bronze_ribbons: yoshizumi flying off cliff (yosh37 yoshizumi off cliff)
This NYT photo essay on wagashi is cracking me up -- elegant portraits of sweets with cats:

Sweets as Poignant as Poetry
bronze_ribbons: drawing of a contented bull (cow)

I am annoyed about being sick, but also fine with how it simplified my weekend, and relieved that I heeded my gut in refraining from making plans to head east, even though I'd looked with longing at the Old Farmer's Ball program for today (Mount Hills! Good Man of Cambridge! Picking Up Sticks (which contains sheepskin heys, which one teacher regards as proof "that hallucinogenic drugs were available in the 17th Century")!). Instead, I got up early, fried pancakes and eggs, and then went back to bed. Then the rest of the day was split between making phone calls, cleaning, tennis-watching, and catching up on some of the yardwork. Having belatedly read the full tag for the "Sky's the Limit" rosebush, I shaped its water basin and tied the two longest branches to stakes; admired the new yellow buds and the green tomatoes nearby; planted the geranium, tomato, and cactus cuttings; yanked and clipped and dug and hauled...

The subject line is adapted from Dawn Potter's recent post about Keats. "Dirt has its beauties" also would've worked, come to think of it.

My plan for dinner had been to make a tomato tarte tatin, but that was before I realized the box in my freezer contained not puff pastry but regular pie crust. Plus, after I finished dealing with the onions, I was feeling less inclined to follow the rest of the steps. So instead I shifted to Emeril's recipe for an onion and tomato pie, and while I didn't have most of the ingredients on hand, it provided enough guidance to get things good enough for my dinner plate. The final mash-up was along these lines:

* Chop one onion plus a couple of slices salvaged from a chunk in the crisper. Sautee in butter until soft.
* Defrost one frozen pie crust in microwave. Frown at soggy mess, abandon attempt to unroll it, and mash it across bottom of pie pan.
* Dump foil and pie weights on top and bake at 375 F for ten minutes or so.
* Chop half of a tomato. Realize the recipe probably advises slices instead. Sure enough. Slice other half. Season with the dregs of thyme-laced salt a friend had given me for Christmas two years ago, plus some black pepper.
* Startle the bloke reading in his car just outside my driveway (I'm guessing a tourist) as I scamper out in my nightgown to snip some basil and thyme.
* Mix one egg with the dregs (about 4 T) of Duke's mayo from the fridge. (Today was a great day for using things up; I also pitched some ancient spices into the compost bowl and shredded the iffy salted lemons in the sink.)
* Gingerly pour pie weights (aka old beans I've used for more than a decade -- probably nearly two) into mixing bowl and collect the ones hopping onto the floor.
* Scatter some panko over the crust.
* Lay the slices of tomato on the crumbs, in a pattern like a quilted star. Spoon half of the cooked onion bits into the spaces between.
* Scatter herbs and a heap of gorgonzola cheese over the veg. Drizzle with half of the egg-mayo sauce.
* More tomato. More onion. More sauce. More breadcrumbs. Some olives.
* Bake for 30 minutes? I set the timer for an hour, but took it out earlier when it looked and smelled done enough. And then ate half of it.
bronze_ribbons: yoshizumi flying off cliff (yosh37 yoshizumi off cliff)
A friend treated me to dim sum at Hei La Moon earlier this week, and amiably agreed to share a plate of black sesame rolls among the other dishes I pointed at (turnip cakes, Chinese broccoli, and har kow).

I didn't really manage to explain how the dessert inspired a fic I wrote seven years ago, but we agreed that it was delicious.

Also in Boston: Friendly Toast with [personal profile] marginaliana, tea with [personal profile] okrablossom, and more radish/turnip cakes at Gourmet Dumpling House and Bubor Cha Cha. Diversions included four hours of paddleboarding on the Charles and an evening with two good-with-children cats named after Jabberwocky terms (plus the children and their parents).

Prior to Boston: a week in Plymouth. Much dancing (and paddling, and a bit of swimming, including some skinny-dipping under the nearly full moon). Much to digest. Much more to learn. But first, unpacking (and getting through more of the 350+ emails that had arrived in my work inbox while I was off the grid).
bronze_ribbons: drawing of a contented bull (cow)

The technique of barbecue is actually very simple, but it takes years and years to master. There's an intuition that you only gain through the repetition of practice. Aaron [Franklin] told me that he trains all his employees the same way, but when he cuts into a brisket, he can tell you exactly who did the smoking.
bronze_ribbons: yoshizumi flying off cliff (yosh37 yoshizumi off cliff)
The subject line is from Carrie Fisher's Twitter bio. I learned of her death when I saw "Remembering Carrie Fisher" on a TV at Liuzza's, and one of the sadder things I saw later in the week was a sheaf of WizardWorld Comic Con flyers curled behind a machine or rack in a French Quarter coffee shop. The con is going on even as I type (January 6 to 8), but without Fisher, who had been listed on the top line of guests:

WizardWorld Comic Con flyer

I also saw two murals -- one on a wall with "RIP" prominent on wall, and the other on the door of the Krewe of Chewbacchus HQ. Friday morning, we spotted kegs being delivered for the second line parade to be led by the Leijorettes ("most ... are roller derby players").

Leijorettes HQ

A post I bookmarked while mentally drafting this one: TJ's goals for this year.

Speaking of fighting fascists, here's what Penzeys Spices has to say:

The stories of cooks, at least the way we see them, super-humanize. If it looks like you, or someone you know, are going to be standing in the way of the new administration, we need your story, and a recipe or two, and this time we can't wait until July. No doubt public school teachers will once again be on the front lines of the right's anger echo chamber, but we're thinking this time it won't be just teachers, and this is why we are asking for your help. This year, the list will be long, and we would like to get a leg up on any direction it could head. Clearly this time around the targets are the environment, immigration, gender equality, freedom of the press, freedom of religion, income inequality, and pretty much anyone who is in any way a minority in any shape or form.

If you, or someone you know, is on the front lines of one of these issues and have a good recipe or two to share, please contact us at, and tell us a little about your background and your concerns. And please, don't think your experience needs to be dramatic, or that you need to have some sort of job title to participate. It's the every day decency of cooks that carries the day, not fame or celebrity.

And because you may well be first up on the block, if you are one of those pre-existing condition-havers that have had a brief period of almost normal life because of the Affordable Care Act, please get in touch with us right away. The people need to understand your experience. Once again, please contact us at with a brief description of your story, and one of our gifted and friendly writers will get in touch. Please. We all need your experience.

Speaking of cooking, last night I scooped the Meyer lemon sorbet into smaller containers, and tonight I may proceed with this recipe for grapefruit-lemon marmalade. First, though, there is cleaning to do, but before that, lunch (a bowlful of leftovers, plus coffee dregs perked up with cardamom [from Penzeys], ginger, cinnamon, and coriander, with hot water and almond milk refilling the mug).

What are you cooking or dreaming about this weekend, loves?
bronze_ribbons: knife with bronze ribbons (bribbons)
The Christmas Day service at First UU ("It's the Most Jewiful Time of the Year") included a dramatic reading of Lemony Snicket's The Latke that Couldn't Stop Screaming, led by the sabbatical minister with audience participation (congregants waving their arms and going "aaaaah!" on cue); a Dr Who reference (Rabbi Rami: I was hoping to watch the special tonight but my wife is insisting that we go out for Chinese); an extended Star Trek benediction in both Hebrew and English; and substantive theological points to consider, with the rabbi comparing closed systems (salvation-based) and open ones (hope-based). The quote I repeated to several other people later in the day : Johanan ben Zakkai's "If you are planting a tree and you hear that Messiah has come, first finish planting the tree."

Also: The thrill of hearing a professional soprano several pews behind me warbling through "Silver Bells" and other standards. The pleasure of petting my friend Victoria's therapy dog through the first half of the service. The hugging of friends and acquaintances and the talking about plans for dancing, performing, volunteering...

For champagne tea with my honorary mama, I baked potato wafers. The BYM and I heard someone very, very good playing the piano in the assisted living lobby when we arrived, and it was indeed her son, who'd brought along sheet music for several super-silly, wildly virtuosic seasonal pieces.

I was not feeling well enough to join the late-night crowd at Lipstick Lounge, but I did stay up to sort out a few things and to say a few more blessings...

second night

And, speaking of blessings, my thanks to all who responded to my Feast of Stephen appeal. I am full of gratitude. See you in 2017.
bronze_ribbons: (tentacle sex)
Seen at Target today:

'tis almost the season

Discussed at brunch today: the owner of Penzeys Spices speaking his mind about what happened on November 8. The comments section at Daily Kos is, for a change, one that does not require donning a hazmat suit to peruse.

For those of you who plan to place an order with Penzeys, there are coupon codes you may find useful.

Another way to speak with your dollars: contact your bank if it's one of the 17 funding the DAPL. Or, send supplies (including banners/sheets and spray paint):
bronze_ribbons: snapshot of me in standing bow (Russian tins)
Cathy Erway's The Food of Taiwan: Recipes from the Beautiful Island has been giving me the feels, as the hipsters might say. Among the dishes I've never heard of, there are dishes I've seen only my parents serve, and names recognizable to me in transliteration. Yet another book to revisit after Big Raft of Deliverables are delivered.

In the meantime, I have cooked up a pan of pitimi, aka millet, and mixed it with some chopped red onion, and ladled the lazy woman's tagine from yesterday over it, along with some leftover yellow bell pepper and butternut squash and roasted orange slices. I will tackle the bowls of hot red peppers after my stomach registers that it has indeed been filled and I can don plastic gloves without said stomach's noises drowning out the kitchen fan.
bronze_ribbons: snapshot of me in standing bow (Russian tins)
This morning's bathtub reading was supplied by the first 56 pages of the August issue of GQ, which includes Michael Paterniti's ode to Yotam Ottolenghi. This passage in particular caught my eye:

The immediate impression of the trio [Ottolenghi, NOPI head chef Ramael Scully, and recipe developer Esme Howarth] made was of friendliness -- how well suited to one another they were, and how soft-spoken and solicitous Ottolenghi was.

"Would you like some tea and cookies?" he asked, and without waiting for an answer he went rummaging to retrieve some. I'd been served so much Ottolenghi food by others, and now Ottolenghi himself was serving me cookies. This seemed to be the opposite of Gordon Ramsay. This was the opposite of the matador chefs and their brash opining. In fact, if you could say anything about Yotam Ottolenghi, you might say he contained multitudes: a sweet temperament and fierce intensity, iron discipline and wild creativity.

In checking on whether the piece was online, I found a speech by Paterniti on storytelling, which includes this anecdote:

I have an unofficial contest going with some writer friends, to see who can ask the stupidest question EVER without meaning to, and I think I recently won. I was interviewing the chef Yotam Ottolenghi in London, and at the risk of never being asked to go on assignment again, I'm going to quote my question, verbatim:

So I'm just--butternut! Butternut squash, broccoli polenta, pearled lemon, that idea of, and sometimes this happens at the ridiculous high-end restaurant, the prawn did this, eat the whole flower, or whatever, just get that marrow, or whatever it is, up here, on the plate, all foamy, and this is what you’re doing without having to turn it into some sort of ridiculous cooky thing in these restaurants, like, maybe you could tell me: Why are we doing this!?

Seriously, how can you answer a question like this? And you know you're in trouble when the response is, as it was in Ottolenghi's case, a very long silence, a polite but quizzical expression usually reserved for the platypus tank at the zoo, and then, with pity: I think I know what you're trying to say...

As someone who dines on her foot on a regular basis and actively contemplates vows of silence every third day, I found this awfully reassuring.
bronze_ribbons: Andy Murray snoozing with his dog (muzz with maggie)
It is, according to the NashSevereWx chart, beyond "I need gills to breathe" hot in my here town right now (77 F dewpoint even with the sun down). I have been resisting the urge to go nap for hours in the bathtub or planetarium with great difficulty. But I have also discovered that an empty plastic Coke bottle (emblazoned with "What I like about you") can intone the A below middle C (give or take a half-step or two -- my piano is not A=440) when I whoosh it back and forth on my way back from some of the zinnias.

Read more... )
bronze_ribbons: three daffodiles learning left (daffodils)
You know when you like something so much that it makes you not just nod your head in satisfaction, but shake your head in disbelief? That's what happens when I find that perfectly sweet pea. So many things conspired to make that pea -- the weather, the soil, the farmer -- and there you are on the receiving end. It makes me happy and grateful.

-- April Bloomfield
bronze_ribbons: snapshot of me in standing bow (Russian tins)
I had my doubts about there being any decent bread at our neighborhood markets this weekend, so I gave Mark Bittman's no-knead recipe a go. The results got a thumbs-up from the BYM, and the slices I cut for myself tasted pretty good with cocoa-hazelnut spread.

At the start of Sunday morning, after sitting overnight:
Bittman no-knead bread, 1

At the start of Sunday afternoon, before baking:
Bittman no-knead bread, 2

Bittman no-knead bread, 3
bronze_ribbons: Dee and Ryo from FAKE in deep kiss (Dee/Ryo liplock)
I may expand on this entry later; right now I mainly want to record where I went and what I ate before too many of the details escape my memory. (Earlier this week, I was trying to remember a restaurant the BYM had liked, which he likewise had forgotten about, and finally retrieved its name by scrolling through his blog.)

[*** indicates my favorites]

Friday 11/6:
El Toro Taqueria - kimchi/steak taco, beans and rice, horchata

breakfasts at Pointe Plaza Hotel through 11/12: coffee, chocolate donuts, hardboiled eggs. Sometimes some other pastries or a bagel. Wall Street Journals.

Saturday 11/7:
*** Cafe Mogador (Williamsburg): lamb tagine, hot cider, Lagavulin 16, cappuccino
Pacific Standard: a pint (maybe Deep River?) + a banh mi hot dog

Sunday 11/8:
Cafe Mogador: Middle Eastern Eggs breakfast (two over-easy eggs, hummus, tabouli, arabic salad, zahatar pita, harissa), coffee

(***wedding: Finback Double Sess beer [ginger, szechuan peppercorns, and chamomile, and I thought cardamom?], cava, and lots of mostly vegetarian deliciousness [my tablemates seemed especially taken with the polenta with wild mushrooms]. And pecan pie with coffee.)

Monday 11/9:
Tea and banh meatball sliders at Body by Brooklyn
Madiba - Safari platter (biltong, droewors, nuts, dried fruit), chicken livers peri-peri, boerewors roll, roti, seafood bunny chow, pint of beer on tap

Tuesday 11/10:
Pretzel and hot dog from a street cart (he was out of knishes)
Bowl of butternut squash soup and glass of Gremillet champagne, MoMA Terrace 5 Cafe
Le Rivage - prix fixe: seafood bisque, trout amandine, cream puffs

Wednesday 11/11:
Penny House Cafe - cappuccino
Inaka - yellowtail scallion roll, avocado shiitake roll, miso soup, salad (above average), sake
Sugarburg - pint of something on tap, yellow squash po-boy (included feta cheese and pickled onions) with fries

Thursday 11/12:
Kogane Ramen - takoyaki (octopus balls), tonkotsu ramen
*** cheeses (including blue!), olives, and red wine chez friends
*** Speedy Romeo - grilled octopus with romesco sauce, the Saint Louie pizza (Provel, Italian sausage, pickled chiles, pepperoni), and the Kind Brother pizza (wild mushrooms, smoked mozz, farm egg, sage); Single Cut 19-33 Queens lager
*** Jack the Horse Tavern - tarte tatin (apple cake and pear-ginger parfait) and shot of Caol Ila (peaty), plus a taste of Craigellachie (Speyside; smooth)

Friday 11/13:
Almondine Bakery - chocolate mousse with tiny crunchy chocolate balls. Intricate papercuts on the walls.
Shake Shack - burger, fries, Brooklyn Brewery East IPA (which is actually canned in Utica)
*** Cornelia Street Cafe - glass of tempranillo and cone of calamari rings. Fried to perfection.
*** Jack's Wife Freda - in their words, "South African Israeli Jewish Grandmother Cuisine." Our cousin remembered this place when trying to figure out where to go after the show at CSC. Matzoh ball soup, lamb tartare, arugula salad (with pickled onions), and shot of Pig Nose whisky for myself. Tasted the others' entrees (fish; lamb; peri-peri chicken) and shared in the first carafe of côtes du rhone, as well as the desserts (chocolate mouse and malva cake).
bronze_ribbons: three daffodiles learning left (daffodils)
From the NYT obituary of Jonell Nash, longtime food editor of Essence:

Even when Ms. Nash would eat at her desk, another former colleague, Sharon R. Boone, recalled, she would first put down a china place setting and silverware on a small tablecloth. Taste matters, she explained in her cookbook.

"Even more than specific dishes or ingredients, soul food represents a certain spirit, an attitude, a flamboyance, a kind of loving that one brings to the kitchen and stirs into the pots," she wrote. "In essence, it's a flava."

bronze_ribbons: yoshizumi flying off cliff (yosh37 yoshizumi off cliff)
The BYM observed that the ingredients I appeared to be using for okra rellenos didn't match those listed on the recipe on my laptop screen, okra and egg aside. So, noting them for future reference:

12 okra (Shreeji's had some today)
12 matchstick-sized slivers of cheese (I used a veggie-speckled cheddar from a Christmas gift box)
1 egg, beaten
1 cup panko
a sploosh or two of peanut oil

Preheat oven to 375 F (350 F convection). Line a cookie sheet with aluminum foil and coat with the peanut oil.

Wash okra. Cut pods open just enough to stuff in the cheese.

Dip in egg and coat in panko.

Bake until you can smell the okra and the panko's toasty brown. I think it took around 20-30 minutes but I wasn't keeping track.

Salsa optional. I did make a quick one since the BYM (reading the recipe) asked for it. This is a simplification of a Mark Bittman recipe (in How to Cook Everything, 1st ed.). Amounts approximate:

14.5 oz can diced tomatoes in tomato juice
3 T chopped onion
1 jalapeno
a sploosh of red wine
1 T dried tarragon
a sploosh of lime juice
bronze_ribbons: yoshizumi flying off cliff (yosh37 yoshizumi off cliff)
  • I confess that I don't much like "Jingle Bells" most of the time, but I borrowed Bela Fleck and the Flecktones' Jingle All the Way (2008) from the library earlier today, and their version? Oh yeah.

  • This one's for Molly: there's now a French market in Green Hills called Little Gourmand...

    Little GourmandRead more... )

    reindeer ornament

  • bronze_ribbons: Sveta kissing her French Open trophy (Kuz kiss)
    Juvé y Camps cava
    Roncier red table wine (basically a cheap yet excellent burgundy)
    Drew's Brews (Decaf Springs) coffee

    Hors d'oeuvres:
    roasted red pepper tarts (with mozzarella and fennel)
    pepper-mozzarella tarts

    more snaps of snacks under the cut )
    bronze_ribbons: drawing of a contented bull (cow)
    Jason Wilson, quoting Calvados distiller Guillaume Drouin:

    As the fruit ripens on the tree, the cows grazing in the orchard start getting hungry for juicy apples, and begin bumping the trunks to make them fall. What apples do fall, the cows devour off the ground. "The cows are doing my job for me," he said. "Because the first apples they make fall are overripe or diseased or somehow unusable. And once we see them begin to eat those apples, we move the cows from the orchard. That's when I know it's about time for harvest."

    (When I left Borders in 1998, the history buyer and the sports buyer presented to me a bottle of Calvados, which had been discussed I think during one of our many late nights at our desks.)
    bronze_ribbons: snapshot of me in standing bow (masha RG 09)
    From "Calculated Seduction," Betty Fussell's 1998 review of MFK Fisher: A Life in Letters (New York Times Book Review):

    We can see in the letters how the split in her desire to be fully a writer and fully a woman shaped her daily life and career. As a writer, she explained to [Lawrence Clark] Powell in 1947: ''I want to be good, but I also want children and love and stress and panic and in the end I am too tired to write with the nunlike ascetic self-denial and concentration it takes. If I live to be 50 . . . ah, that is my song . . . if I live to 50 I'll know how to write a good book.'' As decade followed decade, she changed the number but not the tune. At 55 she wrote, ''I have now raised the ante to the fairly imminent goal of SIXTY.''

    Betty Fussell is herself the subject of a current NYT article, by Melissa Clark:

    Betty Fussell, the 87-year-old food writer, never took the main road anywhere. If there was a beautiful, sensual, messy path, Betty took it, even if it meant getting lost along the way. Which is just what happened to me in that oak grove one morning last spring.

    When I finally found my way out, I saw her, leaning on a walker. It had been years since we had last seen each other in New York, and I was struck by the change.

    "Oh, did you fall?" I asked gently.

    "You betcha I fell," she said. "I was coyote hunting in Montana with my son."
    bronze_ribbons: Sveta kissing her French Open trophy (Kuz kiss)
    I'm a single malt Scotch gal meself, but this writeup by Nathalie is wondrous (and the dessert looks it, too):


    bronze_ribbons: snapshot of me in standing bow (Default)

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