Mysterious Pairings

 Oh, the mysteries of chemistry.

Wait, that sounds like my high school self moaning about one of my most dreaded classes:  Sophomore Chemistry, and that's not what I'm talking about here.  

Don't we all know couples that cause us to wonder, “how on earth did those two ever get together?!”

          Exhibit A:  Ross and Rachel.  

          Exhibit B:   A former college roommate and her straight-from-the-50s,  a-woman's-place-is-in-the-home husband.

As I say...a mystery!  Well for me, this doesn’t just apply to people, but to ingredients as well.

Who hasn’t read a modern restaurant menu lately and wondered how “persimmon, amaranth, candied pecan, vin cotto and brown butter” ended up on the same plate together?  I kid you not.  This is a real life example pulled from a local menu.  And what is amaranth anyway?  

Had to look that one up, and I give you, straight from Wikipedia:

Amaranthus, collectively known as amaranth, is a cosmopolitan genus of annual or short-lived perennial plants.  Some amaranth species are cultivated as leaf, vegetables, cereals, and ornamental plants. 

Whaaat?

There are definitely times when I see odd combinations of ingredients in a recipe and like many people, I hesitate.   But I’m here to tell you it’s worth going forth boldly in cases like this, at least in the world of cooking and eating.  Whether you should go on a second date with the guitar-playing lawyer, well, let's leave that up to you.

When it comes to unconventional ingredient lists, I would suggest if even one element seems intriguing to you, GO FOR IT!  What’s the worst that can happen, really? 

 

Last night I made a salad that falls into this category.  Although they may not sound radical, the components were interesting:  spinach, dates, pickled red onions, pita bread and almonds.  Not ordinarily something I’d jump on but what caught my eye was the addition of sumac.  This comes from Ottolenghi’s book, Jerusalem and since I started cooking from Jerusalem, I’ve found I really love the taste of sumac.  It gives things a smoky, tangy depth that's indescribably alluring.  And, wouldn't you know it...with this salad, it's a stroke of brilliance.  

Here's how it goes:   

You do a quick (20 minutes or so ought to do it) pickle of thinly sliced red onion with slivers of dried dates (dates!  I know!  How often do you cook with dates?!)  in some champagne or white wine vinegar. While that's happening, you saute a couple handfuls of torn  pita bread with some coarsely chopped almonds in a combination of olive oil and butter.  The smell of the pita bits and almonds getting toasty and golden brown is intoxicating here.  You've been warned.  Once you've achieved golden toasty pita bit nirvana, sprinkle the combo with salt, some chili flakes and the aforementioned sumac and you're in the home stretch.  Wash your fresh spinach leaves and then toss with the pickled onion/ date mixture and combine with the toasted pita/almond goodness.  The sumac envelopes it all in that unique, smoky, tangy embrace that is indescribably delicious while the variety of textures provide a chewy crunchy symphony of tastiness that somehow all just works.  Don't ask me to explain how...it's just, chemistry.

You Too Can Love Broccoli

Broccoli was not treated well when I was growing up.  My mother tended to cook it...and cook it...and cook it some more, just to be certain she had eliminated any visible signs of green.  Back then everyone knew green vegetables were really meant to be gray.  For a long time my father's running joke was that broccoli gave him the only thing he could agree on with George Bush...they both hated it.

Despite being surrounded by anti-broccoli bias, I've always had a soft spot for it.   It's the perfect counterpoint to the beef in that takeout Chinese staple, Beef with Broccoli.  It can enliven a baked potato eaten solo in front of the tv.  You always know you're doing something good for yourself when you have a bite of broccoli.

A few weeks ago, I stumbled across an absolutely wonderful recipe that made me crave broccoli like never before.  It's relatively simple -- a room temp salad that mixes steamed or blanched broccoli with crumbled feta, fried almonds (a revelation by the way!), and (the key to the whole thing, I suspect) a divinely garlicky vinaigrette that gets some zing from a pinch of red pepper flakes.   I can't get enough of this salad, people!  It's perfect alone as a meal and also does well paired with a nice soup on a chilly night.  I've made it weekly since discovering it.  (That happens sometimes when I feel like I've made a real find.  Just can't help myself.)  There is something about the combination of flavors that makes it a welcome respite from all the rich, holiday foods that we're surrounded by this time of year.

I suppose the next step would be to try it on some true broccoli haters to see if it can convert them.  I'll report back on that, but in the mean time if you are partial to this lovely green vegetable know that this treatment gives broccoli the love it deserves.

NOTES:  the recipes call for blanching the broccoli for 3 minutes in boiling water, and then shocking the broccoli in ice bath for several minutes.  Make sure you drain and dry the broccoli well.  The first time I did not, and the residual water on the broccoli really diluted the dressing.


Broccoli Feta Salad
adapted from www.kalynskitchen.com and Fine Cooking
4 servings

2-3 stalks of broccoli, florets and stems chopped into even-sized pieces
1/2 cup crumbled feta
1/2 cup whole almonds
1 tablespoon olive oil -- for frying the almonds

For the vinaigrette:
2 tablespoons red wine vinegar
1 clove garlic, minced
pinch of salt
pinch of red pepper flakes
4 tablespoons good extra-virgin olive oil


1.  Start the vinaigrette:  mix the vinegar, minced garlic, salt and hot pepper flakes together and let sit for 10 minutes.

2.  Steam broccoli for 2-3 minutes (or, bring large pot of salted water to boil and add broccoli -- cook for 3 minutes -- drain).

3.  Prepare ice bath in large bowl.  When broccoli is done steaming or boiling -- drain and plunge into the ice water for 2-3 minutes.  Remove and drain well on a clean kitchen towel.top the broccoli from

4.  Heat one tablespoon of olive oil in a small saute pan over medium high heat and add almonds.  Fry for several minutes -- until almonds have browned slightly and are starting to pop/crack.  Remove almonds from oil and drain on a paper towel.

5.  Combine cooked broccoli and crumbled feta.

6.  Finish vinaigrette by whisking 4 tablespoons olive oil, one at a time, into the vinegar, salt, garlic, pepper flake mixture.

7.  Pour vinaigrette over broccoli and feta -- toss to coat.  Sprinkle with fried almonds and serve.

Settling In

Moving is never pretty.  

From the initial panic of trying to pack ones belongings (...all of them) into boxes...to tidying up the excruciating last bits in the old place (...which seems to take forever) to the stress of what seems to be never ending unpacking in the new place. 

That said.  It's really quite nice once you get settled in a bit.  You learn your new route to work.  You start to re-organize what you originally, initially, frantically unpacked.  You do a couple loads of laundry.

And, then...you take full notice of the fact that you now have a yard. 

Granted, a slightly disheveled and neglected yard, but nonetheless...a yard!

But this is not just any yard, people!  This yard is a kind of 'secret garden', as my friend, Jane says.

Early efforts begin simply.  Raking and weeding...to uncover what's there.  And then, lo and behold... raised beds! 

The elderly couple who owned the house before must have been avid gardeners.  Turning the beds closest to the house, Steve finds potatoes!  Small, beautiful golden butterball potatoes. 

The timing is perfect.  I have been making batches of potato salad lately...thrilled with a new recipe I found in a Tyler Florence book.  He describes this as one of the best potato salads he's ever had and I must agree.  Turns out, it's a recipe from someone he knows...a certain "Marge Clark of Marin County, California".  And now...I have potatoes from my own Marin backyard.

I feel like I need to be on the lookout for Marge.  I wish I knew what she looked like because if I bumped into her some time at the grocery store, I'd hug her.  I'd tell her that I adore her potato salad and I'm never going to make any other.  And, I'd say living in Marin is lovely. 

Right now though, I need to get out there and do some more weeding.

*           *          *          *

NOTE:  This potato salad is glorious for breakfast the next morning... maybe it's the hard-boiled eggs.  (I am weird that way...when there's something like this in the fridge, waiting for me, I can't wait to wake up in the morning.)

The secret ingredient here is dill pickle juice.  Don't ask why...just go with it. 
I've dialed back the amount of mayo a little bit (down from 1 cup) because I like it a little less saucy...but go ahead and add in an additional tablespoon or two if the salad feels dry.

And, if you live in parts of the country that still require a parka and snow boots...I beg you...throw some burgers or brats on the broiler and make this salad.  Pretend that summer has started.  With one bite of this potato salad, you'll be convinced it has.


The Best Potato Salad Ever (and I do mean that)
(adapted from Tyler's Ultimate)
serves 4 to 6

2 pounds small Yukon Gold potatoes (or dig your own!)
2 large eggs
Kosher salt

1/2 bunch scallions, sliced (both white and green parts)
2 tablespoons drained capers
3/4 cup mayonnaise
1/4 cup Dijon mustard
1/4 cup finely chopped dill pickles with
  1/4 cup of pickle juice
1 small red onion, chopped
2 tablespoons chopped fresh, flat-leaf parsley
Juice of 1/2 lemon
Freshly ground black pepper
Extra-virgin olive oil, for drizzling

COOK THE POTATOES & EGGS:
Put the potatoes and eggs into a big saucepan of cold, salted water.  (Keep the skin on the potatoes so they don't get waterlogged -- you'll peel them later.)
Bring to a simmer.
After 12 minutes remove the eggs with a slotted spoon and put into a small bowl of ice water to cool.
Remove the eggs after a couple minutes, peel and set aside.

Continue cooking the potatoes until a knife goes in without resistance.  Drain the potatoes and let them cool.

Reserve some scallion greens and capers for garnish.

THE DRESSING:
Stir together the mayonnaise, mustard, pickles with juice, onion, remaining scallions and capers, parsley and lemon juice in a big bowl -- large enough to hold the potatoes too.

Peel the cooled eggs and grate into the bowl with the dressing.  (I used my box grater which worked out well, just watch those knuckles.)

Peel the potatoes with a paring knife.  (Tyler says to stick a fork in each potato but I hold them in my hand...they're a little hot, so be careful.)

Break up the potatoes into rough chunks with a fork, toss them into the bowl to coat with the dressing




Season to taste with salt and pepper.

Garnish with the reserved scallions and capers.  Drizzle with a little olive oil before serving.

Delicious!!

Finally

So it was hot here last week.  

Finally. 

There's been a lot of grousing about the weather here in Northern California for the past couple months.  Summer is a bleak time in the City of Fog, but this has been the coldest summer on record in, like, the past forty years.
My husband and I joke that the thermometer seems permanently stuck...at 57 degrees.
And it's August.

For those unaware of of the total lack of summer here, I give you Mark Twain's famous quote:
"The coldest winter I ever spent was a summer in San Francisco."

I was reminded of just how strange this is not long ago when I was telling a friend who lives in New York about a particularly good batch of Bolognese sauce I'd made recently and she said, "ok, I can't even listen to you describe this because it's too damn hot."  It reminded me of all those great hot weather recipes I used to rely on and I had a wave of  sentimental longing for true summer heat.

Then things turned around a few days ago and the temperatures shot up into the 90s.  We were having a little Bay Area heat wave and turning on the oven or stove was out of the question.  Ahh, the good old days, I thought, and then ran through my old hot weather cooking repertoire in my mind.  Ha!  It was time for a salad.

The salad I'm going to tell you about is essentially an attempt to recreate a beloved pub salad from a favorite Chicago hangout of ours. A piece of grilled flank steak, sliced thin, is served on a crisp salad of romaine leaves, radishes, tomatoes and mushrooms served with a blue cheese dressing.  That's it...so easy.  So tasty.

And let me assure you, this salad is perfect for a hot day.  Romaine has a cool, crisp snap that can hold up to creamy dressing and grilled beef.  (And I'm here to tell you Romaine gets a bad rap in this era of fancy mesclun greens and heirloom varieties of arugula.  Often, there's nothing better for a composed salad.)

Then there's the perfect flavor combination of beef, tomatoes and blue cheese dressing.  Simply put, they were meant for each other.  It's the season for tomatoes and we've been stuffing ourselves with the sweet 100s and little grape tomatoes that are plentiful this time of year.  Oh, and don't let me forget... radishes.  I'm crazy about radishes, and their peppery bite is exactly right here.  Chives are a lovely addition, because, well, because I have a chive addiction.  They make anything, better.  The nice thing is, a composed salad is ideal for improvising...so feel free. 

As for the dressing, let's just say you can't go wrong if you make your own.  I won't be upset if you buy a jar of Trader Joe's Blue Cheese dressing, because I've done it myself, and frankly, it's not bad.  But the version I've been making for the past year (thank you Cook's Illustrated) has the bonus of having the perfect balance between creamy and tangy while allowing you to feel the tiniest bit of Martha-Stewartish-I-made-homemade-salad-dressing smugness...and that's always kind of fun.

I pulled all the stops out that one hot, steamy evening. (There were actually two, if you'd like to know.)  I put on a tank top and some shorts when I got home and assembled the salad.
Even had a gin and tonic.
What the heck.
When summer comes around only a couple of days each year, you've got to make the most of it.

Pub Salad
serves two
adapted from The Four Farthings, Chicago, Illinois

a steak (your choice, flank, skirt, or a nice NY Strip, which is what I like to use), grilled or broiled

Romaine lettuce, about half a head, rinsed and spun dry
tomatoes, whichever variety you're partial to
white button mushrooms, thinly sliced
radishes, thinly sliced
other options:  some sliced red bell pepper or thinly sliced red cabbage

For the dressing (adapted from The New Best Recipe--Cook's Illustrated):
2 1/2 ounces blue cheese, crumbled (about 1/2 cup)
3 tablespoons buttermilk
3 tablespoons sour cream
2 tablespoons mayonnaise
2 teaspoons white wine vinegar
1/4 teaspoon sugar
1/8 teaspoon garlic powder or garlic salt*
salt and ground pepper

Mash the blue cheese and buttermilk in a small bowl with a fork until the mixture resembles cottage cheese with small curds.  Stir in the rest of the ingredients and taste to adjust the seasonings.

* I use a lovely Garlic Salt blend from my favorite spice shop in Chicago which gives the dressing a nice bit of zip.

Assemble the salad:
Tear the lettuce into bite size pieces and layer the remaining ingredients with the lettuce.  Top with thin slices of grilled beef.

Drizzle with dressing.

Have a sip of an icy cold beverage and tuck in.

A Farewell Dinner

Last month Conde Nast announced the closing of several of their publications, one of which was Gourmet, and the news left me genuinely stunned and somehow...bereft.  Sure, I didn't quite know what to make of the magazine over the past several years and I had even let my subscription lapse for a year around the time Ruth Reichl was named editor.  But, don't laugh, I've been reading Gourmet since I was a geeky teenager.

My collection spans decades and was probably the main reason the weight the moving company calculated for our belongings was in tons.  I have issues I nabbed from my mother when I was in college.  I have the years from the late 60s to early 70s which belonged to my husband's grandmother.  Gourmet introduced me to one of my favorite food writers of all time, Laurie Colwin, for which I will be eternally grateful.  It's difficult to put into words the genuine shaping influence it had over the way I think about cooking, eating, travel, entertaining...and about life really.  

How could a publication that had been such an enormous part of my life education simply go away?  It felt wrong.  I needed to mourn.  The answer was to cook...(but of course!) and to cook with people who might somehow understand.    So, the big cartoon light bulb over my head turned on...it was time to "walk the walk".

*     *     *

In recent years, Gourmet had, uh, let's say "evolved".  Into what, I'm not really sure.  Where there used to be highly styled photos of food on tables laden with lavish dishes, silver and flowers in empty dining rooms, or on deserted terraces, there were now attractive models with great clothes enjoying the food and cavorting (does that make me sound Victorian?) in festive, Elle Decor-like settings.  The colors seemed extra-saturated and the photos not too brightly lit.  For the most part, issue after issue, there was rarely anything that I actually wanted to cook.

There were a couple exceptions...one of which was the November 2008 issue.  Last year, having just completed the big move from Chicago, we gave up our usual Thanksgiving hosting duties and instead drove down the coast to Santa Monica to spend the holiday with Steve's brothers.  And, wouldn't you know it?  I bring along my November issue on the trip, and there, in the main menu...the "centerfold" meal, as I like to call it, was something I wanted to cook.  It was a menu featuring twelve dishes that integrated "bold Latino flavors" into a traditional Thanksgiving feast.  Chipotle Meatballs and Mango Pomegranate Guacamole with Plantain Chips kicked things off.  There was a Clementine Jicama Salad... turkey marinated in a chile and spice paste...Corn Bread and Chorizo Stuffing...and the clincher:  a potato gratin layered with roasted poblano peppers.   Mouth watering and mind racing, I was consumed with an almost greedy need...to cook all of it and to taste all of it.  But how?  Ha!  Why not host a Thanksgiving dinner in the off-season, so to speak?  When no one is expecting roast turkey and the trimmings?  I marked the pages and thought "I'll just do Thanksgiving...next July!"  (It's freezing in San Francisco in the summer, so it would have been perfectly fitting.)

July came and went.  August and September too.  Work was busy.  Who had time to figure out how to cook twelve, count 'em, TWELVE, dishes?!  And then.  The News.  As, I said...it was time to "walk the walk."

Luckily, I had shared my wacky idea back in the summer with three very dear friends.  It may even have been on the evening we all went to see Julie & Julia together, and then came back to our place for Seafood Quiche straight from the pages of Mastering the Art of French Cooking.  My friends--all supremely talented cooks--were intrigued.  They thought it would be fun.   And, here's the most wonderful part...they wanted to help cook.

The announcement of Gourmet's demise provided a perfect opportunity.  A date was quickly agreed upon, I dug out my post-it covered issue and sent photocopies to the group.

So, a few Saturday's ago, we all convened in my kitchen and put together a feast of epic proportions, that looked just like the pictures!!   It was a magical, delightful way to spend an evening together and I say that as a genuine skeptic when it comes to gourmet clubs and pot-luck dinners.  We created a meal both gorgeous and delicious.  T., who normally creates recipes, brilliant cook and trained chef that she is, followed recipes in this case, with stupendous results.  F.  who insists she is not a dessert-baking type created pies that were phenomenal and picture-perfect.  And, J. whipped up magazine-worthy perfection, effortlessly.  We all cooked in ways and with ingredients we'd never tried before.  In some way, this all made me even more sad that the magazine is no longer around.

But wait a second...
there is that lovely springtime Menu for a Pool Party from April 1972...

Thank you, Gourmet.

*    *    *    *

Here's the full menu (yes--all twelve dishes!) with links to the recipes on Gourmet's web site, which is still up, as well as some cook's notes on each. 

Gourmet Entertains from the November 2008 issue

Chipotle Meatballs

These were incredible.  Zesty and delicious...but then again, I've never met a meatball I didn't like.

Mango Pomegranate Guacamole

Absolutely perfect.  The smoothness of the avocado gets a nice zing from the tartness of the pomegranate.

Plantain Chips

A crowd favorite.  Perfect flavor to balance the guacamole.  Addictive.  And, yes...T. had never bought or cooked with a plantain...ever.

Clementine Jicama Salad

One of the best salads in recent memory.  I will be making this again...and again.  It's a keeper.

Adobo Turkey with Red-Chile Gravy

 I can't believe I made an adobo sauce, from scratch.   I can't believe Steve found both dried guajillo and ancho chiles for me.  The smell of this marinade is transporting and it gave the turkey a gorgeous color.

Corn Bread and Chorizo Stuffing

This was the one dish I somehow wished was better.  The ingredients sounded great to me, but in the end, I think I realized, I'm just not a cornbread stuffing gal.  Maybe it's the texture.

Cranberry Pineapple Salsa

J.'s mega-hit crowd-pleaser.  There was not a speck of it left at the end of the evening.  'Nuf said.

Roasted Chayotes with Garlic

Chayote?  You say...what's a Chayote? Ah haa! Well, here you go... it's kind of like a squash-gourd thing-y.  Relatively simple preparation, but boy oh boy, follow their suggestion and wear gloves when peeling.  F. lost a layer of skin on her hands because she didn't.

Sweet-Potato Coconut Puree

Yet another huge hit from J.  Everyone was crazy about this, and I think I may add it to my Thanksgiving menu in a few weeks.

Poblano Potato Gratin

This was super delicious.  The smokiness of the charred poblanos, the creaminess of the potatoes...heaven.

Lattice Apple Pie with Mexican Brown Sugar

F. insists she's never made a lattice, so clearly she's gifted.  This pie was spectacular.  

Rum Ice Cream

I gave Steve an ice cream maker for his birthday and this was one of his first few tries.  Good times ahead, for sure.

Chocolate Cinnamon Cream Pie

Nothing to say but, yuuuuuuuummmmmmm.

Summer On A Plate

You know the song...

"You say tomato, and I say tomah-to".

Well, any way you want to say it -- I loooooove tomatoes.

My inner tomato glutton is completely satisfied with the move here to California, where the season stretches out for a satisfyingly long stretch. With most of August and September still ahead, I have a smile on my face of Cheshire cat proportions, just contemplating all the lovely tomatoes that are in my future.

With the focus of a true tomato junkie -- I headed for the farmers market first thing this past Saturday morning. A bright, sunny day (what?! August? In San Francisco? Impossible, yet true...) and the market was buzzing. With laser-like precision, I homed in on a makeshift corner of the market created by a stand with two sections -- one devoted almost entirely to tomatoes. Jackpot! A beautiful medley of Green Zebras, Brandywines, yellow tomatoes, Early Girls and who knows what else was mine! I also picked up a little basket of gorgeous tiny, Sungold cherry tomatoes the most gorgeous color of orange and the very essence of sunshine.

Next stop -- Lucca Ravioli in the Mission for some fresh mozzarella, good bread and... (you know it)...a couple slices of Serrano.

Could we call this my version of a Caprese Salad? I suppose. The Caprese, in my opinion, should be scrupulously avoided in most restaurants. I've seen too many sad, unappetizing plates tasteless cheese and under ripe plum tomatoes in recent years, to ever consider ordering it anywhere. But here's where your own gathering of perfect ingredients makes all the difference. (Kind of how I feel about Chicken Caesar salads too, but that's another story.)

But, then too, there are all sorts of funny "rules" in Italian cooking..."never add cheese to seafood", etc...so I'm sure I'm breaking some kind of rule with my choices here, and some elderly nonna from Capri would fall over in a faint if she saw that I add balsamic vinegar.

So be it.

There really isn't much else to say. The most perfect, basic ingredients yield something sublime to be enjoyed on a warm summer afternoon.

Buon appetito.

My "Caprese-style" Salad

serves 2 (umm, or one, serious tomato lover)

5 to 6 heirloom-type tomatoes (the more varied the colors, the prettier the salad), plus a handful of cherry tomatoes

1 large ball of fresh mozzarella, or buratta

handful of fresh basil leaves, torn into small pieces

handful of fresh chives, chopped

your very best extra-virgin olive oil

your very best balsamic vinegar

sea salt and freshly ground pepper, to taste

Several thin slices of Serrano ham

a crusty Italian loaf of bread to soak up the juices

1. Slice up your tomatoes however you like -- even the little cherry tomatoes should be split in half. The juice from the tomatoes mixes beautifully with the olive oil and vinegar to create a heavenly sauce at the bottom of the plate, just meant to be mopped up with bread.

2. Slice the cheese in thin disks.

3. Layer alternating slices of tomato and cheese, and scatter the small cherry tomatoes all around the plate.

4. Scatter the basil leaves and chopped chives all over the tomatoes and cheese.

5. Sprinkle with crunchy/coarse sea salt and freshly ground pepper.

6. Drizzle with olive oil and balsamic.

7. Drape the slices of Serrano however you like - I like to put them around the edges of the platter.

Dig in and taste the sunshine.

And don't forget to use your bread to mop up the delicious juices at the end.

Grills Just Wanna Have Fun

There is something about cooking outdoors...over open flames. For me, just about year 'round, there's a kind of primeval yearning to sear food over hot coals.
I'm filled with envy when I watch Jamie Oliver throw things into his outdoor wood-burning oven and I can recall years of bitterness over not having access to a grill when we lived in a pre-war apartment building in Chicago with no outdoor space.
That meant summer holidays at our place were celebrated with 'urban' barbecue-- burgers under the broiler, or on a ridged, cast iron pan... and a kitchen hallway smoke detector perpetually disconnected.

The move to San Francisco changed all that. The apartment we moved into came with a gas grill on the deck and a small brick terrace...perfect for a charcoal grill. Now, I'm not going to get into a big debate between gas and charcoal, but just know that we never let go of our chimney starter -- a relic of the years in Boston where we had outdoor space for a charcoal grill. The chimney starter accompanied us from apartment to apartment, and even cross-country, with the hope that some day we would find a place to have a grill.

A couple weeks ago, Steve found a neighborhood garage sale and, wouldn't you know it... a barely used Weber kettle grill. $25 later we were lugging it into the back patio, giggling like two teenagers and plotting our first meal. (Shrimp kabobs.)

So, when my friend, K., said it was time to get together for one of our Sunday evening cook-a-thons you know it was going to be All About The Grill.

We quickly decided the centerpiece of the meal was going to be some kind of beef.

Why?

Because we were both craving chimichurri! The incredibly delicious and meant-for-grilled-meats condiment hailing from Argentina.

Two giant t-bones (grass-fed, of course...this is San Francisco!) were our choice, and we decided to go with The Zuni Cafe Cookbook's version of chimichurri. Then, the discussion turned to what else we could throw on the grill.

Asparagus! Corn on the cob! Large, green chile peppers!

Then K. suggested peaches. We agreed to recreate a salad she had tried at some restaurant in the Marina. These recreations of something K. has had in a restaurant seem to serve us well.

The ingredients for the salad:

Peaches, grilled, of course, and then stuffed with goat cheese or gorgonzola (my suggestion)

Spring onions, grilled, natch

Bresaola, (Note: Bresaola is beef and has a very delicate flavor--almost too delicate for this salad, I think. We both agreed -- next time, go with Serrano for that extra kick of salty, porky deliciousness.)

All, draped over a bed of greens tossed with a vinaigrette.

Wine was poured. Ingredients prepped. The chimichurri prepared.

We stood in the dwindling end-of-day light, tending the various fruits and vegetables arrayed on the grill. Smoke swirled around us and and the smell of grilling peaches was heavenly.

We raised our glasses. A toast... To Grilling!

A note about chimichurri.

I used to follow a recipe found on Epicurious, which was mainly parsley, very green and, in retrospect, a bit boring.

The recipe we used was apparently shared with Judy Rodgers by two chefs from Argentina who spent some time cooking in the Zuni kitchen in the late 90's. It is fantastic and there's no going back.

This chimichurri uses a mix of chopped fresh herbs and the key is warming the olive oil so that when the fresh herbs are added they create a very satisfying sizzle as they hit the oil. The addition of a jalapeno, charred over an open flame is so much better, to me, than the typical red pepper flakes. The other important ingredient is paprika -- it gives the sauce a sultry, smoky finish that is addictive.

Make this sauce and you will be finding any excuse you can to throw some meat on the grill.

It is, in a word...amazing.

Connie & Maryanna's Chimichurri

adapted from The Zuni Cafe Cookbook by Judy Rodgers

makes about 1 1/4 cups -- keeps well for weeks, refrigerated and improves with time

1 jalapeno, preferably red (we used green)

2 teaspoons tightly packed fresh oregano leaves

2 teaspoons tightly packed fresh thyme leaves

1 teaspoon tightly packed fresh rosemary leaves

1 cup extra-virgin olive oil

1 tablespoon sweet paprika

1 tablespoon tightly packed, coarsely shopped fresh flat-leaf parsley

1 or 2 teaspoons finely chopped garlic

2 bay leaves, crumbled

2 tablespoons red wine vinegar--the good stuff

About 1/2 teaspoon salt

Freshly cracked black pepper, to taste

Char the jalapeno, either directly over a gas burner, or charcoal fire, or under a broiler

until the pepper is freckled with black and smells good

When the pepper has cooled slightly, halve, seed and mince it. Don't rub off the tasty black blisters -- include them in the chimichurri.

Place the oregano, thyme and rosemary in a mortar and pound lightly. (K. and I decided to pound, AND do a little mincing, to vary up the texture. It just looked a little too 'leafy' after just pounding.)

Warm the oil in a small saucepan until it is hot to the touch. Pull from the heat and stir in the herbs, plus all the remaining ingredients, including the jalapeno -- don't forget the paprika!

(If making the chimichurri more than a few hours in advance, wait to add the parsley until you are about to use it.) Taste. Leave to infuse for at least 1 hour at room temperature before serving.

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.

Transition

tran - si - tion |tranˈzi sh ən; -ˈsi sh ən|
noun
the process or a period of changing from one state or condition to another

I knew it would be daunting, when I said yes to the job offer. Moving is never pretty...and that's just when you go from one house or apartment or neighborhood to another. This move -- Chicago to San Francisco -- involves thousands of miles and a myriad of details. The "transition" was going to be, umm, challenging.

But, I am a producer. And, producers handle details. Lots of 'em. Up for the challenge, I smiled, said, yes, thank you, and there you have it. We are moving to San Francisco!

Yes, it is as lovely as you are picturing...apricots and fresh lavender in June at some of the most glorious farmer's markets I've ever encountered. Incredible vistas in every direction...my favorite being the brick red of the Golden Gate Bridge standing out from the green of the hills of Marin in the background. Fog that sometimes rolls, slides, creeps or drops in over the hills to the west of the city. People--total strangers even--who will discuss food and restaurants with you in an wonderfully obsessive manner.
And, don't even get me started on how one city gets to have so many incredible bakeries.

I was going to start out and tell you how invigorating change is, and how wonderful it is to be learning new things, and experiencing all new, all the time. It is. But then I thought of a recent flight back to the West Coast where I bumped into a friend's brother on the plane. Someone I knew! A familiar face. I almost cried I was so happy and then I realized... sometimes, so much change at once and so much new is exhausting too.

Happy. Sad. Tired. I am in
tran - si - tion |tranˈzi sh ən; -ˈsi sh ən|

• a passage in a piece of writing that smoothly connects two topics or sections to each other.

Smoothly connecting two sections of life (the Midwest chapter and the West Coast chapter is what we are calling them) is what I am after.
I'm realizing that patience is key.

There is cooking and eating going on, but not much blogging about it at the moment. This producer has multiple lists going, things to be done, here and in Chicago, a huge road trip to be planned, and so, despite many blog postings written in my head as I stand at the kitchen counter eating a juicy peach in early June (oh, how I love California!!), few are actually making it into the blog.
Soon, I will be reunited with my cookbooks...my heavy, industrial stand-mixer...my fancy knives...my silpats...but, for the time being I will have to stick to the super simple. It's been like that for several months now and I'll tell you that's not a bad thing when you have the incredible range of produce that is available here. (I keep thinking to myself, "these people are so spoiled here"...and then, with a start, I realize, I get to be one of "these people" now and I become giddy with joy.)



So, here's something I put together recently after seeing fava beans in the local California farmers markets. A childhood friend tells me she has never cooked with favas...she says her only frame of reference for them is Anthony Hopkins in Silence of the Lambs. Bummer. My favorite fava memory (ha), is a summer weekend spent in (relatively) quiet New York with my dearest friend, Elizabeth. We pledged not to venture north of 20th Street that weekend, and so we ended up having dinner one night, outside, at Da Silvano. I vaguely remember random celebrity sightings and many women who looked like supermodels as we sat there on a balmy summer night. There were perfect vodka gimlets, cool and refreshing. Then a starter that etched itself in my memory: perfectly blanched favas with small chunks of pecorino, drizzled with a fruity green olive oil and a sprinkle of freshly ground pepper. It was perfection.

I recreated this dish at home in Chicago, whenever I was lucky enough to find favas at the green market. The season seemed extremely short to me...just a couple weeks at some point in July, and I won't even tell you how many times I would get up at 6 AM, pedal my bike to the market, with the express plan to buy favas, only to be told the supply had been completely cleaned out by some local chef.



People grumble about favas being too much work. This makes me a little cranky... really, if you want no work at all, then microwave something for heavenssakes. This is about cooking something verdant and green and incredible, and it's really not that big a deal.
First, you shell the beans (and the pods really are fascinating...lined with a beautiful, white, soft padding.) Drop the beans in boiling water for one, two minutes, tops. Drain and drop into cold water and then pop the beans out of their skins. For super-tiny beans, you can pretty much eat them without this step. For this relatively minimal amount of work (I mean this is NOTHING compared to roasting duck or making bouillabaisse people!) you are rewarded with the sweetest, brightest green nuggets of goodness that just shout "IT'S SPRING"!

And, my favorite part of it is...from now on, I get to have them whenever I want.



Fava Beans with Pecorino
Serving note: So, given the "work" involved for a relatively small yield, I would suggest making this for yourself, or two people, max.

Several handfuls of fresh fava beans, shelled
Pecorino romano cheese, shaved with a vegetable peeler
fruity extra virgin olive oil, for drizzling
freshly cracked black pepper

1. Bring a saucepan of water to a boil and blanch the shelled beans for approximately 1-2 minutes.

2. Drain the beans and then plunge into a bowl of ice water for 2-3 minutes.

3. Drain the beans again and arrange on a plate. Top with shavings of romano. Drizzle with olive oil, top with cracked pepper and serve.