I have always been passionate about food and its origin, all things France and Julia Child. Travel tugs at my heart, luring me to new places where I can feast my eyes and senses, taste local foods -mostly via the open air markets- explore ancient sites and listen and learn from stories told by its people. Thus, the reason for beginning this blog…
She lured me in with her perfect “t” shaped limbs, reaching out like angel wings. “Take me home.” she whispered. Not planning to add another fruit tree to my already demanding garden, this one was like an abandoned puppy. You know, the one that finds you. I’d always loved Fuyu persimmons, their sweet versatility making them perfect for eating like an apple, or slicing into a salad for a burst of orange color.
I could not resist. Dreaming of harvesting my own persimmons made me drool with anticipation, so I loaded her into my car. That April, while planting her next to my avocado tree, she told me her name was Francesca. We bonded.
Fall arrived and she dropped her leaves, baring her naked body for what would seem like an eternity. I tended to her every need: water, fertilizer, regular conversations. “Francesca, amore. I believe in you,” I coaxed. But still, she stood frozen in time, seemingly in a time warp. My angel was fading into a ghost.
A year after I planted Francesca, I returned to the nursery where I bought her to show them photos with a final plea for help. Their advice: scrape the bark and if it is green, she is still alive. With hope, my fingernail drew a line in the bark, revealing a bright green interior. Realizing this was a test of my patience, I relaxed and observed. Within two weeks small lime green buds appeared, followed by flowers, then tiny miniature fruit. I was in love again. Our relationship had come full circle.
My first harvest!
Bright, determined and painted by nature.
The inside slices look like a sand dollar!
In October, my reward was a dozen, perfectly shaped, pumpkin orange persimmons. Inspired by Francesca’s endurance, I’ve designed a few recipes to celebrate her beauty and honor her as a treasured member of my garden family.
Right out of the oven with a brush of glaze. I love how the maple leaves look like a wreath!
Mary Knight
Persimmon Breakfast Bake
This light and colorful pastry is perfect for either a pre or post Thanksgiving breakfast gathering. Your guests will want another piece!
I sheet frozen puff pastry dough - I use Trader Joe’s frozen Puff Pastry
Egg wash - one egg lightly beaten with a pinch of salt.
4ouncescream cheese or honey goat cheese
1/4cupmascarpone cheese
2Tablespoonshoney
1/2Teaspoonvanilla extract
2medium ripe fuyu persimmons
Apricot jam to glaze
Method
Preheat oven to 425 degrees.
Thaw the sheet of puff pastry for an hour in the refrigerator.
Cut out a 10” circle. I invert a bowl with a 10” diameter onto the dough to use as a template.
Chill the round while you cut out the decorations for the edging. I used mini maple leaf cutters but you can use any design or even leave it rimless if you like.
Freeze the dough and decorations for 10 minutes.
Mix the cream cheese or goat cheese with the mascarpone cheese, honey and vanilla until smooth.
Remove the pastry from the freezer and evenly spread the filling on top of the dough leaving an inch border.
Brush the edges with egg wash to help the borders stick. Layer the persimmon slices on top, starting at the outer edge and working your way inward to form a spiral. Place the maple leaves on the egg washed rim all the way around. You will have a border with a fancy edge!
Freeze again for 10 minutes.
Bake for 35 minutes or until the bottom and edges of the tart are deep brown and crispy. About half way through I put foil around the edges to prevent them from getting too dark. Make sure the tart is well-baked. I learned that the French method is to bake their pastries on the darker side. Remove from the oven and brush with strained apricot jam while still warm. Slice and eat immediately.
Harvest Salad
Author: Mary Knight
One bunch lettuce – I prefer butter lettuce for its delicate consistency. An addition of curly endive would be lovely too.
Ingredients
1-2 persimmons, cut into thin wedges
1 fennel bulb, cleaned and cut into thin slices
1/4 cup toasted and coarsely chopped hazelnuts. Don’t hazelnuts just speak “holiday?”
Sprinkling of fennel pollen if you have it. If not, here is a good source: [url href=”http://www.thespicehouse.com” target=”_blank”]The Spice House[/url][br]
[br][b]Dressing[/b]
2 Tablespoons dark, thick balsamic vinegar. I love fig balsamic.
1/4 cup good quality olive oil.
salt, pepper
Instructions
Toss salad ingredients together. Add the nuts at the last minute so they don’t get soggy. Mix the vinegar and olive oil together and salt and pepper to taste. I don’t like to overpower the flavor of the salad ingredients with too many dressing ingredients so keep it simple.
Drizzle on the dressing and enjoy the fall flavors!
3.5.3229
The fruit of your own hard work is the sweetest. Deepika Padukone
This captures beautifully, my colorful views for the week.
New Brunswick, Canada: A land where time stands still. Sculpted by nature, the unspoiled landscape is rough around the edges, like an unpolished stone and not in any hurry to progress. Inland, its rolling hills hopscotch between forests of coniferous trees – balsam fir, red and black spruce, pine, sugar and red maple – and acres of blueberry and cranberry fields, a church spire tucked in between here and there. Lakes and rivers travel through the land and ferries carry its passengers from one town to the next. Hugging the Bay of Fundy to the east, New Brunswick’s pebbled pristine beaches greet well-maintained storybook lighthouses that perch on rocky cliffs. It almost doesn’t look real. There’s much more to this beautiful land than meets the eye.
Fun art from creative beach rubbish!
So, where do I fit in here? Last autumn, I planned a trip to once again visit my dad’s extended family in New Brunswick just in time for the unleashing of fall colors. What wasn’t planned was how much my Canadian roots would unlock my heart and the emotions this trip carried.
Ever since my dad’s death in 2013, I was determined to memorialize his life somehow. Because his entire family on his father’s side is from New Brunswick, I thought it appropriate to place a plaque in the country cemetery in White’s Cove, that houses centuries of the Knight ancestors. A bittersweet trip, indeed.
I started my journey in beautiful Portland, Maine visiting dear friends, then made my way north through nature’s color palette of Canada. Because this was a personal journey, I drove alone. I needed time to gather my emotions for the catharsis soon to take place. Two simultaneous experiences were about to occur: one interior and one exterior. I would balance the anticipation of coming face-to-face with a ceremony of closure of my father’s death, with the spectacle of fall colors that left me breathless. Every twist and curve of the northbound road led me through tunnels of kaleidoscope color. The further north I drove, the more intense, deeper, and richer the crimson and mustard. This “E” ticket experience was all mine to drink in and all I had to do was watch for darting deer and moose!
Autumn at its peak.Roadside activity near the Maine/New Brunswick border. Check out those lobster pots!
In St. John, I am lucky to have two of the most kind and loving cousins, Maureen and Sandra as my hostesses. Born and raised in New Brunswick, they know the family history dating back to the 900’s in England (really!). Fortunately, they are always are eager to play my tour guide through the past.
An old, deserted church near White’s Cove.
Maureen shared her favorite rural and artsy destinations, while Sandra, the family historian and genealogist, introduced me to long-lost relatives and their stories. One of my favorite stories told how our grandfathers, along with the entire community and their horses, moved a small house from Mill Cove to White’s Cove via a frozen lake! Such power and grit these people showed.
My grandfather, James, was born in a farmhouse on Knight Road in Mill Cove. His family loved the land and were proud farmers. James made his way to Arizona at the tender age of 18 in 1892 to seek his fortune. He was the only sibling of many brothers to leave his Canadian home and venture west. Hence, his disappearance from the family tree until Sandra’s research tracked my dad down!
My grandfather, James was born in this house in 1875. It sits on Knight Road.
My dad, it seems was the missing link Sandra had been searching for. He was a cousin to her dad and uncles. This discovery in 2001 brought our families together in a bond that changed my life, giving me insight into my roots. How grateful I am to know that adventure runs in our blood!
On a blustery, blue-skied day, Sandra and Maureen graciously accompanied me to the small White’s Cove cemetery so I could add my dad’s timeline to his family’s. Deeply emotional, with a cool breeze signaling the changing season, I also felt a shift in myself occurring. My dad’s spirit was watching over me and I was pleased he had this peaceful place to now call home.
Me and cousins Sandra and Maureen
My dad is home.
To liven things up, Maureen introduced me to the lonely, rural and hearty way of life on Deer Island. Accessed only by a ferry-boat, the thickly forested island with its rocky, craggy shoreline is inhabited year-round by only the brave-hearted. Our Ferry Master, Dana, a Deer Island native, introduced himself and we quickly became friends. So rugged is this lifestyle that if you were ready to give birth in the depth of winter, you called the Ferry Master, who was on call, to transport you through choppy, winter winds and seas, to solid land and a warm hospital. Dana had been born and raised on the island and elected to continue his life journey there, with many jaunts to Europe and America and even San Diego. We shared a common bond and I admired his spirit.
Island access
The Deer Island Princess
Our Ferry Master, Dana
Shipwrecked
Storybook lighthouse
Loved this!
Undiscoverd Deer Island
Driving the island roads, we spotted a cottage with lime green shutters, sporting a mosaic, life-size pig on the veranda. Lured in by the display of fall decor, we pulled over to take a peek. Inside, we were greeted by hutches filled with a variety of homemade jams, pickles and sauces, along with baskets filled with just-picked apples and late-harvest vegetables.
With no shop keeper present, a chalkboard sign instructed you where to leave your money for items purchased. I lit up and felt happy inside, knowing that there are places alive that trust in people and that the honor system still holds true somewhere. Maureen and I each bought an apple – one of the sweetest and crunchiest I have ever eaten – and a few jars of freshly made preserves. These were my kind of people. I wondered if my grandfather’s family openly shared their bounty like this. I’ll bet they did.
This fall journey brought into focus my past as well as my present. My father’s plaque in the White’s Cove Cemetery now stands as a link between my two worlds just as my spirit will forever be linked to my Eastern Canadian roots. There is a peacefulness and a serenity, that I’ve not found elsewhere. I’ve also witnessed within its people, a comforting contentedness in spite of life’s hardships. The display of stunning autumn colors turned me inward to declare gratitude to Mother Nature for her last expression of brilliance before winter, and lightened my spirit for the tough tasks in life. The future? Well, it’s a mystery and a gift.
Long live Canada!
“I’m so glad I live in a world where there are Octobers.” ― L.M. Montgomery, Anne of Green Gables
Every leaf speaks bliss to me, fluttering from the autumn tree.” -Emily Bronte
I love my friend Roberto, my Italian brother. We get together several times a year to share our two common interests – music and food. A Graham Nash song causes us to stop everything we’re doing and break out in a sing-along. How does a born and bred Italian, actually Sicilian, know so much about America’s 70s rock icons? Well, he is also a musical icon himself with regard to Italian and world music. Following American music as a teenager inspired him to travel the world, learn to play guitar, and deeply respect music’s evolution. As an expert in ethnomusicology, he teaches his art and makes his own instruments. I think his musical brain has also gifted him with exceptional culinary talents.
My music-infused kitchen, along with a bottle of Prosecco, inspired a few tasty new creations. A flank steak was bathing in mustard, tarragon, olive oil, shallots, and white wine, and we wanted the side dishes to be extraordinary. My culinary genius has been sleeping lately, so this afternoon of fun and friendship was just what I needed to wake up the creative juices.
Roberto is a fine, spontaneous chef. I love how he smells everything and carefully considers how one ingredient will influence the next. We took our time smelling and tasting several varieties of balsamic vinegar and olive oil before deciding which combination, for a vinaigrette, would add sweetness to the tangy pomegranate seeds in the salad of lettuce, fennel, and green onion. A Sicilian lemon balsamic vinegar, mandarin olive oil, and lots of chopped mint proved a winner. The colorful salad was nothing short of spectacular, with every ingredient in perfect harmony.
After enjoying the fruits of our labor at dinner, Roberto took out his guitar, and we sang “Helplessly Hoping” by Crosby, Stills, and Nash, me in my totally off-key voice but loving every minute. A mini concert of Spanish-infused guitar capped off the evening. It was the perfect day and night.
Roberto, you continue to teach me how to achieve depth of flavor, something I always strive to do. Thank you for sharing your songs and your happy energy. When can we repeat???
6cupsmixed romaine lettuce and herbed greensor your choice of lettuces
1/2cupchopped young fennel including the fronds
2skinny finely chopped green onions
1/4cuppomegranate seeds
Dressing
1TablespoonLemon balsamic vinegar
2TablespoonsMandarin or Orange olive oil
salt and pepper to taste
2teaspoonschopped mint
Method
Combine all salad ingredients. Prepare the dressing. Do not toss until just ready to eat.
Enjoy!
“For each new morning with its light, For rest and shelter of the night, For health and food, for love and friends, For everything Thy goodness sends.” ― Ralph Waldo Emerson
Many of the most meaningful and fun experiences in my life have happened while traveling alone. I met people who are now life-long friends; took part in a Vendemmia (family grape picking and crushing celebration) in Italy; was treated to an “insider’s” tour of Rome by a fantastic guide, Andreas, who made the sites extra special because he felt sorry for me traveling solo; and drove winding French roads in the rain to Rocamadour, France, on a spiritual quest to visit a Black Madonna. I can indulge in as many farmer’s markets as I want! I also do my best writing when alone. No distractions or anyone telling me to “Hurry up!”
I asked a few of my friends, who also value traveling alone, for some tips they’ve learned over the years and what makes solo travel special. Here are their thoughts:
What advice can you offer on traveling alone?
Bonnieadvises:   Most important, savor every moment, enjoy every bite of local cuisine and take lots of pictures. Until you know your way around, carry the address of your lodging whenever you are out sight- seeing. Observe landmarks high and low, that are close to your hotel to help you find your way back. Go a little further from home base every day. If you are in a country where English is not widely spoken, explore thoughtfully. Until you get your footing, stay in the busy tourist areas if possible. There will be LOTS to see and absorb. If you are going to venture out on public transportation, watch the people getting on to see if they are using change or tokens so you can be prepared
. Mayasays:   To just try it! I think three days is the perfect amount of time: long enough that you can’t mope about being alone the whole time, and short enough that you know it will be over soon if you truly hate it! I would also say I remember being worried about being scared or bored. I have felt both those things, but they are empowering to overcome. Also, bring a book.
Robynsuggests:    Don’t be afraid to reach out and make new friends among other travelers or locals. Try new things, take a chance, put yourself out there. Embrace the people and culture. Get out of the museums and churches, and spend time in cafes and parks and local shops where ordinary citizens hang out. Find festivals and concerts and art exhibits. Explore the country by bicycle. This allows you to get out of the cities, appreciate the beauty of the countryside and its people, and get some exercise.
Alirecommends:    RESEARCH where you want to go–decide on a few places you would like to go, and then determine if they address all (or much) of what you’re looking for, during the time of year you’ll be traveling: weather; landmarks (open at that time); activities to do as a “single.”
READ REVIEWS – on the hotel, the location, etc. People will tell you exactly what they think about a place, hotel or activities in your “chosen” place. I have often re-thought my destination, based upon candid reviews alerting me to items I never would have considered.
What are your greatest fears about traveling alone?
Maya: Â Â Like any woman, I fear for my personal safety the most.
Robyn:   My greatest fear is losing my wallet/ID/credit cards…
Ali:    Safety. Make sure you are aware of where you are traveling, and if there are any safety concerns you need to be aware of. Then read up on your destination to ensure there aren’t any specific areas where you need to be even more cautious. And…always be aware–even if you know it to be a safe area.
As for my travels–a few things… In Madrid I was pick pocketed. Â I found out later that pick pockets are rampant in parks in Madrid and Barcelona. Â I didn’t engage with these people who were asking for a donation for a kids charity for more than seconds, yet it was long enough for them to steal $100 from me.
A word of caution for single women travelers — always be alert. Â It’s no big deal if you’re pick pocketed, but you need to be alert for people watching you or showing an overly friendly interest. Â Never disclose any detailed personal information (last name, city of residence, company, etc.). Â Also, if you’re staying at a hotel at an airport and go to drink in the bar, there may be people who want a “hook up” before they go on their merry way–they aren’t always just being friendly because they want a nice conversation. Â I noticed this right away in a hotel I often stay at, at the Frankfurt airport when I have an early flight the next day. Â Don’t be scared, just mindful.
“The steward just asked me if I was not afraid to travel alone, and I said, “Why, it is life.” ― Emily Hahn, Congo Solo; Misadventures Two Degrees North
Robyn:   Sometimes you want to share the experience and emotions with someone you know – in the moment. “Look at that!” “This tastes incredible, try it.” I miss being able to share the journey, the adventure, with a fellow traveler.
Ali: Â Â Having someone to share experiences with.
Do you feel you are treated differently when traveling alone?
Maya:    I’m really answering this from traveling abroad alone, so I do feel that most of the attention I’ve gotten has resulted more from being a foreigner than being alone.
Robyn:   No different from at home. In the presence of couples, you really have to make an effort to reach out, being especially nice to the wives. They always seem to be nervous when a single woman is in the room, and the husbands are often reluctant to engage in too much conversation for fear of making their wives mad!
Ali:    No—I enjoy meeting other people. Sometimes it can feel awkward, however, that’s all on me–no one has ever made me feel that way.
Do you venture out at night alone?
Bonnie:    When I am out during the day, I check out places close to the hotel where I can have a nice dinner. I ended up going to one little restaurant in Istanbul many nights because the food was amazing and the proprietor was so interesting to chat with.
Robyn:   Sure! But I pay attention to my sixth sense and local intel regarding whether a certain area is safe.
Ali:   It depends. Not about the safety aspect–it depends whether or not I’m traveling for work (when being “out at night” means dinner, then bed), in a place where there may not be much night life (i.e. Maine–where again, it may be dinner and then bed), or if it’s a place where there is local night life–then I would definitely go out (However, in this case, I am mindful to be cautious in different surroundings).
What do you love about being by yourself?
Bonnie:Â Â Â Â The best part of traveling alone is setting your own schedule and leisurely indulging in places that are of great interest.
Maya:   I really value the time to myself. As I’ve grown older and more comfortable with the idea of being alone in general, I’ve been practicing how to use that (now very precious) time to its fullest extent. I would like to point out that I am exceedingly lucky at my point in life, I have few obligations, no dependents or serious relationships I can’t take a small break from, I am financially stable, and I have generous time off working for a school. I recognize the majority of the world is not this lucky. Here is an example of a time an independent trip helped me: Last autumn I was really struggling with my job and unsure if I wanted to stay with it. During a holiday weekend I gave myself four unscheduled days in a different location. The physical and mental space from my work gave me the clarity to see benefits to the job I hadn’t considered, and it gave me unpressured time to decide what was right for me. Of course, I was fortunate in the regard that I could afford the trip, and it was made much simpler by the fact that I was already living abroad. But if you have the time and resources, I would encourage you to try it!
Robyn:    I can do what I want, when I want, and go where I want. Freedom and flexibility. When you travel by yourself, you end up meeting more new people.
Ali:   I can travel when my schedule allows, to a destination of my choice. So much of what we do is dictated by a travel partner or family–it’s nice to do something YOU want to do.  I can get up when I want, go where I want, see what I want, eat where I want, leave when I want. It’s actually very relaxing knowing that if the sight at your destination was not as touted or a restaurant wasn’t great– there is no one to apologize to–you just go on!
“Whether by plane, bus or carpet, own the magic in your ride.” ― Gina Greenlee, Postcards and Pearls: Life Lessons from Solo Moments in New York
Do you have an anecdote or experience to illustrate how your advice impacted your trip?
Bonnie:    Met two men on the flight to Istanbul and ran into them the next day in the park. Ended up spending the day with them sightseeing, laughing and chatting. They were from Houston, had been lifelong friends and the one man was accompanying his best friend to Africa. The son of one of the guys was in the special forces and fighting bad guys in Somalia. They were meeting the son on his R @ R and they had just broken up the trip with a one night stay in Istanbul.  I still think about them. I am quite sure if I was with someone I never would have spent the day with these two terrific, well-traveled gentlemen. Lucky me! Seems the people I met on this trip were travelers, not vacationers. Be aware of and count on your instincts. I tried to be pretty close to “home” when the sun started setting. Best laid plans, right? One day I was in the 1000 year old Grand Bazaar just meandering and enjoying all the sights, sounds and people. When I left, the sun was setting. I ended up leaving from one of the many entrances but not the one through which I had entered. I found myself in a close dark alleyway filled with people who were selling their wares. I had NO idea where I was and I had a very uneasy feeling. I figured if I just kept going downhill, I would hit my main landmark, the Bosporus Sea. When I got to the Bosporus it was pretty dark but I knew my way back to the hotel from there.
Robyn:    On a trip to Slovenia, I was the only single person in the group. At our little hotel in a small town, Podkoren, I decided to order a beer and join a group of local men outside at the picnic tables. We couldn’t speak each other’s language but had so much fun trying to communicate using a few words and body language. They bought me a second beer and we laughed a lot. I made new friends and learned more about the local ski jumping facility. The rest of the group was just hanging out in their rooms.
Ali:    I went to La Rioja in Spain to drink wine and went to many wine tours specifically in Spanish to improve my command of the language. After a few glasses of wine, I thought my Spanish was really good (they may not have felt the same way!) In Bad Durkheim, Germany, the annual Wurstmarkt is a 600 year old tradition, now with rides, great food and amazing wine from the famous wine region.  I imbibed, as I took the tram from Mannheim. On the way home, I didn’t relinquish my last glass of wine because, in Europe, you evidently can have alcohol on public transportation.  I was chatting up the entire car, talking with a German who had lived in Kansas and talking with a nice grad student about my cute single daughter in NYC.  While I was jumping off of the tram, at my stop, he kept asking where she was–poor guy. On another train ride, I was on my way back to Mannheim from Basel, Switzerland and there was a group of middle-aged friends who decided to lead the train in song.  This happened for about half of my two-hour train ride–it was great–they had everyone laughing, including the conductor.  All I could think of was–“That was me after the Wurstmarkt”!
Did you ever have a “What happens in ____ stays in Vegas?”
Maya: Â Â Not kissing and telling!!!
Robyn:   When cycling on the islands of Croatia, our group took a break to hang out at the beach. There was also a nude beach close by. I decided to swim naked in the beautiful, warm waters of the Mediterranean and it was amazing!!! I was able to recruit one other woman to join me and we took pictures of each other walking out of the water and onto the beach. Only for ourselves. Just to remember.
Ali:    Yes, however, it was by a work colleague and, ew-NO. However, I am going to a Club Med in December, so maybe we should have a “part deu,” as I would never rule it out.  :-).
“When you’re (traveling) with someone else, you share each discovery, but when you are alone, you have to carry each experience with you like a secret, something you have to write on your heart, because there’s no other way to preserve it.” ― Shauna Niequist, Cold Tangerines: Celebrating the Extraordinary Nature of Everyday Life
Step 1
For me, the most important thing is starting with a great guest list. I choose family and compatible friends who have met before. This creates an intimate, comfortable atmosphere for all, and you, the host/hostess, need not worry about guests feeling left out because they don’t know anyone. You will be focused on making layers of flavor with the paella, with fleeting moments of conversation with your guests! Remember to read your guest’s facial expressions. Does everyone feel part of the party?
Oftentimes I encourage interaction between people who might not know each other well by taking photos of them together. This usually prompts a conversation between them and keeps the party moving along.
Step 2
Keep the menu simple. Paella, Green Salad, Plenty of Drink, Dessert. This is not a time to try a new recipe or overload your guests with too many appetizers. I usually ask one guest to bring light appetizers like olives and Manchego cheese. Something to snack on to absorb the alcohol while viewing the entertainment – me singing while stirring the paella! Making the paella on a grill outdoors keeps the party contained outside and creates a side show for the guests.
Involve your friends by asking them to help. Our Fire Man, Bob, kept the grill fire fueled. In between fire duties, he connected the Flamenco music to outdoor speakers and later in the evening switched it to good old rock ’n roll. When it comes to drinks, I have resorted again to keeping it simple. I’ve made Sangria for past parties but have found that most guests prefer their favorite cocktail or variety of wine. Pelligrino is a favorite sparkler to quench thirst between drinks. All beverages are on hand and within easy reach on a dedicated “bar” table. This year, my sister-in-law, Mirna, brought me a bottle of fine Vapor Distillery Rhok gin( formerly Roundhouse), made in Boulder, Colorado as a gift. It was a warm evening and suddenly gin sounded really good! I know this is not a traditional Spanish accompaniment to paella but Mirna started whipping up cocktails with the gin and they were such a hit, several of the guests were requesting her special drinks! This is when you just go with the flow and enjoy the moment.
Bob. The Fire Man
Step 3
Enlist a co-chef! What would I do without Eva who has been my co-chef for three years? Eva is able to co-taste with me and offer suggestions to improve the recipe or technique. Choose someone compatible that you work easily with, does not freak out and understands flavor combining. Discuss each other’s roles beforehand so you are not duplicating tasks. Two people cooking also helps keep the pace moving along so you are not eating at midnight!
Co-chefs!
Eva strutting her paella
Step 4
Prep all ingredients for the paella in the morning. Have them measured out and in bowls in order of appearance to be added to the dish. When you start cooking, there’s no need to look at the recipe. It’s all right there in front of you. Continue to monitor guests for engagement and over dinner, ask them to share a favorite summer food memory.
Step 5
End the evening with one spectacular dessert. I always make a traditional Australian Pavlova. It’s my mom’s favorite dessert and works well for a crowd. The mouth feel of soft and creamy meringue and whipped cream, accented by tangy lemon curd and fresh berries is undeniably one of the best combinations on earth. And, it’s different. Make the meringue and lemon curd the day before. The night of the party, just assemble by spreading the curd onto the meringue, lavishing whipped cream over all and sprinkling with the freshest berries you can find. Done. Your guests will thank you.
All the girls pitched in to help finish off the Pavlova. Such a great group! Love them all!
Spreading on the lemon creme
Pavlova Extraordinaire!
Barb and Ali lighting the candles
Beautiful Mom. In celebration of You!
“He tastes of rice with a touch of saffron. He says I taste of seafood. I guess we’d make a good paella.” ― Chloe Thurlow, Girl Trade
Lunch at Sun Dong Nan set the tempo for the rest of our exploration of Koreatown. Across the street from our lunch spot is the landmark Chapman Market, a beautiful Spanish and Moorish style building dating to 1929. In its heyday, it was the city’s first drive in mall, frequented by wealthy families and Hollywood movie stars.
Archway leading into the Chapman Market.Interior of Old Chapman Market
This luxury one stop shop for produce and dry goods was unique in that you could just drive through the archway into the middle patio, park, then shop. In 1988, it was named a Los Angeles Historic-Cultural Monument. After several new owners and renovations, it is now home to Korean boutiques, bars and restaurants. A visual beauty!
Just down the street, we discover City Center, a three-story mall catering to the Korean population with a variety of shops including The Face Shop, where we purchase several face masks to please, please, diminish our wrinkles and a glance at sunglasses where the friendly salesman eagerly tries to sell us $450 glasses. All we want is a referral for something sweet to eat. He sends us to Okrumong, a few blocks away, his favorite place for shaved ice.
Anything cool sounds heavenly. Okrumong reminds me of a tea room where friends would meet for an afternoon indulgence. Overwhelmed by the dessert choices, we decide on Green Tea Snow.
Green tea shaved “snow,” layered with red bean paste, and topped with something that looks like a marshmallow but is actually a squishy rice ball. We both take a bite, expecting even a hint of sweetness but find only a tinge. “Refreshing,” is Eva’s description. Trying hard to get my taste buds to adjust and actually enjoy this speciality is difficult. I’m sure it’s an acquired taste, especially when your sweet tooth is used to more sugar. We both agree that we are happy we tried it but would probably not attempt to recreate it at home.
One thing I had not realized is Koreatown is big! It covers 2.7 square miles. Perhaps on a cooler day, it would be a good workout to experience this neighborhood on foot. Next stop- Koreatown Plaza. Free underground parking! Working our way from the top-level down, we begin in a giant home goods store that carries everything from fine china to irons. It really has something for everybody! Requiring more hydration, we head downstairs to grab a water in the food court. We sit down across from a stand selling Cheesetella. What is Cheesetella? we wonder. We watch a video of how this jiggly, thick mass of “cheesecake” is made, and try the samples they are handing out. Straight from Korea, Cheesetella is a sort of sponge cake or Asian bread that has a layer of cheddar and parmesan cheese nestled between a fluffy egg cake batter. It is half-baked and half steamed and the result is a tall, wobbly cake that is not sweet. I guess it’s all the rage is Korea. Watch this UTube video to see how it’s made. Cheesetella Utube
On our way out of Koreatown Plaza, or KTP as it is affectionately known, we spot a store selling enormous, almost gaudy gold chairs. Of course, adventurous Eva must go in to inquire. We are greeted by a super nice salesman who offers to let us experience “The Bodyfriend,” an upscale massage chair. I watch as Eva sinks into the chair and then is almost wrapped in by the salesman. They turn on the magic and she drifts into bliss.
“Do you want to try it too?” they ask me. Yes yes. This is just the thing I need! I tuck into the chair, close my eyes and the next 10 minutes might have been the best massage I’ve ever had. I feel like three people are massaging my feet, neck and arms simultaneously. This piece of luxury comes at a price – a cool $9000!
Completely refreshed and rejuvenated after this session, we are ready for dinner. Eva chose a pub on Western Avenue but our plans were about to change. The valet hints that Beer Belly is the best joint in this area and we really ought to try it out. So we did. Beer Belly is a cozy beer bar tucked back off the street behind an ice cream shop. The vibe is low-key but not the beer or food. We eat on the vibrantly painted patio and are treated like queens. The craft beer choices are all from the Los Angeles region. Beer Belly’s message is simple and beautiful: “To us, craft beer represents a conscious movement of good will.” From Gardena’s State Brewing Company, I choose an Oolong Summer, a Kölsch with oolong tea infusion. Not at all what I expect – better! It has a kick and is refreshing. The menu as well is carefully crafted. We split an order of duck fat fries topped with duck confit and served with homemade raspberry mustard sauce. Talk about creative.
My salad reminds me of something I would get in France, but LA style. It’s the LA Wedge Salad. Iceberg lettuce, avocado, pickled hot peppers, pickled red onion, queso Oaxaca, applewood smoked bacon and a fried egg gracing the top. Salty, spicy, crunchy and cool. It is perfect and I know I am in LA.
The food here is made with care and creativity and the staff is extraordinary. I just wish I could have tried more items off the menu, but the prior heavy lunch would not permit my stomach to expand any more. I will return for their sincere hospitality and dedication to making their place in Koreatown.
Sitting on the patio, I have a view of a saying painted on a building wall across from us. “Bringing Joy Through Sharing Love.” And this sums up my day of adventure and food in Koreatown. The people we met, all of them, are warm, friendly and engaging. I can’t wait to return!
“The real voyage of discovery consists not in seeking new landscapes, but in having new eyes.” ― Marcel Proust
“I Love LA!” I sang, Randy Newman style, as I drove up the I-5 toward a city you either love or hate. To me, Los Angeles is a polar opposite of San Diego, offering everything from the glitz of Hollywood, and the Getty Villa, (my favorite LA hangout), world-class restaurants, and diverse neighborhoods brimming with authentic culture. I needed a fix. Here’s how it began: “Eva, I need to get out of Dodge! Let’s leave our comfort zone and explore Koreatown, LA,” I begged. Her spontaneous spirit kicked in and we were on our way. So, why Koreatown? Anthony Bourdain. I love his show, “Parts Unknown,” and since Los Angeles is just up the freeway, why not? Bourdain’s episode featuring Koreatown made my mouth water and aroused my curiosity. We researched some “not to be missed” places and found some new ones.
Sun Nong Dan’s entrance in a mini mall – Koreatown.
First stop, “Sun Nong Dan,” highly recommended by The LA Eater, Jonathan Gold. Open 24 hours a day, the cozy, maybe 15 table eatery, serves up strictly Korean dishes featuring steamy hot stews and bowls of soup, family style. An open doorway leads to the narrow kitchen where wafting aromas of spice and chili linger in the air, mingling with the sounds of sizzling dishes meeting the tables. Letters of gratitude from Korean celebrities?, taped to the wall are part of the decoration. Also on the wall, a mural of knife-yielding women and their somber observers. What are they doing?
Eclectic decor!
Closely knit tables wedged us between students, families and professionals. Feeling a bit conspicuous with our white skin, we were still afforded the beautiful hospitality which defines this culture.
We took Gold’s advice and ordered the #24, Galbi Jjim, braised beef short ribs. Our server advised that this special dish would take 20 minutes to prepare. To ready us for this eating adventure, accompaniments of pickled green onions, cabbage and radish were placed along the side of the table to be shared and we were given our own bowl of pickled jalapeno dipping sauce and bowl of black rice that turns purple when cooked. Eva and I watched the other diners to see how they ate the dish. “Were there rules?” we asked our server. He shook his head no.
The feast.
Voila! A large cast iron pot of the Galbi Jjim was placed between us. It was a show stopper! The brilliant garnet color of the stew had the appearance of shimmering, glossy lipstick. Mounds of hearty, thick short ribs, slices of beef, chunky potatoes, rice cake sticks, onion and chili combined for a beautiful presentation. We waited for the steam to subside before timidly taking our first bite. Sweet is the first taste which then becomes spicy but not too hot. You make your own heat with the jalapeno dipping sauce and chili paste. The onion gave it a sweetness while the rice cake sticks delivered an unexpected chewy texture. The depth of the layers of flavor was indescribable. It was impossible to discern the spices embedded in the stew. Not trying of over-analyze, we simply enjoyed every savory bite. The marrow in the flat bones was most likely meant to be eaten but there was so much food, we didn’t attempt it. The pickled vegetables were a cool bite during an intermission from the heat. We loved our experience at Sun Nong Dan and recommend it to anyone seeking truly authentic Korean cuisine.
Eva’s first bite.
We were now initiated into Koreatown! With full bellies, we continued the adventure. More next week so stay tuned!
“For me, food doesn’t just taste sweet, sour, spicy, what have you—it tastes of feelings, it invokes memories.” ― Renita D’Silva, The Forgotten Daughter
I’ve always had a thing for peaches. I think it’s because my mom said when she was pregnant with me, she craved them. This love must have been passed along in utero because I too, delight in the season of stone fruit. Every summer at the beach, we would excavate the old-fashioned, wooden sided hand crank ice cream maker and churn out quarts of fragrant peach ice cream, our favorite flavor. We took turns cranking the handle till our arms ached, all the while anticipating the best part – licking the paddle. It was a summer ritual. Besides ice cream, peaches consumed our summertime baking activities: peach jam, peach pie, and my personal favorite, peach kuchen. I don’t know where the recipe for peach kuchen came from but I’ve been making it for over 45 years and still love it as much as I did as a teenager. Maybe it brings back fond memories of those care-free summers, swimming for hours in the warm ocean by day and baking with peaches by night.
Sweet and juicy ripe peaches from the farmer’s market, the best kind, are the foundation for my Peach Kuchen. The recipe comes together easily as there is no dough to roll out, just a crumble that you pat into the bottom and sides of a pan. Slice peaches on top and sprinkle with sugar. A top sour cream layer adds depth of flavor when paired with the juicy peaches and buttery crust. It is irresistible and great for breakfast too!
Mary Knight
Peachy Keen
Note: Although this recipe is called a “Kuchen,” it is not the typical German yeast dough Kuchen. It must be a modification perhaps by my grandmother.
Last week I wrote about the New Mexico I experienced in my 20’s. What hasn’t changed is the way the food is prepared, firmly rooted in its use of locally grown ingredients, really before it was “cool” to eat “local.” Take chile peppers for example.
Chiles require respect and dominate New Mexican cuisine. Their hot, spicy, and sometimes smokiness contribute a distinct flavor that every other vegetable must yield to. Chiles can be intimidating too. I start to feel the heat creeping up, first in my mouth, then in my throat, as my eyes water and my nose runs. Heck, this is just looking at a menu! I don’t know why, but nowadays, I am more tolerant of chile heat and not afraid to order something that will challenge my taste buds.
My favorite place to eat true New Mexican cuisine is The Shed in Santa Fe. Originally an old hacienda dated to 1692, this restaurant has remained a family owned and operated establishment since 1953. The shaded patio, which is dog-friendly, leads into an old adobe house. Every time I’ve eaten here over many visits, the food is consistently delicious. I love the blue corn enchiladas smothered in homemade red chile sauce, their specialty. All the red chiles are grown locally and ground on the premises. Spicy, plump posole (large, dried corn kernels that have been simmered for hours and result in a popcorn flavor and a chewy texture) and soft pinto beans share the plate with the enchiladas. A perfectly balanced Elite Gold Margarita with fresh lime juice, on the rocks, tempers the heat in my mouth from the chili sauce. I am in heaven. It’s a must do when in Santa Fe and is usually my very first stop.
As much as I enjoy returning to an old favorite, like The Shed, I also make a point to discover one new eatery like Rowley Farmhouse Ales, which will now be on my list to visit again. Unassuming from the outside, and situated in its own little space away from the shopping, Rowley is a pub-style brewery serving up some of the best food we had on our trip. An outside patio is as large as the inside pub and felt like a park with gravel floor, shady trees and long picnic tables with bench seating. Family style! Our neighbors eating behind us quickly became our friends as they showered Sparky with friendly pets. We ordered an IPA house beer and took a look at the menu. Again, local ingredients were combined creatively. Hum. Chicken Biscuit Sandwich. “What can be so great about this?” I asked myself. I took the risk. A perfectly fried chicken breast was wedged between a split cheddar cheese biscuit slathered with horseradish crema and topped with homemade cucumber pickles. On the side sat a ramekin of homemade catsup – tomatoey, tangy and not too sweet to accompany a mound of thin, crunchy and hot french fries. The side pickle tasted of briny, chile- infused heat. Wow. Every bite was a marriage made in heaven.
Santa Fe has over 500 Airbnb’s and we were lucky enough to hit the jackpot with the Quiet Country Casita on Historic Santa Fe Trail. Surrounded by acres of wooded forest, the guest house, in traditional New Mexico style, was as comfortable as I’ve ever been staying in someone else’s home. Tonie and Mark live across the way and were super helpful hosts with eating ideas and places to visit. Tonie makes an Apricot Bread for all her guests which my mom and I quickly polished off. She generously shared the recipe with me. I thought this was particularly appropriate since we are now in the peak of apricot season and farm stands selling apricots and cherries lined the New Mexico highways.
Thanks Tonie!
Certain things catch your eye, But pursue only those that capture your heart.
For me, travel is like a recipe. You take a bite, it consumes your senses. You make a memory out of a few ingredients along with the people who join you on this trip. Soon it’s in your “favorites” file. Some places have a profound effect on us, like that incredibly tasty dish you can’t get out of your mind. That dish we return to again and again and rarely disappoints. Like ingredients in a recipe, my travels create memories worth repeating. But, the experience is never quite the same because the world is dynamic and things change. Freeways move and beltways go around a town instead of through them. That small town with a cool trading post is now difficult to find among the dense population and crowded tourist traps.
Santa Fe is one of those colorful destinations where the ancient drumbeat of the culture calls me to step back in time, slow my pace and breathe in the scent of stringent sap from the Pinon pines.
Two weeks ago, I returned to New Mexico to capture this feeling where chili ristras abound and the sand palette of the mesa’s adobe is the required color block. Dedicated to improving my blog writing skills, I took a road trip to Boulder, Colorado to work with a personal writing coach. It just made sense to include a stopover in my Santa Fe. Where did this attraction to Santa Fe begin? I need to go back in time.
One spring, long ago, my mom and I rendezvoused in St. Louis. I had finished spring semester at Southern Illinois University and she flew out to help me drive back to California. Our trip across the country bonded us in so many ways. A mother-daughter trip is special. She showed me places she had visited with her friends at my age and together we discovered a few new venues. That trip, our favorite new find was Acoma, Sky City, a 13th century pueblo 60 miles west of Albuquerque that sits high above the barren desert, on a tall mesa. In 1977, it was so remote and barely known to tourists that you literally had to drive off the beaten track to get there. The only access to the pueblo was up a gravely and rocky dirt road that tested the limits of my little yellow Capri. We seemed to be the lone visitors. A young native Acoma boy appeared with a blue bandana tied around his forehead and a welcoming smile. “Would you like a tour and history lesson on the beginnings of the Acoma Pueblo?” he asked. In its ancient times, Acoma was an impenetrable fortress that protected its people from neighboring Indians as well as the Spanish.
Me at the top of Acoma, 1977
Sparse and dry with the sun warming the dirt beneath our feet, the stillness felt eerie and haunted. Was I imagining, or did I hear the cries of Indian chants? The heat unearthed the dusty smell of clay which was also the dominant mono tone color of the pueblo. Entryways with screen doors alternated with kiva ladders for higher access to second and third floor homes. “Where is everybody?” I wondered.
Very old photo of lonely Acoma PuebloWeathered but still standing.
The only other sign of life was two women, both with gray hair pulled back in neat braids, sitting on the ground on well-worn blankets, in front of what must have been their home. We watched in awe as their brown, weathered and steady hands painted intricate geometric designs on small pots in the Acoma colors of black, white and burnt orange. I purchased a small pot, just finished, for a few dollars. Little did I know that Acoma pottery was about to explode in the “collectible” scene of today.
Our young guide gives us the tour.
Santa Fe was equally enchanting. This trip took Mom and me to the roof of the La Fonda Hotel, tangy margaritas, a classical guitarist serenading us, and the aroma of spicy chilis. Vibrant color- turquoise, corals and sunflower yellows decorated everything from clothing and door frames to hanging geranium flower pots and chili red ristras. Visits to Native American museums, the nearby Taos Pueblo, spicy, innovative food I had never experienced so captivated me, my mom and I often returned to create even more memories.
The Old La Fonda Hotel, 1977.
It has been 27 years since our last visit to Santa Fe together. The following is my mom’s recollection of her favorite time in Santa Fe. “It was our family Christmas in Santa Fe. Dad and I met Mary and her brother in Albuquerque. The Four Runner we had driven from home was packed to the ceiling with food and gifts and the four of us. New Mexico didn’t disappoint us. Snow for Christmas! Lots of snow! The NM highway patrol escorted a long line of Santa Fe bound travelers along the barely cleared highway. It was one of those snowy years that had impacted the entire southwest. We Californians were not daunted. I said “Now it feels like Christmas.” Santa Fe was magical. More than two feet of snow and below zero temperatures. Crisp and crunchy dry snow. Christmas luminarios lit flat roofs and walkways. Our condo Christmas tree fashioned out of a pine branch and decorated entirely with southwest decor- coyotes, mini painted pots, Kokopelli. Christmas dinner of blue corn enchiladas and posole. Indeed it was one of the best Santa Fe memories. Each trip makes for another memory. I still have a quote to bring us into the present. ” The only thing constant is change.”
A lot has changed but the ambiance has stayed the same as well. Acoma Pueblo certainly has advanced its stature. We stopped there on this recent road trip for a very different experience. Now there is a visitor’s center at the base of the mesa. For $24 buses shuttle you to the top for a peek of the past. It’s structured. We passed on the tour, wanting to remember the lonely Sky City as it was.
The photos above are from our recent visit to Acoma.
For both Santa Fe and Acoma, the ingredients, culture, crisp, clear air, magnificent sunsets, were all still there, but the recipe had changed. I have learned to accept the changes, like adapting a recipe, because I still feel a deep connection to the earth that I felt the very first time my eyes met the brick-red dirt of the desert kissing the glacial blue sky of New Mexico.
Embrace it, but remember.
Next week – more on Santa Fe plus a recipe for Apricot Bread from a local.
Simple steps adorned only with poetic messages. “The butterfly does not sing the years but the moments: For this reason, its short time is just enough.” Flaneur
I believe we all are writers. The only thing separating us are the filters we choose to use to describe an experience. Our filters may be color-driven, emotionally driven, memory-driven or personal belief-driven. It’s all these variations that make one moment in time appear in a thousand different ways. I write to hold certain moments close, to learn from the past, and to celebrate my friends and family.
I find it fascinating to take a snapshot of an event in my mind, capturing only my feelings and remembrances. Reviewing past photographs helps me to go deep within and unearth times in my life that mark a turning point. I can feel the salt on my skin after viewing photos of my early years rafting all day long at Mission Beach. I smell Jessie’s puppy breath, my first dog who was my constant companion while living in Australia, by just looking at a picture I have of her hanging in my bedroom. I feel gratitude and a sense of accomplishment after looking at photos of the tiny fig tree I planted not even four years ago and seeing how at home it now feels at a height of over seven feet tall. Always when I see photos of Italy, my heart pounds and I am in love again. All these moments were important to me in some way and by expressing in writing the emotion they carried, give me intense satisfaction. Sharing these emotions reveal our vulnerability and make us human.
Five years of blogging have taught me how to look within and not be afraid of who I am. This platform has given me confidence to keep writing, even more fervently. As I embark on year six, the camera continues to click as I change the lenses more frequently, fine tune my focus and always look for the unexpected.
To celebrate the past five years of my writing journey, I’d like to share some of my favorite stories.
A long ago past adventure in Paris: June 4, 2014Â Time Travels
Music and cooking both have a beat, a pulse, a flow of notes and a sequence of ingredients. Listening to music while cooking brings out the best in my recipes and in me. My spirit is light as I dance around the kitchen swaying to the tunes, singing along and feeling totally in the groove of the moment. It’s amazing how different styles of music influence my final product. My food can actually take on the character of the music being played and dictate how the recipe will develop. My favorite – Rock and Classic Vinyl of the 60’s and 70’s. What is it about the tinniness of the tambourine that makes my shoulders keep time with its beat? It brings out the edginess and risk-taking in my recipes. Sinatra’s cooing makes me slow down and go more mainstream. Maybe even create a new cocktail to honor the era. Another love – blues and soul music- touches my soul and sends me swaying into a nostalgic bliss.
Everyone knows that music is the Universal Language but recently I’ve felt an even deeper connection, an awakening as to how it enhances my everyday living and balances me like nothing else can. I even hear it in my garden with the songs of multiple birds and the sound of rustling leaves that the music of the wind creates. It’s like a spiderweb of energy that vibrates across the world, bringing hope and healing to all of us, everywhere.
Music pulls out stagnancy and draws in good vibes. It’s a tonic. It intoxicates and releases memories of old and brings them to the surface. My food always tastes better and is more attractive when listening to something that lights up my spirit and draws me in.
In honor of music’s tonic for the soul, I wanted to design a cocktail of vintage meets rock. My mom actually created this drink last night, under the influence of Frank Sinatra. I named it the Carrie Ann, after one of my favorite songs , (actually a Hollies song) by one of my favorite artists, Graham Nash. I recently saw Nash perform in Riverside and my love for him and his music was rekindled. This cocktail combines whiskey with brandied cherries and maraschino cherry liqueur. Whiskey lends the “vintage” feel while the music of Nash, inspiring the addition of the cherries, is the “rock.” You can drink it “neat” or over ice with a heavy dose of sparkling water as a delicious summer refresher. I was in love after my first sip. Thanks Mom for your superb bartending skills. I can’t wait for your next invention!
The Carrie Ann
2 brandied cherries* 1/2 teaspoon sugar or one sugar cube 1 1/2 ounces good whisky. We love Bushmills. Dash of Angostura bitters 1/2 ounce Maraschino cherry liqueur** 1 Tablespoon brandied cherry juice ice Sparkling water cherry on top for garnish
*I make my own brandied cherries but you can purchase them too. **I used Maraska Maraschino Cherry Liqueur from Croatia. A gift from dear friends, Alan and Jenny, it is delightful and delicious.
Another version is to make as directed without the sparkling water and then strain into a martini glass. Garnish with a cherry. A little stiffer drink but a great sipper.
“The light music of whisky falling into glasses made an agreeable interlude.” ― James Joyce, Dubliners
“There really is a kind of insane beauty around us all the time. It’s just a question of learning to slow down, take a deep breath and meet the moment.” Graham Nash
My heartstrings are tugging like a hug you don’t want to release. This feeling waxes and wanes but mostly waxes. It’s a longing to be in another place, another reality far different from what I’m used to. A chance to reinvent oneself, live in the moment and not be caught up in the hustle bustle and busyness of big city living. It hits me hardest after I receive a letter from my dear friend, Angela, in Lucca, Italy, who tells me the news of our mutual friends, her painting and the latest art exhibits, her pets and garden. I flashback to our meals cooked together, excursions to the countryside and festivals, and friends picking grapes for our wine. How I wish I could trade places with her for a year!
What spell, exactly, does the charming town of Lucca have on me that calls to my heart like a siren at sea? In my eyes, it’s the one place in this world where everything I love comes together so naturally. Ancient history, walled cities, pasta, gelato, sculpture, pecorino cheese, opera, olive oil, wine, art, cobblestone streets with narrow alleyways, homes of rustic reds and harvest golds, the beautiful sing-song language (so romantic), markets of fresh garden vegetables, espresso, scarves, Buccellato bread, prosciutto and the list goes on.
Whenever I feel the need to return to my dreams, I review my favorite photos of Lucca. I thought I’d share a few that tell a story about the countryside, people and food I embrace so tightly. I hope you enjoy them and are able someday to travel to this special piece of paradiso. I’ve included an amateur video I took of my friends, the opera singers, Michelle and Mattia performing in a small church in Lucca. Bellissimo!
In the words of the famous song by Janis Joplin, [Lucca}, “takes another little piece of my heart” every time I visit.
Combine the milk, bay leaf, mustard, pepper and salt in a saucepan. Bring to a simmer and then turn the heat off to let the flavors infuse into the milk. While still hot, strain the milk into a measuring cup to make it easier to add to the bechamel base.
Melt the butter in a saucepan until frothy then stir in the flour. Stir quickly with a whisk to create a smooth roux with no lumps. Cook for a few minutes to cook out the flour taste. Slowly whisk in the hot milk, stirring constantly so no lumps will form. Continue to cook on medium low until thick and smooth. Stir in the nutmeg. Taste for salt and add more if you like. Remove from the heat and stir in the egg yolks. Gently stir in the cheese. Cover with plastic wrap or waxed paper until ready to use. Remember to season the bechamel well as the egg whites will dilute the flavor.
Beat egg whites until stiff peaks form. In France, I was taught to hold the bowl of whipped egg whites over your head. If they didn’t spill out, they were ready.
Pour half of the bechamel into the egg whites and fold together the two mixtures. Add the rest of the egg whites and all of the minced herbs. Fold with care to keep the mixture light and fluffy. Do not over mix. All of the egg whites do not have to be completely incorporated.
Lately I’ve been feeling disenchanted with the world. About the only thing I find enchanting is my lovely, colorful garden. This is just a phase I’m going through. We all have them.
To console myself, instead of watching evening tv, I crawled into bed with food. Figuratively, not literally! I perused my cookbook shelves and started pulling notebooks and recipe books that spoke to me. I have a few treasured and tattered notebooks that contain my private collection of dessert recipes from my days as a pastry chef . I’ve relied on the basics from these books but really haven’t delved into the more serious desserts that lined my pastry cases. Suddenly, my enchantment with life was restored. Flashbacks of colorful fruit desserts filled my head and my creativity shifted into fifth gear.
A recipe for almond meringue caught my eye. “How could I make this special and new?” I asked myself. Rhubarb! And it was all over. I quickly jotted down my ideas and slept well, excited to start cooking and already tasting the combination I dreamed up.
Rhubarb is one of those indescribable flavors that if you love it, you really love it and count the days until it is in season. Rhubarb pie—who doesn’t love it? Every year I wait for spring rhubarb and try all sorts of new recipes using this vegetable. Yes, it is technically a vegetable. Rhubarb is just beginning to make its appearance in southern California. My friend Di lives in Iowa and told me last week how she and her sister planned to pick the rhubarb in their backyard that grows like crazy, and make strawberry rhubarb jam. I was envious. I became so whinny about her stash of rhubarb, she even offered to ship me some!
My vision for a cake with rhubarb turned out perfectly, in beauty and in bite. I assembled it yesterday afternoon, took photos and then my mom and I dug in, anxious to taste it, as our dinner cooked. “Dessert first?” We asked each other. We both nodded and could not put our forks down. And yes, we did have another piece each after dinner!
As beautiful as it is, because it is a meringue, has a short shelf life and when cut, does not hold its shape for long. Use a serrated knife for best results. There are just two steps to the recipe and each can be made a day ahead. The rhubarb compote will last for 7-10 days in the frig and once the meringues are baked, you can leave them in the oven (oven turned off) overnight so they won’t collect moisture and stay dry.
This recipe is one of the very best, I think, I have ever created. I hope you make it and enjoy it as much!
Line two sheet trays with parchment paper. Place an 8” cake pan bottom on the paper and draw a circle for your template. Repeat two more times. You will need three circles for the three layers of meringue. Turn the paper over so you can see the outline but so the meringue will not absorb the ink or pencil.
Measure half the sugar, the almond meal and cornstarch together. Set aside.
Beat egg whites until foamy and starting to hold together. Slowly add the remaining half of the sugar—75 grams. Beat until glossy about 5 minutes total time.
Fold in remaining sugar/almond mixture.
Fold in almond extract.
Place the meringue into a 14-16” pastry bag, fitted with a plain tip. Starting on the outside line, pipe the meringue, working your way inward until the circle is all meringue. Repeat with the other two circles.
I had a little bit of meringue left over so made these little buttons to use as added decorations.
Bake 225 degrees for about one hour or until very dry. Turn the oven off and let your meringues sit there until you are ready to use them.
Rhubarb Compote
Yield: 3 cups
Combine sugar and water in saucepan. Stir until sugar is dissolved. Add rhubarb and lemon juice.
Cook on medium heat for about 10 minutes. The rhubarb will break down. This is the reason I cut it into such large pieces.
Cool and refrigerate until ready to use.
To assemble:
Whip cream until soft peaks form. Place whipped cream in a pastry bag, ready to pipe.
Place one meringue round on a cake plate or cardboard cake round. Spread about 1 cup of the rhubarb compote evenly on top of the meringue.
Pipe a whipped cream border around the edge of the cake, then fill in the middle. You can go lightly on the cream in the middle. The whipped cream adds a creaminess but you don’t want the cake to be mostly cream!
Sprinkle about 3/4 of one of the boxes of raspberries on top of the cream. I made sure some of the raspberries stuck out of the sides for the glamour effect.
Repeat with another meringue, rhubarb compote, cream and raspberries.
Place the last layer on top and spread with remaining rhubarb. Sprinkle the remaining raspberries on top and voila!
This would be delicious served with chilled Prosecco.
Folding in the almond meal
Piped circles of meringue
Love how the color goes from this
The cake blends in with my Grandma’s antique plates
Delectable
“People who love to eat are always the best people.” ― Julia Child
How beautiful and trendy! A piece of artwork for your kitchen.
The other day as I was whipping up a lemon chiffon cake in my Kitchen Aid, I felt this rush of love and adoration for this appliance that has been the stronghold of my various kitchens for over 37 years. I know it sounds crazy to be in love with a kitchen appliance but really, it’s about the stories it harbors. The Kitchen Aid has assisted me in making pasta, grinding meat, kneading dough along with basic mixing for cookies. This work horse deserves a tribute.
It’s a family love affair. My mom purchased her first Kitchen Aid in the early 60’s after being enticed by the ads in her cooking magazines. An avid cook with a fetish for cooking gadgets, the latest avocado green Kitchen Aid soon graced her kitchen counter, matching the decor of bold blossoms of orange, yellow and green wall paper that peppered her kitchen. Mom wasn’t the only one who embraced this new time-saving appliance. I latched onto it too when my teenage sweet tooth took over and chocolate whipped cream-stuffed angel food cake and pineapple upside down cake became my specialties.
This is what my mom’s Kitchen Aid looked like circa 1964.
I received my first, very own Kitchen Aid at the ago of 23, as a gift from my grandmother who was proud of my culinary accomplishments from La Varenne cooking school. So this tribute is to you too, Grammy, a fine cook and wonderful Bohemian pastry maker who influenced my cooking style from early on.
As a pastry chef, my Hobart, made by Kitchen Aid, was my best friend, cranking out Italian meringue by the gallon, kneading pounds of brioche and mixing tart dough for the next day’s pastries. It was the boss of the kitchen.
A baker’s must-have appliance.
Because I have a curious nature, I researched a bit more about this amazing appliance to see just exactly how it came to be. Here’s what I discovered.
The first mixer was produced in 1919 by the Hobart Corporation and was called “the Hub.” It was designed by Herbert Johnston after observing workers making dough by hand and thinking there must be an easier way. The Kitchen Aid continued to evolve, getting exposure in Good Housekeeping and Harper’s Bazaar. It was in vogue to own one of these time-saving machines. In 1955, five vibrant colors were introduced: Island Green, Petal Pink, Sunny Yellow, Antique Copper and Satin Chrome. Now you really wanted to invite the ladies over to see your kitchen! Cooking became a lot more fun!
Vintage Kitchen Aids
Vintage and sporty!
Color is not very appetizing!
Cotton Candy color!
Talk about an appliance that transcends time. The style has changed very little and it has continued to be center stage for the home cook as well as the professional. I decided to write about this fabulous appliance because I have recently renewed my relationship with it. It sat in a cabinet with little use for years. Now that I have moved it to my counter, I am enjoying its power a couple of times a week. My Kitchen Aid inspires me to want to test just one more recipe and I’m having a lot more fun in my own kitchen!
Do you have a favorite memory of something you created when your Kitchen Aid first joined your kitchen? Please share!
Stay tuned next week for a recipe for Almond Meringue Rhubarb Cake. My mouth is watering just thinking about it!
Click here to watch a great video on the history of the Kitchen Aid.
“You may feel that you have eaten too much…But this pastry is like feathers – it is like snow. It is in fact good for you, a digestive!” ― M.F.K. Fisher, The Art of Eating
Looks good, doesn’t it? Good enough to eat but it’s for your dog!
Last month I received a copy of “Dog Obsessed,” written by Lucy Postins, founder of the dog food empire, The Honest Kitchen. Full of pet health information and funny stories all of us dog-crazed people can relate to, I could hardly put it down. Inserted into each chapter are her recipes using The Honest Kitchen’s dehydrated diets as a base for a delicious home-cooked meal for your dog.
Inspired, I took Lucy’s basic ideas and made up my own recipes for my dog Sparky. For giggles, I included a surprise in the center of each loaf for boosted nutritional value and eye appeal. You can feel good about every ingredient in these recipes and they are so simple to make. Each loaf makes about 2 1/2 pounds of food and is a complete and balanced meal. Have fun and treat your dog to a special dinner today!
Line the bottom of a loaf pan with parchment paper
Preheat oven to 375 degrees
Mix together the Keen and warm water.
Stir in the 2 eggs. Mix well.
Stir in the turkey meat.
Add half the mixture to the loaf pan. Sprinkle a layer of carrots, then peas. Spoon the remaining meat mixture over all and pat down slightly. Sprinkle the 2 Tablespoons of carrots on top.
Bake for 45 minutes or until juices run clear.
Serve immediately or let cool, then cut into slices. The slice will hold together better when cool.
Watch your dog drool as you serve him!
Blue Plate Salmon Special
Ingredients
1 Cup The Honest Kitchen Brave grain-free wild caught fish diet
1 Cup warm water
2 eggs
2 13 oz. cans salmon. I used Rawz canned dog food Salmon because it is a great company with reputable sourcing.
The Honest Kitchen Fish Proper Toppers
Instructions
Line the bottom of a loaf pan with parchment paper
Preheat oven to 375 degrees
Mix together the Brave and warm water.
Stir in the eggs. Mix well.
Add one of the cans of salmon to the mixture and stir well.
Pour half the fish into the loaf pan.
Spoon the other can of salmon into the pan and spread evenly.
Add the rest of the fish mixture.
Sprinkle the Fish Proper Toppers on top – like croutons!
Bake for 45 minutes.
The fish aroma will fill your house for a while but your dog will appreciate it!
3.5.3226
My forever friend Sparky.
“Dogs are our link to paradise. They don’t know evil or jealousy or discontent. To sit with a dog on a hillside on a glorious afternoon is to be back in Eden, where doing nothing was not boring–it was peace.” ― Milan Kundera
Brioche. It sounds so intimidating. A rich, buttery, egg bread with so many possibilities for creativity. I was feeling ready for a challenge and scoured my cookbook collection comparing recipes and looking for ease of preparation. Finally I settled on one from my alma mater, La Varenne. The recipe itself is not difficult although it is a yeast dough so does require some time. After the initial mixing, a nap overnight in the refrigerator will awaken it refreshed and ready to mold into all kinds of shapes. This is the fun part.
In Paris, I learned how to make brioche dough by hand, slapping it on a cold marble surface as I added the butter, piece by piece. This traditional method is an art in itself. This time I let the Kitchen Aid do the work. It huffed and puffed as I added the butter, until I thought it would faint with exhaustion. “Just three more pats of butter,” I whispered with encouragement. The poor thing was warm after the workout and I promised her a long rest in-between the next recipe.
Three different breads were the results of my efforts. Because I am still craving oranges, they all have an orange twist. The first recipe is a take off on monkey bread, one of my favorite childhood breakfast breads. I added candied orange peel (from King Arthur) to the dough, then rolled pieces of dough into small balls, dipped them in melted butter, then into an orange zest and sugar combination. The balls were placed in a deep dish pie pan, left to rise, then baked. Bellissimo!
Next I made a braided loaf and sprinkled the orange sugar on the rolled out dough before I made the braids. Again, delicious and beautiful. While baking, the sugar peeked out from the dough causing a speckled effect. It slices very nicely.
The last recipe, and the simplest, was my favorite. I had some of the orange peel dough leftover and made rolls. Each dough piece was weighed, then rolled into a ball and placed in a well-buttered muffin tin. After they had risen, I egg glazed each roll and sprinkled them with Sparkling White Sugar (again from King Arthur). The texture of this bread is soft and airy, buttery and irresistible.
The best part about this recipe is that you are free to unleash your creative genius in any way you like. Shape a bunny or an Easter egg. Add cinnamon or lavender. Just remember to let the fine texture and flavor of the bread speak for itself so go lightly with the added flavors.
12oz.unsalted butter( 3 sticks) softened and cut into 1/2” cubes NOTE: Please use a good quality European style butter like Plugra, President or Kerry Gold. Because this is a butter bread, it really does make a difference! Also there is a lot of water in inexpensive butter and this can change the dynamics of the recipe.
Method
Put water in a small bowl. Sprinkle yeast on top. Let set for about 10 minutes to activate the yeast. It should look puffy and bubbly. I usually add a little of the sugar to this mixture to feed it, just to make sure my yeast is active.
Combine remaining sugar, flour and salt in a Kitchen Aid mixer fitted with a dough hook. Add risen yeast and eggs to mixer. Beat dough until all ingredients are well combined and the mixture is sticky.
Add pieces of butter (I smash the pieces between my thumb and finger to flatten) one by one, incorporating each piece before the next is added. This is the most time-consuming part of the recipe! Do not leave your Kitchen Aid as mine wanted to jump off the counter near the end because it was working so hard.
When all the butter is incorporated, you will have a beautiful shiny mass. Form a ball and place this in a buttered bowl. Cover with a damp dish towel and let rise in a warm place for about 1 1/2 hours.
Punch the dough down, replace with the damp towel and refrigerate overnight. The next morning, your dough is ready to play with!
Preheat oven to 400 degrees. Shape dough as desired, place in well-buttered muffin tins or molds and let rise until doubled. Give each piece a light egg wash and bake. The small rolls (I weighed each at about 1.5 ounces) only took about 12-15 minutes and the braid took about 25 minutes. Watch carefully and look for a beautifully browned crust.
These are best eaten warm but keep very well and even freeze well.
“The smell of good bread baking, like the sound of lightly flowing water, is indescribable in its evocation of innocence and delight…
[Breadmaking is] one of those almost hypnotic businesses, like a dance from some ancient ceremony. It leaves you filled with one of the world’s sweetest smells… there is no chiropractic treatment, no Yoga exercise, no hour of meditation in a music-throbbing chapel. that will leave you emptier of bad thoughts than this homely ceremony of making bread.” ― M.F.K. Fisher, The Art of Eating
The life in my backyard is so breathtakingly alive right now. I am especially drawn to my two 60-year-old orange trees who greet me everyday with bursts of intensely perfumed orange blossoms that permeate my backyard. So heady is this fragrance, I find myself making excuses to stay home, just to linger in my garden. This heavenly smell is reminiscent of springtime in my home town of Riverside, California, where, in my earlier days, the orange trees possibly outnumbered the residents!
Not to neglect the brilliant oranges that are a part of this scene, they too deserve attention. It’s as if they are asking, “ So, what will you create with us today?” As much as I love eating them ripe off the tree, I came up with this easy recipe which also uses the prolific Swiss chard making a strong appearance in my garden right now. The flavors interact perfectly – some tang, some crunch, some sweetness. It’s colorful and delicious. I love it as a side dish or make it a main by tossing in some cannellini beans for vegetarian or sweet chicken sausage slices for a meatier meal.
5-6cupfuls of sliced Swiss chardstems removed and cut into pieces separately
1large shallotsliced into rings
2largefresh oranges, cut into 1” cubes
3or more Tablespoons roughly chopped pistachios
Extra virgin olive oil
Salt & pepper
Method
Saute the chard stems in 1 Tablespoon olive oil until tender, about 10 minutes. Salt to taste.
In a small pan, saute the shallot in 1 Tablespoon olive oil until deep brown and almost crispy.
Add the sliced chard to the chard stems and cook on medium heat, tossing frequently until just beginning to wilt. Do not overcook or it will lose its beautiful green color. Salt and pepper to taste.
Toss in the shallots and oranges.
Sprinkle in the pistachios.
This is especially good when drizzled with Orange or Mandarin Extra Virgin Olive Oil. Add a splash of Fig Balsamic Vinegar to take it over the edge.
Voila! Tasty and nutritious!
“Did you ever sleep in a field of orange-trees in bloom? The air which one inhales deliciously is a quintessence of perfumes. This powerful and sweet smell, as savoury as a sweetmeat, seems to penetrate one, to impregnate, to intoxicate, to induce languor, to bring about a dreamy and somnolent torpor. It is like opium prepared by fairy hands and not by chemists.” ― Guy de Maupassant, 88 Short Stories
My feelings exactly! Take deep breaths and drink in the beauty of Spring!
P.S. I named this story Orange Blossom Special after the bluegrass song that stole my heart when I lived in Southern Illinois. Here is a fun rendition of the “Fiddle Player’s National Anthem.”
This week only! Buds everywhere! My garden has stated that dormancy and hibernation are over and it’s time to create. Create leaves and buds that will burst forth into fruit and flowers. It’s such a delicate time of year. The crossover, so to speak, of stillness and the conservation of energy, to the release, in tiny increments of stored up power. The curtains are going up and it’s showtime.
Paradiso Fig Just Budding
Paradiso’s Crown of new leaves
There is one drama queen in my yard that loves to act up and challenge me. She is the fuyu persimmon tree I named Francesca. I planted her last May. As much as I talked with her, fertilized and watered her, she completely ignored me. Like she couldn’t care less and wanted to die. No new growth, just sticks for arms. She seemed to glare at me, holding her ground and not budging. She stood there steadfast, pouting for almost a year. I was ready to replace her with an understudy, a pretty plum tree. Last weekend while on my garden rounds, lo and behold, she finally decided to make an appearance and deliver green buds! Was it all the rain we received this winter or did her neighbor, Reed, the avocado tree, give her a pep talk? “Hey girl – You’re late for curtain call!” Whatever the reason, I am grateful she has finally decided to join the family.
Francesca’s Debut!Reed, my avocado is loaded with buds. I’m dreaming of a bumper crop!
Besides the visual, there’s the sensory expression of spring. The sweet scent of orange blossoms drifts in the air, five different songbirds serenade me as the mourning doves chime in with their rythmic beat of coo coo, coo coo, coo coo. Hummingbirds shower in the water spewing from my sprinklers and bees pollinate everything they can find. It’s my own live theater production that keeps evolving before my very eyes. Everyday a new song, a new bloom, a new me reacting to the show. And so life unravels one day at a time….
Look carefully for the hummingbird relaxing in the pomegranate tree
“Is the spring coming?” he said. “What is it like?”…
“It is the sun shining on the rain and the rain falling on the sunshine…”
― Frances Hodgson Burnett, The Secret Garden
Romanesco. It sounds sexy, alluring, Italian. Like a tall, dark and handsome Roman God. But, in reality, it is nothing like the vision the name conjures up. Our eyes met in the produce department of a specialty food store last year. Its tall and pointy bright green clusters of organized mini Christmas trees spoke to me. “Pick me! Pick me!”
Little did I know that this newish, trending vegetable would become one of my favorites. A cross between broccoli and cauliflower and of Italian origin (I love anything Italian!), its densely packed flower buds form repeating spiral patterns that scientists have fun with. Called a “fractal” vegetable, it’s been discussed in mathematical and architectural circles as a miracle of nature.
The taste is earthier than broccoli and the body is firm with a texture more like a cauliflower. I cook it al dente so it retains its bite on the inside while having a softer first outer layer.
When I saw the seedlings in my local nursery last fall, I snatched them up, eager to have a love affair with Romanesco all spring. Watching my new garden additions grow was every bit as exciting as my fava bean experiment. Something different, a new character in my raised beds. The plants took off quickly, shooting three feet skyward, their enormous, sturdy leaves folding over one another. After four months of doting on my Romanesco, waiting for the spiky green vegetable to birth, I almost lost faith. All I had was a garden full of big leaves. Until one day, at the beginning of month five and after my daily inspection, a small chartreuse cone caught my eye, pushing up from the cuddle of her mother leaves. It was happening!
These plants are teaching me patience. Once emerged, they grow quickly. They are so gorgeous, I hated to cut the umbilical cord but I did. I shared this special gem, a la Italian, with my foodie cousin Ali and my gourmet mom.
There are so many ways to prepare Romanesco. I wanted to give it an Italian flair so I cut off each spiral, roasted them and then tossed with fried capers, olive oil, roasted red peppers, minced garlic and red pepper flakes. It does lose some of its vibrant green color in the cooking but the flavor and texture make up for it. There are four more plants in my garden in various stages awaiting for me to show my appreciation by cooking them in some creative way. I have all spring!
Before Julia Child was an icon of French cooking, she was my escape. Somehow food was programmed into my DNA and I hadn’t realized it yet. As a teenager, all I knew was that this large, middle-aged woman had captured my attention with her tv shows and I hung onto her every word.
Making cakes and cookies was a hobby for me but The French Chef opened up a whole new world. Omelets, chicken, herbs, spices, living abroad. Maybe, just maybe I could be like her someday. She became my role model. It was her casual style I admired. She wasn’t glamorous, she just knew her stuff. What struck me most was her passion for everything she cooked. It’s what I was looking for in my life – a passion.
My mom was an avid kitchen experimenter and really let loose when Mastering the Art of French Cooking was published. I remember making hollandaise and bernaise sauces to start, then digging deeper.
Shortly after college, I attended a book signing and met the woman I’d grown to love and who inspired my culinary career. Years later, at an event for the American Institute of Food and Wine, I had the opportunity to interview Julia. I was so nervous! My notepad contained a list of questions for her but she had her own agenda. With conviction, she talked about how we should be enjoying the experience of cooking and eating, how butter was the star of many of her dishes and how the family dinner was a time to share food and conversation.
Meeting Julia for an interview
Last month I made my first visit to Washington, DC. Even though my museum list was long, my priority was to pay homage to the woman who had influenced and guided my career. First stop, the Smithsonian National Museum of American History where Julia’s original Boston Kitchen is on display as a cultural treasure. My emotions ran high as I viewed the simple “workshop” where she shared her knowledge and recipes with millions of viewers. Shiny copper pots and lids hung on peg boards along with all her cooking utensils. A rustic wooden table in the middle stood steadfast as the heart of the kitchen. Fans gathered around TV screens which were showing her 1960’s cooking shows. A blast from the past!
Julia made history just being herself. How fortunate she was to be in a place in time where she was appreciated and could be just that – herself.
I think my favorite thing about Valentine’s Day is the spirit of kindness and love that seem to carry on throughout the month. Yes, it’s commercial but love is everlasting, right? As a child, it was my favorite holiday. We would fold red, pink and white construction paper in half, then draw the curves that created the hearts. After cutting out many heart sizes, the fun began to create cards for family and classmates. Our teachers taught us how to construct and decorate large envelopes to hold our valentines. With our name on the front, these envelopes hung around the classroom, soon to hold notes of love from secret admirers. When February 14th finally arrived, we paraded around the room, delivering our valentines into our classmate’s envelopes. Then the excitement began. Our moms brought cupcakes with pink icing topped with red hot hearts as well as heart-shaped sugar cookies glazed in white and sprinkled with red sugar crystals and silver beads. Sitting at our desks, our hands excitedly opened valentine after valentine while devouring all the homemade goodies and drinking, of course, red fruit punch. Everyone was happy. New budding relationships were born, even if we were only eight years old!
So, make a valentine, tell someone you love them and whip up this easy chocolate mousse for dessert. The best part is I’ve created it as a “shared” dessert. Just spoon or pipe it into a bowl, then using cookies or strawberries, dip into the mousse and enjoy. No spoons needed! It’s perfect for feeding each other, an intimate act of togetherness.
Happy Valentine’s Day!
Milk Chocolate Mousse
Notes: I turned to this method of making mousse when I reviewed my original recipes from my professional chef life and they all use uncooked egg yolks and whites. No one ever got sick, but these days, most people are careful about raw products. Someday I will share my delectable orange chocolate mousse but for now, let’s keep it simple!
I’ve adapted this mousse from a recipe I saw in Food & Wine. The concept is simplicity. A word of caution, do not over beat this mixture! As all good cooks, I tested this recipe twice. The first time, I tried to beat it into a whipped cream state. After I piped it out and refrigerated it, it was not light but rather heavy. Still tasty but not the texture I was anticipating. My second batch, I added a teaspoon of espresso powder to the cream as it heated. When it dissolved and the cream was hot, I added the chocolate. This time I checked the mousse frequently during the whipping process and stopped when it just barely held a peak. The results were much better and it actually piped out smoother.
One thing you might question is the use of milk versus dark chocolate. I prefer dark chocolate but with this method, when the mousse sets in the refrigerator, the dark chocolate will make it even denser because it lacks the milk in the milk chocolate. If you really want dark chocolate, I would use 2 1/2 cups of cream to the 10 ounces of chocolate. Another option is to stir in 2 teaspoons of Grand Marnier, brandy or other liqueur after you have poured the warm mixture into your beating bowl.
1tsp.espresso powder or coffee or 2 tsp. other liqueurall optional
Method
Heat the cream and espresso, if using, to dark warm. Do not boil. Stir in chocolate. Use a whisk and stir until chocolate is completely incorporated into cream.
Pour into your kitchen aid mixer or which ever bowl you will be beating it up in. Put in the refrigerator and chill until cold, about an hour.
On medium speed, beat the mixture until soft peaks form. Remember to not over beat.
Spoon into a beautiful bowl or individual cups.
Garnish with strawberries, espresso beans, chocolate sprinkles or whatever suits your fancy.
Carrie, Mary, Carolyn, Aunt Barb, Cousins Fran, Jane & Nancy
It’s all about a cake!
I collect cookbooks. Hundreds of them line shelves in my kitchen, studio and even bedroom. I have signed books by Julia Child, James Beard, Jacques Pepin and now Ina Garten! These were my mentors during my culinary career but the cookery books I treasure most are the really old turn-of-the-century true classics.
I recently discovered a box in storage of my parent’s old yearbooks and my mom’s baby book. Tucked into this box was an early 1909 hardback Good Housekeeping cookbook belonging to my great-grandmother, Carrie Vodak. Now Carrie was born in 1882 so this book is an antique.
1909 Vintage
Carrie’s handwritten notes
Unusual in its small, handy size, with crumbling parchment papers, this delicate book is a treasure trove of recipes along with facing blank pages for the cook to add her own twist. Recipes such as Cherry Roly Poly, Lamb Kidney en Brochette and Asparagus Loaf with Yellow Bechamel Sauce are even thrice tested in this 1909 publication. Was this the early “Joy of Cooking” for the American housewife at this time? Carrie must have loved to cook because her little book was full of handwritten recipes and notes.
After perusing most of this family heirloom, I closed my eyes and envisioned Carrie sitting at her kitchen table in Cicero, a Bohemian Chicago neighborhood, documenting her recent successes and planning dinner for her family of six. The year was 1915. Carrie was lucky because most of the meat and produce she cooked with was generously provided by Uncle John who had a farm in Iowa. The meat was stored in a salt barrel on the backyard porch. Nothing went to waste and every part of the animal was used. Carrie’s husband, Anton, was a tailor so between the three, the family was well-clothed and fed.
Carrie the cook and her husband, Anton the tailor
Every Saturday, after the kitchen floor was scrubbed clean, Carrie would lay down a clean tablecloth and she and her daughter Mary, my grandmother, born in 1907, would embark on a baking adventure. Bread was made for the week and hunks of cookie dough would be placed on the tablecloth floor for Mary to roll and cut into shapes using old fashioned metal cookie cutters that I still have. So the baking genes go way back!
My beautiful grandmother, Mary Vodak
Here is a cake my great-grandmother, Carrie, made for her daughter, Mary, and the same cake Mary made for her daughter, Carolyn, my mother, who also made it for me. So it is four generations old! Mary made it as an after-school treat and my mom carried on the tradition. I love the toasty coconut topping that caramelizes when you broil it. It’s super easy to make and will be devoured before you can say, “More please!” Enjoy!
My assortment of collected succulents awaiting a forever home
This spring nature called and begged for attention. My yard and garden had been severely neglected over the winter months and the weeds were suffocating everything they touched. The task seemed so overwhelming that I kept procrastinating. The roses appeared the saddest so that’s where I began the project that evolved into a two-month mini-landscape. Inspired by my progress, I kept moving forward and like purging old clothes that no longer fit, I removed plants that were too thirsty or difficult to maintain, leaving more breathing room. I even cleared out a space to plant a gorgeous young Fuyu Persimmon I named Francesca!
Francesca. My newest love
In the middle of the project, I discovered succulents. These fast-growing and water-wise plants would add a new dimension to my yard. I stalked my neighborhood with clippers and bag in hand, snagging an assortment of shapes and sizes. My friends donated clippings from their yards and before I knew it, I had enough for several potfuls. What I didn’t realize was the beauty and intricacy each succulent embodied. Some are cascading dreadlocks while others remind me of artichokes. I love the delicate rose shapes that contrast the assertive spikes of the aloe family. Each so individual.
Intricate spikes
Artichoke look-a-like
Delicate fans of evolving
Almost crab legs!
The art is in arranging them together almost like a bouquet of flowers. My friend Eva took a class on planting succulents and passed on this advice: Use a thriller, a filler and a spiller. With this catchy expression in mind, I started experimenting. I became the artist, almost like creating a mosaic, filing in the dirt spaces with polished rocks.
The composed piece
A spiller, a thriller and a filler.
The combinations are endless. Once again, my garden has given me a lesson, nudging me out of my traditional role of perennials and opening my soul to another dimension. These awakenings, although small give my life such joy. And the journey continues…
I don’t know what happened but my beet crop was disastrous this year. The “golden” beets I planted in the fall evolved into knotty, dingy beige, woody and inedible roots. Thank goodness my neighbor, Sandy, who is an amazing gardener, gifted me with three beautiful ruby beets as well as the challenge of how to cook them other than the classic steamed or roasted. I immediately thought of my brand new spiralizer that I purchased from my dear friend Laureen who is a director at Pampered Chef. Her products are always top-notch but for some reason, I had procrastinated experimenting with this contraption.
Introducing the Spiralizer by the Pampered Chef
My garden re-landscape has consumed my life ( I just had to have a Fuyu Persimmon!) and I decided to take a break from the dirt to spend a day in the kitchen, my other favorite room. I started the morning baking David Lebovitz’s olive oil muffins, with my touch of added blueberries, then decided to tackle the spiralizer. It is much easier than anticipated! In fact, it is simple. I choose the fettuccine blade and voila! I was impressed. From the outside, all Sandy’s beets looked the same but when unwrapping them, one’s color was a burgundy wine while the other a party pink.
Easier than a mandoline
I wanted to create something simple but tasty and beautiful. The accompanying ingredient that came to mind was pistachios. I love this green nut which I feel is so undervalued.
Once the beets are thinly sliced, they can be eaten either raw or cooked. I blanched some of the spirals and was disappointed that the brightness of color faded dramatically. I decided to use them raw but you can prepare them anyway you like.
Party pink fettucine of beet
My choice of flavoring was extra virgin mint olive oil, which I tossed into the beets to give them a light, summer flavor. Goat cheese, rolled in the mint olive oil then in chopped pistachios, added character. The cubed avocado provides extra color and a soft texture. I sprinkled around some leftover fennel for color and crunch. For the finale, thick fig balsamic vinegar was drizzled on top. This vinegar really does pair beautifully with the beets. The fun is in “painting” the plate with your ingredients. Feel free to share your beet creations and combos with me!
Inspiration struck and I had a hit. It was a simple idea. Create an egg dish for Mother’s Day that would say “I love you” and taste great too. Here’s what I came up with. Shallots and mushrooms chopped fine and sauteed in olive oil with a pinch of salt until very soft, about 10 minutes. This is a classic “duxelle” and such a great base for anything you want to infuse with flavor. I once made a whole wheat pastry roulade with a stuffing of duxelles, that was baked and sliced as an appetizer. My catering clients raved. I digress.
Next, I harvested fresh Swiss chard from my garden. I needed an excuse to use this green that has over-populated and decided to become a permanent, year-round fixture. Not necessarily a bad thing. The chard’s lineage was removed for future use and the leaves folded in half, sliced down either side to create three long pieces, then thinly sliced. You can maneuver this anyway you like. This is just how I do it to help get it to the lowest common denominator.
When the duxelles are finished, stir in the shreds of Swiss chard and a pinch of herbes de Provence and saute until cooked but still bright green. Do not overcook! You can make this ahead if you like and refrigerate. To add even more color, dice fresh Roma tomatoes to small, 1/4” cubes that will also take part in this production.
Here’s how it went down. Pour one teaspoon of basil olive oil (or any olive oil of your preference) in the bottom of a ramekin. I used a 6 oz. cup. Sprinkle a layer of chopped tomatoes on top. Spoon in 1-2 Tbls. of the mushroom mixture, depending on the size of your ramekin. Build up the filling, leaving about an inch to the top. This is so the egg on top of the filling it will make a statement, “Look at me!” and not “I’m a shrinking violet.” Crack an egg on top, or if you wish to be a bit extravagant and avant garde, use quail eggs as I have done here. I admire their delicate shells, so uniquely speckled. Maybe I used too many!!
Coat the entire egg with about a tablespoon of cream – decadent – and sprinkle with fleur de sel, my obsession.
Bake at 350 for about 15 minutes, checking half-way through, until the yolk is just set to your liking. The tiny quail eggs will only take about 8 minutes.
Serve hot and be ready for the sound of only the forks hitting the ceramic. The eggs are that delicious and irresistible. Have some lively French or Italian music playing in the background for ambiance to feel like you’re in the Euro zone. Fresh fruit and a light mixed baby green or arugula salad are the perfect complement for this breakfast/brunch.
A few weeks ago, the desert called to me, or was it Spring Training? Baseball has this effect on me. It makes me happy. Just say the word “baseball” and I will break out in a smile. What is it I love so much? It’s the crack of the bat hitting the ball, sending it at lightening speed in a line drive down third base. It’s the dance of the batter as he prepares himself mentally to make contact with the ball. It’s the exchange of glares as the batter tries to read the pitcher’s mind. It’s the sheer collective energy of the crowd, cheering on their chosen team.
This passion for the game all started long ago when my dad would load up the green van and drive us into Los Angeles to watch the Dodgers play ball. We’d don our Dodger blue gear, eat peanuts and keep score. My younger brother was my teacher, sharing the encyclopedia of player facts that were stored in his brain. It was always a good time.
My big brother Bob & me in our element.
Now my favorite way to watch baseball is at Spring Training in Arizona. It’s so up-close and personal. I feel like part of the family. I am fortunate to have a dear friend, Bob, who is a former pro ball player. Even better, he lives in Arizona. When he called to say, “game on,” I didn’t hesitate. Our weekend mission – three games in two days, all in different stadiums. Now, when you are lucky enough to sit next to a guy whose blood runs baseball and shares with you how and why each pitch is delivered, that’s euphoria for a baseball fan like me. The perfectly warm weather, the wafting smell of grilling hot dogs and musty draft beer, the sea of orange clothing (at the Giant’s game) – what’s not to love?
Giants game Scottsdale Stadium. My favorite of the three stadiums we visited.
Many people think baseball is like watching paint dry. I find it relaxing and invigorating at the same time. There’s enough time between the pitches to guess the strategy behind the upcoming play. It’s a mind game that gives you the opportunity to sink into each play, learn about the players and admire the muscle these guys have to throw a ball from the outfield to home plate.
Me & Gaylord – what a thrill!!
To make this weekend even sweeter, Bob introduced me to his former team mate and Hall Of Fame superstar Gaylord Perry. One of my favorite books back in the 70’s was “Me & The Spitter.” I had my icing on the cake.
Happy baseball watching. Be sure to take your glove. You never know where that ball might land!
So, “Take me out to the ball game,
Take me out with the crowd;
Buy me some peanuts and Cracker Jack,
I don’t care if I never get back.”
“Never allow the fear of striking out keep you from playing the game!” ― Babe Ruth
The other day I was inspecting my just budding grape vines and noticed the accumulation of weeds that had taken over the surrounding soil. As I began the process of gently releasing each weed’s grip, the smell of the earth and the weeds combined sent me into a vivid flashback I did not expect.
A warm flow of happiness flooded over me as I remembered the feel of the air, dense and cool and the scent of thick vegetation in the deeply forested woods of southern Illinois. Suddenly I was there, fishing pole in hand, hiking the shallow trail that would take us to the stream where dinner awaited.
Tranquility
Let me backtrack. Carbondale was a town I had never heard of until I met a handsome star baseball pitcher who went to school there. After my first spring visit to the beautiful bricked campus of Southern Illinois University, this California girl came under the spell of the blooming pink dogwoods, as well as the lure of old-fashioned country living. I took a leap and stepped into a new lifestyle,  finishing my last two years of college there.
Back to my story.
One or two days a week, after school, my boyfriend and I would grab the fishing poles and a basket to carry our finds and take a drive south. Deep into the woods we would drive, park the car, then head towards the creek where our lines were cast, hoping to lure a bluegill or croppie. The water was clean and the fish plentiful. There was usually someone down stream doing the same thing – letting nature provide a free meal. I remember one gentleman who always seemed to be there with a huge grin on his face, his line fin to fin with a long row of freshly caught fish snuggled together. I imagined him returning to his cabin in the woods, and handing his catch to his wife who was grateful once again for mother nature’s generosity to their large family. There was plenty for all.
Fishing for family
After catching just enough for our dinner, we’d head toward the railroad tracks where the wild asparagus grew with abandon. The stalks smelled of fresh green and were tall and skinny. This was my favorite part of the late afternoon, the sky a bit hazy from the moisture on the crowded trees and the smell of early spring – indescribable. I’d snap off spear after spear, grateful for this opportunity to indulge in the wood’s wild bounty. Little did I know at the time I was foraging for my dinner. My country boyfriend was teaching me to be a country girl and I loved it.
Foraging for asparagus
I treasure memories like these, of an uncluttered life, where simple pleasures were all around me. Thank you weeds for triggering this fond memory and evoking an emotion I hadn’t felt in years.
What are your favorite times of bliss?
“I am beginning to learn that it is the sweet, simple things of life which are the real ones after all.”
― Laura Ingalls Wilder
The show focused on Italy but the Italians aren’t the only culprits in the food industry. Remember the melamine from China in dog food that made so many pets sick? Food from China is often boycotted because we distrust their full disclosure of ingredients. I’ve been researching various food products around the world and each country has its pocket of villains trying to make an easy buck. God knows our country is not exempt and also has its share of fraudulent manufacturers.
It’s a world wide epidemic and why? Our need and want for more choices but at a low cost lures us into buying with our eyes closed. If you are paying $9.99 for a gallon of olive oil, do you really think you are getting the real deal? We convince ourselves that we are getting a bargain without questioning the source. As my high school English teacher, Mr. Bell, said repeatedly, TINSTAFL. There is no such thing as a free lunch!
There are many agencies that regulate food fraud including the FDA. Actually, my last shipment was randomly flagged and held over in customs for six weeks until an FDA agent could “test” my olives and make sure they were acidic enough. They passed the test with ease and I learned that some food companies pass through unnoticed with possibly tainted food while others, like mine, must endure the food safety process.
Beware of companies jumping on the bandwagon to sell trendy foods who do not do their research. My travels over Italy have led me to the true creators of authentic, family grown and unadulterated products. I care about what goes into my body and choose to support the independent businesses rather than the “box” brand names. I rely on them to deliver quality and they rely on me to buy their products. Food Fraud Resources is a great website and a tutorial for helping us to distinguish between authentic and fraudulent foods. There is an especially interesting article on fish that will surprise you and also make you swim away from certain seafoods. foodfraudresources.com
So let’s not live in fear of products from other countries, but rather be aware, read labels, and support the people who really want to make a difference in the world.
Here’s a video clip from the 60 Minutes episode:
Visit my site, thevirtuousolive to view a video from Galantino, the olive mill I receive my beautiful, pure oils from. You can see first hand how they produce their extra virgin olive oils.
The hustle of the holidays always seems to pull time away from my passion, which is writing. Writing about food, travel, people and nature inspires me, fuels my spirit and encourages me to delve deeper into my heart to share these experiences with you.
I have spent half my life in the food world and find it the most comfortable place to be. I get a rush talking about food, learning about new ways to prepare a dish, while also embracing the basics. It doesn’t matter. Anything food gets me going and you will find it difficult to shut me up! My goal this year is to work on boosting flavor in my dishes.
The other topic that pushes my button is travel. I would board a plane on a dime. Meeting new people and discovering what makes them tick and what they do to find joy is like eating a chocolate ice cream sundae. My appetite is insatiable.
How can anyone not find solace in nature? Whenever I feel stuck, I head to my backyard and have a conversation with my fruit trees, veggie garden and roses. Just the view out of my writing window makes my heart skip a beat. Hummingbirds are ever-present, along with bluejays, crows and mourning doves. They each speak to me in their own language and I am learning how to interpret them. Every planting has its own needs and wants and it’s my job to nurture them along the way, helping to make them the best they can be.
So, for the new year, it’s my wish and goal to share more of these experiences with you by beginning a series of short stories and to be inspired my you, my readers, to deliver quality, relevant and interesting reading material.
My sister-in-law Mirna continues to fuel my inspiration when it comes to food. Over Thanksgiving, she whipped out a warm fruit and berry oatmeal breakfast that I fell in love with. It’s so easy, is gluten-free and has little or no sugar depending on the topping you use. You can make it in a large pan or a small pan. Just adjust fruit and oatmeal amounts accordingly. This is perfect for a breakfast with company or for a brunch. It looks like a fruit cobbler but the only sweetness is from the fruit.
For 6 servingsuse a deep dish pie pan like I did or a 8.5” x 11” baking pan. A springform pan would be great too.
2.5lbs.fresh or frozen mixed fruit. I used what I had in my freezer and leftover from summer. Feel free to improvise with your favorite fruits.
My combination consisted of:
1bag of cubed mango
1bag of frozen mixed berries
1bag of frozen cherries
1bag of frozen raspberries
1fresh bananasliced thinly
1/2 - 1tsp.cinnamondepending on how spicy you like it
1cupof my homemade granolasee this website for recipe. Mirna used about a cup of plain oatmeal instead of the granola, which makes a thicker mixture that cooks into the fruit.
Yogurt and honeyoptional
Method
Preheat oven to 350 degrees.
Mix all ingredients together in the baking dish.
Bake for 20 minutes or until fruit is bubbly.
Remove from heat and sprinkle granola or oatmeal on top. Return to the oven for another 20 minutes.
Cool slightly.
I emptied my freezer and created a tasty breakfast.Ready to dig in.
I love this warm but it is still delicious after being refrigerated for several days. Serve with a dollop of yogurt and a drizzle of honey.
Every little village in Italy has something unique and special to offer it seems. Montecarlo, situated high on a hill near Lucca, is no exception. My dear friend Angela is fond of this artsy piece of antiquity and was eager to share its gifts with me.
The entrance to the fortress.
Montecarlo’s fortress
The fortress, founded in 1333, feels cozy guarded by large wooden gates that in medieval times could be closed snugly to prevent intruders from Pisa and Florence from entering.  The two main narrow streets,  paved of thick, uneven stones and of different colors, meet in a “V” at the piazza center. This small village is an amalgam of old exposed brick and stone and houses painted in rich Tuscan colors. This mix of old and new, is to me, what gives it its charm.
The main street was quiet this time of year. Angela says it’s crowded in the summer but with the European crowd. It is not on the tourist bus route yet, thankfully.
Wild caperberry bushes
A delecate caperberry
Now, to disclose one of Montecarlo’s treasures – its wine. This small region of Tuscany grows the grape varietals of Semillion, Sauvignon Blanc, Trebianno and Pinot bianco and makes a white wine using French methods. It is only here in this small part of the world you will find this unique wine. Eager to taste the famous Montecarlo Vino Bianco, we sat down outside a small trattoria for pranzo (lunch) and immediately ordered a bottle. Clean and crisp with a soft hint of fruit, it was almost too drinkable! It is the perfect warm weather wine. Angela and I sipped wine, took photos and chatted away about the lessons of life. I ordered a risotto with pecorino and pear and Angela chose a risotto with sausage and radicchio. Both were delicious. The pecorino and pear complemented the wine and was a combination I had never eaten. Angela’s colorful risotto was equally fabulous.
While we were eating, Angela recognized an artist friend who soon joined us for an after lunch Limoncello. I love traveling with the locals as they introduce me to so many engaging people with interesting stories. Thank you Angela for a beautiful day!
Hidden in the quaint neighborhood of Santa Croce sits Ditta Artigianale, a gem of a cafe that serves up creative and beautiful food in the tiniest of kitchens. We stumbled upon this cozy and comfortable eatery by mistake, no one recommended it, it just showed up.
The place to be!
The two large open front doors invite you in, and upon entering, a retro feel takes over, with a turntable on a bench belting out tunes of the Rat Pack and other crooners.
Hip and cozy.Hits the spot!
At first our plan was to just have a coffee and a pastry but we curiously wandered to the back where the wow factor took over as we observed sumptuous plates of salads and perfectly poached eggs leaving the kitchen. We were intrigued and immediately decided to stay for breakfast. In Italy, breakfast means standing at the counter of a “bar” tossing down an espresso and munching a brioche (croissant). This place was decidedly different.
Brunch of Croque Madam ala italiano.
The menu offered such enticing dishes as an Italian version of Croque Monsieur and Croque Madam. I chose the Croque Madam, a grilled sandwich stuffed with eggplant, pesto, spinach and mozzarella, topped with a fried egg. Decadent. The drinks were even more inventive. Hot coffee was out of the question because the morning weather was already steaming hot, so I tried the double espresso with tonic water over ice. Refreshing and surprisingly tasty.
Tonic induced double espresso.
I loved the vibe here. Local families dropped in proudly showing off their babies, the staff joyfully arranging flowers and everyone genuinely having fun. If I lived in Florence, this would be my morning feel-good hangout!
An exquisite memorial of an unknown Estruscan, 6th century B.C.
My mantra for the day was, “I am timeless and ageless.” This phrase kept repeating itself as I wandered through the National Archaeological Museum of Chiusi in Italy. The three of us had the museum to ourselves, the only people exploring this treasure of ancient Etruscan history. Even the town of Chiusi felt lonely that day, perhaps haunted by its early inhabitants.
Chiusi’s beautiful view of TuscanyNational Archaeological Museum of Chiusi
The Etruscans, whose roots have been traced by scholars as far back as 700 B.C., were artistically advanced and flourished in the 5th and 6th centuries B.C. The museum showcases the best of the artifacts recovered from hillsides in the surrounding areas.
Nike?She captivated me. 5th century B.C.
The extensive display of artifacts showcases tombs, urns, sculptures, pottery, embossed bronzes and even culinary utensils and vessels (my favorite!).
Assorted cooking utensils. The pronged star is for roasting meat. The green triangle on the table is a grater. 4th -6th century B.C.Clever and unique bronze vessels. 4-6th century B.C.Intricate mosaic. A true artist
Unlike other eras of art, these pieces were meaningfully created for a purpose. The tombs were a focal point with the intention of honoring the deceased visually, and preparing them spiritually. Did the Etruscans realize they were talented artists or did they simply put their heart and soul into what was necessary for daily life? Did they even think they would be recognized thousands of years later? What an anonymous legacy to leave and challenge us to appreciate the art in everyday living. History is fascinating!
“History is formed by the people, those who have power and those without power. Each one of us makes history.” Anselm Kiefer
Brunello, where have you been my entire life? I’ve finally found you tucked away in the rolling hills of Tuscany in an exclusive neighborhood of vineyards reserved only for the Sangiovese clan.
Under the shadow of Montalcino lies acres of grapes destined to become one of Italy’s most prized wines. Tasting a beautiful Brunello was on my bucket list. After a little research, I came upon a vineyard called Santa Giulia near Montalcino that specializes in Brunello. Only about a half hour from our home base of Pienza, I pointed the car southwest and relaxed into the drive. The picture perfect Tuscan countryside dotted with tall lanky cypress tress and narrow country roads gave the illusion of being in a dream. A few wrong turns corrected, we made a left down a long gravel road to reach our destination.
We were greeted at the entrance by Gianluca Terzuoli, the owner and second generation wine maker at Santa Giulia. The farm is small with five hectares of grape vines producing only 20,000 bottles of Brunello each year. Much to my surprise, the vineyards have no irrigation and rely solely on rain water to quench their thirst. The roots are encouraged to reach deep into the earth to receive minerals from the soil that give the wine its unique taste. Dependent on the weather, a heavy rainfall year will produce a grape with a high water content which means less sugar and lower alcohol. A dry season will produce a higher sugar content grape with a consequently higher alcohol content. The art of making a balanced and well structured Brunello is achieving that perfect balance of rain water to sunshine, resulting in a medium sugar to water ratio for the best wine. Brunello must be 100% Sangiovese grapes and is only produced in this region. Gianluca makes a “Rosso”, which is aged in Slovakian barrels for two years, and a Brunello di Montalcino which after this first aging, is moved into French Oak for another year or two before bottling. After our enlightening lesson, we retreated to the house where Gianluca’s mother had prepared a platter or artfully arranged prosciutto, salami, (meats made by the Terzuoli family), bread and pecorino.
As instructed, the way to taste wine is with food so we are encouraged to eat and drink! The Rosso is delightful, light and fruity. Next is the 2009 Brunello which is browner in color with a rich ruby, slightly earthy taste. Last we tasted a 2008 – fruit forward, silky and lush with dried cherry aromas. Heavenly.
Gianluca sells only to private buyers and one distributor in San Francisco who only sells to restaurants. We felt lucky to meet him and enjoy his family hospitality. If you find yourself in the Tuscan countryside, longing for a great taste of the best Italy has to offer, be sure to look Gianluca up. I’ll look forward to drinking the 2008 Brunello on my birthday!
Mouthwatering collage of color. Perfect for Labor Day
Labor Day’s Swan Song of summer demands a final salute to the ambrosial fruits the season delivered. This recipe is so simple it’s embarrassing but I make it over and over and continue to receive rave reviews. Peach Balsamic Vinegar is its secret ingredient, drawing the flavors out of the watermelon and complimenting the mint. It also brings a sweet and sourness that makes this salad unique. The addition of figs is optional but the two fruits are the perfect union. Each bite is a mouthful of cool, crisp tang that will create a smile!
Mushroom risotto. The flavor is so sublime, why complicate it with too many other ingredients? The essence that is the mushroom carries the flavor with the assistance of shallots, dry white wine and parsley. Watch carefully. Do not overcook. Do not overstir. It’s a lesson in patience – a zen experience.
Let the risotto evolve and reduce with gentle stirs and ladlefuls of broth as needed. Do not overwork it – just like life. Don’t over think. Just let the magic happen. Earthy, delicate, straightforward. A recipe that taught me when to add broth. When to stir. When to let it rest. This is why I love to cook. The food talks to you and lets you know how it would like to be treated. Maybe I should have a chat with each dish I make and get their opinion on how they’d like to be prepared.
Resist giving into the temptation to cook the rice until it’s mushy. Risotto should be like pasta, “al dente” with a little teeth to the bite. This gives the rice character so it doesn’t sink into the sunset as a nondescript bowl of cream of rice. What I want to share with you is not how to make risotto, but rather how to experience risotto.
For years I’ve dreamed of hunting for mushrooms. These almost illusive, sought-after fungi were surely only for the expert spotter – until today. I’m spending time with my brother, sister-in-law and nephew in their mountain home in Colorado. Hiking the quiet, unpopulated alpine trails is their passion as well as practicing the art of foraging.
A perfect specimen!
Boletes, or more specifically, King Bolete, the mushrooms we were seeking, are also known as Cepes in France and Porcini in Italy. These are no ordinary mushrooms but a prized culinary delicacy. They grow at high elevations here in the Colorado Rockies and hide themselves in the forest, nestled under spruce trees
My European sister-in-law, Mirna, was the perfect teacher in showing me what to look for and how to tell the edibles from the poisonous. She learned the art from her father as a young girl, foraging the forests of Croatia. About 1/2 hour into our hike, Mirna spotted the first Bolete of the day. A smooth cinnamon-colored cap lay solo tucked next to a spruce log.
Mirna demonstrated how to dig deep around the wide stem, making sure to dislodge the entire mushroom. Soon after, our eyes trained, we were calling “Bolete!” to signal each other that another one of these randomly placed treasures was discovered.
My Belle Soeur (sister-in-law), Mirna and me.Unearthing my first mushroom!Voila! Dinner tonight!Our day’s forage.
Hiking down the mountain, our bag full of large, tasty mushrooms, I felt a surge of admiration for Mother Nature and thanked her repeatedly. This was the best day of my life!
If only one could tell true love from false love as one can tell mushrooms from toadstools Katherine Mansfield
“I believe fairies live here.” I nodded in agreement with this comment made by a passing fellow hiker, smarting a huge grin. The beauty and tranquility of the Colorado mountains always manages to take my breath away and this day was no exception. A visit to my Colorado family, who are adventurous hikers, was not complete without experiencing their favorite alpine trails. We started at a turnout parking lot near Berthoud Pass and wound our way up to the glaciers, I, huffing and puffing, my lungs not used to the high altitude.
At one with nature.
Inhaling the thick, aromatic pine-spiked air awakened my senses. Time stands still.
Each curve of the trail revealing Mother Nature’s allure. Only the sounds of a trickling stream and occasional chirp interrupt the silence
Fallen timber and dusty gray pinecones scatter the ground amidst tufts of lush summer grass and pockets of tall white daisies. A sapphire sky watches over it all.
Nearing the glacier, we make a turn and are greeted by a soft spoken and terraced, winding stream. My eyes had to refocus to drink in the clusters of vivid magenta wildflowers, Parry’s Primroses, hugging the water’s edge. Pristine and breath taking.
Where the fairies live.
We were nearing the glacier’s icy edge and made one last push upwards. The views were our reward. How did we climb up so high in the sky?
This forest, that offers so much hope in all stages of life, leaves me speechless and seduces me into becoming one with nature. At this moment I recognize that I am not a separate entity but an integral part of this living, breathing planet. The fairies know a good thing when they see it.
“When the first baby laughed for the first time, its laugh broke into a thousand pieces, and they all went skipping about, and that was the beginning of fairies.” ― J.M. Barrie, Peter Pan
She lured me in with her perfect “t” shaped limbs, reaching out like angel wings. “Take me home.” she whispered. Not planning to add another fruit tree to my already demanding garden, this one was like an abandoned puppy. You know, the one that finds you. I’d always loved Fuyu persimmons, their sweet versatility making them perfect for eating like an apple, or slicing into a salad for a burst of orange color.
Fall arrived and she dropped her leaves, baring her naked body for what would seem like an eternity. I tended to her every need: water, fertilizer, regular conversations. “Francesca, amore. I believe in you,” I coaxed. But still, she stood frozen in time, seemingly in a time warp. My angel was fading into a ghost.
A few weeks ago, the desert called to me, or was it Spring Training? Baseball has this effect on me. It makes me happy. Just say the word “baseball” and I will break out in a smile. What is it I love so much? It’s the crack of the bat hitting the ball, sending it at lightening speed in a line drive down third base. It’s the dance of the batter as he prepares himself mentally to make contact with the ball. It’s the exchange of glares as the batter tries to read the pitcher’s mind. It’s the sheer collective energy of the crowd, cheering on their chosen team.
