Monday, June 30, 2008
cooking demo on tuesday
Come down to the Ferry Plaza Farmer's Market on Tues., July 1 between noon and 1pm, and see the PQ make her infamous, moan-inducing pomegranate figs, with peach and pluot variations. Yes, I'll be spreading the word about pomegranate molasses, my favorite condiment, and will even be making my own by boiling down Twin Girls Farm's fresh pomegranate juice. At the outdoor kitchen under the arcade, three demos at 12, 12:30pm, and 1pm. More info on the market here. If I can get some proscuitto from Boccalone in which to wrap the figs, life will be complete.
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
apricot jam!
Homemade jam on homemade bread...such is the satisfaction of this early-summer morning in June. A day without the chocolate mines! Yes, I've given up my retail gig, so no more hour-long bus jaunts up to the Marina, hurrah. Instead, I'll be teaching down at Stanford as part of their Continuing Studies program, writing for various magazines, and doing some marketing copy for various places, including...Frog Hollow Farm! Yes, the source of some of the best peaches & nectarines in the Bay Area.
And to prove it, I got my hands on a bunch of their much-touted (well, that would be touted by me in particular, in the July issue of San Francisco magazine) Golden Sweet apricots, a beautiful red-blushed, truly golden variety that's juicy without being mushy, sweet and silky with none of that pasty quality that afflicts so many lesser apricots. I meant to buy a scale and carefully, carefully measure the weight of the fruit, the weight of the sugar, etc., but alas, I didn't.
What I did was pit and chop the fruit, probably into rough eighths, dump on what looked like the right amount of sugar--enough to dust heavily and begin to bury at least the top of the mound, plus a little more--mixed it up, covered the bowl (ceramic or glass, not metal) and let it sit at room temp for most of the day. Before going to bed, I scraped the softened, pulpy fruit and now-dissolved sugar into a wide pot, added the juice of a lemon, and brought it up to a foaming, frothy boil, stirring frequently, for 5 or 6 minutes. Then, the whole mess back into the bowl, covered with a towel and left on the counter again.
In the morning, it looked close to jam already.
Got my jars sterilized by boiling them for 10 minutes in a big deep pot. One of these days, I'm going to get me one of those fabulous little jar-lid lifters, just a magnet on the end of a stick that lets you pick up the flat lids one by one out of the hot water they're standing in. Seems like you wouldn't need a specialized tool for that, but the jar lids like to stick together and the water's hot, and it becomes an annoying matter of poking around with slippery tongs, a butter knife (to separate the stuck-together lids) and burnt fingers. Again, it's also very useful to have a wide-mouth funnel (for filling jars), a clean gardening-type glove (for holding hot jars, since potholders are too bulky), and jar-lifting tongs (which are convex-shaped, to hold the hot jars firmly when you're putting them in and pulling them out of the hot water).
So, I poured the now-almost-jammy apricot goo into a pot and brought it up to a simmer again. Stirred frequently to keep it from "catching", or sticking and burning on the bottom of the pan. Unless you're using heavy-duty copper--the best material for jam-making--or high-quality enameled cast iron (like Le Creuset), your pot will probably have a hot spot or two where sugary things will like to stick and burn. Stir, stir, stir, with your favorite wooden spoon.
I like to keep one cutting board and one wooden spoon just for sweet things, just because I worry about some latent garlic-and-cumin flavor getting transfered from the depths of a spoon usually used for making tomato sauce or black-bean chili, or from a oniony cutting board.
So, it doesn't take long til the jam looks like jam. The apricot chunks break down and get translucent, so you can see the veining in the fruit. When you tip a spoonful horizontally and let the mixture run off the side of the spoon, the last few drops gather in a couple of sticky clumps that run together. They're supposed to run off together in a sheet--this is called "sheeting" or the "sheeting test"--but mine has never done this. If two drops more-or-less come together and fall off looking sticky and jamlike, I'm content.
Basically, it's jam when it looks like jam. Apricots have a reasonable amount of natural pectin, so they'll thicken easily. I do like a soft, spoonable jam, though, that's nowhere near as set and bouncable as commercial products. So maybe 10-15 minutes for the final simmer, not more. You want to keep that fresh-fruit taste, not boil it to death.
Turn off the heat, take your jars out of the water and put them on a clean towel on the stovetop, and fill to within 1/4 inch of the top. Wipe the rims with a paper towel or clean dish towel dipped in hot water. Add lids and screwbands, and return to the big pot of hot water (you may have to scoop out some excess water). Bring back to a simmer and let the jars bump along for 8 minutes or so. Take out the jars, place them back on a clean towel on the stovetop or counter, and let them get stone-cold undisturbed. You'll hear the reassuring sucking sound--a kind of slurp-pop--of the vacuum seal setting as the jars cool.
The amount of apricots I had--and alas, I have no idea of the weight, although I'm guessing maybe 3 or 4 lbs--made 2 1/2 pints. That's the thing about making jam without a lot of sugar--you get a small yield of gorgeous, intensely flavored product, since you're not extending the fruit with loads of sweetener. I put the two sealed jars in the pantry, and then stashed the half-filled jar in the fridge for me.
And then today at breakfast I spread a spoonful on a slice of whole-wheat oatmeal bread, baked last night, and it was heaven. A heaven I won't be able to exactly reproduce, since I didn't measure anything, but a heaven nonetheless. Obviously, what's more important than exact measurements is the technique. Lots of sitting around, and minimal cooking, seems to be the ticket. Basically:
1. Wash, pit and cut up fruit.
2. Put in a glass or ceramic bowl, add sugar, stir well and cover.
3. Let sit 6 to 8 hours, stirring occasionally.
4. Stir well, add juice of a lemon, bring to a boil for 5 or 6 minutes, stirring frequently.
5. Into a bowl, cover, let sit 6 to 8 hours.
6. Simmer until fruit is translucent and mixture is thick and jammy.
7. Pour into sterilized jars, process in water bath, let cool.
That's it. No pectin, no thermometer, no worries.
High-acid products, like fruit jams and jellies, are not hospitable to serious bacteria, so you can't give anyone botulism from your homemade jam. As long as you keep everything tidy and clean as you go--sterilize your canning jars, use clean towels and clean spoons, no double-dipping--you'll have a product that can be safely stored, unopened, in the pantry for several months. If you don't have made-for-the-purpose canning jars, you can use clean, repurposed jam or mayonnaise jars. Just note that they won't vacuum-seal, so you should fill them, let them cool to room temp, and then store them in the fridge. Low-sugar jams are more perishable once opened, so use them within a month.
And to prove it, I got my hands on a bunch of their much-touted (well, that would be touted by me in particular, in the July issue of San Francisco magazine) Golden Sweet apricots, a beautiful red-blushed, truly golden variety that's juicy without being mushy, sweet and silky with none of that pasty quality that afflicts so many lesser apricots. I meant to buy a scale and carefully, carefully measure the weight of the fruit, the weight of the sugar, etc., but alas, I didn't.
What I did was pit and chop the fruit, probably into rough eighths, dump on what looked like the right amount of sugar--enough to dust heavily and begin to bury at least the top of the mound, plus a little more--mixed it up, covered the bowl (ceramic or glass, not metal) and let it sit at room temp for most of the day. Before going to bed, I scraped the softened, pulpy fruit and now-dissolved sugar into a wide pot, added the juice of a lemon, and brought it up to a foaming, frothy boil, stirring frequently, for 5 or 6 minutes. Then, the whole mess back into the bowl, covered with a towel and left on the counter again.
In the morning, it looked close to jam already.
Got my jars sterilized by boiling them for 10 minutes in a big deep pot. One of these days, I'm going to get me one of those fabulous little jar-lid lifters, just a magnet on the end of a stick that lets you pick up the flat lids one by one out of the hot water they're standing in. Seems like you wouldn't need a specialized tool for that, but the jar lids like to stick together and the water's hot, and it becomes an annoying matter of poking around with slippery tongs, a butter knife (to separate the stuck-together lids) and burnt fingers. Again, it's also very useful to have a wide-mouth funnel (for filling jars), a clean gardening-type glove (for holding hot jars, since potholders are too bulky), and jar-lifting tongs (which are convex-shaped, to hold the hot jars firmly when you're putting them in and pulling them out of the hot water).
So, I poured the now-almost-jammy apricot goo into a pot and brought it up to a simmer again. Stirred frequently to keep it from "catching", or sticking and burning on the bottom of the pan. Unless you're using heavy-duty copper--the best material for jam-making--or high-quality enameled cast iron (like Le Creuset), your pot will probably have a hot spot or two where sugary things will like to stick and burn. Stir, stir, stir, with your favorite wooden spoon.
I like to keep one cutting board and one wooden spoon just for sweet things, just because I worry about some latent garlic-and-cumin flavor getting transfered from the depths of a spoon usually used for making tomato sauce or black-bean chili, or from a oniony cutting board.
So, it doesn't take long til the jam looks like jam. The apricot chunks break down and get translucent, so you can see the veining in the fruit. When you tip a spoonful horizontally and let the mixture run off the side of the spoon, the last few drops gather in a couple of sticky clumps that run together. They're supposed to run off together in a sheet--this is called "sheeting" or the "sheeting test"--but mine has never done this. If two drops more-or-less come together and fall off looking sticky and jamlike, I'm content.
Basically, it's jam when it looks like jam. Apricots have a reasonable amount of natural pectin, so they'll thicken easily. I do like a soft, spoonable jam, though, that's nowhere near as set and bouncable as commercial products. So maybe 10-15 minutes for the final simmer, not more. You want to keep that fresh-fruit taste, not boil it to death.
Turn off the heat, take your jars out of the water and put them on a clean towel on the stovetop, and fill to within 1/4 inch of the top. Wipe the rims with a paper towel or clean dish towel dipped in hot water. Add lids and screwbands, and return to the big pot of hot water (you may have to scoop out some excess water). Bring back to a simmer and let the jars bump along for 8 minutes or so. Take out the jars, place them back on a clean towel on the stovetop or counter, and let them get stone-cold undisturbed. You'll hear the reassuring sucking sound--a kind of slurp-pop--of the vacuum seal setting as the jars cool.
The amount of apricots I had--and alas, I have no idea of the weight, although I'm guessing maybe 3 or 4 lbs--made 2 1/2 pints. That's the thing about making jam without a lot of sugar--you get a small yield of gorgeous, intensely flavored product, since you're not extending the fruit with loads of sweetener. I put the two sealed jars in the pantry, and then stashed the half-filled jar in the fridge for me.
And then today at breakfast I spread a spoonful on a slice of whole-wheat oatmeal bread, baked last night, and it was heaven. A heaven I won't be able to exactly reproduce, since I didn't measure anything, but a heaven nonetheless. Obviously, what's more important than exact measurements is the technique. Lots of sitting around, and minimal cooking, seems to be the ticket. Basically:
1. Wash, pit and cut up fruit.
2. Put in a glass or ceramic bowl, add sugar, stir well and cover.
3. Let sit 6 to 8 hours, stirring occasionally.
4. Stir well, add juice of a lemon, bring to a boil for 5 or 6 minutes, stirring frequently.
5. Into a bowl, cover, let sit 6 to 8 hours.
6. Simmer until fruit is translucent and mixture is thick and jammy.
7. Pour into sterilized jars, process in water bath, let cool.
That's it. No pectin, no thermometer, no worries.
High-acid products, like fruit jams and jellies, are not hospitable to serious bacteria, so you can't give anyone botulism from your homemade jam. As long as you keep everything tidy and clean as you go--sterilize your canning jars, use clean towels and clean spoons, no double-dipping--you'll have a product that can be safely stored, unopened, in the pantry for several months. If you don't have made-for-the-purpose canning jars, you can use clean, repurposed jam or mayonnaise jars. Just note that they won't vacuum-seal, so you should fill them, let them cool to room temp, and then store them in the fridge. Low-sugar jams are more perishable once opened, so use them within a month.
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
opera & bake sales
OK, the pie! It's great! Maybe I overdid it with the tapioca--it's a little jellylike, not gooey-juicy the way I really like. But the fruit tastes great, and the lattice crust is cute as a button, even without the little $5 pinking-wheel roller that cuts your pastry into neat serrated strips. This is a state-fair pie, no doubt about it. Going over to Jen's for tea and pie later, and pix will follow.
[2 hours later....Ooops. Well, there was tea, and Jen's daughter was there, and before you know it, most of the pie was gone. So no pictures, alas, but maybe I'll make another one for the O.O.O. (see below)on Saturday...]
What else can you do this weekend, besides bake pie? (Yes, Hooverville Orchards will have more sour cherries at the Alemany Market. I bought about 2 lbs, which seemed just right for my pie pan.) You can come up to Bernal on Sat. morning for the Obernal Obakesale Obama, Move On.org's little sweet-treat fest, starting at 10am. Sign up here if you wanna bake or work; otherwise, just come and buy. I'll probably be there, forcing people to choose (again!) between brownies and blondies.
Go out to AT&T Park (yes, the baseball stadium) and see a live simulcast of SF Opera's Lucia di Lammermoor, on Friday evening. A mad scene, at third base! Opera and hot dogs! Actually, Peter Meehan, who does the $25 and Under column for the NY Times, recently got the prime gig of visiting dozens of ballparks to eat their food. Our fair city got top billing, thanks to a super Dungeness-crab panini, eaten by Meehan's ladyfriend with a split of champagne. He, having guyness to uphold, had an Anchor Steam, and the other half of her sandwich.
Or, just eat cherries!
State Fair Cherry Pie
You don't need a cherry pitter for this pie, since sour cherries are soft and squishy enough so that you can just pop the pits out between your thumb and forefinger. You do, however, need real sour pie cherries, a completely different animal than sweet cherries. In general, sour cherries are small and juicy, with a clear pale red skin and a yellow-to-translucent flesh. If you've ever had cherry pie, even diner pie, you know what they taste like. The advantage of making your own pie is, of course, that you can keep the sugar and gel to a minimum, so that you actually taste real fruit, not just goo. Perfect with vanilla ice cream. Also, I've reduced the amount of tapioca from the original 1/4 cup I used, so this should be just right.
Crust
2 1/4 cups flour
1/2 tsp salt
1 tbsp sugar
14 tbsp (1 stick + 6 tb, or 7 oz) butter, chilled
5-7 tbsp ice water
Filling
2 lbs sour cherries (the weight is before they're pitted)
2/3 cup sugar
2 tbsp granulated or instant tapioca (like Minute brand, in the red box--look for in the baking aisle, or next to the Jell-O)
1/2 tsp almond extract or 1 tbsp Amaretto
pinch of cinnamon
Sift together flour, sugar and salt. Cut in butter, rubbing bits between your thumb and fingertips until you have lots of flat nickel-sized bits. Keep tossing the flour as you rub to keep the whole mix nice and light. Remember, light touch=light pastry. Once it looks like dry oatmeal flakes, drizzle in the water. Lightly stir with a fork or a chopstick, adding more as needed, until you can squeeze together a handful. Pat into two rounds, wrap in plastic or pop into a ziploc bag and chill for at least an hour.
Pit your cherries and mix with tapioca, sugar, almond extract and cinnamon. Set aside (a nice 10 minute soak will help the tapioca to start dissolving.)
Roll out your pie crust, line the pan (a 9" pan works well), and pop the pan back into the fridge while you roll out the second crust. Cut second round into even strips.
Preheat oven to 425F. Take your bottom crust out of the fridge, pour the cherry mixture (including juice) into the crust. Now, the fun part! Just like peanut-butter cookies must have that criss-cross fork pattern on top, cherry pie must have a lattice. (Makes sense, since cherries are juicy and the lattice helps with the evaporation so you have pie, not soup.)
Lay the longest strips in a cross over the middle of the pie. Now take another strip and lay it next to the first one, lifting the crossing strip so that it's the opposite--either under or over, depending. Keep doing this, lifting strips as necessary, so that you get a "weave" effect--one strip over, one strip under, etc. Now press the edges together around the outside and flute nicely. OK, I promise I'll do explanatory pix on the next go-round, since it's MUCH easier to show than tell. Brush with egg wash (1 egg mixed with 2 tsp water) if you want to get shiny and fancy.
Pop in the oven for 10-15 minutes, then turn down heat to 375F. Bake another 25-30 minutes, until crust is golden brown and juices are thick and bubbly (good to put a baking sheet underneath,to prevent smoking juices on the oven floor.). Cool on a rack for several hours so that pie juices can congeal properly. But do eat the day it's baked for optimum crust-crispness.
[2 hours later....Ooops. Well, there was tea, and Jen's daughter was there, and before you know it, most of the pie was gone. So no pictures, alas, but maybe I'll make another one for the O.O.O. (see below)on Saturday...]
What else can you do this weekend, besides bake pie? (Yes, Hooverville Orchards will have more sour cherries at the Alemany Market. I bought about 2 lbs, which seemed just right for my pie pan.) You can come up to Bernal on Sat. morning for the Obernal Obakesale Obama, Move On.org's little sweet-treat fest, starting at 10am. Sign up here if you wanna bake or work; otherwise, just come and buy. I'll probably be there, forcing people to choose (again!) between brownies and blondies.
Go out to AT&T Park (yes, the baseball stadium) and see a live simulcast of SF Opera's Lucia di Lammermoor, on Friday evening. A mad scene, at third base! Opera and hot dogs! Actually, Peter Meehan, who does the $25 and Under column for the NY Times, recently got the prime gig of visiting dozens of ballparks to eat their food. Our fair city got top billing, thanks to a super Dungeness-crab panini, eaten by Meehan's ladyfriend with a split of champagne. He, having guyness to uphold, had an Anchor Steam, and the other half of her sandwich.
Or, just eat cherries!
State Fair Cherry Pie
You don't need a cherry pitter for this pie, since sour cherries are soft and squishy enough so that you can just pop the pits out between your thumb and forefinger. You do, however, need real sour pie cherries, a completely different animal than sweet cherries. In general, sour cherries are small and juicy, with a clear pale red skin and a yellow-to-translucent flesh. If you've ever had cherry pie, even diner pie, you know what they taste like. The advantage of making your own pie is, of course, that you can keep the sugar and gel to a minimum, so that you actually taste real fruit, not just goo. Perfect with vanilla ice cream. Also, I've reduced the amount of tapioca from the original 1/4 cup I used, so this should be just right.
Crust
2 1/4 cups flour
1/2 tsp salt
1 tbsp sugar
14 tbsp (1 stick + 6 tb, or 7 oz) butter, chilled
5-7 tbsp ice water
Filling
2 lbs sour cherries (the weight is before they're pitted)
2/3 cup sugar
2 tbsp granulated or instant tapioca (like Minute brand, in the red box--look for in the baking aisle, or next to the Jell-O)
1/2 tsp almond extract or 1 tbsp Amaretto
pinch of cinnamon
Sift together flour, sugar and salt. Cut in butter, rubbing bits between your thumb and fingertips until you have lots of flat nickel-sized bits. Keep tossing the flour as you rub to keep the whole mix nice and light. Remember, light touch=light pastry. Once it looks like dry oatmeal flakes, drizzle in the water. Lightly stir with a fork or a chopstick, adding more as needed, until you can squeeze together a handful. Pat into two rounds, wrap in plastic or pop into a ziploc bag and chill for at least an hour.
Pit your cherries and mix with tapioca, sugar, almond extract and cinnamon. Set aside (a nice 10 minute soak will help the tapioca to start dissolving.)
Roll out your pie crust, line the pan (a 9" pan works well), and pop the pan back into the fridge while you roll out the second crust. Cut second round into even strips.
Preheat oven to 425F. Take your bottom crust out of the fridge, pour the cherry mixture (including juice) into the crust. Now, the fun part! Just like peanut-butter cookies must have that criss-cross fork pattern on top, cherry pie must have a lattice. (Makes sense, since cherries are juicy and the lattice helps with the evaporation so you have pie, not soup.)
Lay the longest strips in a cross over the middle of the pie. Now take another strip and lay it next to the first one, lifting the crossing strip so that it's the opposite--either under or over, depending. Keep doing this, lifting strips as necessary, so that you get a "weave" effect--one strip over, one strip under, etc. Now press the edges together around the outside and flute nicely. OK, I promise I'll do explanatory pix on the next go-round, since it's MUCH easier to show than tell. Brush with egg wash (1 egg mixed with 2 tsp water) if you want to get shiny and fancy.
Pop in the oven for 10-15 minutes, then turn down heat to 375F. Bake another 25-30 minutes, until crust is golden brown and juices are thick and bubbly (good to put a baking sheet underneath,to prevent smoking juices on the oven floor.). Cool on a rack for several hours so that pie juices can congeal properly. But do eat the day it's baked for optimum crust-crispness.
Saturday, June 14, 2008
can you bake a cherry pie? damn skippy you can
All you cherry pie bakers, get thee down to the Alemany Farmers' Market (down near Alemany Blvd, by Crescent and Peralta at the southeastern base of Bernal Hill)RIGHT NOW. Hooverville Orchards has fresh Montemorency cherries, aka sour cherries, aka pie cherries, for sale at $4.50/lb. Also some damn fine lookin' Bings for a buck less. I've got 2 lbs in my fridge right now, which means tomorrow, I'll be living up to my Jersey-diner heritage and baking cherry pie. Pix and recipe to follow!
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
cherry season!
You really haven't lived til you've heard War's Low Rider pounded out on a cowbell, a violin, and a washtub bass. That was last night, downstairs in the secret garden behind Bernal's Wild Side West bar, where impromptu jams can break out at any minute. I had just come home to change out of my new coral-colored sundress--because even a June afternoon is too windy for sundresses up here on the hill--when my roommate called to say music was happening at the Wild Side. Put on jeans and the trusty red leather coat and scooted on down there, for $5 wine and a group of friendly folks noodling away on guitars and slide whistles. Much fun had by all, and this seems to happen all the time, especially on sunny Sunday afternoons.
So, what are you doing with your cherries? I've been hunkered down, waiting for the Brooks (which were selling for an astounding $9.99/lb at the Real [-ly expensive] Foods near the chocolate mines in the Marina last week. Organic, from Frog Hollow, sure, but still, $10! For Brooks! Damn!) to be replaced by Bings. The dark, sweet fatties are just starting to come on, and promise to be heavenly, as always. Looking forward to scoring a few bags of cherry goodness at the Alemeny Market this Saturday. And if anyone has real sour cherries, well, a cherry pie will certainly be forthcoming. Yum!
It's Shifra's belated 40th b-day party this weekend, so another round of the eggless-spelt carrot cake (mashed bananas, the secret ingredient) may be in order. I'm also curious about barley flour, a paen to which was posted by the soon-to-be-in-California Bakerina recently. Buying avocados on Mission St the other day, I found bags of Peruvian barley flour, which I may have to experiment with, if only because of how delicious it smells while baking, according to the very trustworthy Bakerina.
Now, back to writing, as I'm on the very, very home stretch of a sassy new cookbook, coming out this fall from Manic D Press. 5 more recipes to go...
So, what are you doing with your cherries? I've been hunkered down, waiting for the Brooks (which were selling for an astounding $9.99/lb at the Real [-ly expensive] Foods near the chocolate mines in the Marina last week. Organic, from Frog Hollow, sure, but still, $10! For Brooks! Damn!) to be replaced by Bings. The dark, sweet fatties are just starting to come on, and promise to be heavenly, as always. Looking forward to scoring a few bags of cherry goodness at the Alemeny Market this Saturday. And if anyone has real sour cherries, well, a cherry pie will certainly be forthcoming. Yum!
It's Shifra's belated 40th b-day party this weekend, so another round of the eggless-spelt carrot cake (mashed bananas, the secret ingredient) may be in order. I'm also curious about barley flour, a paen to which was posted by the soon-to-be-in-California Bakerina recently. Buying avocados on Mission St the other day, I found bags of Peruvian barley flour, which I may have to experiment with, if only because of how delicious it smells while baking, according to the very trustworthy Bakerina.
Now, back to writing, as I'm on the very, very home stretch of a sassy new cookbook, coming out this fall from Manic D Press. 5 more recipes to go...
Wednesday, May 28, 2008
incredibly dumb things you do in the kitchen
Ok, help me out here. Surely all you kitchen-savvy types do really, really stupid things when no one but the cat is watching. Please share!
Why? Because I just exploded a hard-boiled egg all over my kitchen, that's why. Even worse was not realizing what I'd done for at least 20 minutes after said egg had exploded. Yes, I heard the poof-thwump of the egg chunks hitting the floor at high velocity, but I just figured my roommate had come home, put popcorn in the microwave, and had all the corn magically pop at once, boom.
Honestly, such was my thought process, and I should be condemned to a life of takeout pizza and Grape-Nuts just for that. it wasn't until the house began to smell like something burning on the stove that I recalled putting on an egg to simmer, oh, an hour or so ago. And then I remembered how yes, an egg will indeed explode if exposed to dry heat--the kind of heat you get when you let your pot boil dry for a long time. So, no hard-boiled egg for me, and lots of shell on the floor. Small rationalization: many deadlines, and typing madly on multiple projects! But still.
Damn. And you?
Why? Because I just exploded a hard-boiled egg all over my kitchen, that's why. Even worse was not realizing what I'd done for at least 20 minutes after said egg had exploded. Yes, I heard the poof-thwump of the egg chunks hitting the floor at high velocity, but I just figured my roommate had come home, put popcorn in the microwave, and had all the corn magically pop at once, boom.
Honestly, such was my thought process, and I should be condemned to a life of takeout pizza and Grape-Nuts just for that. it wasn't until the house began to smell like something burning on the stove that I recalled putting on an egg to simmer, oh, an hour or so ago. And then I remembered how yes, an egg will indeed explode if exposed to dry heat--the kind of heat you get when you let your pot boil dry for a long time. So, no hard-boiled egg for me, and lots of shell on the floor. Small rationalization: many deadlines, and typing madly on multiple projects! But still.
Damn. And you?
kwassa kwassa bling bing
As a young girl
Louis Vuitton
with your mother
on a sandy lawn...
A cupcake--or four!--for the bed-headed boys of Vampire Weekend, just for rhyming "Louis Vuitton", "reggaeton", and "Benetton", in a super-catchy, head-bobbingly happy tune. Cape Cod Kwassa Kwassa, your Zipcar driving song for the summer.
As a sophomore
with the reggaeton
And the linens
you're sitting on
Who else gets cakes? Oh, all the lady couples I know, come June 17. The wedding-cake requests are rolling in, since I've promised to bake get-married-in-California cakes for everyone that can finally tie the knot legally in our fine golden state. Cupcakes, three-tiered frilly cakes, blueberry pies: whatever the ladies want, that's what I'm here for.
Is your bed made?
Is your sweater on?
Do you wanta
Like you know I do?
Of course you do! And if you're in NYC, you want to go see Hamlet in Central Park, assistant-directed by Rob Melrose, of Cutting-Ball Theatre fame in SF. And you want to drop by the Leslie/Lohman (rhymes with Lindsey Lohan!) Gallery, to see photos by former SF-er Phyllis Christopher, as part of a big pride-month show of queer women's art called Pink & Bent. And while you're there, you should go by the Rick's Picks pickle stand at the Union Square and Grand Army Plaza Greenmarkets, and bug Rick for some of his ON-RAMPS, pickled ramps with hibiscus and pink peppercorns. (Ramps, for all you non-easterners, are wild leeks, slim, pungent, and super-tasty for those who like that sort of thing.)
Does this feel so unnatural
for Peter Gabriel too
But this feels so unnatural
Peter Gabriel too
In SF, cool and foggy, you should be rolling around in sweet, sweet strawberries and anticipating the arrival of Bing cherries and Blenheim apricots. Don't be paying no $7/lb for those useless Brooks cherries! Honestly, they're wet and shaped like a cherry, that's all we can say for them. Surely you want more from your cherry than that, don't you? Save your tongue for the Bings. And get down to the Santa Cruz west side Sat. market to get them from Van Dyke Ranch, too. I'll be there this weekend, making strawberry jam at the farm for my fellow Cookie Fairy's 27th b-day, to be celebrated by a tea party in the Chadwick garden on Sunday afternoon.
Can you stay up
to see the dawn
In the colors
of Benetton?
(And what's kwassa kwassa, you ask? An African dance rhythm from Congo, one of the many co-opted/mainstreamed by Peter Gabriel, Paul Simon et al during those world-music 80s.)
Louis Vuitton
with your mother
on a sandy lawn...
A cupcake--or four!--for the bed-headed boys of Vampire Weekend, just for rhyming "Louis Vuitton", "reggaeton", and "Benetton", in a super-catchy, head-bobbingly happy tune. Cape Cod Kwassa Kwassa, your Zipcar driving song for the summer.
As a sophomore
with the reggaeton
And the linens
you're sitting on
Who else gets cakes? Oh, all the lady couples I know, come June 17. The wedding-cake requests are rolling in, since I've promised to bake get-married-in-California cakes for everyone that can finally tie the knot legally in our fine golden state. Cupcakes, three-tiered frilly cakes, blueberry pies: whatever the ladies want, that's what I'm here for.
Is your bed made?
Is your sweater on?
Do you wanta
Like you know I do?
Of course you do! And if you're in NYC, you want to go see Hamlet in Central Park, assistant-directed by Rob Melrose, of Cutting-Ball Theatre fame in SF. And you want to drop by the Leslie/Lohman (rhymes with Lindsey Lohan!) Gallery, to see photos by former SF-er Phyllis Christopher, as part of a big pride-month show of queer women's art called Pink & Bent. And while you're there, you should go by the Rick's Picks pickle stand at the Union Square and Grand Army Plaza Greenmarkets, and bug Rick for some of his ON-RAMPS, pickled ramps with hibiscus and pink peppercorns. (Ramps, for all you non-easterners, are wild leeks, slim, pungent, and super-tasty for those who like that sort of thing.)
Does this feel so unnatural
for Peter Gabriel too
But this feels so unnatural
Peter Gabriel too
In SF, cool and foggy, you should be rolling around in sweet, sweet strawberries and anticipating the arrival of Bing cherries and Blenheim apricots. Don't be paying no $7/lb for those useless Brooks cherries! Honestly, they're wet and shaped like a cherry, that's all we can say for them. Surely you want more from your cherry than that, don't you? Save your tongue for the Bings. And get down to the Santa Cruz west side Sat. market to get them from Van Dyke Ranch, too. I'll be there this weekend, making strawberry jam at the farm for my fellow Cookie Fairy's 27th b-day, to be celebrated by a tea party in the Chadwick garden on Sunday afternoon.
Can you stay up
to see the dawn
In the colors
of Benetton?
(And what's kwassa kwassa, you ask? An African dance rhythm from Congo, one of the many co-opted/mainstreamed by Peter Gabriel, Paul Simon et al during those world-music 80s.)
Wednesday, May 14, 2008
south wind
Well, isn't it a balmy day. Almost muggy, which isn't like San Fran at all...which means it's blissful, because everyone knows it won't last. (Unlike, say, NYC, when the first muggy day is merely a harbinger of four months of nonstop mugginess to come.) So the tank-top-and-sandal brigades were out in full force in the Marina, drinking sangria and eating salads outside all along Union Street.
But enough weather chat...the fun news today was getting a mention in the New York Times! For my kids' cookbook, Williams-Sonoma Kids in the Kitchen: Fun Food. The lead story was all about the future for cookbooks for kids, and was accompanied by a list of their fave kiddie cookbooks. Check out the whole piece, here. Or, cut to the chase and see just the PQ mention.
But enough weather chat...the fun news today was getting a mention in the New York Times! For my kids' cookbook, Williams-Sonoma Kids in the Kitchen: Fun Food. The lead story was all about the future for cookbooks for kids, and was accompanied by a list of their fave kiddie cookbooks. Check out the whole piece, here. Or, cut to the chase and see just the PQ mention.
Monday, April 28, 2008
sweet berry heaven
Mmmm, strawberries. As it turns out, Watsonville's Tomatero Farms doesn't just sell at the Grand Lake farmers' market, they sell at my local down the hill, the Alemany Sat morning market, where everyone was basking and strolling in the sunshine. Well, some of us were basking. The rest were stuffing mad handfuls of sugar-snap peas into plastic bags and stowing 10-lb nets of oranges into granny carts. The last of the Sevilles were on display, along with a shriveled Buddha's Hand or two.
(Speaking of which, I ended up chopping up my BH and adding the blanched bits of rind to my kumquat marmalade. A mistake! This BH, perhaps all BHs, had a strong, camphor-ish scent, and made the whole batch of kumquat marm taste like Vick's vapor rub. Eucalyptus marmalade! Not the tastiest thing for toast.Next time, should there be one, I'm sticking the whole thing in a jar of vodka and making citrus liquor. Another kind of medicine...)
But I saw a flat or two of red berries behind the lettuce (flat whorls of red butter lettuce to make you weep) at Tomatero, and asked the price. Turned out they were just a buck a box, because they had been picked Wed. and were looking a little ratty by Saturday. Personally, I like a superripe, wine-dark berry, so with a little picking over it was cheap sweet heaven.
What other good things? Meatloaf on a rainy night at Blue Plate, with mashed p'taters and green beans, and the best smoky bacon ever. They do a salad that comes with a gorgeous burnished strip of bacon laid over the top of it, and that's reason to eat your rabbit food right there. Being on a fridge magnet with my pal Molly, advertising the Sundance Saloon (motto: "Building Community, Two Steps at a Time"), a fab country-western hangout over on Barnveldt St, near the produce district off of Bayshore. Hot coffee and warm apricot turnovers from the Liberty Cafe bakery on a sunny weekend morning.
Garden lilacs that smelled like lilacs, at Heartfelt on Cortland, and a blowsy three-buck bouquet of lavender-pink garden roses that smelled like roses, from one of the vegetable stands at the Alemany market. Essays about owls and poetry about snakes from Stanley Kunitz. Hearing about rabbit, Powell's, and absinthe up in Portland. Serving hot homemade herb biscuits to the plant-sale crowds at the Homeless Garden Project, and feeding the farmies with fresh strawberries, roasted squash, lentil soup and homemade rolls. Being sprung from the chocolate mines for the next four days, and going back down to the farm to cook again.
And of course, Cookie Fairy!
Monday, April 14, 2008
duck, duck, mousse!
Come on down to Santa Cruz and see PQ make duck-egg frittata. The Homeless Garden Project will be holding their annual Plant Sale and Youth Day on Saturday, April 19th, and I'll be doing a cooking demo in their newly rebuilt outdoor kitchen. We'll be getting VERY local, using chard from the gardens along with duck eggs from the ducks that roam the rows. And because you can't have eggs without bread, there will also be flaky herb biscuits, using whatever herbs (probably rosemary) are growing around. And then, after the demo, I'll be scooting up the hill to the farm center, to make dinner for the new little farmies coming in to set up their tents. I can't believe it's been a year already since I fled the snows of Watertown for the fog and strawberries of Santa Cruz...
More info on Saturday's event, here.
Note that this is at the Natural Bridges garden itself, NOT the little shop where they sell their wreaths and stuff. If you have a garden, definitely plan to pick up some stuff at their great plant sale, which will have loads of organic plant starts, fruit trees, herbs, annuals, and perennials.
Where: Homeless Garden Project, Natural Bridges Farm, Schaffer Road at Delaware Ave, Santa Cruz, CA
When: Plant Sale, 9am-6pm. Cooking demo: 3pm-4pm.
What else is in the kitchen right now? Scones with lemon zest, candied ginger and dried apricots, just because, plus last night's mashed potatoes and a picked-over chicken, plus a few sugar-snap peas with mint chiffonnade, courtesy of Tomatero Farms in Watsonville, which had the best-tasting sugar snaps, eggs, and strawbs in the whole market. And two quarts of frozen lemon juice, because you just never know, and a crate of meyer lemons doesn't last forever, but lemon juice in the freezer does, or at least as close to it as I need to be.
More info on Saturday's event, here.
Note that this is at the Natural Bridges garden itself, NOT the little shop where they sell their wreaths and stuff. If you have a garden, definitely plan to pick up some stuff at their great plant sale, which will have loads of organic plant starts, fruit trees, herbs, annuals, and perennials.
Where: Homeless Garden Project, Natural Bridges Farm, Schaffer Road at Delaware Ave, Santa Cruz, CA
When: Plant Sale, 9am-6pm. Cooking demo: 3pm-4pm.
What else is in the kitchen right now? Scones with lemon zest, candied ginger and dried apricots, just because, plus last night's mashed potatoes and a picked-over chicken, plus a few sugar-snap peas with mint chiffonnade, courtesy of Tomatero Farms in Watsonville, which had the best-tasting sugar snaps, eggs, and strawbs in the whole market. And two quarts of frozen lemon juice, because you just never know, and a crate of meyer lemons doesn't last forever, but lemon juice in the freezer does, or at least as close to it as I need to be.
Thursday, April 10, 2008
PQ for Sale
Which is to say, a case of Meyer lemons in my kitchen, waiting to be used! I think, given the abundance awaiting PQ's attentions, I might actually sell some of my wares this time around. Nothing fancy, no Paypal or anything. But if you live in San Francisco or its nearby environs, I think we can figure out a way to swap fabulous lemon marmalade or lemon curd for cash. Let's see: here's what I'm proposing:
For Sale from Pie Queen Kitchen:
Pablo's Ode to a Lemon marmalade (nothing but organic Meyer lemons and sugar)
8 oz. , $8
Delovely Delicious Lemon Curd (organic Meyer lemons, eggs, butter, sugar)
$8 oz, $10
and to go with:
Happy Tea Time Lemon-Currant Scones (whole wheat and white pastry flour, butter, currants, meyer lemon zest, buttermilk, sugar, baking soda, salt)
-the real deal, light and fluffy, perfect with tea and marmalade or lemon curd
$10 for 6 scones
So, interested? All extra-delicious and homemade in the PQ kitchen. The lemons are definitely organic; I can go all-organic/local with the other ingredients, too, although it might be a little pricier. Option of using local Straus organic butter and buttermilk, pastured eggs from Soul Food Farms, etc. Post a comment if you want to get some, and we'll figure it out.
For Sale from Pie Queen Kitchen:
Pablo's Ode to a Lemon marmalade (nothing but organic Meyer lemons and sugar)
8 oz. , $8
Delovely Delicious Lemon Curd (organic Meyer lemons, eggs, butter, sugar)
$8 oz, $10
and to go with:
Happy Tea Time Lemon-Currant Scones (whole wheat and white pastry flour, butter, currants, meyer lemon zest, buttermilk, sugar, baking soda, salt)
-the real deal, light and fluffy, perfect with tea and marmalade or lemon curd
$10 for 6 scones
So, interested? All extra-delicious and homemade in the PQ kitchen. The lemons are definitely organic; I can go all-organic/local with the other ingredients, too, although it might be a little pricier. Option of using local Straus organic butter and buttermilk, pastured eggs from Soul Food Farms, etc. Post a comment if you want to get some, and we'll figure it out.
Wednesday, April 09, 2008
lemonades
Ode To a Lemon
Out of lemon flowers
loosed
from the moonlight, love's
lashed and insatiable
essence,
sodden with fragrance,
the lemon tree's yellow
emerges,
the lemons
move down
from the tree's planetarium
Delicate merchandise!
The harbors are big with it-
bazaars
for the light and the
barbarous gold.
We open
the halves
of a miracle,
and a clotting of acids
brims
into the starry
divisions:
creation's
original juices,
irreducible, changeless,
alive:
so the freshness lives on
in a lemon,
in the sweet-smelling house of the rind,
the proportions, arcane and acerb.
Cutting the lemon
the knife
leaves a little cathedral:
alcoves unguessed by the eye
that open acidulous glass
to the light; topazes
riding the droplets,
altars,
aromatic facades.
So, while the hand
holds the cut of the lemon,
half a world
on a trencher,
the gold of the universe
wells
to your touch:
a cup yellow
with miracles,
a breast and a nipple
perfuming the earth;
a flashing made fruitage,
the diminutive fire of a planet.
-Pablo Neruda
Out of lemon flowers
loosed
from the moonlight, love's
lashed and insatiable
essence,
sodden with fragrance,
the lemon tree's yellow
emerges,
the lemons
move down
from the tree's planetarium
Delicate merchandise!
The harbors are big with it-
bazaars
for the light and the
barbarous gold.
We open
the halves
of a miracle,
and a clotting of acids
brims
into the starry
divisions:
creation's
original juices,
irreducible, changeless,
alive:
so the freshness lives on
in a lemon,
in the sweet-smelling house of the rind,
the proportions, arcane and acerb.
Cutting the lemon
the knife
leaves a little cathedral:
alcoves unguessed by the eye
that open acidulous glass
to the light; topazes
riding the droplets,
altars,
aromatic facades.
So, while the hand
holds the cut of the lemon,
half a world
on a trencher,
the gold of the universe
wells
to your touch:
a cup yellow
with miracles,
a breast and a nipple
perfuming the earth;
a flashing made fruitage,
the diminutive fire of a planet.
-Pablo Neruda
Monday, April 07, 2008
Maybe things aren't as bad as you think
Rhubarb, we have it here at PQ Castle! Along with another, final case of Meyer lemons--final, that is, until I go down to cook at the farm in 2 weeks and score as many Meyers as I can pack out. Whatever ripe lemons are left after making the famous Meyer lemon pound cake and lavender-sugar lemonade are coming home with me. Well, I might leave a few (or 10) so that Lanette and I, aka Cookie Fairy, have something to work with when we return to cook for the new farmies on May Day. Lemon ricotta pancakes? Lemon thumbprint cookies? Spicy lemon lentils? Mmm, tasty. As I recall from my own first few farmie weeks, there's not a lot in the larder or in the fields at this time, so I'll have to be inventive with the carrots and beets. But I remain dedicated to the PQ Farm-Cooking Creed: No Bean Mush, No Undressed Salads, No Unpeeled Beets, and Yes, There Is (Always) Dessert.
But back to the rhubarb, another perk from the produce co., so silky and pretty and gorgeously pink. I am thinking, of course, of strawberry-rhubarb pie, the most perfect harbinger of spring I know. And perhaps some rhubarb compote, with a hint of rosewater or vanilla bean. And then a few jars of strawberry-rhubarb jam, since I gave all my farm jam away last year.
But back to the rhubarb, another perk from the produce co., so silky and pretty and gorgeously pink. I am thinking, of course, of strawberry-rhubarb pie, the most perfect harbinger of spring I know. And perhaps some rhubarb compote, with a hint of rosewater or vanilla bean. And then a few jars of strawberry-rhubarb jam, since I gave all my farm jam away last year.
Brown sugar and waffles
Artichokes, fava bean leaves, asparagus, and soon, yes, rhubarb: Spring at last, spring at last, hallelujah, it's spring at last! The tiny page mandarins are still kicking around, though, and a sweeter little citrus you'll never see. Four of these, from Tory Farms, were about all I could afford from the Ferry Plaza farmers' market last Saturday, but they're so sweet and juicy you could grin all day just from licking your sticky fingers. After a spin around the crowded, crowded market(it's only April, people! Nothing to see here, no tomatoes, no peaches...where are you going to stand come July if you all pile in here now just for tangerines and deep-fried asparagus?) I headed back down to my local, the much more down-to-asphalt Alemany Market.
It was close to 1:30pm when I got down there, so many of the booths were already shut down and sweeping up, but I still scored a bag of 4 or 5 slim heads of red butter lettuce rubber-banded together for $1, plus cilantro, garlic, onions, peppers, and a big bag of brutto ma buono tangelos, golden nugget tangerines, Meyer lemons, and mandarins for a mere buck a pound. Flowers, taco trucks, strawberries (conventionally grown, and a little beat up, but $10 a flat' organics go for $35/flat): PQ says check it out. SE edge of Bernal Heights, Putnam and Alemany, Saturday mornings.
It was an Eazy-Bay kind of weekend, from breakfast at Brown Sugar Kitchen in West Oakland to a French movie (Hors de Prix--Priceless--with Audrey Tatou, and a delightful romp it was) in Piedmont, drinks at Kingman's Lucky Lounge, coffee at Peet's on Grand Ave, even late-night eats at Rudy's Can't-Fail Cafe (the servers' black rocker tees read "Serving E'ville" with the RC/FC logo done AC/DC style on the front) in Emeryville (they're open til 1am! In the East Bay! Wheeee!) The only thing I missed was farmers' market cocktails at the Easy with the Red Meat Ranger, Papa Sueno, and their market pals Kelly (who sells fabulous girly lotions and soaps) and Arianna, who runs a small farm and chicken ranch in Watsonville. Arianna is cool, says Papa Sueno, because she farms, raises Peruvian chickens that can lay green eggs, and knows all about what's in season. Farmers are our new rock stars, now that we're all too sleepy to stay out late enough to go to gigs any more.
So, what will being in bed by 10, PQ can be up with the chickens herself, and a good thing too, if you want to get some of that fried chicken and waffles at Brown Sugar Kitchen. Don't let the industrial West Oakland setting fool you: Peralta Studios is just across the street, and the word is out about the homemade biscuits and doughnuts and Blue Bottle Coffee. Shuna of Eggbeater was working the biscuit dough behind the counter, doing a helpout for her pal, BSK owner Tanya Holland. The all-female kitchen crew was working hard, scooping grits and plating waffles on this busy weekend morning.
Oh, those waffles! At the last moment, I looked to the left, looked to the right, and realized the chicken would be little too much fried for first thing in the AM. But on their own, these waffles were light-as-a-feather babies, crisp and airy and golden brown. Real maple syrup, a smear of some kind of flavored butter, chicken-apple sausage from Aidell's: a very good time. The biscuits are very fine too, but only if you get them warmed up. Cold, they're still good, but they won't fill you with that special buttery-edged Southern-warmed lovin'. The home fries were good, the scrambled eggs were very good, the Niman Ranch bacon top-hole.
But now, the caveats. BSK, at least on busy weekends, does not have its service together. The hostess has no time (or inclination) for charm, the servers are sweet but overwhelmed. After finally snagging seats at the counter, then being ignored for many minutes, we went and fetched our own menus. The weekend menu itself is short--a fine thing, usually. I like a chef with an opinion, and there are enough places with millions of omelettes already. But there's short, and then there's running a breakfast place with no straight-up eggs-potatoes-toast option.
Now, I'd understand this, maybe, if this was a dinner place that did a fancy brunch once a week. But no, this is a joint that only serves breakfast and lunch. I understand that, grits and pie aside, this ain't no Just for You, no Rudy's or Al's Good Food Cafe. Holland's clearly not interested in running a short-order white-wheat-or-rye diner. What you can get are cheese grits and poached eggs, quiche, veggie scramble, French toast, or waffles (with or without fried chicken). But if you, like many, many people, want home fries, a biscuit, and some scrambled eggs for breakfast, you're going to get charged a la carte prices for every little thing, which means something like $12, with bacon.
Then they charged me for the fried chicken I didn't order. And did I mention it took close to 45 minutes between sitting down and getting breakfast? On the plus side, there were a couple of free (cold) biscuits to take the edge off, and an extra cup of coffee. (Another warning: that Blue Bottle coffee is all French-pressed, which means no waitress warming up your cup from the Bunn-o-matic. I imagine if you want more than a single dose of joe , you're going to pay a fresh $2 for every round. Haven't confirmed this, but I didn't see any warmups going around, so I'm figuring this for policy. And go easy on the half-and-half: it comes in tiny pitchers, filled only halfway.)
Not that I'm trying to be negative, mind--I came in really wanting to love BSK. It's a very pleasant place, with apple-green walls and a lively open kitchen, and some very handsome pecan and sweet-potato pies on display, right next to some massively nutty sticky buns. But it's still getting itself together, and a little more attention to the nuances of making customers happy--instead of just well waffled--would go far in getting the PQ's adoration, or at least her returning breakfast cash.
It was close to 1:30pm when I got down there, so many of the booths were already shut down and sweeping up, but I still scored a bag of 4 or 5 slim heads of red butter lettuce rubber-banded together for $1, plus cilantro, garlic, onions, peppers, and a big bag of brutto ma buono tangelos, golden nugget tangerines, Meyer lemons, and mandarins for a mere buck a pound. Flowers, taco trucks, strawberries (conventionally grown, and a little beat up, but $10 a flat' organics go for $35/flat): PQ says check it out. SE edge of Bernal Heights, Putnam and Alemany, Saturday mornings.
It was an Eazy-Bay kind of weekend, from breakfast at Brown Sugar Kitchen in West Oakland to a French movie (Hors de Prix--Priceless--with Audrey Tatou, and a delightful romp it was) in Piedmont, drinks at Kingman's Lucky Lounge, coffee at Peet's on Grand Ave, even late-night eats at Rudy's Can't-Fail Cafe (the servers' black rocker tees read "Serving E'ville" with the RC/FC logo done AC/DC style on the front) in Emeryville (they're open til 1am! In the East Bay! Wheeee!) The only thing I missed was farmers' market cocktails at the Easy with the Red Meat Ranger, Papa Sueno, and their market pals Kelly (who sells fabulous girly lotions and soaps) and Arianna, who runs a small farm and chicken ranch in Watsonville. Arianna is cool, says Papa Sueno, because she farms, raises Peruvian chickens that can lay green eggs, and knows all about what's in season. Farmers are our new rock stars, now that we're all too sleepy to stay out late enough to go to gigs any more.
So, what will being in bed by 10, PQ can be up with the chickens herself, and a good thing too, if you want to get some of that fried chicken and waffles at Brown Sugar Kitchen. Don't let the industrial West Oakland setting fool you: Peralta Studios is just across the street, and the word is out about the homemade biscuits and doughnuts and Blue Bottle Coffee. Shuna of Eggbeater was working the biscuit dough behind the counter, doing a helpout for her pal, BSK owner Tanya Holland. The all-female kitchen crew was working hard, scooping grits and plating waffles on this busy weekend morning.
Oh, those waffles! At the last moment, I looked to the left, looked to the right, and realized the chicken would be little too much fried for first thing in the AM. But on their own, these waffles were light-as-a-feather babies, crisp and airy and golden brown. Real maple syrup, a smear of some kind of flavored butter, chicken-apple sausage from Aidell's: a very good time. The biscuits are very fine too, but only if you get them warmed up. Cold, they're still good, but they won't fill you with that special buttery-edged Southern-warmed lovin'. The home fries were good, the scrambled eggs were very good, the Niman Ranch bacon top-hole.
But now, the caveats. BSK, at least on busy weekends, does not have its service together. The hostess has no time (or inclination) for charm, the servers are sweet but overwhelmed. After finally snagging seats at the counter, then being ignored for many minutes, we went and fetched our own menus. The weekend menu itself is short--a fine thing, usually. I like a chef with an opinion, and there are enough places with millions of omelettes already. But there's short, and then there's running a breakfast place with no straight-up eggs-potatoes-toast option.
Now, I'd understand this, maybe, if this was a dinner place that did a fancy brunch once a week. But no, this is a joint that only serves breakfast and lunch. I understand that, grits and pie aside, this ain't no Just for You, no Rudy's or Al's Good Food Cafe. Holland's clearly not interested in running a short-order white-wheat-or-rye diner. What you can get are cheese grits and poached eggs, quiche, veggie scramble, French toast, or waffles (with or without fried chicken). But if you, like many, many people, want home fries, a biscuit, and some scrambled eggs for breakfast, you're going to get charged a la carte prices for every little thing, which means something like $12, with bacon.
Then they charged me for the fried chicken I didn't order. And did I mention it took close to 45 minutes between sitting down and getting breakfast? On the plus side, there were a couple of free (cold) biscuits to take the edge off, and an extra cup of coffee. (Another warning: that Blue Bottle coffee is all French-pressed, which means no waitress warming up your cup from the Bunn-o-matic. I imagine if you want more than a single dose of joe , you're going to pay a fresh $2 for every round. Haven't confirmed this, but I didn't see any warmups going around, so I'm figuring this for policy. And go easy on the half-and-half: it comes in tiny pitchers, filled only halfway.)
Not that I'm trying to be negative, mind--I came in really wanting to love BSK. It's a very pleasant place, with apple-green walls and a lively open kitchen, and some very handsome pecan and sweet-potato pies on display, right next to some massively nutty sticky buns. But it's still getting itself together, and a little more attention to the nuances of making customers happy--instead of just well waffled--would go far in getting the PQ's adoration, or at least her returning breakfast cash.
Sunday, March 30, 2008
Girls, Cookies, Eco-Cocktailia
jesus died for somebody's sins
but not mine
Happy Easter, everyone! Did you enjoy your bunny cake, your chocolate eggs, your righteous pagan fertility worship? Glad to hear it. And now, on to Passover, and rhubarb.
But first, fabulous femme Shar Rednour is doing a reading/talk with Michelle Tea and Chelsea Starr on this Tuesday, April 1st, at the 3 Dollar Bill Cafe at the LGBT Center on Market St. Starts at 7pm, free, and if you ask a question during the Q & A, you get a homemade cookie!
As Shar says, "They have beer and wine at the 3 Dollar Bill Cafe and pretty good potato salad. All a femme needs, right?"
And before that, the swanky XYZ bar in the W Hotel, right near SFMoMA, is kicking off their new green happy hour called, I kid you not, Ecolicious, from 5:30 to 7:30pm. How this will be more green than say, the Easy Lounge's Saturday afternoon happy hour, when they make cocktails out of stuff from the Grand Lake Farmers' Market across the street, is the serious research PQ will be doing on your behalf tomorrow afternoon. Is this the bevvie version of Toyota's latest hookup to the green bandwagon, the hybrid SUV? Tune in on Wednesday for a report...
but not mine
Happy Easter, everyone! Did you enjoy your bunny cake, your chocolate eggs, your righteous pagan fertility worship? Glad to hear it. And now, on to Passover, and rhubarb.
But first, fabulous femme Shar Rednour is doing a reading/talk with Michelle Tea and Chelsea Starr on this Tuesday, April 1st, at the 3 Dollar Bill Cafe at the LGBT Center on Market St. Starts at 7pm, free, and if you ask a question during the Q & A, you get a homemade cookie!
As Shar says, "They have beer and wine at the 3 Dollar Bill Cafe and pretty good potato salad. All a femme needs, right?"
And before that, the swanky XYZ bar in the W Hotel, right near SFMoMA, is kicking off their new green happy hour called, I kid you not, Ecolicious, from 5:30 to 7:30pm. How this will be more green than say, the Easy Lounge's Saturday afternoon happy hour, when they make cocktails out of stuff from the Grand Lake Farmers' Market across the street, is the serious research PQ will be doing on your behalf tomorrow afternoon. Is this the bevvie version of Toyota's latest hookup to the green bandwagon, the hybrid SUV? Tune in on Wednesday for a report...
Friday, March 14, 2008
freebies!
Free samples are one of the happy perks of any job. I showed up at The Alley in Oakland the other night with a bag of salted caramels, hazelnut bonbons and big slabs of chocolate studded with candied orange peel and almonds, just because we'd been rotating the display boxes at the chocolate mines and there were loads of extras in the big "eat me" box behind the counter. Everyone needs some sweets to go with their cosmos and French fries. (Of course, when you work for, say, Goldman Sachs, these free samples are called "money", that being the stuff they rotate around. But I digress.)
And now, doing some freelance writing work for an organic produce distribution company, my perks come in the form of bunches of asparagus, bags of kumquats, a cherimoya or two, and most exciting of all, a Buddha's hand! Do you know the Buddha's hand? A very trippy citrus, like a citron made up of a dozen curling fingers covered in bright-yellow, intensely aromatic peel. No real pulp to speak of; it's all about the zest. What to do with it? I'm going to my favorite resource, former Chez Panisse pastry chef, Parisian homme-about-town, and cookbook author, David Lebovitz. His book "Ripe for Dessert" is a fantastic resource for fruit dessert-making, and his citrus-prosecco gelee was a huge hit at the PQ family Christmas dinner last year. So, David, qu'est-ce qu'on peut faire avec le main de Buddha?
And now, doing some freelance writing work for an organic produce distribution company, my perks come in the form of bunches of asparagus, bags of kumquats, a cherimoya or two, and most exciting of all, a Buddha's hand! Do you know the Buddha's hand? A very trippy citrus, like a citron made up of a dozen curling fingers covered in bright-yellow, intensely aromatic peel. No real pulp to speak of; it's all about the zest. What to do with it? I'm going to my favorite resource, former Chez Panisse pastry chef, Parisian homme-about-town, and cookbook author, David Lebovitz. His book "Ripe for Dessert" is a fantastic resource for fruit dessert-making, and his citrus-prosecco gelee was a huge hit at the PQ family Christmas dinner last year. So, David, qu'est-ce qu'on peut faire avec le main de Buddha?
Wednesday, March 12, 2008
spray-on tan
Remember pancake batter in a can? We were talking about this back a month or two ago, and today, the Bay Guardian's "Cheap Eats" Leone does the perfect sum-up.
The verdict on aerosol-can waffle and pancake batter?
Yeah. Whatever. No, I mean, it was free, and it was delicious. But being a person who loves to cook, and who loves to spend as much time as possible doing the things that I love to do, like cooking, why in the world would I ever in the world squeeze waffle batter out of a can? And then blow time looking out the window that I could have more wisely spent separating egg whites and hand-whisking until they hold soft peaks?
No kidding, I make three meals a day. I want to have my hands in the food, and my arms, teeth, and tongue when appropriate. Like sex, I actually want it to take as long as possible. And dirty all the dishes. (I'll do 'em in the morning.) You're in a hurry, I know. You have a job. Me, I'll keep doing what I do ... stirring constantly.
The verdict on aerosol-can waffle and pancake batter?
Yeah. Whatever. No, I mean, it was free, and it was delicious. But being a person who loves to cook, and who loves to spend as much time as possible doing the things that I love to do, like cooking, why in the world would I ever in the world squeeze waffle batter out of a can? And then blow time looking out the window that I could have more wisely spent separating egg whites and hand-whisking until they hold soft peaks?
No kidding, I make three meals a day. I want to have my hands in the food, and my arms, teeth, and tongue when appropriate. Like sex, I actually want it to take as long as possible. And dirty all the dishes. (I'll do 'em in the morning.) You're in a hurry, I know. You have a job. Me, I'll keep doing what I do ... stirring constantly.
Monday, March 10, 2008
Tiptoe through the Tulips
This being San Francisco in citrus season, I may not be the only girl walking around the city with 4 kumquats, a tangelo and a cherimoya in her purse. Ok, two kumquats and a cherimoya, because I ate the rest, dripping juice down my sleeve and biting through that aromatic kumquat skin to the sour pulp within. It's a breezy early-spring day, the stripy, frilly tulips out in buckets in front of Heartfelt, our local card-and-giftie store, and it's pretty, pretty, pretty out there, yet again. And I'm skipping around on this, my day off, singing that Be Good Tanyas song "The Littlest Birds" over and over again and hanging my laundry out to dry in the backyard, so it will come in smelling of sunshine and eucalyptus.
Another reason to be happy: you didn't wake up today as Eliot "Mr. Clean" Spitzer, a man who's having a Very Bad Day, the specific sort of Very Bad Day you have when you pledge to clean up corruption in the Empire State and then get busted as "Client 9" by the booker of a high-class escort service, who, alas for the Gov., was wearing a wire when he set up his NY-to-DC assignation with "Kristen" the petite brunette. Did he really think that paying the Amtrak fare for a NYC working girl to come down to DC was somehow more discreet than booking a date with a local? Now, as the result of that train trip, he's doubly busted for the whole crossing-state-lines-for-the-purpose-of-prostitution thing. Politicians: Toujours Stupides!
On another note: good books! Almost finished with Amy Bloom's novel Away, yet another in the sub-genre of Jews in Alaska, stories about (see also Michael Chabon's The Yiddish Policemen's Union). A rambling picaresque, and better than almost everything else I've read by her, except for the small, perfect story "Love is Not a Pie", which remains unsurpassed.
Another reason to be happy: you didn't wake up today as Eliot "Mr. Clean" Spitzer, a man who's having a Very Bad Day, the specific sort of Very Bad Day you have when you pledge to clean up corruption in the Empire State and then get busted as "Client 9" by the booker of a high-class escort service, who, alas for the Gov., was wearing a wire when he set up his NY-to-DC assignation with "Kristen" the petite brunette. Did he really think that paying the Amtrak fare for a NYC working girl to come down to DC was somehow more discreet than booking a date with a local? Now, as the result of that train trip, he's doubly busted for the whole crossing-state-lines-for-the-purpose-of-prostitution thing. Politicians: Toujours Stupides!
On another note: good books! Almost finished with Amy Bloom's novel Away, yet another in the sub-genre of Jews in Alaska, stories about (see also Michael Chabon's The Yiddish Policemen's Union). A rambling picaresque, and better than almost everything else I've read by her, except for the small, perfect story "Love is Not a Pie", which remains unsurpassed.
the littlest birds
Well it's times like these
I feel so small and wild
Like the ramblin' footsteps of a wanderin' child
And I'm lonesome as a lonesome whippoorwill
Singin these blues with a warble and a trill
But I'm not too blue to fly
No, I'm not too blue to fly, cause
The littlest birds sing the prettiest songs...
-Be Good Tanyas, "The Littlest Birds (Sing the Prettiest Songs)", from Blue Horse
I feel so small and wild
Like the ramblin' footsteps of a wanderin' child
And I'm lonesome as a lonesome whippoorwill
Singin these blues with a warble and a trill
But I'm not too blue to fly
No, I'm not too blue to fly, cause
The littlest birds sing the prettiest songs...
-Be Good Tanyas, "The Littlest Birds (Sing the Prettiest Songs)", from Blue Horse
Saturday, March 08, 2008
Woofer
Normally, I don't love being booked for work down in the Marina chocolate mines all weekend, especially on sunny spring days when all the ladies of leisure come breezing in for a couple of fleur-de-sel caramels, full of cheery commentary on how beautiful it is out there beyond the barred gates of retail. But last night, the Giant Scary Dogs arrived in my home, courtesy of my roommate's visiting girlfriend. I haven't seen them, but I've heard them, and they sound like the Hound of the Baskervilles looking to take your leg off. So having a paid excuse to be out of the house today and tomorrow will be very welcome.
Off to the Libery Cafe for coffee and apple turnovers, then on to Bart to see K. off to the airport, where she flies back to Richmond for 3 more months of Army-officer training. Meanwhile we took many slow buses out to Lincoln Park for a spin around the Legion of Honor museum, followed by whole fish and goat cheese with tomato-preserved lemon jam at Aziza.
Which was swell, really, except for the service at Aziza, which was way snootier than anyone doing business at the Outer-Richmond side of Geary deserved to be. I learned a few tricks during my 10 years as a restaurant critic (back pre-Yelping, pre-blogging, when this was a job one got paid to do, with the accompanying professional standards), and one was that the chillier the waiter, the more likely that he or she would know next to nothing about the menu, or the food being served, or anything but the most basic info about the ingredients. And that he or she would, when pressed, b.s. with aplomb, usually in the most patronizing manner possible. So when we asked what was argan oil, exactly, we got the spectacularly unhelpful but smug response that It's Smoky And It Comes From a Tree. Like maple syrup, presumably.
Nothing about the small, oily kernels of the nut of the argan tree, a gnarly little tree native only to a certain part of Morocco. Or how the nuts are encased in a rock-hard shell that is in turn wrapped in a small, olive-like fruit delicious to goats. The goats clamber up the branches, eat the fruit, and drop the nuts (still in their shells) to the ground. Each nut must be cracked and the kernels removed and ground between heavy millstones to release their dark, pungent oil, work often done by women's collectives in rural Morocco. A good story, non? Especially if there had been enough oil dribbled on the white chunk of cheese to actually taste, rather than merely providing gourmet-cachet to the menu.
Off to the Libery Cafe for coffee and apple turnovers, then on to Bart to see K. off to the airport, where she flies back to Richmond for 3 more months of Army-officer training. Meanwhile we took many slow buses out to Lincoln Park for a spin around the Legion of Honor museum, followed by whole fish and goat cheese with tomato-preserved lemon jam at Aziza.
Which was swell, really, except for the service at Aziza, which was way snootier than anyone doing business at the Outer-Richmond side of Geary deserved to be. I learned a few tricks during my 10 years as a restaurant critic (back pre-Yelping, pre-blogging, when this was a job one got paid to do, with the accompanying professional standards), and one was that the chillier the waiter, the more likely that he or she would know next to nothing about the menu, or the food being served, or anything but the most basic info about the ingredients. And that he or she would, when pressed, b.s. with aplomb, usually in the most patronizing manner possible. So when we asked what was argan oil, exactly, we got the spectacularly unhelpful but smug response that It's Smoky And It Comes From a Tree. Like maple syrup, presumably.
Nothing about the small, oily kernels of the nut of the argan tree, a gnarly little tree native only to a certain part of Morocco. Or how the nuts are encased in a rock-hard shell that is in turn wrapped in a small, olive-like fruit delicious to goats. The goats clamber up the branches, eat the fruit, and drop the nuts (still in their shells) to the ground. Each nut must be cracked and the kernels removed and ground between heavy millstones to release their dark, pungent oil, work often done by women's collectives in rural Morocco. A good story, non? Especially if there had been enough oil dribbled on the white chunk of cheese to actually taste, rather than merely providing gourmet-cachet to the menu.
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