kind of special treats they'll bestow upon me. I love chopsticks. I love wasabi. I love the whole sushi experience.

Los Angeles is riddled with sushi restaurants. It's home to Matsuhisha, one of the most expensive sushi restaurants you can find, like at least $100 per person expensive. But cheap and sushi should not share space in the same sentence. Because cheap and sushi usually mean food and poisoning will follow. So I usually budget about $50 for my meal, knowing I'll eat well. Also knowing I can't eat out like that too often. So the other night, feeling like we deserved a treat, my boyfriend and I went to a place called Wabi Sabi and got our $50 worth. Plus some.

Wabi Sabi is a trendy little place on Abbot Kinney in Venice. Abbot Kinney is named for the man whose brilliant and crazy idea it was to replicate Venice, Italy in Los Angeles. Thanks to Mr. Kinney, we have beautiful canals decorating Venice, CA, now clean and scenic next to million dollar homes. Venice is an artist and hippie enclave. Abbot Kinney is the backbone of its unique vibe.

At night, the Abbot Kinney strip becomes one of the hipper places to be on the Westside. While we waited for a table at Wabi Sabi, I marveled at the outfits artfully gracing the lithe figures of the tragically hip people waiting alongside us. Sometimes I wonder how they have the time and energy to dress themselves so perfectly. Occasionally I wonder if they wear the same perfect outfit every night. But I digress. Once seated, I scanned the menu which featured both sushi and Asian bistro-type dishes from the kitchen. A dazzling array of options, both my eyes and my stomach wanted it all.

We started with the shrimp potstickers. (Pictured above with orange sauce.) They looked like raviolis to me, but they tasted like potstickers. The sauce was quite good, sweet and savory. I would have like a bit less sauce so I could taste the fresh shrimp whose flavor peeked through a bit, but it still tasted delicious. Then we began our array of specials for the night. The first was the halibut with citrus dressing. (See fish with yellow flower.) So delicious and light, it was tangy and lemony with a strong wasabi spanking at the end. Yum. Then we enjoyed the albacore sashimi (pictured above with pointy shaped fish) and the garlic tataki, (pictured above, kind of dark, sorry), and both were amazing and delicious. I felt like they could do no wrong. Every dish they brought us was better than the first. We wanted to try a few more of their specials, but it seems that other diners had the same idea and we were out of luck, so we chose a few other options. My boyfriend loves toro, so after dining on the best toro I've ever had, we selected a toro roll with green onions, (we'd already eaten the last toro sushi), and Japanese mackrel, since they were out of Spanish mackrel, one of my personal faves. Both were superior, leaving me sated and blissfully happy, especially since I'd grown incredibly hungry during our walk to the restaurant and subsequent wait for a table.

Normally at the end of a sushi meal, I'm not interested in dessert. But tonight we decided to take a peek at the dessert menu. I was surprised by the options, particularly because none featured green tea ice cream, the usual staple. After a bit of negotiating, we decided to try the chocolate fudge cake with hazelnut ice cream. And it was good. So good, I thought it was out of place at a sushi restaurant. But I just went with it, eating more than my share since the boy is a savory, not a sweet person. Dense, brownie-like, and oh so chocolatey, the cake was one of the better chocolate cakes a restaurant can offer. I know they're popular and reasonably easy to make, but it's shocking how often restaurants get it wrong. So it was that much more exciting that Wabi Sabi got it right.

In my haste to discuss the food, I've neglected to mention our unexpected dining partners, the couple sitting next to us at the bar. He was a macho, loud-talking, opinionated nutball, and his girlfriend was a prissy dieter who would only live in LA or Florida. At one point during the meal she told him that he had to stop dating other women, or he was going to lose her. Straight up now tell me is it gonna be you and me together, or are you just having fun. Paula Abdul style. His comment when she left for the bathroom after dropping that bomb was, "Do you ever know when you've really fucked something up big time?" They were fascinating.

To sum up, the food here is fantastic. Everything was uniformly great. Service was good. Present, but not overwhelming. Our placement at the counter left a little to be desired, since we were up against the wall and I didn't have good access to the sushi chefs, but the chefs were attentive regardless, and the food made up for it. There is a wait for a table if you don't have reservations, but it was only 30 minutes on a Saturday night, which isn't that bad, especially in Venice which seems to move in its own time zone. It was an expensive meal, over $100 for the two of us. But we ordered a lot of special sashimi, which was pricey and so worth it. Overall, I highly recommend Wabi Sabi. If you go, ask to sit at the counter, and hope you get some delightfully weird neighbors.

Wabi-Sabi
1637 Abbot Kinney Blvd
Venice, CA 90291
310.314.2229

The Coop and The Rice Candy

2005-08-25T12:49:00.000-07:00

I grew up in Palo Alto, CA. Palo Alto is an idyllic suburban town just 30 miles from San Francisco, part of the hotbed of technology called Silicon Valley. Filled with incredibly smart and interesting people, it is also home to one of the country's best and most beautiful universities: Leland Stanford University. When I was growing up there, in the late 70's and 80's, it was more relaxed than it is now. It had more of a professorville feel to it, with trickle-down hippiness from Berkeley, and elbow-patched, blazer-wearing intellectuals living in modest homes on tree-lined streets. Palo Alto is fancier now. The Varsity Theater is now a Borders Bookstore. Stanford Shopping Center no longer has a Woolworths or any fleeting sign of stores of that ilk. And places like The Co-op have disappeared, to be replaced with Longs Drugs on site, and Whole Foods in spirit. I don't long for the old days, I'm simply explaining the change. It used to be about station wagons, Big Wheels, and changing the world. Now it's about SUVs, stock portfolios, and landscaping. At least The Prolific Oven is still there.

As I kid, I loved going to the supermarket with my parents. When The Co-op was still open, we went there most often. I thought it was cool because you had to be a member to shop there. It was like a secret food club. I have the worst memory in the world, but I can still remember how it looked, every inch of it. The pristine, symmetrical piles of produce. The artisan breads in baskets at the end of the aisles. The international foods aisle. That was my favorite aisle to walk down. The variety of different packaging was a sight to behold. Shiny tins. Odd shaped boxes. Slim sacks. All containing new and exciting foods I'd never tasted.

One day I discovered the Asian candies. What weird flavors! Red bean? Lychee? Salty plum? I was seduced by their funny boxes and foreign imagery. But none kept me coming back for more like the Botan Rice Candy. The label says it has orange and lemon flavors, but I think they taste like something entirely their own. I loved the soft, chewy texture and the sweet pink flavor. Before the overparenting lawsuit craze, they also had toys inside, like tiny plastic cars or dolls. Now they have fake tattoos and stickers. But I admit, I liked the fake tattoos the best. I still like them.

Oh, but the very very best part of the Botan Rice Candy was the inside wrapper. As the box says, each candy has an edible inner wrapper that melts in your mouth. With considerable effort, you can peel the edible rice paper from the candy and let it disappear on your tongue. At first it feels like a coating, and then it dissolves completely. If you leave it on the candy, you simply chew right through it. I don't know why they added the rice paper, but I love that they did. It's a tiny little detail that makes the Botan Rice Candy experience special.

After I discovered the rice candy, I would go through the elaborate begging ritual every time we shopped there. Can I puhleeeeeese have some? Puhleeese? I promise I'll be quiet and good the whole time. I promise. Yes I'll wait until we leave before I eat the candies. I will. It usually didn't take too much convincing to get my parents to buy me one box of candies. Not like the monumental effort it took to get them to buy fake American cheese slices, or as my dad calls them: American Cheese Food. What they feed cheese. No, the Botan Rice Candy became a ritual at The Co-op. Along with a deep appreciation for excellent, fresh produce, specialty bread, and home cooking. It was a pretty nice way to grow up, if I do say so myself.

FuRaiBo. Rhymes with Tai Bo.

2005-08-16T23:34:00.000-07:00

The Westside is home to a variety of neighborhoods, each with their own distinct flavor. In my neighborhood, with its uninspired name of West LA, there is a little stretch of Sawtelle that my friends affectionately call NanoTokyo. Being about 1 billionth the size of Tokyo, give or take, it seems to be a fair assessment of the neighborhood, which over the course of about two blocks is filled to the brim with Japanese restaurants, along with a few other variations to spice things up.

My current favorite restaurant in the area is called FuRaiBo. It’s located on the corner of Sawtelle and Mississippi, just caddywompus from the main strip mall on Sawtelle at Olympic. (Side note: caddywompus is delightful word that I learned while visiting the town of Solon, Iowa. It means “diagonally across” as in the restaurant is diagonally across the street.) As you enter FuRaiBo, assuming there isn’t a crowd of people waiting for tables and/or smoking out front, you’re greeted by a panoply of smells and a vibrant atmosphere of happy, satisfied diners. FuRaiBo serves Japanese bar food, meaning small plates of tasty treats served tapas style. The most popular beverage accompaniment to the meal is a large Sapporo or sake.

On this particular trip to FuRaiBo, I was treating my boyfriend and his friend to dinner. They had just helped me fetch my 75lb. new desk from Pottery Barn (see picture) and assemble it in my apartment, and I felt that deserved a delicious meal. Knowing my boyfriend’s preference for Japanese food, I suggested this place just to see his face light up. On this particular night, we were seated promptly. Normally the wait is long, but during the week it seems to be a bit better. Upon sitting, we noticed the ad for sparkling sake sitting on our table and ordered a bottle immediately just to taste it. It was sparkly and sweet, with a light sake aftertaste. I liked it best on the first sip, and felt it had diminishing returns. But I’m not a big sake drinker, I prefer beer.

For our meal we ordered a selection of dishes, from beef to squid to fish to veggies. My favorites were the fried halibut served in a deep fried fish dish, asparagus butter with spears of asparagus warm with butter, and eggplant with sweet miso sauce. I’m not sure how they make the miso sauce, but I’m pretty sure I could bathe in it and be a happy camper. The beef dishes were all delicious, except for the Beef Sashimi that I did not want to taste, although my boyfriend enjoyed it immensely. The squid was also a bit chewy for my taste (I'm a texture queen), but as squid goes, I was told it was quite good. Sadly, I have very few pictures from the meal because I forgot I even had my camera with me until after we’d made a little plate graveyard on our table. But I do have a picture of my boyfriend with squid lips. He is, as they say, a real kidder.

The pleasure of dining at FuRaiBo is multifold. First and foremost, the food is delicious. Second, there’s something for everyone. And third, they’re open late, until 11:45pm every day except Sunday, when they're open until 10:45pm, which makes it a popular late night hangout that serves a welcome change from the typical all-night diner food. With its pleasant, boisterous atmosphere and competent waitstaff, I highly recommend FuRaiBo for a casual and fun night out.

FuRaiBo
2068 Sawtelle Blvd.
Los Angeles, CA 90025
310.444.1432

Writing and eating, but not writing about eating.

2005-08-03T10:28:00.000-07:00

Dear friends, readers, and fellow food lovers,

With minimal fanfare and an embarassed look of my face, I'm back. I can't believe it's been this long. I never intended to have such a lapse in my blog, but it happened. It's like going to the gym. Once you get out of the routine, it becomes okay not to go, and then you stop going altogether. Sometimes it amuses me what creatures of habit we are.

I'd like to thank each and every friend and new friend who commented on my blog in the past month. Your comments are all so sweet and heartfelt and I appreciate each and every one. I think part of the reason for my absence has been trying to figure out where I stand in the whole foodie dating a non-foodie thing. We are still doing well, but for a while there I felt like his blasé food attitude was contagious. I found myself uninspired to talk about food because I was embarrased to be so excited about it in his presence. But then I realized, it's okay if he looks at me funny when I wax philosophical about the amazing grapes we bought at the market. (So crunchy, sweet, tart, and delicious!) Maybe my non-blasé attitude will rub off on him! I only considered that thought for a fleeting moment. It's doubtful, but hey, it's worth a try.

Anyway, last night I made myself a little ice cream sundae because I deserved a treat. Okay, it wasn't a true ice cream sundae because it didn't have chocolate fudge sauce or nuts or a cherry on top, but it did have whipped cream (and mint chip ice cream!!). Have you noticed how whipped cream makes everything a little more special? I LOVE whipped cream. I love it sugary sweet and light from canister you can get from the supermarket. I love it homemade, with or without sugar. I love it with cinnamon. I love it plain. I am a particularly huge fan of squirting it directly into my mouth straight from the fridge. One friend even suggested ordering the new Chantico drinking chocolate from Starbucks with a large side of whipped cream. She claims is cuts the chocolate intensity just enough that you can actually finish the Chantico. I see touches of genius in this suggestion. This same friend has a professional whipped cream container at home so she can make homemade whipped cream without the whipping part. It's easy to combine the cream and simple syrup, add the pressurized gas, and voila! An almost endless supply of whipped cream. It's particularly delicious served over homemade ice cream, which we did not too long ago. If I bought an ice cream maker, I believe I would have every single kitchen appliance known to man. Maybe that's a good thing.

I would love to continue writing about food right now, but I have to prepare for a meeting. The other reason for my prolonged absence is the enormous amount of work I've taken on lately. I'm a freelance writer, and it's feast or famine in my world. Ha, feast or famine. It always seems to circle back to food. So I hereby promise to myself and to you that I will keep up with my food writing. Thank you all for your continued support. I really means the world to me.

Olive to Eat

2005-07-05T23:10:00.000-07:00

I recently had the wonderful luck of meeting a man who seems to enjoy spending a lot of time with me. This is most fortunate because I, too, like spending a lot of time with him. And in the course of spending said time together, it behooves us to imbibe and ingest foodstuffs so as not to end up old and alone because we've bitten each other's heads off from hunger. (Okay, that's mostly me.) This is a most normal relationship. Spend time, eat food, spend more time. Maybe sleep a little. But here's the thing: While I awake each morning excited at the prospect of another day full of opportunities to eat new and exciting foods, he considers himself well-fed if he's drunk multiple cups of coffee and eaten a bag of microwave popcorn. Or whatever else is around. Because it doesn't matter to him.

I'll let that sink in.

FOOD DOESN'T MATTER TO HIM. It's one of those basic requirements, sure, but once that requirement has been met, he's good to go. Where's that paper bag from Whole Foods? I think I'm hyperventilating. Food, glorious food is our very means of survival. Food is life. It provides the crucial energy that we need to sustain our very existence! And that is precisely his point. You must eat to live. Full stop. Oh woe is I. I have gone and found myself a completely wonderful man who lives on the other side of the food scale from me. And not surprisingly, the people scale weighs us in at almost the same weight. This frightens me. Even though we're both small people, he taller and more slight than I, it scares me to think that I weight nearly as much a man. But I digress.

So here's my question: Can a person who lives to eat sustain a relationship with someone who eats to live? I know it's possible, I've seen it happen. But does one suffer while the other benefits? Do both suffer?

I hate forcing food on people. It's the Jewish mother syndrome. Eat! You must eat! You're wasting away. Man, that makes me crazy. I'll eat if I'm hungry, thank you. So to that end, I can understand where he's coming from. Okay, one step closer. And he does have foods that he particularly enjoys. Sushi. All Japanese food, really. Then Chinese food. Then Southern food. Fried chicken. Grits. Apple pie. Okay, I'm on board with all of that. But this is where his desire for food dwindles, and I am the one left to make the decisions of where to eat. For as much of a control freak as I am, I really do like it when other people suggest restaurants once in a while. I end up asking him twelve extra times if my choice is okay with him when the answer is, yes, it's fine with him because anything is fine with him. So is nothing. Argh.

I suppose I could have ended up with one LA's premiere food neurotics. These are the people who tell you that they're allergic to something simply because they don't like it. Or they act like they'll eat anywhere, and then you suggest something and they say, "Blech. No. I won't eat there." Okay Picky McChoosyPants, you select a place to eat. You might have seen the Sex and the City episode where Carrie asks for her meal without parsley, telling the waiter that she's allergic. Her dining partner gives her guff because she's lying about her allergy, she simply doesn't like parsley. This is what I mean. Sally from When Harry Met Sally has the same affliction. It's charming at first, and by the third date I'd want to throttle her. All I'm asking is that you say, "I don't like [insert food here]" and we stop talking about it. End of story. So to that end, my eat to live friend is wonderful. He can go anywhere and find something he'll eat. And he won't mention it or even complain. Okay, he might. We just had brunch at Axe (pretentiously pronounced A-shay) and he got a pancake that was too "hippie" for his taste. Fair enough. But he ate it, I didn't know until after our meal that he was unhappy, and he didn't really care either way.

So far our relationship has blossomed despite our lack of variety in our meal choices. He is wonderful in so many ways. I have grown accustomed, and even excited, to the prospect of walking around the corner to his local coffee shop and getting breakfast from people who know us by name. Especially if they have those delicious almond croissants. I am now used to eating only two meals a day, both of them usually small. In fact I believe I've lost a few pounds since we started dating, something that I am actually rather happy about. He, on the other hand, teases me about how much he eats when he's with me, as if I am the one lifting the fork to his mouth and placing the food inside his thin frame. I admit that I am usually the catalyst for the food run, but I don't force feed. Today, left to his own devices, he ate an apple and a bag of microwave popcorn, both of which I bought for him so he wouldn't just subsist on coffee. Part of me thinks that he deprives himself of food in the name of creativity. But most of me knows that he thinks that eating is a waste of time and he won't do it unless his body screams for food, which rarely happens. I am trying so hard to understand his way of thinking. And he tries his best not to stand in my way when I'm hungry. I suppose that's a fair compromise.

So in the end, I think the answer is to turn my food energy to my friends. I will indulge with them, discussing food ad nauseum, preferrably when he is not there so we don't bore him to tears. This way neither of us suffers, and both of us get what we need. Occasionally, I will bring him along in my food adventures just to expose him to new things. Together we can celebrate the foods he loves, which makes both of us happy. And I will just have to relax and understand that there is no way to change the people you love, you simply have to take them for who they are, lack of appetites and all.

As an interesting side note, the title of this post is taken from a trivet that was my mom's. As I child, I didn't understand its statement about olives, thinking that it was a silly phrase to put on display. Now I understand the play on words, and appreciate the sentiment. Because after all, I do love to eat. And the lovely man of whom I speak loves olives.

Citrin = Lemon, Lunetta = Moon.

2005-06-28T10:22:00.000-07:00

Nestled in the concrete bosom of an industrial park is the unlikely home of the latest creation from the dynamic duo Josiah Citrin and Raphael Lunetta. Not ones to play Robin to anyone else's Batman, they are equally partnered caped crusaders bringing good food to our sunny anti-Gotham by the sea.

Together, Citrin and Lunetta have created three acclaimed restaurants. They opened JiRaffe in 1996, until Citrin left to start Melisse with his wife and business partner. And now they're back to form Lemon Moon. It's a departure from their more traditional French cooking, but it's done with flair and ease. Inspired by their surfing tendencies, it's a casual place to get a hearty lunch, and the portions reflect the healthy appetite you would have after a morning in the water.

First of note is their signature lemonade. Always fresh, with unique flavors, their lemonade is cravable and delicious. The first time I came to Lemon Moon I tasted their plum lemonade, and every time I've gone back I've hoped to find plum lemonade chalked up on the board just for me. With a yummy, purpley plum flavor in every sip, it really tastes like plums. Sweet, perfectly ripe plums. And lemonade. How novel! I have also enjoyed their orange lemonade, with freshly squeezed orange juice, and the watermelon lemonade pictured above. While beautiful, the watermelon lemonade was my least favorite of their flavor creations, but that is only because I am defectively picky, and I felt it was a scooch too sweet and didn't taste enough like the lemonade part of the beverage. But if you like watermelon, you'll be in heaven.

Unlike their French restaurant counterparts, Lemon Moon is a gourmet cafeteria, with a few fancy restaurant flairs. The silverware is sturdy and substantial, and it comes wrapped nicely in large cloth napkins. After ordering at the long glass counter, you take a number and seat yourself inside or outside in the lovely courtyard or along Olympic. I rarely sit out there because the din of the traffic overwhelms the peaceful eating experience I desire. The courtyard is my location of choice. It's so peaceful and comfortable, like a fancy backyard party on expensive teak furniture.

Minutes after ordering, they bring your food. On this visit I ordered the two salad combo, with a skirt steak, cucumber, shitake mushroom, and tomato salad with an Asian vinegrette. I think I tasted rice vinegar and sesame oil in the dressing, among other flavors. My second salad was the broccoli tofu combination, that comes in a sweet brown sauce. My dad thought there was fish sauce in there, and I think he was right. Both salads were great. The skirt steak is my favorite of all their salads, with flavorful meat and fresh, light veggies to compliment the dish. It is consistently great. The broccoli tofu salad is also delicious, but they were a little heavy on the sauce this time, which overpowered the dish. The last time I tried it, it was a little lighter which suited my palette better.

My dad chose the quiche and the citrus beet salad proving that real men do eat quiche. Both were excellent. The roasted beets and oranges go perfectly together, with a sprinkling of golden raisins to sweeten the dish. The eggplant, caramelized onion, and mushroom quiche was light and flavorful, with a very smooth and creamy custard texture. I was impressed.

On other trips, I have enjoyed the grilled chicken sandwich (yum!), the mushroom polenta salad, the soba noodle salad, the cannellini bean and tuna salad, the bowtie noodle, blue cheese and candied pecan salad, and more. I recommend almost anything they serve, but I was disappointed by the bean and tuna salad, since I thought it was bland and easily made at home. The bowtie salad was also strongly overpowered by the candied pecans, making it taste more like a dessert than a main dish, which I found odd and disappointing. But I always err towards the savory side of life, so take my recommendations with a grain of salt, if you will.

Lemon Moon is one of my favorite restaurants to take friends, out of towners, and other folks who happen to be available for lunch (or breakfast, tho I haven't yet gone that early) on the Westside during the week. It's only open Monday through Friday from 8am until 3pm, so get while the getting is good. I recommend going before 2pm, since the salad selection dwindles as the clock ticks towards closing time.

Lemon Moon
Westside Media Center (Think office park meets Death Star)
12200 W. Olympic Blvd.
Los Angeles, CA 90025
310.442.9191
http://lemonmoon.com/

Sugar Coated

2005-06-20T17:20:00.000-07:00

I keep trying to figure out a way to start this entry, and the only thing I can think of is, "Wow, my mom died 16 years ago today. That's a damn long time ago." It's okay though. I've had 16 years to prepare for it, so I'm coping pretty well.

Today I finally went shopping after weeks of dwindling food, souring milk, and creative cooking with cupboard-stale "staples." Which is to say, I've been eating out mostly. This behavior is bad for my wallet and bad for my waist, but good for the soul sometimes. Especially with good company. So today's trip to Trader Joe's was exciting, even despite the ever-present crowds. I needed eggs. And milk. And chocolate. And apparently a few other impulse buys that I would pick up on my way out. Including chocolate-covered sunflower seeds.

Look at them, all cute and colorful. Tiny chocolate teardrops, sweet on the outside, salty on the inside. I didn't know what to expect. Would they taste like Peanut M&Ms or something completely different? Could I taste the distinct sunflower seed favor? Would I taste the chocolate? The answer is yes. A bit of chocolate, a bit of sunflower saltiness—a tiny cousin of the Peanut M&M. I ate them by the pinch, then by the palmful. I wasn't even hungry for them, but I ate them anyway. Somehow they seemed like the perfect food today. Sugar-coated tears.

You might be wondering why 16 years is significant. Well, today marks the official moment when I have lived longer without my mom than with her. It seems silly to think of it that way, since every moment without her has been difficult, or at least different than it was with her, but today feels momentous. I'm getting older and I can feel it. Not that I mind per se, but I'm starting to notice.

I'm heading to the gym soon. I like my gym, the YMCA, because it takes all kinds. Kids to Seniors, they're all there. The doddering old folks are the best to watch. They move slowly, and with care. They inspire me to keep going, so that one day I too might visit the local Y for my daily swim. Hopefully by then I'll have my own kids to make fun of me and my outdated clothing. My wrinkled brow. My turtle pace. My mom once told me not to worry about things so much. She asked me never to complain about a bad hair day or gaining weight, since she'd lost her hair and too much weight from her illness, and she didn't want me to waste time thinking about those kinds of things as she had, only to be foiled in the end. I know she would have told me to stop thinking about getting older, especially since I can't change it even if I try. Better to age gracefully than fight it the whole way, she'd say, wishing for the priviledge herself. But I think it's okay to take note. To fold down the corners on certain pages of our lives, like mental bookmarks to flip back to. Today was the day that I remembered to relax, it says.

Consider today bookmarked. Corner folded, mental noted. With tiny little sugared-coated salty sweet treats as ellipses at the end of a To be continued... for my life, and a full-stop for hers.

I'll gladly pay you Tuesday for a Hamburger Today.

2005-06-17T10:00:00.000-07:00

A hamburger haiku.

Burger, you I love.
Bun. Meat. Cheese. Burger meet mouth.
Delicious you are.

If it sounds like I'm channeling Yoda, well, poet I am not. But Monday night I had a mighty fine burger worthy of a haiku.

LA is a burger town. You'd never expect it, with all the skinny blonde fake plastic tan people walking around. Sometimes I imagine they eat air sandwiches, with hope instead of bread, and lettuce and celery on the side. Oh, and a Diet Coke. But seriously, Los Angelinos know how to make and eat a delicious burger, even if the women serving them look malnourished.

Right now, I'm making my way through a list of places that are always recommended when a person says, You know, I'm craving a burger. The responses vary, but each name is always followed by an impassioned rant on the meat and cheese sandwich grilled to perfection, and why this place is superior to all others. Since I prefer to keep my options open, and there's plenty of room for more than one "best burger" in my mind, I like to sample all the different best of places so I have my own opinion to draw from when I'm satisfying my burger craving.

Here is my list:
Amuse Cafe. Check.
Apple Pan.
The Arsenal. Check.
The Counter. Check.
Fatburger. Check.
Father's Office.
In'n'Out. Check.
Tommy's.

You can see from my list, I have only three more places to try before I will have successfully sampled my way through many of the burger havens of Los Angeles. So far, I don't have a favorite, since each has its different style. Prices are approximate.

Amuse makes an amazing gourmet burger served with artisan cheese, free-range meat, top notch produce, and a side of fantastic homemade potato chips or salad. $10.
The Arsenal boasts a killer basic burger, with the same high-end meat, choice toppings, potato or sweet potato fries, and a great atmosphere, complete with full bar selection. $8.
I'll get to The Counter in a sec, since that's the subject of this post.
Fatburger offers a very good fast burger, (note I didn't say fast food burger, this ain't Micky D's), with a slew of toppings, including the ever popular fried egg. $3.
In'n'Out tops the list of fast food burgers, with a fresh, basic burger that came from only one cow, plastic cheese (sorry folks, I have a weak spot for the American slices), fresh tomato and lettuce, onions grilled or not if you want them, and a special sauce. There's also a secret menu with things like an animal style burger and the 4-by-4. $1.65 and up.

So on Monday night, I finally went to The Counter. It's nestled in the corner of an ever-present mini-mall on Ocean Park Blvd., which goes, as you might expect, all the way out to the ocean. There's free parking in the back, which is a nice touch, and the mall has some trees, differentiating it a bit from the regular mini mall. Once inside, The Counter's atmosphere is clean, hip, a bit industrial, and overall very cool. For lunch I'm told you simply check off what you want from the paper checklist menu on the mini clip boards on the counter, and hand it to the folks behind the counter. And voila, your ideal burger is born. It's not much different at night, except there's table service, so it feels a bit more like a sit down restaurant.

I'm a creature of habit. I don't mean to be, but I am. So when I got the big checklist with all the crazy choices of topping for my burger, like cranberry this and horseradish that, I politely declined. I like cheese on my burger, usually cheddar, and grilled onions. I can do without the onions, but I do enjoy them. Lettuce, tomato, and pickle are also welcome. And I like a variety of special sauces, but usually opt for something from the Russian Dressing/Thousand Island family. And the result is this towering gastronomic inferno. Yum.

One of my compatriots ordered the 2/3 pound burger. I chose the 1/3 pound. And you could also get a 1 pound burger I believe, but I'll leave that to the professionals. His ginormous burger looked like this, with a dallop of ranch dressing.

Another of the ingenious options at The Counter is their choice of fries. You can get potato fries, sweet potato fries, onion strings, and a combo of both. This is best for those of us who cannot make up their minds when it comes to food, particularly the greasy comfort food. I swing both ways between the fries and onion ring camps, so I opted for both. I enjoyed their onion string deviation. They're thinner and crispier than regular onion rings, with all the onion flavor you crave. And the garlicky ranch dressing they serve with it is delish. I'm not a ranch person, but it went perfectly with the onion strings. I didn't even pour a drop of catsup.

To sum up, The Counter makes a mighty fine burger with any fixin you can dream up. So if it is a burger you crave, they'll do you right.

The Counter
2901 Ocean Park Blvd
Santa Monica, CA 90405
310-399-8383

Café Bizou. No thank you.

2005-06-12T11:02:00.000-07:00

Multiple people, whose food opinions I trust implicitly, have recommended Café Bizou in Santa Monica as a midpriced, delicious, French bistro restaurant, perfect for all kinds of occasions. It even gets number one billing in Zagats as the most popular restaurant in Los Angeles, sharing space with other such gems as Joe's, JiRaffe, and Lucques (and Cheesecake Factory and Baja Fresh, which probably should have tipped me off). Their website is cute enough, and their menu fit the needs of the people I would be dining with, so we decided to try it on Friday night.

On their site it said that the Santa Monica location had changed management recently, but that the staff and menu remained the same. Figuring that the staff (does this include kitchen staff?) and menu were the key to the restaurant, I figured how different could it be? Unfortunately, the answer is very different, at least compared to the recommendations I'd received.

Our first problem was finding it. Tucked away in the ground floor of a giant cement office structure, we drove by once without even so much as seeing a sign for it. After circling the block, we finally spotted it, and then once more around we managed to find the parking entrance. Fortunately, the expensive garage below validates for the restaurant for three hours, so that was nice, although they don't have any signs telling you that, so you have to ask and cause a bit of a stir at the parking entrance and exit. But everyone was accomodating of my bad driving etiquette, so it was okay.

Once inside, we started at the bar, and there I have nothing to complain about, except the atmosphere. It felt like a hotel bar, with older couples from out of town visiting and having drinks. It was pleasant enough, and the cosmopolitan I had was actually very well done, citrusy and sweet, without tasting like cough medicine, and it came in a cute little chilled glass thingy (exact name unknown, same as the thingies at Bar Marmont) so I could pour as much or as little of my drink in the precarious martini glass and not spill a drop if that's what I prefered.

Soon, they readied our table, and we were escorted into the main dining room. It was festive and big, with every table filled, but the tables were well-spaced so we didn't feel crowded. Our waiter was friendly, cordial, and reasonably attentive. He took our orders, drinks and all, and after a few minutes, our $1 salads arrived. That's a nice touch, actually. With every entree you can add a soup or salad to your meal for only a buck. It was a simple Romaine lettuce salad with diced tomato, but the dressing was good, a mustardy vinagrette, and I was satisfied. Then came the entrees.

I ordered the roast chicken breast with mashed potatoes because I was craving comfort food that night, and I figured a French bistro would be the perfect place to get a juicy bit of chicken with some buttery mashed taters. I was wrong. The chicken was bland beyond belief, it was almost flavorless actually, except for that "tastes like chicken" flavor that lends itself to so many other foods. It was also tough and dry, two words I loathe to use because they depress me when talking about food. The balsamic sauce that came with should have perked it up, but alas, it was wholly underwhelming and equally bland. I marvel at how one can achieve a bland balsamic reduction, but I now have proof that it's possible. My mashed potatoes had a bit of a crust, probably from being put into a hot oven to kiln fire the dish before plating the chicken, but the crust had no color, no crunchy brown flavor, so it just seemed like it had been sitting out for a while, which I assume it had. Waiters often tell you to beware of the hot plate, but this time they weren't kidding, and I kept my fingers away from the plate that felt like it had been to hell and back. I ate my meal, drank my second cosmo, and chatted with my friends, all while a running commentary streamed through my head about how the food could be so bad, when the friends who recommended it have such good taste.

When we were finished, we finally flagged down our waiter, who was probably chatting in the back because the place had nearly cleared out, and he delivered our check. Actually it was the check from the table next to us, so we had to wait until a different server took it back to our waiter since he had disappeared again. It seems the other folks had paid our bill, but since theirs had been more expensive, I insisted that we pay for ours. We did, leaving a decent tip because we are nice people, and we left.

I can think of twenty other places in LA that serve delicious food at similar prices, so I know that I won't revisit Café Bizou again. In fact, knowing that I would have enjoyed my meal a lot better had I eaten at Cheesecake Factory says a lot, because I so dislike patronizing the chain restaurants, when there are so many little places worth trying. Maybe it's the Sherman Oaks location that is deserving of praise. Too bad I didn't start there.

Chumus, Hummus, or however you spell it.

2005-06-09T11:50:00.000-07:00

Chumus is a delicious blend of chick peas, tahini, garlic, lemon, olive oil, and various other seasonings and spices. I've tried recipes for it, and bought a variety of different brands of chumus, but I am rarely moved to recommend them to anyone. So it's a pleasure to find a chumus that I truly enjoy.

In my opinion, The Sabra brand of chumus tops the list. It's creamy, nutty, and tastes of tahini and a bit of garlic, without any of the flavors dominating. I also enjoy Trader Joe's brand of hummus, but it is the penultimate hummus, since it isn't quite as smooth as Sabra, but the flavors are still very good.

I recently met a new Israeli friend who told me that sabra is the Arabic word for thorny cactus, and is a colloquial name given to Israeli people since they are prickly on the outside, but sweet within. I must say this follows completely with my experience of the Israeli people that I've met in LA. Even when I go to the kosher market, where the Sabra brand products are sold, I feel the prickles, but know that it's just the wall that they've built up from years of living in a constant state of war. And even in the U.S., where there isn't constant fighting, at least not the kind experienced in the Middle East, it's still hard for them to let their guard down. Fair enough.

Pita is the natural accompaniment to chumus, and I'm a big fan. I also love fresh veggies, such as cherry tomatoes and cauliflower. I know, eating raw cauliflower sounded weird to me at first, even though it's a staple on the raw veg and dip platters, but it's so fantastic with chumus. Normally it's what's left after the carrots and cucumbers are gobbled up, so I'm always in luck. I prefer the Sabra chumus as a dip, but it's great spread thick on sandwiches piled high with veggies on toasted whole wheat bread. Or eaten with falafel or a chicken pita sandwich.

I have only tried one of the other Sabra salads, and that one I do not recommend. Their baba ganoush tastes of mayonaise, which I find revolting. I like mayonaise normally, but not in a grilled eggplant salad. So avoid that one, unless you like the mayo. And by all means try the other salads and let me know what you think.

Banana bread addendum

2005-06-09T11:19:00.000-07:00

I thought it might be useful to note that the banana bread recipe that I posted about recently can be made without the nuts, for the banana bread purists, and makes two gorgeous mini loaves instead of one big one if you'd like to share with others and don't feel like cutting your big loaf in half.

Since there were some nuts and some non nuts in the group, I opted instead to make a maple pecan brown sugar butter to go with a nutfree bread, thereby pleasing both camps. The butter was a bit of a throw together, but here's an approximation of the recipe. Definitely mix it all up to taste, erring on the side of less sugar and maple syrup first, and adding until it suits your style.

1/4 cup toasted pecans
6 Tb butter, room temp
2 tsp maple syrup
2 tsp brown sugar

If you have a Cuisinart mini chopper, that's perfect for this recipe. If not, a blender or regular Cuisinart will do, but you might have to increase the quantities a bit to get it all blended. Place the nuts and butter in the chopper and mix until combined. Add syrup and brown sugar. Mix until smooth, adding more sugar and/or syrup to taste. The mixture will be soft, with tiny bits of nuts throughout. Refridgerate until firm. Serve with warm banana bread, pancakes, or biscuits.

Chow Revision

2005-06-09T10:55:00.000-07:00

Okay, I spoke too soon. There are some moderately and even reasonably priced gifts in the latest issue of Chow. It's mainly that the ones that I want are expensive. Such as Laura Zindel's new line of tableware with amazing shots of bugs on them, like beetles, grasshoppers, etc. I can't find a photo of the tableware online, but here's a serving platter that gives you the right idea. The set of four tumblers is $265. Again, I am lamenting my lack of trust fund. Sigh.

And while I think the photography is strange, they do some great things that most of the other food mags don't do when they're listing recipes. They give you a shot of underdone, perfect, and overdone so that you can see what the food should look like at the right stage. While I am very comfortable with things in the kitchen, it never hurts to have a visual of what something is supposed to look like. Especially for their lemon meringue pie recipe. Getting a meringue whipped up just right can be challenging.

And last, but certainly not least, I award them huge props for their lack of advertisements!! Ads are annoying, and it's what I do for a living as a copywriter. So I guess I should say, ugly ads are annoying. The reason I stopped subscribing to Gourmet was the enormous ad section in the back of every issue. I felt cheated everytime I got it. Each issue seemed thick and full of lovely recipes and photos, but it was all a fascade. As I flipped through page after page of horrid adverts wishing that I could rip out the whole section, I realized I could stop subscribing and solve the problem entirely. And so it was. So major kudos to Chow for selecting a minimum number of unobtrusive, topical ads for their new magazine. That's a huge achievement.

Chow Magazine. Food. Drink. Fun.

2005-06-08T11:47:00.000-07:00

There are so many food mags out there. Gourmet. Saveur. Food & Wine. It seemed like they'd covered it all, and there was no room for something new. At least not something new and different. And then there was Chow.

Chow got off to a rocky start. They released their premiere issue around the holidays, and I just received my second issue yesterday. There was a little filler issue in between—a tiny one the size of Everyday Food, but only about a dozen pages. That was cute, but not nearly the same as a real issue.

Yesterday when I checked my mail, I was pleasantly surprised to see Chow peeking out from behind the slurry of junk that I seem to get daily. It has brass, bold, and odd art direction (see picture), but it does grab your attention. I wouldn't say I'm a big fan of the look, but I can't stop thinking about it, so perhaps they're onto something. I suppose I would call it ugly sexy. Their articles are short, usually no longer than a two page spread, and most of their gift suggestions are way too expensive. And yet I find myself curling up with it on the couch and reading it cover to cover because they're actually talking about things that interest me. Yes, that's right. I think there's finally a food mag for the 20 to 30-something set. Even in her thirties Martha never got it, though I do love her mag, and so many of the others make me feel like I should be jetting off to unnamed islands to try local cuisine. Where's that darn trust fund when I need it? So welcome, Chow. I will be your early adopter, your trial audience, your willing victim. I'll try your recipes and share you with friends. Because you're a hell of a lot more fun than those other magazines, and I can always use more fun in my life. Especially if it lets me play with my food.

www.chowmag.com

Jin Patisserie

2005-06-03T16:10:00.000-07:00

I do believe it's possible to build up something in your head so completely that it can't possibly live up to the hype. I know I'm guilty of this, I have done it many times before. I do it most often with movies, but restaurants hold a close second. So it really didn't surprise me that my experience would be a tad underwhelming when I finally set foot in Jin Patisserie, a place I'd been looking forward to for months.

I worship at the alter of the chocolate shop. Beautiful and luscious dessert creations top my list of favorite foods. So when I heard about Jin Patisserie, a zen garden of dessert heaven, I was instantly intrigued. Stepping through the gate into the outdoor garden at Jin feels like you're entering a private party in someone's yard. Once you realize you're not trespassing, this is a welcome feeling. On the day I arrived, there were many children joining their parents for afternoon tea. The ruckus caused by small people can be rather loud, and given that I was expected a more zen-like garden, I was surprised.

We made our way into the inner sanctum to look at the dessert gallery and buy something to taste. The desserts were everything that I expected: gorgeous, precious, delicate, and beautifully arranged in a glass case that encircled the shop. The glass counter at the register contained the truffle offerings and a few packages of chocolates to go. Two customers preceeded me in line, and after an inordinately long wait, I was finally helped. Had I been in a hurry, I might have been peeved. As it was, I noticed, but I went with the flow.

After a brief deliberation, I decided on four truffles in the cute little gift box. I love the contrasting orange ribbon and the beautiful logo. (You can see the logo much better on their website, which I will share at the end of my post.) I believe that I chose Earl Grey, Lavender, Cinnamon, and Black Roasted Sesame. I might have selected Ginger instead of Cinnamon, but I don't remember. And therein lies the problem. None of the truffles tasted enough like the flower or tea or spice that they were said to contain for me to differentiate much between them. I had this same issue with the truffles I bought at Jacques Torres for a Mother's Day gift for my Aunt (that we collectively devoured. Sorry, Aunt Lil). With the exception of the ancho chili truffle, they all pretty much tasted like dark chocolate with a hint of something unidentifiable in the center. They were all delicious and chocolately, but I was hoping for that little something extra, just like chocolate apricot caramel bar I'd enjoyed from Chocolat Moderne. That chili truffle was exquisite though. Sweet, smooth, and spicy, with a smoky finish that changed a bit each time. I was left wishing that they'd all been like that one. Too bad it was the first one we tried and not the last.

So I walked away from Jin with a moderate reaction. Not quite as zen or as exceptional as I'd been led to believe by the legions of praise in all the magazines, but it was certainly pleasant. One visit hardly makes a full experience however, especially considering I haven't tried the cakes or sandwiches on the menu. And for the price, I certainly hope they live up to the hype. So I'll be back to Jin, mind wiped clean, ready to experience it fresh once again. I'm rooting for them. I really am.

Jin Patisserie
1202 Abbot Kinney Blvd.
Venice, CA 90291
t 310.399.8801

Hours
Tuesday to Sunday 10:30 a.m. to 7:00 p.m.
Closed Monday

Pomegranate Pomegranate Revolution

2005-05-31T11:09:00.000-07:00

When I was growing up, my best friend's mom, Janis, gave us pomegranates to enjoy. "Eat them outside!" she'd warn us, not wanting any of the gorgeous blood red juices to stain anything in the house. That seemed a fair trade for the ruby-filled fruits, that were a puzzle and a snack all in one. Popping the little fruit gems out of the pith took a bit of effort, but biting into each perfect seed was a tart and sweet reward.

Just before she died, I wrote Janis a thank you note. It was late, I conceded, but better late than never. In the letter I thanked her for many things: for being my second mom; for being adventurous and strong; for being a soccer mom who plays soccer, not just one who shuttles the kids from game to game; for feeding me pomegranates, and Cheetos, and fresh vegetables from the garden; and for mothering me when I felt lost, after my own mom had left the building. It was a short thank you note, since it didn't require much explaining, but pomegranates made the cut. I remember thinking as I was writing that it felt silly to include food, but there they were, crystal-clear, important memories from my childhood of eating pomegranates and Cheetos, two foods my parents never bought. They would have fed us pomegranates had we asked, but I am the product of two neatniks, and that dangerous red juice didn't match our decor.

Until a few months ago, when the pomegranate craze really took over, I felt like they were my secret fruit. Many of my friends had never tried them, and some had never heard of them, despite the fact that there is historical evidence to suggest that they've been around for thousands of years. But here we are, with pomegranate martinis, pomegranate marinades, pomegranate juice, and more. They're one of nature's most powerful antioxidants, earning them headline status in our health obsessed society. Despite my skepticism, being the daughter of a woman who died of cancer too young, I'll take all the power I can get.

The most prevalent juice on the shelves is POM Wonderful, which is pure pomegratate juice from the Wonderful variety of pomegranates. They have five different flavors of juice combinations, pomegranate with cherry, blueberry, mango, tangerine, and plain. I've tried cherry, blueberry, and plain. My favorite so far is cherry. The slightly sweeter cherry cuts a bit of the tannic tang of the pomegranate for a potent and delicious drink. They're perfect mixed with bubbly seltzer for a kind of Italian soda without the syrup, or you can drink them plain. Don't expect a sweet drink, this is adult juice, not that fruit punch bug juice we loved as kids. At nearly $4 a bottle, it's not cheap either. But it's a delicious treat once in a while. If you try the mango or tangerine flavors, let me know what you think. My friend Kat isn't a big fan of tangerine, so I'm waiting on that one. But I'm sure I'll try it for myself one of these days.

For a bit of the history and science behind the pomegranate, check out Pom Wonderful's website. www.pomwonderful.com Ever wonder why grenadine and grenades share a root word? Both are named after the pomegranate, because one is made from pomegranate juice, and the other explodes like one. Cool, no?

Strawberries!

2005-05-30T18:01:00.000-07:00

On Saturday, I ventured down to Garden Grove in Orange County, home of Little Saigon, a vibrant Vietnamese community, for the Strawberry Festival. To be fair, I think they should have called it the Excuse to Have a Party Festival. We wandered around among the booths selling everything from blinking magnets to cowboy hats to sliding glass doors without seeing a single strawberry. We asked two different Strawberry Festival Representatives where we could find strawberries, and were pointed in all different directions. Finally, as we were getting ready to leave, we stumbled upon a booth selling real, bona fide, plain strawberries. They were gorgeous and sweet, so we bought a flat.

Our main goal was to make a strawberry rhubarb pie. Or I should say it was my goal to make the pie, and my friends' goal to eat it. I had never made said pie before, but I have eaten many a slice. Sweet with berries and tart with rhubarb, it can be a very delicious if done right.

According to my Baking Illustrated cookbook, by the authors of Cook's Illustrated magazine, a lot was riding on the thickener I used in the pie. Their recipe called for arrowroot powder, which they claim can be found in the spice isle of most supermarkets. I'm not sure where they're shopping, but it ain't so easy to find. At the last minute, my friend T was able to locate the powder at a local health food market in Silverlake. Kudos to T for the major effort. No longer hindered by the lack of proper thickener, I began to prep my pie filling.

I first began by washing my rhubarb thoroughly and removing any traces of the green leaves, because as I learned from my cookbook, the green leafy part is toxic. I don't know how toxic, but I wasn't about to take a chance. With that taken care of, the sauteing of the rhubarb to sweat some of the juices and the slicing of the berries was quick and easy, and soon a lovely pie was bubbling away in the oven creating that Suzie homemaker smell that can't be bottled.
It was a little too warm in Silverlake that evening, so my pie crust drooped a little over the sides of the pie pan, but the end result was still pretty and sweetly devilish with the blood red juices bubbling out onto the top crust.

As the pie cooled, we grilled a bounty of Korean BBQ with marinated beef, pork, glass noodle salad, seaweed salad, grilled mushrooms, and lemon soju. It was a feast for the senses. When we finally tucked into the pie, which had only cooled for about 2+ hours instead of the recommended 4, it was rather soupy. A delicious soup, by all means, but still quite runny and not set as I had expected. I assume that the lack of cooling time was the main reason, but it could also have been the arrowroot powder. Regardless, the pie was a success in that it tasted delicious and was enjoyed by all.

If you'd like the recipe, post a comment or check out Baking Illustrated. Their crust recipe is so easy and turns out the best crust ever. Flaky, buttery, golden brown, and manageable. Now that's a feat.

Casa Bianca Pizza Pie

2005-05-28T10:01:00.000-07:00

Pizza is one of those things that varies as much and as subtly as the people who love it. I have yet to meet a person who doesn't like pizza. Except for hardcore vegans, and they're usually game if you ditch the cheese. To me, a pizza without cheese is like a day without sun. I'll live with it, but it can be depressing. So for those of you in the pro pizza camp, particularly if you like the thin crust version, way over yonder in Eagle Rock there is a little slice of heaven waiting for you.

If you read the reviews on Citysearch, you'd think that Italy's boot punted a few pizzas our way here in sunny SoCal. I've been to Italy, and I think American pizza is much heavier than the light etherial crusts with minimal toppings that they do in Italia. But we also eat pasta as our main entree, so I accept that there is room for interpretation.

Now here's where the funny part of this review comes in. I didn't set foot in Casa Bianca. We had planned to, for months now, but we were always too busy, and time marched on, and now my friend Kat is leaving town (we'll miss you!!) and she was the inspiration for the pilgrimage to Casa Bianca, seeing as she lived in Glendale as of yesterday. So last night, a friend and I went over the Kat's place to help her pack and to taste the fabled pizza from the East. Kat ordered one of their specials and went to pick it up and paid for it. She's a trooper. I'll admit, when she told me she'd ordered eggplant and artichoke pizza, I was a little skeptical. But hey, if it's called a special, it must be at least good, right? Boy was it. They put breaded and fried eggplant on their lovely, toasty, thin crust pizza, and then piled artichoke hearts on top. It was so delicious, I gluttonously devoured three pieces. The sauce was tomatoey, rich, and well-spiced, with the right balance of sweet and savory. There was plenty of cheese, but it wasn't dripping off the pizza, which is my big pet peeve. I don't want tons of cheese, I want the right balance. And they achieved it. All in all, Casa Bianca lived up to the hype. That said, there was one drawback: the wait. Kat called at 6:30pm to ask about ordering a pizza for pick-up and was told it would take at least an hour. Since we hadn't arrived yet, she took the liberty of ordering, which was a wise choice. At 7:45pm they called to tell her it was ready. For pick-up. Not delivery. So patience is a virtue at Casa Bianca, and all the reviews will back me up on that. But in my experience, it's worth the wait.

Casa Bianca Pizza Pie
1650 Colorado Blvd
Los Angeles, CA 90041
(323) 256-9617

Pizza of note on the West Side:
Victor Jr.'s - Near Sony in Culver City. Thin crust and lovin it. Not open on Sat and Sun. *Sob.*
Dagwood's - A huge slice with well-spiced, tomatoey sauce.
Mulberry Street Pizzeria - New York style to the core. Owned by Raging Bull's Cathy Moriarty, a classy Italian chica.

Nook: a sheltered and secluded place

2005-05-26T13:39:00.000-07:00

The neighborhood restaurant. Oh how I crave the homey, comfortable, neighborhood restaurants that I remember as a kid. Formico's Pizzeria. Country Gourmet. The Cheese House. God those places were good. I know the Cheese House is still there, I wonder if the other two are....

What made The Cheese House so special was the maze-like, floor-to-ceiling library of gourmet sauces, oils, vinegars, chocolates, and other treats. It was there that I first had a Haribo Gummi Bear. And where I discovered the carnivorous pleasure of a tri-level sandwich piled high with meat, cheese, lettuce, tomato, and special sauce. Screw McDonalds, this sauce is more special. It sounds so simple, and it was, but simple executed perfectly is divine. My mouth is watering just thinking about it. Which is what I've been looking for. A mouth-watering restaurant that's in my neighborhood. Convenient and affordable, delicious and walkable. Is it too much to ask?

Happily the answer is no! Hidden, truly, in the corner of a mini mall on the corner of Santa Monica Blvd and Barry is a little gem called Nook. You will almost miss it. Part of me hopes you do so that it stays unpacked, but I know that spells doom for a restaurant, so come one, come all, and eat at Nook.

Brought to us by the same folks who run the cafe at Bergamot Station, that amazing art gallery warehouse in Santa Monica with the fabulous name, Nook is a neighborhood bistro with delicious food, unpretentious decor, and incredibly friendly staff. I've been a few times, and each time I've enjoyed it thoroughly, and each time it's gotten better. At the beginning, I could sense hints of newness and apprehension. It felt like the place had just opened, but they were doing well despite the occasional misstep or pause. The waiters made up for it, with quick refills and enthusiastic recommendations on the menu, without that fake, "everything here is good!" baloney. I had the catfish burrito on my first and second trips there, a yummy combination of blackened or grilled fish with napa slaw, oven roasted tomatoes, and meyer lemon aioli coupled with shoestring fries. Oh that's good.

And then something magical happened. On my third trip to Nook everything gelled. The menu expanded, the kitchen blossomed, and the waitstaff knew it. From the second we were seated we had a fabulous dining experience. None of us could decide what to get, which is always a good sign, and everything we ordered tasted divine. I had the caesar salad with whole grain mustard dressing and fried capers, a nice change from anchovies, and a side order of Mac and Cheese. I still have a secret place in my heart for the bright orange stuff, but real Mac and Cheese, such that this was, puts Kraft to shame shame shame. My dining compatriots enjoyed a Maple Glazed Steak with sauteed apples and onion rings, Chicken Paillard, Roasted Green Lip Mussels, and Shitake Mushroom Bread Pudding. As we ordered, the waitress looked like we were listing all the greatest hits from her favorite band. And perhaps we were.

Oh, those onion rings were so good. (The steak is underneath. It was a huge pile of crispy onions.) After this plentiful bounty of food, we didn't have room for dessert. It was embarrassing, really. We should have left room. But it was all so delicious, how were we to know we would fill up so completely? Next time I go, I will be sure to save that secret dessert pocket in my stomach.

Nook
Hidden in the corner of
11628 Santa Monica Blvd #9
Los Angeles, CA 90025
310.207.5160

Open from
11:30 AM to 3 PM and 5 PM to 10 PM Monday through Friday
5 PM to 10 PM Saturday

I'm back. Won't you come back too?

2005-05-26T13:15:00.000-07:00

Okay, I know that I've been remiss in posting to my blog. It's been such a whirlwind of activity here for the past two weeks, my only excuse is that I've been busy. Which is a silly excuse, really. I started this blog because I like to write, so goshdarnit, I'm gonna write, busy or not.

I don't feel bad for not posting over the past few days however, because I seem to have gone and caught myself a sinus infection. My doctor just called in a prescription for antibiotics to the pharmacy, so hopefully that'll kick this thing's butt so I can start tasting my food again. Yes, you heard me. I lost my sense of taste for the past four days. Yesterday, I began planning my funeral because of it. But today is a new day. And I am optimistic that my tastebuds will once again sing with joy at the presence of food.

I am quite sure that I owe my recent return to health to my new friend R and his unbelievable artistry.

This vampirical man is commanding me to feel better. Amazing, the power of hypnotism.

Okay, I am heading to the pharmacy to fetch my antibiotics. I hope those evil little pills help to dispell the pain in my head and ears. Oy. Before I go I'm going to write about Nook, this great little place in the hood. Stay tuned....

The (one and only) French Chef

2005-05-23T13:46:00.000-07:00

As you probably know, they just released the DVD of Julia Child's incomparable cooking show, The French Chef. Since the show premiered in 1962, I never saw her original program, I only saw the spoof by Dan Ackroyd on Saturday Night Live, and watched with rapt attention her Baking with Julia program on PBS. So I was thrilled when Netflix delivered the first DVD of six episodes to my doorstep yesterday.

You probably know Julia Child's name, and that she's one of America's most beloved chefs, but you might not know why she became such a household name. Well, after watching just the first episode of her show, "The Potato Show," I can venture a guess. She is hilarious, down-to-earth, and imperfect. She spills, she jokes, she studders and pauses, and she makes you feel like you could do everything she's doing in the kitchen and even fix the inevitable mistakes you'll make when experimenting with a new recipe. Cooking shows now are all about perfection. The chefs say things like, "You'll never believe how easy this is" and then turn around and make an ice sculpture of David. They have to convince you that you could cook like they do, when Julia did it simply by being who she was. When picking chefs for my team, I'd choose Julia any day.

Now, I'm not saying that I would want to cook most of the recipes she presents for her audience. Food tastes have changed drastically since the 60's, and the amount of cream and butter she used in her potato show alone is enough to feed Paris for a week. But watching her is inspiring and fun, and it makes me fall in love with cooking all over again, which is the point, in my mind anyway.

I want nothing more than to cook something delicious for myself right now, but I have a fever and a sore throat in 85 degree weather. Ugh. So I think I'll turn back to my Julia DVDs and let her do a little cooking for me. I hope you are all well. I will post again soon. I have much to discuss, including Nook and Lemon Moon. See side panel. Yum!

I'm Chiquita Banana and I'm here to say, I think you should make banana bread today.

2005-05-19T10:45:00.000-07:00

Interesting factoids about bananas:

Bananas are the world's most popular fruit.
They are documented as being eaten as early as 6 B.C.E.
When bananas were first discovered, they were as small as a man's finger. Hence the name Banana, from the Arabic word banan, for finger.
The banana plant is not a tree. It is the world's largest herb.

I love bananas. In addition to being delicious and nutritious, they are also convenient and portable. They do not, however, make a good car snack if you drive stick. Believe me, I have tried. They are delicious in a variety of desserts, my favorites being fried bananas, banana fritters, banana splits, and the ever popular banana bread. While banana bread isn't liked by everyone, those who do are usually passionate about this sweet treat. Last night I baked a loaf of banana bread for a friend who claims not to have a sweet tooth, but is definitely a huge fan of banana bread. The smell of the bread baking is enough to make you a few new friends. It's warm and sweet and nutty and homey. Yum. After devouring two huge pieces of the bread still warm from the oven, this is what it looked like.

The reason I love this recipe is because it's incredibly easy and doesn't use any oil, nor does it require any kind of expensive kitchen equipment, such as a Kitchen Aid. Instead it contains yogurt and butter, and you can mix it all up in a few bowls. Since I was making this at my friend's house, it turned out a little differently than normal because I don't know his oven. But it was still great. If you like nuts, which I do, I recommend using toasted pecans in this recipe. You can also use walnuts if you prefer.

Ingredients:

2 cups all-purpose flour
1/2 cup sugar
3/4 teaspoon baking soda
1/2 teaspoon salt
1 cup toasted walnuts or pecans, chopped
3 ripe, soft, darkly speckled large bananas, mashed well (about 1 1/2 cups)
1/4 cup plain yogurt (you can also use vanilla yogurt)
2 large eggs, beaten lightly
6 tablespoons butter, melted then cooled
1 teaspoon vanilla extract

Preparation:

Adjust oven rack to lower middle position and preheat oven to 350 degrees.
Grease bottom only of regular loaf pan, or grease and flour bottom and sides of nonstick 9-by-5-by-3-inch loaf pan.
Combine dry ingredients together in large bowl and set aside.
Mix mashed bananas, yogurt, eggs, butter, and vanilla with wooden spoon in medium bowl.
Lightly fold banana mixture into dry ingredients with rubber spatula until just combined and batter looks thick and chunky.
Pour batter into prepared loaf pan; bake until loaf is golden brown and toothpick inserted in center comes out clean, about 55 minutes.
Cool in pan for 5 minutes, then transfer to wire rack.
Wrap tightly with plastic wrap and store in refrigerator for 4 days, on the counter for 2 days.

Recipe taken from The Best Recipe, from the editors of Cook's Illustrated a fun and informative cooking magazine where they experiment to find what they think to be the best recipe for many different kinds of dishes. I highly recommend the cookbook and magazine, not as the final word on recipes, but for excellent, thorough, well-thoughtout, logical, obsessively-tested, and fully-explained recipes. I have learned a lot from reading this book. I have also had great success with everything I've tried, particularly their pie crust.

Pour Some Sugar On Me: My Rant on the Low-Carb Revolution

2005-05-18T11:33:00.000-07:00

There are some things you should know about dieting. First of all, diet means a prescribed selection of foods. It also means the usual food and drink consumed by an organism (person or animal). In Japan, it’s a legislative assembly, but that’s not the popular meaning, at least not in America. The definition includes the synonyms: starvation, regime, and abstinence. Given how our current government, or regime, reveres abstinence, and how I personally feel about starvation, I am inclined to stick to the antonyms of binge and overindulgence.

If you Google diet, the top Sponsored Links are The South Beach Diet, Ediets, and Weight Watchers, the last of which is the only one to garner long-term praise from nutritionists. If you believe that the high-protein, low-carb diet touted by South Beach and Atkins is new, it’s not. Most diets aren’t new, they are trends. William Banting, an undertaker, began his popular low-carb diet in 1863. By the time of his death in 1878, he’d sold more than 60,000 copies of his Letter on Corpulence. You can find a more complete version of Banting’s diet history, at www.lowcarbdietguide.com, or on the slew of other pro low-carb diet websites out there. Just Google William Banting.

When it comes to nutrition, there are some basic building blocks that every body needs to be fit and maintain a moderate level of activity throughout the day. One of the key building blocks is the carbohydrate. Carb is the pejorative. Carbohydrates are our storage lockers of chemical energy. This is why it scares me to think about how prevalent low- or no-carb diets are these days. In the low-carb world, the most “evil” of the carbohydrates is the simple carb, otherwise known as sugar. According to Harold McGee’s brilliant book, On Food and Cooking: The Science and Lore of the Kitchen, “There are many different kinds of sugar molecules, each distinguished by the number of carbon atoms it contains, and then by the particular arrangement it assumes. Five-carbon sugars are especially important to all life because two of them, ribose and deoxyribose, form the backbones of ribonucleic acid (RNA) and deoxyribonucleic acid (DNA), the carriers of genetic code. And the 6-carbon sugar glucose is the molecule from which most living things obtain the energy to run the biomechanical machinery of their cells.” Now, I am in no way suggesting that we should have a diet consisting solely, or even primarily, of simple carbohydrates, or sugar, but I am advocating them as a delicious part of our well-balanced diets, as they play a crucial role in our survival as a species. When we eat high-protein meals and concentrate on complex carbohydrates instead of their simpleton brothers, we are simply making our bodies work harder to break the food down into the simple carbohydrates we use as energy. I understand the why, all I’m saying is a warm French baguette is damn delicious and I’m going to eat it with butter proudly and NOT feel guilty about giving my body a little easy energy. I’ll even make yummy noises while eating it if you talk smack about it to me.

As I am writing this, a commercial for ediets.com just came on the TV. Yes, I’m watching Ellen on daytime television, but seriously. The TV audience for Ellen is largely women, no pun intended. Should I be insulted? This commercial is the symptom of a bigger problem. We, as a country, are completely obsessed with our weight. I am guilty of it, too. Living in LA, I see women every day who seem to have perfected the art of deprivation, all to achieve our unattainable body ideal. Every magazine, every commercial, every TV show, everywhere I go I am faced with this constant barrage of ridiculously thin women coupled with weight loss soliciations. Last year, I stood in line behind a malnourished, balding woman at the grocery store. She was buying, I kid you not, ten tubs of nonfat cottage cheese and eight boxes of chocolate-flavored Ex-Lax. That’s it. I can only assume that she was trying to turn her digestive tract into a nutrition-proof Slip’n’Slide. If the black bags under her eyes and premature hair loss is any indication, this clearly isn’t the answer, no more than eliminating simple carbohydrates is either. So where’s the middle ground? What happened to the realists? Why are we all so obsessed with closing down our body’s access to good food when all we have to do is open our minds?

I vote to let a little sanity back into our lives. Accept your thighs. Celebrate your stomach. Shake your booty. Or at least try. And please eat from all the food groups. Please? Because there’s too much good food out there to be enjoyed, and it’s such a shame to think that we’re skipping so much of the good stuff, all so we can fit into an overpriced pair of jeans that no one will ever notice because they’re too busy worrying about what they look like to care. Ask yourself this: Do you remember the meals that you did eat, or the meals that you didn’t? Which would you rather remember?

31 Flavors, And Then Some

2005-05-16T08:49:00.000-07:00

On this day, 31 years ago, 32 actually, if you go by actual time spent on the planet, I was born. What? You're telling me you didn't know? Fuggeddaboudit. We cool.

I like birthdays. They are silly excuses to get free stuff. Go to a restaurant, get a free dessert. And probably an embarassing serenade of Happy Birthday from the waitstaff. But hey, that was free too. People smile a lot on your birthday. They get really excited for you, even if they've just met you. Like you're doing something special, you've summited some invisible mini-mountain, when all you're doing is living through another day. That's cool though. I like to celebrate small achievements. Because if you combine all the small achievements, you get the big ones.

All I've done today is wake up. Actually, I received a birthday phone call from Suzie (thanks!) and now I'm writing. But as they say in my lovely home state, it's all good. My grand plans for the day are to go to the gym, do a little shopping, watch the fog burn off as it's promised to do, get a scoop of Baskin Robbins ice cream (31 flavors, baby), and hang out with some friends at one of my favorite bars in the city. All in all, it looks to be a great day.

Anyway, I'm off to enjoy life, fog and all. I plan to try the recipe for pickled carrots (sounds weird but they're sooo good) that I love from Gilbert's El Indio tomorrow. I'll post the recipe as soon as I sort it out. They only gave me the ingredients, not the quantities. So if anyone knows of the Spanish recipe for pickled carrots, possibly known as escaveche (which is usually for marinating fish or chicken), please let me know.

The Best Diet Ever

2005-05-13T16:03:00.000-07:00

It's called the new Laughing My Ass Off Diet. And it is sponsored by threadbared.com. Let us pause for a moment and celebrate the power of laughter. Thanks to some women from Georgia, we get a running commentary on the lovely knitting, sewing, and craft patterns of yore. Here is one of my favorites.

“You’re shitting me! I’m going to be on the cover of Doll Crafter magazine!?!
Tell me you’re not shitting me!! You have got to be shitting me!”

Now, I know that this is not about food. I am actually writing a post about dieting as we speak, but this is much funnier than anything I've seen in a while, and it deserves to be seen. So go to http://threadbared.com and laugh a few pounds off.

Spoon

2005-05-12T09:55:00.000-07:00

I wish I was referring to the utensil, but I am referring to the band in this case. A dubious connection to food, I know, but bear with me, the story is fun. Note: If I was referring to a utensil, I would probably discuss the spork, the hot lunch all-in-one spoon-fork.

Last night I went to see Spoon perform at Amoeba Music in Hollywood. My reasons were twofold. First, I like Spoon. They just released a new album, and I was curious to hear if it was good. Plus, a free concert is a free concert. Second, I will take just about any excuse to go to Amoeba. If I hit Joan's on Third and Amoeba in one day, I get what's known as wallet hemophilia. The money just won't stop flowing out into the giant coffers of Amoeba and Joan's. Or medium sized coffers, probably.

Having never been to a concert at Amoeba before, I wasn't sure what to expect. Due to traffic, I was quite a bit later than I planned, and was thus relegated to the C section of used music, instead of J, as I planned to meet a friend there. No matter, he was late too and couldn't get past the jaded bad punk rock row bouncers. Our bouncer was named Nelson. He had bright blue hair, and was wearing a black long-sleeve concert tee, black tight pants, and boasted a large pot belly that I can only assume was formed by the famous PBR + french fry combination he learned in college. Nelson didn't like Spoon, and was rather vocal about his distaste for their music. I felt that he was unusually bitter about working that night, and it made him look like angry Grover. This amused me until the show started.

The show was okay. I suppose that's what you get seeing a concert in a record store, but hey, free show. Afterwards, I met my friend, who was chatting with Jon Brion, thereby cancelling out Nelson's opposition to the show, as Jon is a very talented musician and can validate better than angry Grover can. We decided to head down the street for a drink at The Cat and Fiddle. The Cat is a very cool pub in Hollywood. Its main attraction is the gorgeous patio out front where you can eat, drink, and smoke yourself into a proper haze. Due to a work snafu, we could only stay for one drink before my friend had to head back to work for a half hour, and then he'd return so we could have some dinner and relax. While he worked, I shopped at Amoeba. I did well in the used section, so I only spent $__.__.

For our second trip to The Cat, we sat outside. On a warm evening in LA, there is almost nothing better than a beverage and a plate of fish and chips under the smog covered stars. It was just such an evening, which brought the stars out to play. The human ones, that is. When we first walked in, I had one of those, I-know-that-guy-but-can't-place-him experiences. I still can't tell you who he was, but I know he's an actor of moderate acclaim, because his mug is in my mental rolodex. Then, just as we sat down, Sandra Oh walked in with a man of undetermined fame, i.e. no one I knew. I like Sandra Oh. She was hilarious in Sideways, and I like her brusk character on Grey's Anatomy. She had bright blonde streaks in her long hair, which I assume means they've finished shooting the first season of Grey's.

My friend and I enjoyed our beers and food, and chatted under the warmth of the night, accentuated by the heatlamp next to us, which was good for me as I am a girl and we have terrible built-in heat regulators. The diners came and went from the table next to us, until Morrissey and his posse sat down. Morrissey is certainly a rock star, and a proper rock star in Hollywood gets attention. Especially a rock icon. A ripple effect went through the crowd as everyone recognized him, and then everyone from the hipsters to the busboy filed by to say hello. My favorite was the woman wearing a Morrissey t-shirt. She couldn't have planned it better. I think I am glad that I am not a rock star. I prefer to eat my food in peace. But he handled it with aplomb, and the traditional English humility that befits a British rocker. On our way out, my friend told him that he thought he had a very nice voice. I left them alone to talk, because I just can't talk to famous people while they're doing something else. If they're sitting by the side of the road and I am walking by, I might be able to say hello. But I'd probably just keep walking.

So my friend and I said goodbye outside the bar, and both headed home. I retrieved my Amoeba bounty from the trunk of my car, and selected a moody CD by A Girl Called Eddy to listen to on the drive home. It doesn't happen all the time, but it certainly wasn't unusual. It was just another night in Hollywood.

The Cat and Fiddle Restaurant and Pub
6530 Sunset Blvd.
Hollywood, CA 90028
323.468.3800
www.thecatandfiddle.com

Amoeba Music
6400 Sunset Blvd.
Hollywood, CA 90028
323-245-6400
www.amoebamusic.com

He's Super Freaky. In A Good Way.

2005-05-10T13:25:00.000-07:00

Thanks to Steve Almond, I shrieked like a little girl when I saw a Valomilk for sale at Joan’s on Third. Joan’s is a beautiful gourmet shop full of glorious cheeses, homemade sandwiches, delectable salads, towers of mouth-watering cupcakes, imported chocolates, and other various and sundry treats. I hemorrhage money when I go to Joan’s. It is criminally good. On this particular day, I was enjoying lunch with my friends K and L, and K was the only one who witnessed my somewhat understated reaction to seeing a Valomilk in the chocolate vanilla flesh for the first time. It was like a little chocolate celebrity willing to go home with me. Mine, all mine.

You see, a few moons ago I was handed a book by my friend M and told that I must read it immediately if I knew what was good for me. The book was titled, Candy Freak: A Journey Through the Chocolate Underbelly of America, by Steve Almond. Needless to say, I didn’t require one iota of convincing. I was in. From page one I was amused. He begins his book, “Some things you should know about the author. 1. The author has eaten a piece of candy every single day of his entire life. I want you to look at this sentence and think about it briefly and, if you’re so inclined, perhaps say a little prayer on behalf of my molars.” I love chocolate. I enjoy candy. But never in my life have I met (on the page) someone so completely obsessed with it. And I love obsessions about food. I welcome these people into the fold, because it is they, and only they, who will understand if I wax poetic about a particular dessert or chocolate bar or cheese, ad nauseum. Healthy obsessions are good. His is probably the only unhealthy obsession that isn’t illegal. I just said a little prayer for Steve’s molars.

Candy Freak is the real life story of a man who traveled far and wide to meet some of the classic candy makers in our great country. From Valomilks in Kansas (created by happy accident), to Idaho Spuds in, you guessed it, Idaho, where they make candy that looks suspiciously like the tuber that the state is famous for. I loved this book. Not just because Steve Almond grew up in Palo Alto, my hometown, and not just because it’s about candy, mostly of the chocolate variety. I loved this book because it’s hilarious, delightful, smart, and sassy, with more than a few well-placed rants. Any man who understands my deep hatred of white chocolate is good in my book. If he also makes me feel downright tame in my love for chocolate, he deserves a prize. Thanks to Steve I got a little trip down candy memory lane, with multiple detours into his twisted candy mind. Candy Freak is coming out in paperback soon. He also has a new collection of short stories entitled The Evil B.B. Chow and other stories. I think it’s semi-pornographic writing that may or may not include candy. Have you ever heard a better endorsement? Me thinks not. Buy Candy Freak, if you know what’s good for you.

Go to www.stevenalmond.com and be amused, be very amused.

Joan's on Third
8350 West Third Street
Los Angeles, CA 90048
323-655-2285
www.joansonthird.com

Breakfast at Suzie's

2005-05-09T12:52:00.000-07:00

I love breakfast. As teenager, I thought it was gross. Toast, cereal, eggs—I wanted none of it. But I also thought I was fat, Michael Jackson was cool, and frozen yogurt was a nutritious lunch. Oh how far I've come since the 80's. Now that I understand the allure of a good breakfast, I celebrate it in all its different forms, from a simple bowl of cereal, to an elaborate brunch buffet, to the delicious Dim Sum adventure.

Every time someone comes to visit, Suzie makes granola. On my recent trip to NY, she made a delectable batch of crunchy granola, even using pecans, my favorite nut. The beauty of granola is that you can alter the recipe and adapt it to almost any preference. It's the best kind of recipe, because you basically just chuck a bunch of ingredients in a bowl, mix, and bake. The end result is a nutty, crunchy, toasty mixture that's so much better than the stuff you buy in the store. Suzie mixes hers with fruit and yogurt. I think that's still my favorite way to eat granola, but it's great with milk, sprinkled over ice cream, eaten plain, or any other way you can think of to enjoy it. The following is a picture of the granola I enjoyed at Suzie's. I'm also including a recipe. I encourage you to change it to suit your own taste. Just remember, if you want to add fruit, fresh or dried, add it afterwards, when the granola is done baking and has cooled.

Granola:

3 Cups rolled oats, such as Quaker (Don't use Quick Oats)
1.5 Cups roughly chopped raw pecans
75ml Oil (You can use canola or any other flavorless oil. 75ml = approx. 1/3 cup)
75ml Maple syrup

Preheat oven to 250 degrees. Mix oats and pecans in a large bowl. Whisk oil and syrup together and add to the oat/pecan mixture.

Line a baking sheet with parchment paper and spread the mixture out on the lined tray in one layer.

Bake for about 1.5 hours. Check every 10 min. or so, turning the granola with a spatula to brown it on all sides. When it's browned and crunchy, it's done. Rely more on your opinion of done than the baking time recommended.

Completely Homemade

2005-05-05T20:26:00.000-07:00

I get a real kick out of making a meal completely from scratch. If I could grow the grain, mill the flour, lay the eggs, and dowse the water, I might even do that too. But instead I settle for buying all the ingredients at my local market. It still counts in my book.

The first day I arrived in New York was my friend's birthday. To celebrate, we had a fabulous dinner at Moto, on the outskirts of the hipster haven of Williamsburg, Brooklyn. Williamsburg is 1 part cool, 16 parts attitude. In Williamsburg, legwarmers are in. It makes me want to pull the cord and let the water splash all over their fashionable garb, a la Flashdance. Instead, I wore my coolest Adidas track top and most expensive jeans and tried my best to blend in. I think that makes me a poser. Whatever. But Moto is mostly safe from the hipness, and resides in its own little bubble of cool. It was like Paris or San Francisco before the .com era. Quaint, charming, and cozy. Our meal was good, the desserts better, and the conversation was the highlight. At the end of our meal, my friend received a pasta maker from her sweet friends T and A for her birthday. Her voice goes very high when she's excited or honored by a gift, and at this point, we would have required translation from a dog to understand what she was saying. Needless to say, she was thrilled. And we immediately made plans to make homemade pasta during my stay.

Homemade pasta is one of those things that seems hard, but is really very easy. The most basic recipe requires eggs and flour. That's it. And a pasta maker. You can either hire a cute little Italian lady from the old world, or buy a metal contraption from Williams Sonoma. They run about $50 for the metal kind. The grandmother version is priceless.

So on Saturday afternoon, we set about making ourselves some pasta. I hadn't made pasta since I was a kid cooking with my mom. But I've watched a lot of cooking shows, so I figured it would be easy. All you do is make a pile of "00" flour (about two cups of the finest milled semolina flour), push the pile down in the middle to make a moat for the liquid, and pour two eggs, beaten, into the center. Using a circular motion, you swirl the eggs taking in a little bit of flour each time until you've incorporated enough flour to make a sticky paste. Continue combining flour until you have a dough, and begin to knead the dough. Knead it with the heel of your hand, pushing down and forward on the dough, folding it in half, and kneading it again. The dough is ready when it is firm to the touch and not sticky. Then you feed it through the pasta maker, starting with the widest setting, graduating to the thinnest setting. The final pass goes through the pasta cutter, and then you've got pasta. When the noodles come out the machine, coat them in flour. Don't be shy with the flour, it won't hurt the dough, in fact it will keep the noodles separated until cooking.

Things to keep in mind:

When feeding the dough through the machine, it's easiest if you cut the dough into batches instead of feeding the whole lump through at once.
Don't worry if you don't use all the flour. Add only as much as the eggs will take. Trust your instincts. If you feel like you don't have instincts, trust the dough.
Don't be afraid to make a mess.
Don't worry if the dough looks weird or lumpy on its first pass through the pasta machine. That's normal. At least for me. And it will smooth out as it is passed through again and again.

Our resulting pasta is below.

You could leave the pasta in a pile like this and let it dry to be cooked later, but we were dining that night, so we didn't need to do that. I prepared a sauce of fresh peas, mint, lemon, and butter. It was delicious, if I do say so myself. We also roasted some tomatoes to go along with the dish.

Voila.

Note our gourmet floor picnic tablecloth. The New York Times is quite handy.

Please make fresh pasta at least once in your life. It is incredibly satisfying. That said, you can make this sauce for dried pasta, or store bought fresh pasta, which is very good too.

Sauce of Fresh Peas, Mint, and Lemon:

2 lbs fresh English peas, shelled
1 or 2 handfuls of mint, chopped gently
1 lemon, zested and juiced, reserve both
5 Tb butter
1 Tb olive oil
Grated parmesan

Boil water in a saucepan big enough to hold all the peas. Blanche the peas, cooking them in the boiling water until they float to the top. Drain them, and shock them in ice water. Drain them again and set aside.

Bring a large pot of salted water to boil, wait until the sauce is almost done to add the pasta.

Put oil and 3 Tb of butter in a large pan. You'll want a big one because you'll be putting the cooked pasta in when the sauce is done. When the butter is melted, add the peas and saute them until they are warm. Add the mint, to taste. Add 1 tsp of lemon zest, or more, to taste, and 2 tsp of lemon juice. (Start the pasta, see below.) Finish with 2 Tb of butter. When it's melted, the sauce is ready to add the cooked pasta.

Add the pasta to the pot of boiling salted water, cook for only a few minutes, tasting often, until the pasta is al dente. Drain. Add the cooked pasta to the sauce, stir to combine. Serve. Sprinkle parmesan cheese over the finished dish. Enjoy. Our batch of fresh pasta and sauce served three. It was very light, but the portions were plenty generous.

Roasted Tomatoes:

1 tub fresh cherry tomatoes (My test to see if they're good is to smell them through the plastic tub. If they smell like tomatoes, they'll probably taste like them.)
Salt and Pepper, to taste

Cut the tomatoes in half, lengthwise, and arrange them on a baking pan in one layer. Sprinkle salt and ground pepper over the tomatoes. Roast in a 250 degree oven until they release their lovely fragrance. About 20-25 minutes. Wait before tasting, or you will have one sorry burned tongue.

You can roast some garlic cloves alongside the tomatoes and spread it on toasted sourdough or a bread of your choice to accompany the pasta. Yum.

There's Always Room For Chocolate

2005-05-04T15:33:00.000-07:00

Lately, I've heard more than one person tell me that they just don't like chocolate. I think they're mad—in the British sense of the word. Plum loco crazy. And because of their affliction, I feel most sorry for them. Chocolate is the food of the gods. The Mayans are believed to have made drinks from it as early as 900 B.C. The Aztecs followed shortly thereafter. A few thousand years later, modern chocolatiers are perfecting the art of the chocolate confection throughout the world, and some of the best artisans reside in New York.

Happily, the friend I visited on my recent trip to The City is also a chocolate lover. Together, we have visited Vosges, MarieBelle, Jacques Torres, Jacques Torres Haven, and many of the other small chocolateries around New York. Looking at chocolate is pure bliss. Eating it, divine. When my friend told me that a new chocolate dessert shop had opened up near her apartment in Brooklyn, we were both dying to try it, and one night we did.

We wandered into The Chocolate Room around 9:30 p.m. on Sunday night. One of the beautiful features of New York is that it is built around late nights, early mornings, and everything in between. It seems like nothing closes there, except the museums, which are always closed when I want to go. So the fact that this little slice of chocolate heaven was still open felt like kismet.

The Chocolate Room is a small establishment with a glass counter up front selling gorgeous and delectable truffles and treats, and a soda fountain-style counter at the back where the pastry chefs hide and Willy Wonka their way into our hearts and minds. Since we were coming from dinner, and were stuffed to the gills, we only had room for a few truffles each. Initially, we thought we'd share. But upon further investigation, we decided it was wise to each get our own, as our tastes are different and, well, sharing is for children whose parents force them to.

It was next to impossible to choose from the wide selection of different tastes and flavor combinations, but we managed. My selection is on the top, in all its dark chocolate glory. My friend's selection is on the bottom. She is the more egalitarian of the two of us; an equal opportunity enjoyer, if you will.

Of the three that I chose, my favorite was Donna. The truffle genius names his truffles after women friends. I wonder if he's married, because I am available, and I promise not to get jealous. Donna is a sexy vixen, with a daring blackcurrent ganache inside. If I were a truffle, I would contain a blackcurrent ganache as well. Or perhaps apricot. But we'll get to that in a second. The tall tower was amazing, hiding a red chili and tangerine ganache. Her name is Patricia. She's a spicy little number. Kelly, the triangular truffle, was filled with a strawberry, lemon, and thyme ganache. Kelly was my least favorite, but I would still see her again.

Charming and comfortable, with a relaxed and knowledgeable waitstaff, The Chocolate Room is what I imagine when I think of opening my own dessert shop some day. I would change it a bit to reflect my own personality, but overall it was exactly what I hoped for. A respite from the noise of the city. A place where chocolate is king. And queen. And they rule together, benevolently.

As we were leaving, and I paid the tab, I noticed some bistro bars sitting next to the truffles in the glass counter. I swear they saw me first. Chatting with the proprietress, I asked after the bars, inquiring which of the apricot caramel or grapefruit caramel filled dark chocolate bars was better. "Oooo, that's tough," she pondered. "Hmmmmm...." It was as if she was mentally tasting them again in her mind. "I can't decide," she said. "You should get both," our waiter replied. "You won't regret it." Well, I never regret a chocolate purchase, so I put the dilemma to rest and got one of each.

The apricot bar made it all the way back to LA with me, but the grapefruit bar found a home on my friend's pillow, as a tiny token of thanks for hosting me over the long weekend. Last night, as I slumped onto the couch after arriving home, I tasted the apricot bar to reward myself after my long trip. It is chocolate perfection. An amazing combination of sweet, apricot goodness infused with a hint of caramel. Not too much, which is good, because I don't like caramel very much, and I was hoping for the tart taste of fruit to contrast with the smooth dark chocolate. It's jammy and thick, with just the right amount of ooze. One square is good, two exquisite, and the third square's the charm. I am hooked. I recommend rushing out and buying some right now.

The Chocolate Room
86 Fifth Avenue, Brooklyn, NY 11217
718.783.2900
www.thechocolateroombrooklyn.com

Chocolat Moderne
Order online, or visit a retailer in your state.

Feed Me, Suitcase. Feed Me All Night Long.

2005-05-04T10:22:00.000-07:00

I'm back! After a delightfully long weekend in the most international city I have ever been to, I have returned to overcast(???) LA and my lovely computer. Oh my gawd I missed my computer. And my Internet connection. And Veronica Mars. But it's all better now, my world is right-side up and I am home.

I have so much to write. I think I'm going to have to do it in installments so I can cover it all. But I will start with the plane ride home, because it is still fresh in my mind.

As I made my way to what felt like the very last gate of the very last terminal at JFK, I was sad. I didn't want to leave the bustling city of food and culture that I didn't realize I'd become accustomed to in just six days. Now that I'm home, I'm wondering what that silly chirping is outside my apartment. And the lone car driving by not honking its horn is beginning to worry me. Am I in heaven? But I digress. Arriving at the gate, I plopped down wearily on the bright green leather seats against the wall in the bizarrely modern terminal. There were many comatose passengers draped over the other flourescent seats, most of them reading or listening to their iPods to pass the time until we could board. Then a couple pulled in and settled next to me on the bench seating. The woman lifted a heavy suitcase onto the couch and opened it to reveal a bevy of delights. Her suitcase was filled, entirely and completely, with bounty from Zabar's. I think I waited twelve seconds before commenting.

"Is that filled with food?" I questioned.
"It's all from Zabar's!" She exclaimed. "Have you been? Would you like some?"
"Oh, no thanks. I'm impressed, though. A whole suitcase. I love Zabar's."
"I know. I'm not sure what happened to all the clothes. I think they're dirty."

I laughed. And thus began our conversation. For thirty minutes we talked about food. Food in New York. Food in LA. Food in San Francisco. They had never been to San Francisco! I told them it was a pilgrimage any respectable foodie must make. I instructed them to change their travel plans for SF, deplane, and head directly for the Ferry Plaza Farmer's Market, perhaps stopping to pick up their checked luggage if it meant enough to them. Seeing as they had a suitcase full of Zabar's, perhaps they could just dump the rest of the clothes at a shelter and bring the empty food-transportation vessel instead. They wanted more. As it turned out, they would be heading to San Francisco in a few short months, and they wanted food recommendations. We oohed and ahhed about the best places to visit during their short 3-day stay, and we settled on Gary Danko, Slanted Door, and Delfina for dinner. Breakfast at Miss Millie's and Tartine, lunch at Pizzetta 211, and dessert at Mitchell's for their deep dark Mexican Chocolate Ice Cream. That would give them a lovely overview of the city, I told them. And on their next trip, they could delve into the foodie underbelly, the little places, the secret spots that everyone talks about, but no one dares give away. Okay, that's me waxing poetic. These were top shelf folks. I don't think they'll be gracing the steps of any of the secret spots anytime soon. But I will, if I can help it.

Once we actually boarded the plane—they sat in First Class, I mooooved back to Economy—our conversation was over, but I was consumed by thoughts of food. Happily, I cracked open my book, The Man Who Ate Everything, by Jeffrey Steingarten, and dove into some of the best food writing I've ever read. I will write about Mr. Steingarten again, rest assured, but until then, if you are curious, go immediately to the bookstore and buy his books. The other one is titled, It Must Have Been Something I Ate, and I assure you that you will savor every morsel of his delightful prose. As I was enjoying his essay on Ice Cream, who should turn up but my First Class food friend. She wanted to get the names of the restaurants I'd mentioned so she could make sure to go when they were in SF. During the course of our previous conversation, I'd told her about my family's deli and bakery in LA. Being a native Angeleno, and from the Valley to boot, she said she'd dated one of my cousins years ago who had worked at the bakery. What a small world. She had confirmed my food pedigree with her mother, who assured her that my LA family, and by extension me, are well-bred foodies, and that my advice should be welcomed with open arms. So pen in hand she braved the cattle car to chat with me. I was flattered.

Thanks to a generous tail-wind, we sailed into LA forty minutes ahead of schedule. Outside the window, our sprawling blanket of a city glided by, looking much like an enormous Lite Brite toy I cherished as a kid. I go back and forth about LA. Sometimes it truly feels like home. Other times, it's the place I hang my hat. Tonight it was a relief to see the ground, and know that I would be asleep in my bed shortly. My bed. In my apartment. With my stuff. Having gotten a good night's sleep, I'm ready to venture forth. Next stop, ?

Gotham

2005-04-27T16:43:00.000-07:00

Oh yeah, I leave for NYC tomorrow for a long weekend of friends, food, and fun. I hope to post while I'm there, but please don't hate me if I don't get a chance. I plan to return with lots of photos and recipes and other goodies.

Thanks for reading, one and all!

I'd Like the Good Stuff, Please

2005-04-27T14:44:00.000-07:00

A few years ago I was up in Napa at Copia during a huge birthday celebration for Julia, what would become one of her last. All her friends were there, including some very famous chefs. There were panels of speakers throughout the day, cooking demonstrations, gorgeous gardens to walk through, and copious food to enjoy. One of the panels featured Jacques Pepin and Alice Waters, with three other chefs whose names I have sadly forgotten, but whose food I am sure I have enjoyed. Each of them told us a story about Julia, giving us a little window into the life of this legendary food maven.

I will never forget what Jacques said about Julia because it was so pure and sincere, and it summarized what made her so darn likeable. He told us that Julia loved food of all kinds. She would never have considered herself a food snob, and never would have wanted that term to be applied to her. As an example of how unsnobbish she was, he said that she had a fondness for McDonald's cheeseburgers. The audience laughed as he said it, but he insisted that it was true. Her reasoning, he said, was simple. She just likes good food. Now you can argue the merits of McDonald's, and I have yet to set foot in McDonald's after seeing Super Size Me, but that's not my point, nor was it hers. Good food is good food. Your determination of good is up to you, but I think that good encompasses more than just the top shelf food we pay through the nose for, willingingly, I might add, at the many fine establishments located throughout the world.

His words, or Julia's really, changed my perspective on food. Up until then I considered myself a foodie who dabbled in food snobbery, because that was "cool," especially in San Francisco, the city of gourmet food where a new food snob is born every day. It would bother me when people called me a food snob to my face, however, because I didn't feel like I was claiming that I was right, or better than anyone, or even that I knew what I was talking about. I only claimed to know what I liked, and it often involved what was regarded as the good stuff. But that day, I realized that I wanted to revise my outlook and my title, and stop posing as a food snob just to fit in.

So I hope to make this food blog an ode to good food of all kinds. From the food that feeds the soul to the food that earns stars. Because in my opinion, and in honor of one of food's greatest advocates, good food is good food. And that's why Tito's Tacos shares space with JiRaffe in my list of Good Grub in LA. Perhaps Raphael Lunetta would prefer not to have his food referred to as grub, but I don't mean it as an insult, rather a compliment. If it prompts me to adopt an English accent and intone in Oliver's best brogue, Please sir, I want some more!, then that's food worth talking about.

Mom Doesn't Want a New Blender!

2005-04-25T14:20:00.000-07:00

Thus read the headline of an email I received a few days ago. According to Kodak, Mom would much prefer a custom card, photo album, or the classic photo mug complete with hilarious pictures of her thoughtful kiddies. I’ve been on the receiving end of Mother’s Day advertising for the majority of my almost 31 years on the planet. And for the first 15 years, it was bearable. But for the past 16 years, it’s been painful. I can only turn a magazine page or mute the TV so quickly, and I usually catch a glimpse of the happy family reminding me of what I’m missing before I’m able to turn away. I know they’re not real, and most families have more than their share of problems, but for a moment I feel left out. And those moments add up over the years.

The number one song on the pop charts the month my Mom died was Wind Beneath My Wings, by Bette Midler. It would be really poetic if I could claim that she was the wind beneath my young wings, but the truth is, I didn’t like her very much. I had just turned 15, what did you expect? Don’t get me wrong, I loved my mother, but I was in the middle of my teenage years, too busy pushing her away to realize how much I would want her later on. The truth is, at the time, I had absolutely no idea what I would feel like years later. If you’d asked me then, I would have predicted that it would get easier as I got older. As the years passed, the pain would subside, eventually blending into the rest of the background noise of painful experiences that course like a pulse beneath every day thoughts. It’s what most people call baggage. But now, after 16 years of her not being here, I miss her more than ever. I guess it’s a good thing, it would feel awful not to miss her so acutely. I would drown in guilt everywhere I went, seeing mothers and families and not being affected by them. Occasionally I wish that I could take a break from it all. I wish that commercials with happy Moms watching their daughters get married didn’t make me cry. And having friends with incredibly close mother-daughter relationships didn’t make me pine for my own missed opportunity. But emotions aren’t something you can turn on and off, despite how much people who are scared of them wish we could.

Over the years I’ve developed a real talent for avoidance and emotional distance. I know exactly the moment to walk away or turn my head so I don’t have to see mother-daughter bonding unfolding in front of me. I can make a really good case for why I won’t see a particular movie about mother-daughter relationships. I can talk about my Mom to strangers and state random facts about her with pride. She grew up in the Bronx. She used to quilt. She was a fabulous cook, especially with desserts. And just when they ask me a follow up question about her, I tell them that she died when I was 15 and it was hard but I’m okay now. Then we change the subject. I don’t even mind the look of pity on their faces anymore. I know that I’m okay, and that’s what matters.

As I sit here writing this I am positively undone by how sad I am. Please don’t confuse that with depression. I am not depressed, I am profoundly sad. Your thirties are when you get to bond with your parents. It’s the age of friendship between the generations. It’s when you begin to realize that your parents aren’t that crazy after all. Or maybe it’s when their craziness surfaces in all its glory. Regardless of your relationship with them, it’s when the truth comes out. Their human side is revealed, and yours too. I think that’s why I’m feeling my Mom’s absence so acutely right now. I never knew her as an adult, and I think we would have liked each other. A bold statement for sure, but when you’re dealing with a person who has ascended to sainthood because she can no longer do anything wrong, I think it’s okay to assume the best.

Today, I have two blenders, neither of which was given to me by my as-of-yet nonexistent children. They’re part of my overstocked kitchen thanks to my obsession with food and cooking, inherited from both my parents. As legend has it, my Dad taught my Mom how to cook, and then she bested him. Personally, I think everyone should learn how to cook, but I know that isn’t possible. Learning to cook must begin with a desire to learn, and then it helps to have a really good teacher. I consider myself lucky, because I had two excellent teachers at the beginning, and I still have one. That’s one of the best benefits of losing someone you love early in life. It makes you appreciate the people who are left, which can never happen too soon. So as Mother’s Day approaches, I have a favor to ask you: If you have a relationship with your mother, particularly if it’s a good one, please take a moment to appreciate it. Because there are some of us out there who only get to peer in the windows at your happiness, and it’s nice to think that you might be appreciating each other before I have a chance to turn away.

A Book Judged By Its Cover Yields A Good Story, Occasionally

2005-04-23T11:15:00.000-07:00

All my life I have had what I like to call a "sensitive constitution." It makes me sound more lady like, which is comical if you know me. When I moved to LA, I was moved to look into my constitution and see if I had inherited something truly wrong with me from my founding forefather and mother. Thanks to a series of stupid tests, I now have an enormous health care bill and a serious distrust for doctors. But one good thing that came out of that experience was learning how to self-medicate in a more homeopathic manner.

For centuries people have used mint and ginger to calm the stomach. I've always been a huge mint fan, with Baskin Robbins Mint Chip and Double Rainbow Chocolate Chocolate Mint Chip Ice Creams ranking at the very top of my mint tower of affection. These served more to calm my psyche than my stomach, but knowing is half the battle. Back in the day, we had Tic Tacs, and those gross mint lifesavers whose only saving grace is that they spark when you chew them, a fact that spread like wildfire through overnight camps during the 80's.

I remember when my Mom brought home her first tin of Altoids. I suspect she got them at Cost Plus, a place that I revered as a child. Where else could you find all the cool candy from worlds then unknown? Botan Rice Candy with the wrappers that melted in your mouth. Swedish Fish that could be bought in mixed colors or just the red ones, a genius marketing decision in my book. And Haribo Gummi Bears that got even better as they became stale, another fantastic feature. My Mom loved Altoids instantly, but she was always a sucker for mints. She used to get the white Tic Tacs, which started off sweet and then burst into extra minty goodness in your mouth. But nothing prepared us for the shock of our first Altoids. They hurt! This was not something that I desired from my mint. So it's a good thing that I wasn't leading their marketing campaign.

It seems to me that Altoids started the mint craze. Tic Tacs and Life Savers and Breath Savers had all been around too long to have started it. And those Altoids tins were so popular. I braved my way through an entire tin just to have the keepsake at the end. More people must have felt like my Mom did about them. Nobody wanted to take bad breath lying down, well, especially not lying down, but that's another story entirely. So the mint craze hit and Altoids became a household word. And the mints arrived, in tins by the thousands. It seemed like every day there was another brand of mint boasting its unique minty flavor and breath-defying capabilities. I was pleased, for sure, since sucking on a mint is a good way to calm my stomach. Now we have different mint flavors: Peppermint, Spearmint, Wintermint, Cinnamint, Licoricemint, Gingermint.... That last one intrigued me. Combine ginger and mint, two of the most important natural stomach settling agents into one? I'm in.

There aren't many Gingermints out there. Altoids makes tins of Ginger Altoids, but sans mint. I suspect I'd have good luck in many of the Asian markets in LA or SF, but I need to enlist some of my Asian friends to join me and serve as translators if necessary. So you can imagine my excitement when I happened upon this gorgeous tin at Surfas the other day.

Surfas is a wholesale cookware and food warehouse for people in the food industry. They allow us mortals in as well. I could live there. Anyway, to be truly honest, I bought this tin for its retro coolness more than for the gingermint chews inside. But the chews are good! More spicy ginger than mint flavor for sure, but they're great. And next time I have a stomach ache, I will employ one to help me in my hour of need. After all, the "lively peppermint elevates the cool in ginger for an exciting flavor awakening!" I am always game for an exciting flavor awakening, especially if it puts my sensitive constitution to sleep for another day.

Two Turntables and a Microphone

2005-04-22T14:54:00.000-07:00

I hadn't really labeled the cake trend these days. It never occured to me that we'd strayed from the over-the-top cakes of yore to the "restrained preciousness" of cakes today. Not that they're implying that we started over-the-top, but it makes the trend sound more dramatic to overstate it. So leave it to the Cake Man to set new standards of cake excellence and help some kids along the way. While I'm impressed by the cakes, I'm more impressed by his ability to parent kids that aren't his own, guiding them into adulthood simply by caring about what happens to them. You hear about the battling that goes on in kitchens, the backstabbing, the competition, the ego wars. It's refreshing to hear about a man who cares about his cakes and the people who make them. So three cheers for the Cake Man. Coo coo catchoo!

Read about the Cake Man.

I'll be in New York next week. I think I'll stop by and say hello.

The Recipes for Ms. Otis

2005-04-21T14:47:00.000-07:00

Since Ms. Otis was unable to lunch on Tuesday, I am sharing the recipes from our glorious lunch with her and the rest of you. Please note, the recipes are more of an idea than exact instructions of how to create the dishes we enjoyed. Experiment happily, won't you?

Cream of Spinach and Watercress Soup with Garlic Croutons

1 Onion, diced
2 Tb Chopped Garlic
2 oz. Unsalted Butter
2 bunches Spinach, washed and de-stemmed
2 bunches Watercress
1/4 cup flour
1 quart Chicken Stock
6 oz. cream
Salt
White Pepper

In a preheated pot, melt butter and saute onions and garlic. Add watercress and spinach, allowing them to wilt. Dust with flour to coat. Season with salt and pepper. Pour chicken stock over the greens. Once the soup comes to a boil, add the cream. Bring it back to a boil. Puree the soup in a blender. Pass the soup through a fine mesh strainer. Adjust seasonings.

To prepare croutons, use a bread you like. Dice and add to lots of butter and garlic in a hot pan. Saute until brown and crisp and buttery.

Gnocchi with Garlic, Basil, and Tomato

Gnocchi:
3 large Russet potatoes
3/4 lb. all purpose flour
1/2 lb. grated Parmesan Cheese (Use the good stuff!)
1 egg + 1 egg yolk
Pinch of nutmeg
Salt
White Pepper

Bring whole potatoes with skins on to a boil in cold salted water. Once potatoes are tender, remove from water and peel. Pass hot potatoes through a ricer or food mill. Make three equal piles of potatoes, grated cheese, and flour. Knead the cheese into the potatoes, using the heat of the potatoes to melt the cheese. Add flour as necessary and use a pastry scraper to work the flour into the potato cheese mixture. Drizzle eggs over the mixture, add spices, and knead to combine. When the dough is soft and no longer sticky, cut it into fist-sized pieces and roll into long strips. Cut into small 1-inch pieces. To shape the gnocchi, gently press the pieces of dough onto a fork and let the pieces roll off onto the counter. They should have a thumb print on one side, and a fork mark on the other if done correctly. Cook the gnocchi in boiling water. When they float to the top, remove and shock them in ice water. Drain well and toss in a plain oil, such as corn or canola oil.

Sauce:
1 small shallot, diced
1 small clove garlic, diced
Olive oil
8 peeled and seeded roma tomatoes, rough cut into 1/8 pieces
Mixed herbs, rosemary, thyme, and parsley
Basil
10 oz. Jus de Poulet (You can use veal stock as well)
Butter (He put in a lot of butter, about 1 stick. Put in as much as you want, but it will taste better with more.)

Saute gnocchi in a pan with olive oil until they are golden brown on all sides. In a small saute pan, sweat the garlic and shallots in olive oil. Add the tomatoes and allow to simmer. Deglaze the pan with the Jus de Poulet. Add the browned gnocchi to the sauce. Finish with the mixed herbs, basil, and butter. Season with salt and pepper and grated parmesan cheese.

Poached Scottish Salmon with Tarragon Mustard Nage

2 1/2 pounds salmon fillet
1 pint fish stock
1 pint chicken stock
1 onion, rough cut
1 carrot, rough cut
2 stalks of celery, rough cut
1 cup white wine
2 oz vinegar
2 small sweet onions, sliced
2 Tb Dijon mustard
2 Tb whole grain mustard
1 Tb tarragon, chopped
1 tsp dill, chopped
1 tsp parsley, chopped
3 Tb butter
1 Tb tomatoes, diced
Lemon juice to taste

Combine fish stock, chicken stock, onion, celery, carrot, white wine and vinegar in a large pot. Bring to a simmer. Cut the fish fillet into 4 oz serving sized pieces. Season with salt and pepper. Add fish to the poaching stock and cook for 4 to 6 minutes.

For the sauce, put 8 oz of poaching broth into a small sauce pot. Reduce liquid by 1/3 and add sweet onions. Allow to come to a simmer and add both mustards. Whisk in the butter and finish the sauce with lemon juice, tarragon, and dill. Place a piece of fish over sauted fennel and swiss chard. Spoon the sauce over the fish and garnish with dill and tarragon sprigs.

Chocolate Lava Cake with Raspberry Coulis

Cake:
5 eggs + 4 egg yolks
1 cup sugar
8 oz butter (1 stick)
5 ounces semisweet chocolate
4 ounces flour

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Melt the butter and chocolate together over a double boiler. Mix yolks, eggs, and sugar together. Combine the warm butter and chocolate mixture into the egg and sugar mixture. Sift the flour into the mixture and fold to combine. Pour into greased ramekins. Bake for 10 minutes. They will be soft and melty in the middle, like lava. Garnish with whipped cream, raspberry coulis, and a mint sprig.

Sauce:
1 package raspberries
Sugar, to taste
2-3Tb water

Bring all ingredients to an active simmer until the sauce develops. Puree in a blender. Put into a squeeze bottle and use to decorate the plate for serving.

Recipes courtesy of Chef Mark Kropczynski and Pastry Chef Patrick Jozwicka.

Ms. Otis Regrets

2005-04-20T15:34:00.000-07:00

Yesterday, I had the pleasure of a leisurely lunch with my Aunt in Santa Barbara. But it wasn't just any lunch, it was cooked for us, as part of a cooking demonstration, by a chef and his pastry chef/assistant in my Aunt's gorgeous kitchen. There were also 12 other guests enjoying the bounty of our good food fortune. If you've ever heard the song, Pick-a-little, Talk-a-little, you'll know what the atmosphere was like. If you haven't, these are the ladies who lunch. I felt like a flower just beginning to bloom among a brightly colored mixed bouquet. I was a pedicure and a few carats outclassed, but no one was counting. So I put aside any thoughts of my impending(?) 1/3 life crisis, and dug into the demo.

The menu being prepared for us is as follows (Careful not to drool on your keyboard):
Cream of Watercress and Spinach Soup with Garlic Croutons
Gnocchi with Garlic, Basil, and Tomatoes
Poached Scottish Salmon on Braised Fennel and Swiss Chard with Tarragon and Whole Grain Mustard Nage
Chocolate Lava Cake with Whipped Cream and Raspberry Coulis

Chef Mark and Pastry Chef Patrick arrived around 11am that morning to begin preparations for the feast. Potatoes were set to boil for the gnocchi, the poaching liquid for the salmon was prepared, and they created all the staging areas necessary to please the audience, while allowing space to plate the food properly before its unveiling at the tables.

As the ladies arrived, there was hand shaking and hugging and nice to meet yous and hellos! exhanged, and soon the show started. It was like being in the studio audience of a cooking show, except that annoying Rachel Ray wasn't on next and we were about 10 inches from the stage. The words that sold me on Chef Mark's abilities were when he said, "When I make soup, I think it should taste like the ingredients in the name. So this soup should taste like watercress and spinach." One point for Mark. Actually, let's give him two points, one for watercress and one for spinach. The soup was easy. Saute a little of this, add that, wilt the greens, boil, add cream, boil again, blend, garnish, and serve. Am I oversimplifying? Not really. And it was very good. It tasted green, like watercress and spinach even, and only a bit of cream. I normally don't like cream soups because they're too heavy, but this wasn't at all. See below.

(If you are fussy or picky, please avert your eyes, as I tucked into this delicious bowl of soup before the thought of capturing it on film even occured to me. So half eaten as it is, here is the soup in all its green glory.)

See? Green!

Next, we were on to the gnocchi. I LOVE gnocchi. That said, I am usually so disappointed by the gnocchi I order in restaurants, that I don't order it anymore. Gnocchi has become a synonym for glue ball or twice chewed gum at most establishments. It shares space in the culinary hall of failures with the matzoh ball, that hockey puck of a dumpling. But neither have to be relegated to the cob-webbed corners of cooking. Free the gnocchi! Long live the matzoh ball! Okay, I'm getting ahead of myself. Would Chef Mark's gnocchi live up to the hype???

He had quite a bit to say on the matter. First, he thinks that gnocchi should taste like something. (His third point scored.) For the purposes of this demonstration, let's say cheese. His gnocchi was approximately 1 part grated Parmesano Reggiano (Kraft, exit stage left), 1 part hot potato, 1 part flour. The hot potato melts the cheese, the flour makes it more like dough, and then egg binds it together. The end result is a soft, workable dough. From there we rolled, shaped, and boiled the gnocchi, and Mark began the sauce.

His second bold gnocchi statement, was that it has no business being drowned in marinara or cream sauce. For those keeping score, Mark just scored 100 bonus points for eschewing the nasty cream sauce bath. But I had no idea the treat that was in store for us. Chef Mark introduced me to the Jus de Poulet, which literally means chicken juice, but actually means twice reduced chicken stock with extra veggies and yummy goodness. Now that's good cookin. The sauce he made had tomotoes, garlic, rosemary, thyme, parsley, jus de poulet, butter, and a basil garnish. But before he combined gnocchi with sauce, he sauteed the gnocchi in a pan with oil until they were golden brown and delicious. This is his third bold gnocchi statement. I have had them this way once before, and I think Mark's were better. Not sure why. Maybe it was because I watched them being made. It's always more exciting that way. See the finished dish below.

Did I mention that this dish was soooooo delicious? Mouthwateringly good. I am Pavlov's Dog. Just say gnocchi...

Third on the menu was the poached salmon. Normally, I'm not a poached fish kind of girl. I think it's because poached fish has a nursing home feel to it. Or maybe I usually have it overcooked. Whatever my problem, I didn't have it yesterday.

Watching a person behead, fillet, debone, and skin an entire fish is fascinating. Perhaps not to some, but that ain't my problem. When done properly, it looks easy, even though I know it isn't. The skin came off in one piece, as it should, the silvery-black scales standing at attention, making it look like a very sexy stocking or sleeve for a bizarre costume. Mark said he had once impressed Julia Child with his fish cleaning skills. I was equally impressed. Who am I to disagree with the Queen of Food? Efficiency in a professional kitchen is paramount, and Mark was proving his worth. So the fish was cut into serving pieces and then placed in the poaching liquid. The sauce was prepared, and soon we were dining on the best poached fish I can remember eating, and certainly one of the top fish dishes I've had in ages. The fennel and swiss chard were a yummy base for the moist fish, and the sweet onion and mustard sauce was the perfect finish. Sweet, tangy, light, and flavorful, but no one flavor overwhelmed the dish. It was soooo good.

I was ready for more cooking, but alas, we had just the dessert left to cook. Chocolate lava cake has been making the rounds at restaurants everywhere. Each place you go boasts a trendy chocolate as the star ingredient—the big three being Sharffenberger, Valrhona, and Callebaut— and usually the cakes are good. It's not hard to make a good chocolate lava cake, but it's easy to make a bad one. My only complaint about the lava cake that Mark made was that it wasn't chocolatey enough. Though when complaining about chocolate cake, that's a pretty big bone to pick. For you skeptics, yes, it's very possible to make an unchocolatey chocolate cake. Mark's recipe yielded a delicious, moist cake, but it only had semisweet chocolate in it, and just five ounces at that. To make a chocolate cake truly chocolatey, you need to add unsweetened cocoa powder (Dutch processed if you have it), or unsweetened chocolate. Then it truly has a deep chocolate flavor. But I can ramble about chocolate for hours. I'll do that another time. Now I will show you the cake that I was served. Don't get me wrong, I ate every morsel. But if I were making the cake, I would have punched it up in the chocolate department.

After everyone had licked their plates clean, they bid us farewell, and my Aunt and I watched Mark and Patrick walk an hour in the shoes of their dishwashers. We chatted about food, FoodTV, what makes a good chef, how hard it is to cook for a living, what a pipe dream it is for me to consider changing careers to become a pastry chef unless I dive in feet first, and other various and sundry topics in and around the foodosphere. After our personal chefs for the day left, my Aunt and I talked about how sad it was that some of her friends couldn't make it, as they would have liked to meet me. Perhaps if Ms. Otis had refrained from her nefarious business, she could have joined us as well. I am quite certain she would have enjoyed her lunch immensely.

Curd is Way Hard

2005-04-18T10:15:00.000-07:00

Last night I had a couple friends over for dinner. I made a pretty simple dinner, fish tacos and a salad, but I was really excited about dessert. I had planned to make mini tarts with grapefruit curd and cinnamon whipped cream. I've never made a curd before, neither lemon nor orange. And I couldn't find a recipe for grapefruit curd, which is what I wanted to make. My usual go to books didn't have any recipes for lemon curd, which I figured I could adapt to make grapefruit curd, so I ended up looking in my Joy of Cooking. Kickin it old skool, well, new old skool, since I have the revised edition. Joy of Cooking had two recipes, one for lemon and one for orange, which were surprisingly different. I decided that grapefruits were sweeter than lemons, so I would try the orange recipe. This may have been my first mistake.

The instructions were somewhat vague, as in whisk the mixture until it's lighter in color. Lighter than what? Depending on what eggs you use, it could have started out pretty light. I assumed they meant lighter than it started, but that requires a lot of whisking, and I soon got tired. When my arm gave out, I decided they were light enough. This may have been my second mistake. Then you put the mixture on the stove and whisk over medium heat until it thickens. It's one of those instant transformations. I was whisking and whisking and then suddenly it was thick. Once it thickens, let it simmer for a few seconds, and then remove from the heat to cool. I may have let it simmer for a few more seconds than I should have, which could have been my third mistake. After it cooled, I put it in the fridge to set, as per the directions. And the result is what you see below.

The flavor is good, I'm happy about that. But the texture is plain awful. My friends, kind as they are, didn't think so, but I think it's sandy—not smooth, tart, and creamy, like curd should be. I think I might have to try again this afternoon. I'll keep you posted.

How to win friends and influence people

2005-04-16T15:28:00.000-07:00

Over the holidays I decided to have a party. It was supposed to be a house warming party, but since my house had actually been warm since April, it ended up being a dessert party. Given the overwhelming popularity of the South Beach Diet (blech, fooey), I threw a North Beach Diet Party, complete with nine different desserts. It was a hit. Take that South Beach! People ate everything, and very few mentions were made of expanding waistlines, etc. Thank god, that water cooler diet talk makes me itch.

I didn't have a lot of time to make something for my friends' wedding reception this evening, so I decided to go with the hit of the party, the chocolate peanut butter squares. They're easy as pie. Actually, they're MUCH easier than pie. Just throw the ingredients in a bowl or mixer, melt some chocolate, and voila! Dessert crack.

A big shout out to Nigella Lawson for her recipe that I have mostly followed in my exploration to find the perfect chocolate to peanut butter ratio. Nigella rocks. I went to see her at a book signing over the holidays, just before my party, and she was delightful. She's so down to earth, funny, and smart. I loved hearing her talk. I especially loved hearing her discuss how she deals with her kids' various eating preferences. She said her daughter doesn't like peas. Her response is, fine, but let's not have a conversation about them, just don't eat them. Amen, sistah! Special thanks to Sx for introducing me to Nigella in the first place. See, we Yanks have good taste. :-)

Chocolate Peanut Butter Squares

The base:
1/3 cup dark brown sugar
1 1/3 cups confectioner's sugar
5 Tb butter
1 cup creamy salted peanut butter (use the natural stuff, I like Laura Scudder's Old Fashioned Peanut Butter)

The top:
12 oz bittersweet chocolate (you can use semisweet too)
1 Tb unsalted butter
1/4 cup cream (milk works too)

Put all the base ingredients in your Kitchen Aid mixer and mix until smooth. You'll have to scrape the sides of the bowl and do a little manual work yourself to make sure it's all incorporated. Press the mixture into a foil lined 9-inch square pan.

Melt the chocolate, butter, and cream in a bowl either over a double boiler or in the microwave. The microwave is easier. Evenly spread the chocolate onto the base mixture. Put it in the fridge to set. When the chocolate is hard, cut it into squares. It's rich, so go small. You can always have seconds. Or fourths.

Recipe inspired by Peanut Butter Squares from Nigella Lawson's book How To Be A Domestic Goddess, published by Hyperion.

Fred 62: Dining for the tragically hip

2005-04-16T14:24:00.000-07:00

I just returned from brunch on the East side with a few of my fave Eastsiders. Since I'd never been to Fred 62, (I know, how dare I consider myself cool?), we decided that today would be my initiation. I arrived fashionably late, as any cool person must, and we were seated promptly. I am told this isn't the usual experience, but that's what happened, so I'm reporting it just like a the fake foodie newster that I am.

The menu is long and involved, and has fun names like Bearded Mr. Frenchy and The Dime Bag. One of my compatriots ordered a Bearded Mr. Frenchy for the table, just so we could taste french toast dredged in corn flakes. It was delish, a perfect combination of crunch with fluffy, buttery, yummy french toast, just right in the egg department, i.e. not soggy at all. The bread tasted like brioche, but I'm not sure what it was. Regardless, it was good.

I was having the same sweet vs. savory debate I always have at brunch, so the french toast solved my problem right away. I ordered the California omelette, complete with goat cheese, avocado, chicken sausage, grilled onions, and sun-dried tomatoes, which I left out and subbed in fresh tomatoes. Sun-dried tomatoes are so 1990, I mean, where are the oven-dried tomatoes? This prompted a long discussion with our server, who agreed with me that sun-dried tomatoes aren't so good, but she was coming from the "I just don't like tomatoes" camp. Even though we'd arrived at the same place, I think her kind are delusional and missing out on one of life's great treats: the sun-ripened, home grown tomato. But I digress. My friends ordered the Santa Fe Frittata (eggs, chorizo, roasted pasilla chiles, grilled onions, diced tomato, tortilla chips & jack cheese, topped with rancho habanero chile sauce, scallions, cilantro, and sour cream), and the Eggs 2 X 4, which is your basic eggs, hash browns, bacon or sausage, and toast deal. Everyone seemed happy with their meal. I thought my omelette was good, but I have yet to have an omelette where the eggs aren't hopelessly browned and dry and flopped or folded over on all the ingredients. I guess I'm looking for something between an omelette and a scramble. Maybe I'll find it one day.

All in all it made for a very nice morning. It's absolutely gorgeous out, and I couldn't be happier. I wouldn't mind catching my second wind after the food coma wears off, however. All in good time. Now I must tend to the chocolate peanut butter truffles, or squares, or tiny bites of heaven that I'm bringing to my friend's wedding reception this evening. Remind me to elope and then have a party when I decide to get married. It seems so much more sane. Dad, I'm not talking to you. I might change my mind.

Burrito Update!

2005-04-15T18:32:00.000-07:00

Because I know that you were all dying to hear about how I satiated by burrito craving, I went to Chipotle this afternoon and stuffed myself silly on this lovely burrito.

It was delicious. And I even braved the scene over on Beverly, which is normally very sceney, and today was even more so because they were shooting a movie. Gotta love LA.

Okay, I'm taking some of my Pecan Cake to my friend's house tonight for a barbecue. Better get a move on.

Taqueria Cancun, How I Miss You

2005-04-15T09:19:00.000-07:00

I woke up this morning thinking about burritos. I just had a burrito the other night for dinner, so there's no good explanation for my craving, except that they're really darn good.

I'll admit I didn't understand the lure of the burrito at the beginning. I remember my friends in high school talking longingly about them. And we'd make special trips to San Francisco just to get them. But at that time I just thought they were food. Now I understand. A burrito is the perfect form of food. It's warm, hearty, satisfying, customizable, delicious, and portable. A good burrito lasts for two meals, or one very long one. Just the other night I went to a friend of a friend's party and we stopped at Chipotle along the way. It was my first trip to Chipotle and I am hooked. They have only a few choices, a la In'n'Out, and you choose your filling and then tell them what other goodies you'd like to throw in. Onions and peppers, guacamole, different salsas, etc. I got the veggie version. I'm going to have hard time getting anything else when I go back, because it was so good. And on the veg version, the guac is free. And guac makes the burrito.

When I moved here two years ago, I went searching for my San Francisco style burrito. Once I finally understood the burrito, it became one of my staple foods, and I had been eating them for the seven years I lived in that amazing city, so I was pretty determined to find something akin to the little burro I love. Alas, LA sports very different Mexican food than SF. And it's taken me a little while to get over my disappointment of not being able to find the burrito joint I long for. But along the way, I have discovered some pretty delicious Mexican food, and now you can benefit from my findings.

For a fabulous foil-wrapped burrito, go to Chipotle. Their ingredients are fresh and flavorful. This is not the sloppy, refried bean burrito you might want. But try it, I guarantee you'll enjoy it.
For a delicious, down-home, burrito mojado, go to Gilbert's El Indio.
For tacos to die for, and a damn fine bean and rice burrito, go to Tito's Tacos. This place is funky. They're sort of taco nazis, as in they look at you funny if you ask for anything different than what's on the menu. But the end result is so good it doesn't matter.

Links to all these places are in the side bar. I'll explore the East side soon and will be sure to get back to you when I do.

Pecan Cake

2005-04-14T16:30:00.000-07:00

I'm having a bad day. Okay, a bad week. It's stupid really, and I know I should just get over myself and move on, but I can't seem to. So I decided to bake a cake. Cooking makes me happy. I love mixing together all the ingredients and waiting to see what happens. The eating part is fun too, but I've never been a person who eats to solve her problems. So I searched through my cookbooks and landed upon an amazing recipe in James McNair's Cakes. It's for a Nut Cake and I chose to make it with pecans. I accidentally bought two bags of pecans at Trader Joe's the other day, so it seemed like an excellent way to use them. And boy is it. The cake is yummy, fragrant, nutty, and moist. I'm thinking that I'll make two cakes next time and frost them with cream cheese frosting and make a gorgeous layer cake. Yum. Here's a picture of the cake. Apologies for the giant slice missing from it. The directions said that it's lovely eaten warm from the oven. So I did.

The recipe:
1 1/2 cups pecans
1 1/2 cups sugar
3/4 cup all-purpose flour
1 tsp baking powder
1/2 tsp salt
1/2 cup (1 stick) unsalted butter, room temp
5 eggs, room temp
1/2 cup light cream or half-and-half (I didn't have either, so I substituted 1/4 cup sour cream + 1/4 cup milk)
2 tsp pure vanilla extract
1 tsp pure almond extract
Powdered sugar for dusting

Preheat oven to 350 degrees fahrenheit. Grease and line a 9-inch springform pan with parchment paper. Set aside.

In a food processor, combine the nuts and 3/4 cup sugar. Grind to a fine meal. Set aside.

Place the flour, baking powder, and salt into a sifter and sift into a bowl. Add the ground nut mixture. Whisk to combine. Set aside.

In the bowl of a KitchenAid Mixer fitted with the flat beater beat the butter at medium speed until soft and creamy, about 45 seconds. With the mixer still running, slowly add the remaining 3/4 cup sugar. Stop the mixer and scrape the sides of the bowl. Continue beating at medium speed until the mixture is very light and fluffy, about 5 minutes. Slowly drizzle the eggs and beat well, stopping at least once to scrape the sides of the bowl. Add the cream or half-and-half or sour cream milk mixture and the vanilla and almond extracts. Blend well. It will be quite liquidy.

Add the nut mixture. Using a rubber spatula, scrape the batter into the prepared pan. Bake until the cake springs back when lightly touched in the center and a cake tester comes out clean, about 40 minutes.

Remove the pan to a wire rack to cool for 10 minutes. Then turn the cake out to cool completely.

Transfer the cake to a serving plate and dust with powdered sugar. Use a cake stencil if desired. Serves 10.

Recipe taken from James McNair's Cakes by James McNair and Andrew Moore, published by Chronicle Books.