It's the Season

Compote.  [kämˌpōt]  fruit preserved or cooked in syrup

Don't let the stodgy image that comes to mind when I say "compote" discourage you from reading on, because folks this compote is as lively as food gets.  One of my favorite things each season is finding (some might say obsessing over) a recipe for a homemade sauce or condiment to keep in the fridge for when you need to liven things up.

Summer is up next, and that means my favorite tomato "vinaigrette" is on deck.  Fall and winter -- all about the roasted pears or some luxurious chocolate sauce.  And, right now, there's spring in all its glory:  think peonies in a vase, buying and eating too much asparagus, sneezing constantly, white jeans and, since we are reaching the zenith of in-season-ness for strawberries and rhubarb, a spritely compote.

For me, the word "compote" brings back bad memories of canned pears for some odd reason.  Is that because canned pears are part of the mix of chopped up mystery fruit in a canned fruit compote?  You know the kind.  A staple of dorm cafeteria meals and always including those super slippery canned peaches as part of the mix with the occasional maraschino cherry added for a festive touch.

Well this is nothing like that.

This dead simple recipe comes to you from Thomas Keller's Bouchon cookbook, via Smitten Kitchen, and even has a clever little twist to brighten things up.  You set aside some of the fresh strawberries and stir them into the cooked sauce as it cools.  In a word....genius.  And here are two more words...SO EASY!

Here’s how it goes:
You chop some rhubarb stalks and halve a couple pints of strawberries. Cook down that mix (reserving a cup or so of the berries to stir in later) with lemon or orange zest and sugar while you listen to some music or read the latest plot summaries for Game of Thrones. When it’s at a jammy sort of compote consistency you like take it off the heat and stir in the remaining fresh berries. Oooooh, now that was complicated.

For this minimal effort, you are rewarded with a compote that’s a sunshiny, sweet-tart of a sauce with many uses. Personally, I would like to bathe in it but you could spoon some over your morning yogurt, play the hero and bring it to your friends’ barbeque with some store-bought pound cake or simply liven up your oatmeal or pancakes one Sunday morning thereby declaring that spring has sprung. 

Strawberry-Rhubarb Compote
approx. 4 cups of compote

1 lb strawberries
1 lb rhubarb
1 lemon
1/2 cup to 3/4 cup sugar

Separate out about a quarter of your smaller berries.  Trim and quarter them and set aside to add to the compote later.

Trim the remaining berries and halve or quarter them, depending on their size.  (You should have about 2 1/2 cups.)  Place in a medium saucepan.

Trim ends of your rhubarb and chop into 3/4 inch pieces (about 3 cups).  Add to the pan with the berries.

Grate zest of lemon with a microplane and add to the pan with berries and rhubarb.
Mix in the sugar and stir to combine.

Cook fruit over medium-high heat, stirring often, until everything is soft and stewy, about 5 minutes.  The fruit will release some juice as it cooks.  Continue to cook for another 5 minutes or so to reduce and the rhubarb is soft.

Remove from heat and stir in the reserved fresh berries and let cool to room temperature. Refrigerated, the sauce keeps for a few weeks.

A Cheese Odyssey

 It's been a busy summer.

My 'project' as I call it, got its start back in May when my sister-in-law was describing her plans for summer activities with my niece and nephew.  Her plan for their summer vacation sounded impressive and would provide more than enough fodder for the standard How I Spent My Summer Vacation report come September.  (That's so retro, right?  I'm sure that now, instead of a quaint report, fourth graders prepare short films which they then post on YouTube.)  There were to be hikes in and around some of the local prairies and woods...visits to farms to learn about sustainability (they've been particularly interested in learning about where their food comes from...sniff...I am so proud!) and ongoing music lessons.  Not to be dorky, but it sounded kind of fun.  I wanted to hang out and tag along on some of the field trips they had planned. 

On the plane ride home I thought about their summer plans and wished for my own summer program.  And that was when the light bulb went on.  (Yep...a cartoon-like light bulb idea bubble pretty much popped up over my head.) Why not create my own summer program?   I would make up a syllabus of on my own terms and take field trips whenever I wanted.  There would be some light reading (to balance out my usual summer diet of trashy beach books) as well as some hands-on practical experience...and I had the perfect field of study in mind:  cheese.

Cheese is a wonder and, well...it's always been there for me.  Even as a fussy child, cheese was the one thing I could be counted on to eat, and it didn't have to be mild--in fact, the stinkier, the better.  As a teen, a grilled cheese sandwich was my go-to snack (with the obligatory bowl of Campbell's tomato soup).  As an adult, the joy of discovering locally made artisanal cheeses to rival the best France has to offer has been a thrill and a source of pride.  (Yes, we do make things in America!) 

It was time to learn more.

J., a friend at work who loves cheese probably as much as I do, discovered The Cheese School...right here in San Francisco.  Imagine that.  We took our first class together -- Basic Cheese Primer -- in the school's pleasant teaching area set with long dining tables. 

There were place cards and Cheese School pencils and at each place a lovely plate holding twelve samples of cheese, arranged like the face of a clock.  White and red wine was served and the instructor, a very knowledgeable former cheese shop owner and local Bay Area cheese competition judge, took us on a tour through the ancient art of cheese making.  What took me by surprise was how similar making cheese is to making wine.  How the essence of the earth, the animal and its environment is captured in the flavor of each cheese -- the very idea of terroir as applied in wine is the same for cheese.

An even bigger surprise was the very first cheese featured in our discussion...parked on the plate at twelve o'clock -- ricotta.  It was sitting there in a little ramekin, minding its own business, looking very unassuming as I sighed.  Seriously?  Ricotta?  I'm going to be tasting, ricotta?  I admit to having serious doubts about The Cheese School in those first few minutes, because, people...ricotta is that chalky stuff that hangs out in lasagne.  For crying out loud...it's the nondescript blah cheese that fills cannoli.  I sat there thinking, what the hell is ricotta doing on my plate? 

The instructor told us how all the cheeses we would be tasting were at room temperature.  Very Important Note.  Cold Cheese is Tasteless Cheese. But I already knew that.  What I did not know was that this little blob of ricotta -- sheep's milk ricotta, actually...from Sonoma County...was about to rock my world.  Oh heavens.  This was not my mother's ricotta.  That stuff comes in plastic tubs and squeezes out, retaining the shape of said tub, with a sucking sound before plopping into your bowl with a bland, watery thunk.

This cheese...sheepsmilk ricotta from Bellwether Farms...was not like any ricotta I'd ever tasted.  It was tangy.  It was creamy.  It was, in a word...luscious.  I did not want to stop eating it.  With one delicious spoonful, it crushed my dismissive perception of ricotta and established itself as unique and unforgettable.
Cheese as art form.  

Each cheese we tasted that night confirmed this idea...embodying all the subtleties and beauty of food made with care and integrity and often using methods that have been around for ages. 

But the ricotta in particular was a stunner.  I couldn't stop thinking about it.  Last month I stopped by one of my favorite cheese shops, Cowgirl Creamery, and bought the same ricotta.  The goal:  to recreate an appetizer we had in Sicily last year -- a kind of ricotta fritter.  A recipe in one of Jamie Oliver's books seemed to have the right mix of ingredients, the way I remembered it, and I mixed up a batch before dinner that Saturday night.

It's nothing complicated really...a little flour, egg and grated parmesan are mixed with the ricotta and then fried up in a non-stick pan coated with a slick of hot olive oil.  As you're frying up these golden little cakes of cheese, you will be reminded that often, the simplest things are the best.  The ricotta is transformed into something golden and crisp on the outside and meltingly silky and wonderful when you take a bite.  With tomato season in full swing, I followed Jamie's suggestion to serve the fritters with a little tomato salad -- chopped summer tomatoes, fresh basil and a fresh red chili tossed with some good olive oil and red wine vinegar -- and it made the perfect tangy, summery complement. 

So I'm thinking now that The Cheese Odyssey should continue past summer.  I mean, who knew?!  Ricotta...a revelation?  Fried cheese...a complete delight!  There is so much more to discover. 

Next up, I'm going to try Home Cheesemaking. 
And, I'll start with a ricotta. 
Imagine that.

*          *          *

Ricotta Fritta con Piccola Insalata di Pomodori
  aka Fried Ricotta with a Little Tomato Salad
adapted from Jamie Oliver's  Jamie's Italy
(this full recipe serves 6, but it worked well when I halved it)

For the cakes:


1 lb. good ricotta cheese
(Here's where I beg you...mail order...or, ask at your favorite cheese shop...just do your damnedest to    find some good, locally made ricotta.) 

2 tablespoons freshly grated Parmesan cheese, plus extra for serving
1 1/2 tablespoons flour
sea salt and freshly ground black pepper
1 large egg

For the salad:
1 cup of summer cherry tomatoes -- sweet 100s are my favorite
2 sprigs fresh basil -- use both stems and leaves!
1 fresh red chili, deseeded and finely chopped
1 tablespoon extra virgin olive oil
2 teaspoons of red wine vinegar, or to taste


For the fritters:
Mix the ricotta with the Parmesan, flour, a good pinch of salt and the egg.  Season with a little freshly ground black pepper and place in the fridge -- it helps firm up the batter.  (Ridiculously easy, no?)

Make the salad:
If you're using cherry tomatoes, cut them in half and toss into a mixing bowl.  (If you're using regular size tomatoes, you'll want to get ride of the seeds and chop the tomatoes into small chunks.)
Finely chop the stems of the basil and tear the leaves up roughly.  Mix them in with the tomatoes and then toss in your chopped chili pepper.  Season with salt and pepper to taste and toss with the olive oil and vinegar.  Set aside until you're ready to serve -- the mixture will just get more lovely and juicy.

Heat your nonstick pan over medium heat and add a small splash of olive oil.  Drop spoonfuls of the ricotta mixture into the pan -- don't overcrowd -- you want to get some nice golden color to the cakes.
Fry the ricotta cakes for a couple minutes and then carefully turn them over when you see they're turning a golden brown.  (I found a flexible silicone spatula did the job well here.)
Fry on the other side for another minute or so.

Serve right away -- everyone will be loitering in the general vicinity as you are frying these up because the smell is simply heaven!

Sprinkle with a pinch of sea salt and a tiny grating of fresh nutmeg.  (Yes, I said fresh nutmeg.  It's not that big a deal.  Get a couple real nutmeg pods, or whatever they're called, and keep them in a little airtight spice container.  Couple swipes on the old microplaner and you're talking indescribably delicious addition to many Italian dishes.)

Serve with a spoonful of the tomato mixture on the side.  Drizzle with a little of your fanciest, peppery olive oil and grate a bit of Parmesan over the top. 

Prepare to be amazed.

The Year in Cooking

Some things about cooking...eating...and food in general that I'm only now getting around to mentioning...

Roasting
 I was on a bit of a roasting kick this year.  And there's a laughably easy formula I've discovered:
"your choice of vegetable" + splash of olive oil + salt/pepper to taste + hot oven = fantastically delicious.
One can roast just about anything this way.  I've roasted carrots, parsnips, artichokes, sweet potatoes, squash, Brussels sprouts (with the added bonus of a bit of chopped up pancetta) and, my favorite -- broccoli, finished with a sprinkle of Parmesan and a squeeze of lemon.  That one's a total winner.  I saw it on an episode of Tyler's Ultimate, tried it once and have never looked back.  You too, need never steam broccoli again!

So, I say...Roast...and be happy.

Cardamom
This is one of those vaguely mysterious spices I never paid much attention to.  I have some pretty green cardamom pods in a spice jar, that probably date back to the early nineties, but I have no memory of why I bought them, or what I may have used them for.  Then, early this year I stumbled across a recipe for a Vanilla Cardamom Pound Cake which sounded simultaneously homey and exotic.  Now, I've never met a pound cake I didn't like, and this one called for vanilla bean (yet another of my relatively recent obsessions) so before you could actually say cardamom, I was pulling the mixer out and digging in the spice rack for a tin of ground cardamom that had been knocking around for at least a couple years.

The result?  Heavenly.  Baked in a Bundt pan, the cake was moist, golden and perfumed with that amazing combination of vanilla and cardamom.  A perfect match if you ask me.  I've made it several times since and it never fails to impress or turn your home into a fragrant paradise. 




The Chicken and Egg Thing
It seems like owning chickens is The Thing these days.  Friends have chickens.  Relatives of friends have chickens.  Susan Orlean has chickens and wrote about it for The New Yorker.  A colleague told me he got his chickens from MyPetChicken.com.  Seriously.  And then...one day, he brought me some eggs.

They were beautiful.  Steve and I poached them the next morning and I swear to you that there was nothing more delicious than those perfectly poached, incredibly fresh eggs.   Unforgettably wonderful.

Pancetta
So this was the year I stopped using bacon in recipes that called for pancetta.  Ohmy, what was I thinking?!    The subtle, beautiful porky goodness of pancetta is something almost entirely different.  Silly me.  In certain recipes the lack of smokiness that is bacon's hallmark is a good thing.  It is not there to overwhelm or obscure the other flavors in your dish.  Don't get me wrong -- I LOVE bacon.  But, when the recipe SAYS pancetta...trust me.  They're telling you something important.  I've figured out that pancetta can keep in the fridge, wrapped in wax paper and placed in a plastic container or bag, for at least a week.  I also found a couple excellent local makers of pancetta.  So, now it makes sense to me why I never thought Pasta alla Amatriciana was a big deal.  Ha!  Try using pancetta!!  Magnifico!

Building a Better Meatball
I didn't think it was possible...I had a meatball recipe that was pretty good.  A version of a Cook's Illustrated recipe that I thought was incomparable.  That is...until Rao's.   A legendary Italian restaurant in New York,  Rao's has a cookbook that reveals many of their secrets.  My friend, K., gave me the book for my birthday this year, inspiring us to create a Red Sauce Sunday dinner with recipes from the book.  I kid you not when I say the meatballs were a revelation.  Light, with an almost fluffy texture they were a huge hit.  Okay.  I'll say it...mama mia!!

The Pot
So I finally succumbed and spent what seems like a small fortune on...a pot.  Not just any pot.  An enameled cast iron beauty of a Dutch oven made by Le Creuset.

For years, I hemmed and hawed.  I used to stop in at Sur La Table or Williams-Sonoma every so often simply to ogle it.  It really was ridiculous in a way.  I mean, all this agonizing...over a pot!  And then one day this past spring, I just thought, "I am going to buy that pot."  So I did.  And, I must tell you, it is a regular work horse.  I have it on the stove at least once or twice a week and I absolutely love it.  (Ohh, the beauty of a pot that gives you the tiniest of simmers in a Bolognese sauce!) 

Which brings me to some things I am planning to try and some books I'll be cooking from in the New Year...

• The now-famous No-Knead Bread recipe that first showed up several years ago in a New York Times article -- and yes, I will be using my Le Creuset!
• Foccacia.  I feel like this is one of those things I would like to try to make at home, especially a version of Pizza Bianca I found at Smitten Kitchen.  I love the idea, and taste of a simple dough, rosemary, olive oil and salt. 
• Anything and everything from David Tannis' book A Platter of Figs.  He is one of the chefs who shares the head job at Chez Panisse and his book is stunning.  It is laid out in seasonal menus for eight and I'm planning to start with the Lobster Risotto, for New Year's Eve.
• The Banana Cream Pie, the shortbread and ohh, a few other things from the Tartine cookbook.
• hmmm, and maybe some Asian food...I've always wanted to make my own spring rolls, with exactly the combination of shrimp, pork and greens I like... but also, I've been meaning to try Chez Pim's Pad Thai recipe since I first saw it...

Much cooking to do...so, I'll keep you, umm, 'posted'.

Happy New Year!

*           *          *          *

Rao's calls for frying the meatballs in 1 cup of olive oil (!) but I use much less.  Depending on the size of your fry pan, you want there to be about a quarter inch of oil in the pan.  I've also had good results with broiling the meatballs.  Place the meatballs on a large, foil-lined baking sheet or jelly roll pan.  Brush each meatball with olive oil and broil on each side, turning as they become brown.

The other important element is to use your own, fresh breadcrumbs.  It makes all the difference in the world.

Anna and Frankie's Meatballs  (Polpettini)

adapted from Rao's Cookbook by Frank Pellegrino

(makes 28)

1 pound ground lean beef

1/2 pound ground veal

1/2 pound ground pork

2 large eggs

1 cup freshly grated Pecorino Romano cheese

1 1/2 tablespoons chopped Italian parslety

1/2 small garlic clove, peeled and minced, optional

2 cups Bread Crumbs

2 cups lukewarm water

salt and pepper to taste

1/2 cup olive oil (approximately)

For the bread crumbs:

Use the finest quality Italian bread you can find and allow it to dry for at least two days.  Then grate/chop in a food processor fitted with a metal blade.  Store tightly covered and refrigerated for no more than a week.  (I've been freezing the leftover bread crumbs in a plastic container and they are good for at least a month.)

For the meatballs:

1.  Combine beef, veal, and pork in a large bowl.  Add eggs, cheese, parsley, garlic and salt and pepper to taste.  Using your hands, blend ingredients together.  Blend Bread Crumbs into meat mixture.  Slowly add water (personally I think this is the part that makes these great), 1 cup at a time, until the mixture is quite moist

2.  Shape meat mixture into balls (about 2-inches).

3.  Heat oil in a large saute pan (or place meatballs on a baking sheet and proceed with broiling option).  When oil is very hot but not smoking, fry meatballs in batches.  Yes, you will make a big mess of your stovetop, but oh, it's so worth it.  When meatball is very brown and slightly crisp turn and cook top half.  Remove from heat and drain on paper towels.

Put some Frank Sinatra on the stereo and sing along..."...that's Amore....!"

4.  Lower cooked meatballs into simmering Marinara Sauce and cook for 15 minutes.  Serve over pasta of your choice.

What?  You say you'd like a recipe for Marinara as well?

Ok, here you go...and promise you'll never buy jarred sauce again.  There really is no need, and they put corn syrup in that stuff.

For Marinara sauce:

2 28-ounce cans imported Italian plum tomatoes with basil (try to find tomatoes labeled San Marzano)

1/4 cup fine-quality olive oil

3 tablespoons minced onion

2 garlic cloves, peeled and minced

Salt to taste

6 leaves of fresh basil, torn

Pinch dried oregano (or Italian Seasoning)

Pepper to taste

1.  Remove tomatoes from the can, reserving the juice in which they are packed.  Using your hands, crush the tomatoes, gently remove and discard the hard core from the stem end, and remove and discard any skin and tough membrane.  Set aside.  (When you're in a hurry, Crushed Tomatoes in the can work well too.)

2.  Put oil in a large, nonreactive saucepan over medium-low heat.  Add onion and saute for 3 minutes or until translucent and just beginning to brown.  Stir in garlic and saute for 30 seconds or until just softened.  Stir in tomatoes, reserved juice and salt.  Raise heat and bring to a boil.  Immediately reduce heat to a very low simmer and cook for about 1 hour or until flavors have combined and sauce is slightly thickened.  (Cook another 15 minutes if you like a thicker sauce.)

3.  Stir in basil, oregano and pepper and cook for an additional miutes.  Remove from heat and serve.

Sauce stores well tightly covered and refrigerated for a couple days or in the freezer up to 3 months.

A Real San Francisco Treat

Maybe you remember those awful commercials with the cable car advertising a "San Francisco treat"? Well, wipe the memory of that macaroni-rice-in-a-box product right out of your mind. I'll tell you what a true San Francisco treat is: Dungeness crab.

As luck would have it, I was befriended last year, by a true "local" -- a San Franciscan with a superb palate and a lifetime of cooking and eating in this town. My friend, K., has recommended so many memorable San Francisco dining experiences that I can't believe the extraordinary good fortune that led us to cross paths. Every person new to a city should be so lucky.

With the holidays around the corner, we were discussing traditions one day and she pointed out that Dungeness season is in full swing and one of the things her family likes to do on Christmas Eve is have a cracked crab dinner.

The whole crab thing is a bit subculture if you ask this Midwestern girl. My husband's family is from Oxford, Maryland... a town on the Chesapeake Bay. Now that's blue crab country, and any member of the family will tell you that blue crabs are the best. They'll go on and on about them and how no other crab compares, but I have them to thank for introducing me to one of the greatest things I've ever eaten: soft-shelled crab. So, I just listen and nod when the crab trash talk starts up. (This reminds me...some day, I'll have to post video of a recent soft-shell crab dinner in our kitchen, in which you can clearly hear my voice saying "Now, stop that!" as I use a wooden spoon to smack at a still-live-and-kickin' crab objecting to being thrown in a hot pan of sizzling butter.)

Now that we are on the West Coast, it seemed appropriate to give Dungeness a try. So one evening a couple days before Christmas, K. and I stopped and picked up a trio of crabs. The fish market guy had them cooked and he prepared them for us by doing most of the cracking with a big mallet.



According to K. a cracked crab feast should include some fine sourdough bread (check!), your choice of melted butter or mayonnaise-worcestershire sauce dip (check!), and a salad...(hmmm, a salad, she says.) There was a salad K. had once at one of our most beloved city dining establishments--Delfina, and she suggested we recreate it, as a starter, for our dinner. We'd follow it with the giant platter of crab pieces for dipping.


The Salad is similar to one I came across in The Zuni Cafe Cookbook (yet another favorite restaurant here) and so using that for guidance, and based on what we found in the produce section, we came up with a gorgeous salad--a bed of escarole, mixed with ruby grapefruit chunks, slices of avocado and a scattering of chives, tossed with a champagne vinaigrette--which beautifully showcased the delicate, sweet "Dungie". It was a glorious combination.

My brother-in-law joined us for dinner that night and he shook his head as he quietly ate the Dungeness. "It's pretty good".
K. looked over at my husband who set his fork down and announced, "it's not good... it's fantastic! I'm converted! Here's to Dungie!"
The Local beamed and picked up her glass -- "cheers!"


Crab Salad
(serves 4)

meat from 1 Dungeness crab, shelled * (They're big, people! No worries...one will do nicely for a salad for four)
1 ruby grapefruit, supremed and then cut into chunks
1 avocado, sliced
1 handful of chives, minced
1 head escarole, or butter lettuce

Champagne Vinaigrette
4 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil*
2 teaspoons Dijon mustard
3-4 teaspoons Champagne vinegar
salt and white pepper to taste
1 small shallot, finely minced

*I had some lemon olive oil from a local producer here in California, so I used 1 tablespoon of the lemon olive oil and 3 tablespoons of extra-virgin olive oil.

Prepare the vinaigrette:
Mix mustard, vinegar, shallot and salt together.
Whisk in oil.
Taste for and adjust seasoning and add white pepper to taste.

Dress the crab with several tablespoons of vinaigrette.

Arrange on plates: a handful of escarole, some grapefruit chunks, avocado slices and top with several spoonfuls of crab.

Drizzle salad with vinaigrette and sprinkle with chives.

Consider the Oyster

No doubt...everything that needs to be said about The Oyster, has been said, and probably more eloquently, more poetically and with more whimsy than what I am about to share.

I am a late-bloomer in many ways and eating oysters is no exception. I don’t recall having anything to do with oysters as a child. (I mean really. What child would?!) As an adult I occasionally ate them, but always cooked. There was an oyster stuffing we tried one year at Thanksgiving, but it seemed a bit disappointing…the oysters lost and overwhelmed by the rest of the stuffing ingredients. I did enjoy them fried, in a Po’ Boy sandwich, on a trip to
New Orleans. Then – again in New Orleans – a rather convincing case for eating oysters raw was made at a wedding we attended.
Unlike any other wedding I’d ever been to, there were no assigned tables…no place cards…no torturous imprisonment next to someone’s college roommate from Michigan. Joy!
At this wedding, one could roam among the elegant buffets serving oysters and other New Orleans specialties…fill up a plate, and then sit, or stand, wherever one liked. It was heaven. My mother seemed miffed. My father and I were thrilled!
The oyster possibilities seemed endless…every possible way to eat oysters known to man was featured, including the very delicious, Oysters Rockefeller.

On occasional wintertime trips to Paris over the years I became obsessed with the extravagant, intimidating Plateau de Fruits de Mer (translation: platter of fruits of the sea) served in the winter months in most of the Parisian brasseries. You'd see them everywhere... at the center of a table among a group of convivial friends, chattering away, and digging in to three-tiers of plates filled with ice and shellfish stacked high. I was enthralled. Intrigued. It all looked so glamorous …a raw oyster, plucked from a glistening plate of ice and lightly sprinkled with lemon juice, followed by a sip of white wine...it was so chic, in a way.

So, you see, I've been converted.



That said, I recently dragged my husband, and the dog, on an oyster field trip disguised as a visit to the beach. (You can do this sort of thing here in Northern California.) A quick, yet spectacular, one-hour drive north of San Francisco delivers you to the Point Reyes National Seashore, which is breathtakingly beautiful, and while I could get carried away here about the natural beauty, I know you're thinking, yes, ahem, but what about those OYSTERS?? Yes, right...there is an area near Point Reyes called Tomales Bay...a narrow slip of salt water, sheltered from the currents of the Pacific (oysters like their peace and quiet).





My mission was a visit to Hog Island Oyster Company, which was started by three former marine biologists who believed in sustainable aquaculture. Their Kumamoto is my favorite -- petite, creamy, delectable and on the menu at many restaurants here in San Francisco.

We brought along a cooler filled with ice for the two bags of oysters we bought right there by the bay. In back, a large patio was filled with happy people eating their oysters--you can reserve a picnic table in advance at Hog Island. I even saw several communal barbecue grills available if you wanted to grill up a dozen right there.



Just a short while later we were settled in at our kitchen counter with a bottle of wine, a baguette, our beautiful oysters and a bottle opener (the ideal tool for shucking, according to Julia Child). Simple is key with oysters--my husband prefers a squirt of lemon and I like a traditional Mignonette Sauce of vinegar, shallots, a pinch of sugar and black pepper. We tried two varieties--Kumamoto, and the larger Sweetwater--both were wonderful.



So, no poetry, or witty quotes...all I can say is when you stand at your kitchen counter, eating a freshly shucked oyster, just hours out of the water…slurping the briny goodness from the shell, and then taking a dreamy sip from a glass of crisp, tangy Chablis there’s…well, a bit of an epiphany. A feeling of well-being washes over you…here is simplicity itself, and it is stunning.


Mignonette Sauce
adapted from The Barefoot Contessa by Ina Garten
2 shallots, minced
3/4 cup good Champagne vinegar or white wine vinegar
1 tablespoon sugar
1 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
1 tablespoon chopped fresh green herbs such as parsley, dill, and/or chives

Place the shallots, vinegar, and sugar in a small saucepan and bring to a boil. Cook uncovered for 1 minute. Remove from the heat and allow to cool to room temperature. Add the pepper and herbs and serve with the raw oysters.
Yield: 1/2 cup

So...About Me

I love those moments when someone you think you know pretty well, says something which surprises you. Or, maybe surprise is not the best word. Maybe it's more like...
someone you think you know pretty well, tells you something about themselves that is unexpected and charming.

Last week, my dear friend, Jane, said 'tag, you're it' in the classic meme, Eight Things About Me. In her list, she utterly delighted me with (#7) the story of a poetry submission to Seventeen magazine when she was a teenager. This confirms the feeling I have for so many people I've befriended as a grown-up...I would have loved them when I was a teen.

So, here you go:

1. I was born in the U.S., but did not learn English until my immigrant parents sent me off to pre-school. I learned Croatian first, and then they figured, I'd pick up the rest along the way. My mother says the first day she picked me up from school, the teacher mentioned that I was "painfully shy and very quiet". Uh, yeah..

2. Always, always, always, potato chips over tortilla chips or pretzels.

3. I think horoscopes are silliness, but that whole thing about certain personality traits attributed to specific astrological signs...oh, they're on to something with that.
And, I am a Leo.

4. Reading is like breathing to me. I can't imagine life without it. It's precious and magical. And, yet, my first grade teacher was an awful woman, who will remain nameless here, so obviously frustrated at the rate at which I tore through those early reading primers, that I shudder to think what could have happened if I had cared what she thought.

5. I pretty much melt into a puddle when I see a Labrador.

6. I love to think about The Perfect Meal. Mainly it should be simple:
Some hand-made salumi, an assortment of cheeses, a true baguette, and a salad dressed with good olive oil and balsamic vinegar. C'est tout.

7. Give me a British-production, period costume drama on tv any day, and I'll show you utter, rapt attention.

8. There's really nothing quite like a beautiful pair of shoes.

The bookcases in the photograph are one of the best things about home.