L'Shanah Tovah! Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish New Year, starts tonight at sundown. And right on time, my box of Arkansas wine arrived, including a nice bottle of muscadine grape juice--much tastier than Welch's for the non-drinkers. More muscadine pix, and a visit to the winery and vineyards, to follow.
Right now, of course, what you need is a nice challah recipe (below), and an alternative to honeycake, which everyone (at least on the eastern-european side) feels compelled to eat, but no one likes very much. And here PQ can help you out, with the famous apple upside-down gingerbread. You can use half molasses, half honey, if you have to get the honey in there. And if you're having brisket and don't want to serve a butter-based cake for dessert, you can sub this no-dairy gingerbread recipe, adapted from the original Silver Palate Cookbook, below.
Very Useful & Easy Gingerbread, with upside-down option
In a glass measuring cup, measure the oil first, pour into a separate cup, and then measure the molasses. This helps the molasses run right out the cup when you tip it, which otherwise it will not do. I've also made this as more of general spice cake, using 2 tsp of mixed "pumpkin pie spice" (also called apple-pie spice--basically, a mix of cinnamon, ginger, allspice, nutmeg, and cloves).
For optional apple/pear upside-down topping:
3 apples or pears, cored and sliced
3 tbsp butter or margarine (if you need to be non-dairy)
1/3 cup brown sugar, packed
Batter:
1 2/3 cups flour
2 tsp powdered ginger
1 tsp cinnamon
1/4 tsp nutmeg, fresh grated if possible
1/4 tsp cloves
1 1/4 tsp baking soda
3/4 tsp salt
1 tbsp grated fresh ginger root, and/or 2 tbsp chopped crystallized ginger (optional, but I would add both if I were you)
1/3 cup sugar
1/2 cup molasses, or 1/4 cup honey and 1/4 cup molasses
1 egg
1/2 cup oil
1/2 cup boiling water
Preheat oven to 350F. Grease a square 8 x 8 or deep, round 9" cake pan. To make topping: melt butter in a small pot. Add brown sugar and cook, swirling the pan, until thick, melted, and smooth. Pour mixture into prepared baking pan, spreading evenly. Arrange sliced apples or pears in concentric circles. Fit fruit in tightly, since it will shrink in baking. Set aside. Put 1/2 cup water on to boil.
Sift flour, spices, baking soda, and salt into a large bowl. In a separate bowl, beat eggs, sugar, and molasses. Stir into flour, then quickly stir in oil and boiling water. Pour into prepared pan (over the fruit, if using) and bake 35-40 minutes. If using fruit, loosen cake and invert onto plate while still warm, pushing any errant fruit slices into place as needed.
A Nice Round Challah for a Sweet Year (adapted from my own book, Honey from Flower to Table)
1 tbsp (1 packet) dry yeast, dissolved in 1/4 cup lukewarm water, or a decent nubbin of fresh yeast, dissolved in same amount of water
1 cup lukewarm water
1/3 cup melted butter or oil
2 eggs plus 2 yolks
1/2 cup honey
2 1/2 tsp salt
4 - 5 cups flour
1 cup raisins, golden look especially nice
1/4 cup honey, for drizzling, or an egg wash of 1 egg beaten with 1 tbsp water
Mix up water, butter, eggs, and honey. Add yeast. Stir in 2 cups of flour and the salt. Keep adding flour (2-3 cups) until you have a soft, sticky dough. Turn out and knead well for 6 to 8 minutes, adding flour as needed. Doughs with honey are hydroscopic (they absorb water from the air), which means they tend to get more gloppy, not less. Knead with a little oil on your hands, or use a dough scraper. You can add more flour as you knead, but go easy, as you want the dough to stay fairly soft. Let rise until doubled, then punch down. You can do another rise, or go straight to shaping.
Flatten dough into a big rectangle. Sprinkle with raisins, and fold or roll until raisins are fairly well integrated into the dough. Shape 2/3 of the dough into a long, thick rope. Now wrap the rope around itself, starting about halfway down the rope. Tuck the "tail" into the top. Do the same with smaller piece, and nestle the topknot into the top of the dough. This makes 1 big loaf; you can also divide it and make 2 smaller ones. Let rise until nearly doubled in size. Preheat oven to 350F. Drizzle loaf with honey or brush with egg wash. Bake for 35-45 minutes, until puffed, golden, and shiny. Serve with apples and honey.
Makes the world's best French toast the next day.
Monday, September 29, 2008
Saturday, September 27, 2008
put a little steam in your Saturday
Sigh.
You can keep your xtube, your flesh-slapping naked people doing what naked people do. Give me provocation in green satin shoes, any day of the week. I also find this to be the most convincing argument for bisexuality that I can imagine, given how completely dreamy both Gene Kelly and Cyd Charisse are here. (It's also fun to note how 6-feet-plus-in-heels Cyd Charisse keeps her knees bent and her hips cocked in almost all of her up-close partner shots, so she doesn't tower over her men.)
And you? Your favorite don't-make-'em-like-they-used-to moments of screen steam?
You can keep your xtube, your flesh-slapping naked people doing what naked people do. Give me provocation in green satin shoes, any day of the week. I also find this to be the most convincing argument for bisexuality that I can imagine, given how completely dreamy both Gene Kelly and Cyd Charisse are here. (It's also fun to note how 6-feet-plus-in-heels Cyd Charisse keeps her knees bent and her hips cocked in almost all of her up-close partner shots, so she doesn't tower over her men.)
And you? Your favorite don't-make-'em-like-they-used-to moments of screen steam?
Saturday, September 20, 2008
Baking Bread at Steph's Cafe
So, the house smells like baking bread again, not a bad thing. This is the third round of bread baking I've done since I got here, and the most successful. The first, from a recipe from the Inn at Dairy Hollow cookbook (the B&B that was here in this space, before it became the writers' colony) Did Not Work. Really, it was like a horrible dense brick that never rose. Bummer. The second version rose like a charm, only we lost our power that day, and with an electric oven, I had to keep punching down the dough and waiting before I could finally fire up the oven and bake. When I finally put the bread in, it had over-proofed and looked collapsed and wrinkly. It baked up okay, but I never got that beautiful swoosh of oven spring, and the loaf was a little dense.
This round, though, poofed up gorgeously in the oven, rising to about double what it was in the pans, and was light and delicious. I had a little bowl of orange-cinnamon-lavender sugar lying around, extra from the plum cake I'd made on Thursday, so I swirled that into one of the loaves, and damn if it wasn't just heaven's morning toast.
Bet y'all like the recipe now, wouldn't you? Well, so would I. I have to admit that I just sort of threw stuff together without measuring on this one. Once you have a sense of the basic dough proportions, you can do this, and it will almost always work. Having done this for a while, I also have a pretty good eye for guessing measurements, so the recipe below should be roughly accurate. Mess around, experiment, and let me know how it goes.
Re: buttermilk. I love buttermilk, for drinking straight and in all kinds of baked goods. The only way it doesn't work for me is, weirdly enough, in pancakes. I know, that's the place it's supposed to go, but every time I make a buttermilk pancake batter, I get a wet, gummy-rubbery result. So now I use regular milk and save my buttermilk for baked-in-the-oven things.
Orange-Cinnamon Oatmeal Bread
3/4 cup buttermilk
1/2 cup rolled oatmeal flakes
3 tbsp butter, softened
2 tbsp honey, sorghum, or pure cane syrup
1 tbsp salt
Mix all together and let sit for 20-30 minutes.
1 packet dry yeast, dissolved in 1/4 cup water
2 1/2 cups whole wheat flour
Stir dissolved yeast into flour, adding enough water to make a thick, clumpy batter. Cover and let stand while oatmeal is soaking.
Stir oatmeal mixture into whole wheat flour. Add enough white flour (probably 1-2 cups) to make a soft but kneadable dough. Knead for 6-8 minutes, then let rise until doubled.
Meanwhile, make sugar mixture:
1/2 cup granulated sugar
1 tsp cinnamon
grated rind of 1 orange
1 tsp crushed, dried lavender flowers
1/4 tsp cardamom
Punch down dough and divide in two. Flatten one ball of dough into a rectangle, and sprinkle with half the sugar mix. Roll up tightly into a loaf shape, and place in lightly greased loaf pan. Repeat with rest of dough and sugar. Let rise until nearly doubled, then bake at 400F until well browned and risen, about 35 minutes. Tip out of pans (to prevent soggy sides/bottom) and let cool on a rack.
This round, though, poofed up gorgeously in the oven, rising to about double what it was in the pans, and was light and delicious. I had a little bowl of orange-cinnamon-lavender sugar lying around, extra from the plum cake I'd made on Thursday, so I swirled that into one of the loaves, and damn if it wasn't just heaven's morning toast.
Bet y'all like the recipe now, wouldn't you? Well, so would I. I have to admit that I just sort of threw stuff together without measuring on this one. Once you have a sense of the basic dough proportions, you can do this, and it will almost always work. Having done this for a while, I also have a pretty good eye for guessing measurements, so the recipe below should be roughly accurate. Mess around, experiment, and let me know how it goes.
Re: buttermilk. I love buttermilk, for drinking straight and in all kinds of baked goods. The only way it doesn't work for me is, weirdly enough, in pancakes. I know, that's the place it's supposed to go, but every time I make a buttermilk pancake batter, I get a wet, gummy-rubbery result. So now I use regular milk and save my buttermilk for baked-in-the-oven things.
Orange-Cinnamon Oatmeal Bread
3/4 cup buttermilk
1/2 cup rolled oatmeal flakes
3 tbsp butter, softened
2 tbsp honey, sorghum, or pure cane syrup
1 tbsp salt
Mix all together and let sit for 20-30 minutes.
1 packet dry yeast, dissolved in 1/4 cup water
2 1/2 cups whole wheat flour
Stir dissolved yeast into flour, adding enough water to make a thick, clumpy batter. Cover and let stand while oatmeal is soaking.
Stir oatmeal mixture into whole wheat flour. Add enough white flour (probably 1-2 cups) to make a soft but kneadable dough. Knead for 6-8 minutes, then let rise until doubled.
Meanwhile, make sugar mixture:
1/2 cup granulated sugar
1 tsp cinnamon
grated rind of 1 orange
1 tsp crushed, dried lavender flowers
1/4 tsp cardamom
Punch down dough and divide in two. Flatten one ball of dough into a rectangle, and sprinkle with half the sugar mix. Roll up tightly into a loaf shape, and place in lightly greased loaf pan. Repeat with rest of dough and sugar. Let rise until nearly doubled, then bake at 400F until well browned and risen, about 35 minutes. Tip out of pans (to prevent soggy sides/bottom) and let cool on a rack.
Friday, September 19, 2008
Robert Steinberg, 1947-2008
Robert Steinberg, doctor, chocolate aficionado, co-founder of Scharffen Berger chocolate, and a man of quick mind, boundless curiosity, and much passion, died on Wednesday. A sad day.
I met Robert in San Francisco in the mid-90s, shortly after he and business partner John Scharffenberger started their quirky little bean-to-bar chocolate company, Scharffen Berger Chocolate, with a space between the two words so customers wouldn't confuse it with the Scharffenberger winery, a sparkling-wine operation run by John's family up in the Anderson Valley. Robert was a doctor who'd left practice after being diagnosed with lymphatic cancer. A man of many passions, he decided what he really wanted to do was make chocolate. Really make it, from sourcing the beans to wrapping the bars. At the time, no one in the U.S. was doing this. Plenty of people were making fancy chocolates and even fancy bars, but they were all buying their chocolate elsewhere, usually from Europe, and then blending and flavoring it to suit their tastes. Robert and John, however, were going to go back to basics.
For equipment, they had to go to Germany, buying up old fire-engine-red, Willie-Wonka-ish machines from small family firms, then retrofitting them to run on American current. The flavor they were after was dramatic: smoky, fruity, smooth but forward. It evolved over time, but you still can't confuse SB with any other chocolate.
Robert was like that, too. He had a sardonic wit and lots of opinions, but unlike a lot of opinionated people, he wanted to know what you thought, too, and why. You couldn't get away with mindless conversational fluff; he really wanted to hear what you were doing, and what you thought about it. I first met him down at the company's original South San Francisco warehouse, and from then on we'd chat at various industry events and food deals. I'd run into him at the farmers' market, at the James Beard Awards, and always, he seemed to know everyone there. He was a man of taste, and dedication, who said what he believed. The evolution in chocolate that has occurred over the last 10 years was spurred in many ways by his dedication, curiosity, and passion.
More background,here.
I met Robert in San Francisco in the mid-90s, shortly after he and business partner John Scharffenberger started their quirky little bean-to-bar chocolate company, Scharffen Berger Chocolate, with a space between the two words so customers wouldn't confuse it with the Scharffenberger winery, a sparkling-wine operation run by John's family up in the Anderson Valley. Robert was a doctor who'd left practice after being diagnosed with lymphatic cancer. A man of many passions, he decided what he really wanted to do was make chocolate. Really make it, from sourcing the beans to wrapping the bars. At the time, no one in the U.S. was doing this. Plenty of people were making fancy chocolates and even fancy bars, but they were all buying their chocolate elsewhere, usually from Europe, and then blending and flavoring it to suit their tastes. Robert and John, however, were going to go back to basics.
For equipment, they had to go to Germany, buying up old fire-engine-red, Willie-Wonka-ish machines from small family firms, then retrofitting them to run on American current. The flavor they were after was dramatic: smoky, fruity, smooth but forward. It evolved over time, but you still can't confuse SB with any other chocolate.
Robert was like that, too. He had a sardonic wit and lots of opinions, but unlike a lot of opinionated people, he wanted to know what you thought, too, and why. You couldn't get away with mindless conversational fluff; he really wanted to hear what you were doing, and what you thought about it. I first met him down at the company's original South San Francisco warehouse, and from then on we'd chat at various industry events and food deals. I'd run into him at the farmers' market, at the James Beard Awards, and always, he seemed to know everyone there. He was a man of taste, and dedication, who said what he believed. The evolution in chocolate that has occurred over the last 10 years was spurred in many ways by his dedication, curiosity, and passion.
More background,here.
Thursday, September 18, 2008
in the kitchen
Brownedbuttersugarplumsvanillalavenderorangecinnamon, that's what my kitchen smells like right now. With a little bit of garlicky spinach thrown in there, and if you open the fridge, Thai-curry-coconut-pumpkin soup. Outside, it's soft and warm and sort of late-summer-edge-of-fall. Just pretty beautiful all around. Oh, and I did mention the dishwasher? Nothing to you suburbanites, but a crazy luxury for this low-rent city gal.
Everyone likes pancakes! You can put anything in a pancake, I think, and if you pour enough syrup over it, it's yummy! Made butternut squash-apple-spice pancakes at the farmers' market this morning, over a propane stove, and doused them in sorghum syrup from the aptly named Ozark, Missouri at the end, and they were a hit! Who wouldn't like a nice hot cinnamon-spiced pancake on a crisp September morning? I think everyone at the market moseyed over for a pancake or two (I made them silver-dollar sized, so there were plenty). Recipe's below. One guy even ate up all my leftover steamed butternut squash. It's just so fun to pick out produce from the stands and then cook with it right there, without even going home.
So that was breakfast, and then an Ozark caponata--with eggplant, green tomatoes, red pepper, vidalia onion, and lots of fresh garlic and basil--was lunch. Served with triscuits and pita chips, and it was all gobbled up. Nary a recipe sheet or eggplant cube was left by the time I left. Much fun!
And now, on to Poet Luck...and spinach quiche, pumpkin soup, plum cake, and the recipe-testing caponata, made into a pasta salad with fusilli.
Spiced Pumpkin Pancakes
2 cups all-purpose or whole wheat pastry flour
1 tablespoon sugar, or to taste
1 teaspoon baking powder
1/4 tsp salt
1/2 tsp cinnamon
1/4 tsp nutmeg, freshly grated if possible
1/4 tsp cloves
1 large egg
1 1/2 cups milk
1 cup pumpkin purée (made from steamed or roasted pumpkin or butternut squash)
2 tbsp butter, melted
1 large apple, cored and diced, and/or handful of toasted chopped pecans
butter for greasing griddle
Sorghum or maple syrup and butter for serving
2. In a large bowl, whisk together flour, sugar, baking powder, salt, and spices. Stir to blend.
3. In another large bowl, whisk together eggs, buttermilk, and pumpkin purée. Stir in flour mixture, followed by the melted butter and diced apple and/or nuts. Stir until just blended--do not beat! Add a little more milk or water if batter is too thick.
4. Heat a heavy skillet or griddle, and lightly coat surface with oil or butter. Spoon batter onto griddle, using about 1/4 cup per cake.
5. When pancakes are lightly browned on the bottoms (after about 2 minutes), flip them over, and cook another minute, until browned.
6. Place pancakes on warm plates, garnish with pecans, drizzle with butter and warmed maple or sorghum syrup, or spread with apple butter.
Everyone likes pancakes! You can put anything in a pancake, I think, and if you pour enough syrup over it, it's yummy! Made butternut squash-apple-spice pancakes at the farmers' market this morning, over a propane stove, and doused them in sorghum syrup from the aptly named Ozark, Missouri at the end, and they were a hit! Who wouldn't like a nice hot cinnamon-spiced pancake on a crisp September morning? I think everyone at the market moseyed over for a pancake or two (I made them silver-dollar sized, so there were plenty). Recipe's below. One guy even ate up all my leftover steamed butternut squash. It's just so fun to pick out produce from the stands and then cook with it right there, without even going home.
So that was breakfast, and then an Ozark caponata--with eggplant, green tomatoes, red pepper, vidalia onion, and lots of fresh garlic and basil--was lunch. Served with triscuits and pita chips, and it was all gobbled up. Nary a recipe sheet or eggplant cube was left by the time I left. Much fun!
And now, on to Poet Luck...and spinach quiche, pumpkin soup, plum cake, and the recipe-testing caponata, made into a pasta salad with fusilli.
Spiced Pumpkin Pancakes
2 cups all-purpose or whole wheat pastry flour
1 tablespoon sugar, or to taste
1 teaspoon baking powder
1/4 tsp salt
1/2 tsp cinnamon
1/4 tsp nutmeg, freshly grated if possible
1/4 tsp cloves
1 large egg
1 1/2 cups milk
1 cup pumpkin purée (made from steamed or roasted pumpkin or butternut squash)
2 tbsp butter, melted
1 large apple, cored and diced, and/or handful of toasted chopped pecans
butter for greasing griddle
Sorghum or maple syrup and butter for serving
2. In a large bowl, whisk together flour, sugar, baking powder, salt, and spices. Stir to blend.
3. In another large bowl, whisk together eggs, buttermilk, and pumpkin purée. Stir in flour mixture, followed by the melted butter and diced apple and/or nuts. Stir until just blended--do not beat! Add a little more milk or water if batter is too thick.
4. Heat a heavy skillet or griddle, and lightly coat surface with oil or butter. Spoon batter onto griddle, using about 1/4 cup per cake.
5. When pancakes are lightly browned on the bottoms (after about 2 minutes), flip them over, and cook another minute, until browned.
6. Place pancakes on warm plates, garnish with pecans, drizzle with butter and warmed maple or sorghum syrup, or spread with apple butter.
Tuesday, September 16, 2008
Lizbeth, eat yer squish!
Summer squash. Winter squash. Purple hull beans. Okra. Green beans. Cherry tomatoes. Potatoes. Leeks. Peppers. Rhubarb. Apples. Herbs. Lettuce. Eggplant--white, purple, lavender, baby striped. Flowers. Summer and fall were colliding in abundance out at the farmers' market on Rt. 23 in Eureka Springs. It was so nice to be back there and see Heather the market manager, and Patrice, the French businessman-turned-organic-farmer, and meet some of the other farmers working the area. Vela, an apple farmer, social justice activist and poet, told me that it's just about impossible to grow peaches organically here, because the humidity and bugs mean fungal diseases like brown rot spread like wildfire, even inside a cooler. His apples are transitioning, though, and they're delicious, especially his Melrose apples, a big, tart, full-flavored apple that I hadn't tasted before. I think this will have to go into a batch of the famous upside-down apple gingerbread, for Thursday's open-mike potluck here at the Colony, dubbed the "Poetluck" and much fun for all.
Reading about eggplant in the NY Times, I was reminded that despite its unassuming spongy nature, eggplant is actually kick-ass good for you. Or, more specifically, purple eggplant SKIN is, since it's full of nasunin, which is not an Indonesian prime minister but one of those brawny antioxidents, part of the flavinoid family of anthocyanins also found in beets, red cabbage, and blueberries.
As for recipes to make at the market on Thursday, I'm thinking about pumpkin-apple pancakes with sorghum syrup, since the demo starts at 9am and we are in the Ozarks, after all. And then maybe caponata, that chunky sweet-tart Sicilian stuff with capers, olives, and vinegar, or possibly babaganoush...it's always fun to find things to make that use as much as possible from the market. Followed, perhaps, if I just can't stop cooking, by winter-squash soup, since several farmers at the market told me no one knows what to do with their beautiful squash. There's the classic squash-onion-sage-chicken broth sort of soup, with a little creme fraiche at the end, or possibly a Thai-type one, made with Thai curry paste, coconut milk, hot peppers and lemongrass. I won't have a blender, since I'll be cooking outside with just a propane stove, but if I can track down a hand-cranked food mill, all will be well!
Reading about eggplant in the NY Times, I was reminded that despite its unassuming spongy nature, eggplant is actually kick-ass good for you. Or, more specifically, purple eggplant SKIN is, since it's full of nasunin, which is not an Indonesian prime minister but one of those brawny antioxidents, part of the flavinoid family of anthocyanins also found in beets, red cabbage, and blueberries.
As for recipes to make at the market on Thursday, I'm thinking about pumpkin-apple pancakes with sorghum syrup, since the demo starts at 9am and we are in the Ozarks, after all. And then maybe caponata, that chunky sweet-tart Sicilian stuff with capers, olives, and vinegar, or possibly babaganoush...it's always fun to find things to make that use as much as possible from the market. Followed, perhaps, if I just can't stop cooking, by winter-squash soup, since several farmers at the market told me no one knows what to do with their beautiful squash. There's the classic squash-onion-sage-chicken broth sort of soup, with a little creme fraiche at the end, or possibly a Thai-type one, made with Thai curry paste, coconut milk, hot peppers and lemongrass. I won't have a blender, since I'll be cooking outside with just a propane stove, but if I can track down a hand-cranked food mill, all will be well!
Monday, September 15, 2008
Fun Thursday!
Farmers' Market in the morning, Poetluck in the evening...ain't we got fun? Looks like I'll be doing a cooking demo at the Eureka Springs farmers' market on Thursday morning (Sept 18) at 9am! Yippee! And then, back to the kitchen to make something tasty for the Poet-Luck potluck/open mike at the Writers' Colony that evening. Quiche with the thyme pie dough left over from last week's pie class? Upside-down pear gingerbread? Homemade rolls? Will post more info and recipes soon!
And, apropos of nothing at all, can you guess where this photo was taken? And what it is?
And, apropos of nothing at all, can you guess where this photo was taken? And what it is?
Happy autumn!
It's clear! It's nippy! We've got power! Yes, the hem of Hurricane Ike twitched across NW Arkansas late Saturday night like a drag queen in a snit, and we got trees down everywhere and no power from 3am to 8pm. Hard work for the road crews, and broken branches, leaves, acorns, and twigs all over everything.
Up at the Crescent Hotel, the lights were out all day, which meant a gorgeously spooky atmosphere for exploring this 1880s landmark. Lace curtains gusting out over dim empty corridors, doors opened onto empty rooms, their bedclothes still in a tangle, wide wooden staircases spiraling upwards...a perfect setting for Death at the Old Hotel. Even without power, a wedding went on as planned, and the big Crystal Dining Room seemed to be in full (if unlit) swing. I sat out on the wide back porch with a glass of OJ pilfered from the continental-breakfast spread and wrote letters as the pine and oak trees creaked in the wind and the sun broke through the scudding clouds.
Now, it's a beautiful fall day, crisp and blue and clear, with none of last week's soggy humidity. A day for hot apple cider and walking through the woods...which is just what's on my agenda once I finish up this week's CSA newsletter. And then, of course, more work on the next book, Breakfast at Steph's Cafe. Challah French toast and Dutch babies for all!
Up at the Crescent Hotel, the lights were out all day, which meant a gorgeously spooky atmosphere for exploring this 1880s landmark. Lace curtains gusting out over dim empty corridors, doors opened onto empty rooms, their bedclothes still in a tangle, wide wooden staircases spiraling upwards...a perfect setting for Death at the Old Hotel. Even without power, a wedding went on as planned, and the big Crystal Dining Room seemed to be in full (if unlit) swing. I sat out on the wide back porch with a glass of OJ pilfered from the continental-breakfast spread and wrote letters as the pine and oak trees creaked in the wind and the sun broke through the scudding clouds.
Now, it's a beautiful fall day, crisp and blue and clear, with none of last week's soggy humidity. A day for hot apple cider and walking through the woods...which is just what's on my agenda once I finish up this week's CSA newsletter. And then, of course, more work on the next book, Breakfast at Steph's Cafe. Challah French toast and Dutch babies for all!
Friday, September 12, 2008
Rain!
It's so beautiful here, I don't know where to start. But start we must, so, Rain! Yes, after many months in mediterranean-dry SF, it's teeming rain here in Eureka Springs. I've got the door open to the porch so I can hear the pitter-pat. It's still muggy and warm out in the early evening, but with the edge-of-Ike thunderstorms coming through tomorrow, maybe the air will stop being quite so wringing wet. But plus side: supergreen, everywhere!
I haven't been here in 2 years (I was last here in June 2006, when I spent a month at this same writers' colony) but it's amazing how completely familiar everything is. I remembered the slightly warped texture of the straw placemats in the kitchen, and the steep steps up to the library, and the funny store that sells only frog-themed tchotckes, and how the shower always drips a little. I think I've had apartments that I was less attached to than this place, my home for only a month.
It helps that NYC was a frantic, sweaty round of packing, mailing, and shoving boxes around. Besides a few dinners, and a nice weekend with my mom, the city part of my trip was pretty businesslike, and mostly involved the less-than-scenic environs of the Brooklyn post office and my storage unit. I did learn than even in hoity-toity Brooklyn Heights, the residents are not so hoity-toity than they won't take free furniture left out on the street. So whoever's living with my baker's rack and kitchen chairs now, thank you! Enjoy!
I haven't been here in 2 years (I was last here in June 2006, when I spent a month at this same writers' colony) but it's amazing how completely familiar everything is. I remembered the slightly warped texture of the straw placemats in the kitchen, and the steep steps up to the library, and the funny store that sells only frog-themed tchotckes, and how the shower always drips a little. I think I've had apartments that I was less attached to than this place, my home for only a month.
It helps that NYC was a frantic, sweaty round of packing, mailing, and shoving boxes around. Besides a few dinners, and a nice weekend with my mom, the city part of my trip was pretty businesslike, and mostly involved the less-than-scenic environs of the Brooklyn post office and my storage unit. I did learn than even in hoity-toity Brooklyn Heights, the residents are not so hoity-toity than they won't take free furniture left out on the street. So whoever's living with my baker's rack and kitchen chairs now, thank you! Enjoy!
Tuesday, September 02, 2008
Cooking Workshops in Eureka Springs
Alright, I'm going! NYC tomorrow, Arkansas next week. Which means...you can cook with PQ! I'll be teaching two very fun workshops in a beautiful kitchen in Eureka Springs.
Thursday, Sept 11th, Foolproof Pie Making, and
Sunday, Sept. 14, An Ozark Brunch on the Deck.
The hands-on Sunday brunch class will be particularly lovely, as we'll be cooking together, and then sitting down to enjoy our meal on the beautiful outdoor deck off the kitchen. Mimosas, live music provided!
Info and signup,here. Scroll down to get to the cooking ones...
Friday, August 29, 2008
cupcakery
a few hours, 100 cupcakes later...my freezer is all cupcakes, all the time. Don't try this at home, kids, unless you have a big ol' stand-up mixer. And, preferably, some non-dark muffin pans. Dark pans, it seems, make the bottoms of your cupcakes burn faster, or so said my pal Shar, of Shar's Babycakes, when we were baking 20 dozen cupcakes for a wedding a few weeks ago.
How will these little suckers get iced? Who knows. They're baked, and that's one mountain (of butter & sugar) climbed.
How will these little suckers get iced? Who knows. They're baked, and that's one mountain (of butter & sugar) climbed.
Thursday, August 28, 2008
Feed me, Seymour!
My tomatoes love Miracle-Gro! This feels a little like saying "My kids love Big Macs!" (if, you know, I had kids.) But what can I say? I have two tomato plants--Stupice and some kind of cold-loving Russian heirloom cherry--stuck in a couple of pots on the back patio, bought in a fit of farm-longing outside Cole Hardware on Mission Street. There was a big bag of potting soil under the steps behind my house, so I filled up a couple of containers and stuck my little plants in. And there they stayed, stunted and unhappy, doing absolutely nothing. I knew they were sadly in need of some NPK (no new growth, curled-looking yellowish-purple leaves, general ennui), but what to do? The soil was in place, and you can't really amend junky potting soil once it's already in the pot around the plant. So, yes, I copped a quick cheap fix: a spoonful of the blue stuff, dissolved in water, poured over the leaves (foliar feeding!) and into the soil.
Better living through petrochemical byproducts! Just like cake-mix cakes always rise and look perfect, damned if my tomatoes aren't 10x healthier looking just a few days later. They're green, they're growing, they look fat and sassy and they actually have tomatoes on them. And they're looking at me as if they just got a hamburger after two months of olives and soy milk. What were you thinking, they seem to be saying. We needed food! Bad enough you put us out here, with the cold and fog and whiteflies. Then you put us on some no-nitrogen starvation diet?
Of course, they're supposed to get their food from the soil,if it were any good, which clearly it wasn't. I can't blame them; soil is a living thing, and if you leave it in a plastic bag under the porch for years on end, it's not going to be worth much more than the plastic it came in. If I had a real garden, I'd be composting and fish-emulsioning and mulching til the cows came home (yoo-hooo! Bessieeee!!). But for two pots on the concrete, the M-G will have to do.
There are all kinds of metaphors in here, but I'm too written-out to delve into them. Plus, there's the Cupcake Dilemma: in a whimsical moment, I promised my pals M.& D. that I'd make them a wedding cake when they could finally get married legally here (They're longtime gay-marriage activists, and already been been married several times to each other, but we're hoping this time will stay on the books). Now, this promise has morphed into a request for cupcakes for 150. Especially tricky since I'm going to be at Slow Food on Sat and down in Santa Cruz with P. and her family, watching Shakespeare, on Sunday. Which leaves today, tomorrow, and the freezer. I have absolutely no idea how this is going to happen. I'm actually thinking...minicupcakes? Very cute, and well, small! So they could each just get a little dab of icing and sprinkles and be done. We'll see if I can find a million mini-cupcake liners at Safeway.
Also, Arkansas! I'm longing to go back to Eureka Springs, as I've promised to do for a few weeks this sept, but there remains the difficult cash issue. As in, plane tickets=really f'ing expensive these days! Especially going NY-Arkansas, Arkansas-SF. Not sure if I can swing the $700 or so for the plane fare, on top of the $300 or so it will take to stay at the writer's colony for 10 days after my workshops. Seems like a better deal to just come back in a week from NYC on a cheap jetblue fare...ah, what to do.
Better living through petrochemical byproducts! Just like cake-mix cakes always rise and look perfect, damned if my tomatoes aren't 10x healthier looking just a few days later. They're green, they're growing, they look fat and sassy and they actually have tomatoes on them. And they're looking at me as if they just got a hamburger after two months of olives and soy milk. What were you thinking, they seem to be saying. We needed food! Bad enough you put us out here, with the cold and fog and whiteflies. Then you put us on some no-nitrogen starvation diet?
Of course, they're supposed to get their food from the soil,if it were any good, which clearly it wasn't. I can't blame them; soil is a living thing, and if you leave it in a plastic bag under the porch for years on end, it's not going to be worth much more than the plastic it came in. If I had a real garden, I'd be composting and fish-emulsioning and mulching til the cows came home (yoo-hooo! Bessieeee!!). But for two pots on the concrete, the M-G will have to do.
There are all kinds of metaphors in here, but I'm too written-out to delve into them. Plus, there's the Cupcake Dilemma: in a whimsical moment, I promised my pals M.& D. that I'd make them a wedding cake when they could finally get married legally here (They're longtime gay-marriage activists, and already been been married several times to each other, but we're hoping this time will stay on the books). Now, this promise has morphed into a request for cupcakes for 150. Especially tricky since I'm going to be at Slow Food on Sat and down in Santa Cruz with P. and her family, watching Shakespeare, on Sunday. Which leaves today, tomorrow, and the freezer. I have absolutely no idea how this is going to happen. I'm actually thinking...minicupcakes? Very cute, and well, small! So they could each just get a little dab of icing and sprinkles and be done. We'll see if I can find a million mini-cupcake liners at Safeway.
Also, Arkansas! I'm longing to go back to Eureka Springs, as I've promised to do for a few weeks this sept, but there remains the difficult cash issue. As in, plane tickets=really f'ing expensive these days! Especially going NY-Arkansas, Arkansas-SF. Not sure if I can swing the $700 or so for the plane fare, on top of the $300 or so it will take to stay at the writer's colony for 10 days after my workshops. Seems like a better deal to just come back in a week from NYC on a cheap jetblue fare...ah, what to do.
Monday, August 25, 2008
dancing in abundance
Or, in another word, blackberries! Finally walked up to the other side of Bernal Hill, empty yogurt containers in hand, and picked, picked, picked. Many berries were still at the red/sour stage, but I did come home, over 2 days, with a little less than 2 quarts, about enough to make 3 half-pints of jam. This is some high-octane, high-berry-content stuff. And easy--easier!--as pie.
OK, I guess I have to cop to my recent pie-contest experience. I baked, I went, I didn't win. Maybe it was because I chickened out at the last minute, fearing my lard dough was too soft and crumbly, and made a regular all-butter crust instead. Yes, the apples--a mix of gingergolds and gravensteins--were a little soft, but that's early-season apples for you--it's just how they are. Paige and I took the rest of the pie home (after the judges had taken a slice) and I can say, honestly, that it was a really, really nice pie. Not spectacular, but certainly better than the ones I tasted at that same fair, back when I was a judge in 2002. Oh well. We had a lovely time at the fair nonetheless, and I got to chat with the very nice farm manager from Nana Mae, the orchard where I got my gravensteins.
What else? $2/lb heirlooms at the Civic Center farmers' market! Also there: MacDonald Orchards, with $2/lb Pink Pearls, my favorite obscure apple. Cream-colored on the outside, hot candy pink inside, bright and tart. these have a season of about 5 minutes, and make fabulous pink tarts and pink applesauce, so git 'em while you can.
Even better were the jumbo tomatoes and Summer Lady peaches fresh picked (and free!) from the Moraga Farm, a sweet, incredibly productive one-acre farm/garden in, yes, Moraga that's part commercial farm, part community garden. Tomatoes and squash are the farm's cash crops, sold to local fancy restaurants and markets to pay the garden's bills. The rest of the produce goes to everyone--to the locals who help to plant and harvest, to an assisted-living senior facility in the area, an AIDS hospice, a local elementary school, and more. Bartering is the way of the garden. The guy who runs a tree-trimming biz in town came out to the prune the trees earlier this year. His requested payment? Tomatoes. Same with the guys from the nursery. The firefighters who put out a fire at the farm got flats of tomatoes in thanks, too.
Wine works, too. Farmer Al of Frog Hollow Farm donated dozens of peach and nectarine trees, plus the manpower and expertise to get them planted a few years ago. Each spring, he brings a crew of his workers over to help shape the season's vegetable beds. His payment? Some of the (very good) homemade wine that David and the other Moraga farmers make each fall. It's an economy of abundance, especially during this peak of the harvest. Around the full moon each month, friends of the farm come together for a moonlight potluck, anchored around the wood-fired cob pizza oven in one corner of the farm. Pizzas are made, wine is drunk, a farm update is presented, there are dogs and babies, even a campfire.
This time, I got the bright idea to try to bake some peach galettes--with farm peaches!--in the pizza oven. Not such a hot idea, as it turned out, since the oven, heated from below, was just too smokin' hot for this kind of baking. The galettes burned on the bottom before they browned on the top. And the one galette I put aside, for baking later when the oven had cooled off, mysteriously disappeared, seemingly the victim of dough-loving space aliens or a very tidy, intrepid dog, who managed to eat all the raw crust while leaving most of the peaches intact. (Is it too gross to report that I made another galette, using those same possibly dog-licked peaches? And that everyone ate it? Like I said, really hot oven.) But it was (mostly) fun to bake on the fly, even if the disappearing galette did throw me for a loop. Best moment: taking a just-after-dark spin through the tomato plants, candlelit lantern in hand, to smell the roses and tomato leaves, listen to the crickets, and look up at the stars overhead. Abundance, indeed.
**with thanks to Lauren, pastry chef and soon-to-be cookbook author, who introduced me to the farm and all very nice people there**
Foraged Blackberry Jam
I've only ever made this with foraged berries, which usually include a fair number of not-quite-ripe berries, the ones highest in natural pectin. So my jam tends to jell up very easily without lots of extra sugar. If you're using very ripe, sweet berries, you might need a spritz of fresh lemon juice (half a lemon) or a little more sugar for a firm set.
4 cups blackberries
1 cup sugar
Mix berries and sugar, and let sit, stirring occasionally, for a couple of hours. Sterilize a couple of 8 oz jars. Pour berries and liquid (sugar should be dissolved) into a heavy pot. Bring to a foaming simmer and let it simmer gently, stirring frequently with a wooden spoon, until berries break down and it looks almost like jam (it should still be a little runny, since it will thicken as it cools, and you don't want it over-thickened and rubbery). Spoon into jars, put on lids, and put in a deep pot with hot water to cover. Simmer 8 minutes, then remove and let cool. Test for seal when completely cool.
OK, I guess I have to cop to my recent pie-contest experience. I baked, I went, I didn't win. Maybe it was because I chickened out at the last minute, fearing my lard dough was too soft and crumbly, and made a regular all-butter crust instead. Yes, the apples--a mix of gingergolds and gravensteins--were a little soft, but that's early-season apples for you--it's just how they are. Paige and I took the rest of the pie home (after the judges had taken a slice) and I can say, honestly, that it was a really, really nice pie. Not spectacular, but certainly better than the ones I tasted at that same fair, back when I was a judge in 2002. Oh well. We had a lovely time at the fair nonetheless, and I got to chat with the very nice farm manager from Nana Mae, the orchard where I got my gravensteins.
What else? $2/lb heirlooms at the Civic Center farmers' market! Also there: MacDonald Orchards, with $2/lb Pink Pearls, my favorite obscure apple. Cream-colored on the outside, hot candy pink inside, bright and tart. these have a season of about 5 minutes, and make fabulous pink tarts and pink applesauce, so git 'em while you can.
Even better were the jumbo tomatoes and Summer Lady peaches fresh picked (and free!) from the Moraga Farm, a sweet, incredibly productive one-acre farm/garden in, yes, Moraga that's part commercial farm, part community garden. Tomatoes and squash are the farm's cash crops, sold to local fancy restaurants and markets to pay the garden's bills. The rest of the produce goes to everyone--to the locals who help to plant and harvest, to an assisted-living senior facility in the area, an AIDS hospice, a local elementary school, and more. Bartering is the way of the garden. The guy who runs a tree-trimming biz in town came out to the prune the trees earlier this year. His requested payment? Tomatoes. Same with the guys from the nursery. The firefighters who put out a fire at the farm got flats of tomatoes in thanks, too.
Wine works, too. Farmer Al of Frog Hollow Farm donated dozens of peach and nectarine trees, plus the manpower and expertise to get them planted a few years ago. Each spring, he brings a crew of his workers over to help shape the season's vegetable beds. His payment? Some of the (very good) homemade wine that David and the other Moraga farmers make each fall. It's an economy of abundance, especially during this peak of the harvest. Around the full moon each month, friends of the farm come together for a moonlight potluck, anchored around the wood-fired cob pizza oven in one corner of the farm. Pizzas are made, wine is drunk, a farm update is presented, there are dogs and babies, even a campfire.
This time, I got the bright idea to try to bake some peach galettes--with farm peaches!--in the pizza oven. Not such a hot idea, as it turned out, since the oven, heated from below, was just too smokin' hot for this kind of baking. The galettes burned on the bottom before they browned on the top. And the one galette I put aside, for baking later when the oven had cooled off, mysteriously disappeared, seemingly the victim of dough-loving space aliens or a very tidy, intrepid dog, who managed to eat all the raw crust while leaving most of the peaches intact. (Is it too gross to report that I made another galette, using those same possibly dog-licked peaches? And that everyone ate it? Like I said, really hot oven.) But it was (mostly) fun to bake on the fly, even if the disappearing galette did throw me for a loop. Best moment: taking a just-after-dark spin through the tomato plants, candlelit lantern in hand, to smell the roses and tomato leaves, listen to the crickets, and look up at the stars overhead. Abundance, indeed.
**with thanks to Lauren, pastry chef and soon-to-be cookbook author, who introduced me to the farm and all very nice people there**
Foraged Blackberry Jam
I've only ever made this with foraged berries, which usually include a fair number of not-quite-ripe berries, the ones highest in natural pectin. So my jam tends to jell up very easily without lots of extra sugar. If you're using very ripe, sweet berries, you might need a spritz of fresh lemon juice (half a lemon) or a little more sugar for a firm set.
4 cups blackberries
1 cup sugar
Mix berries and sugar, and let sit, stirring occasionally, for a couple of hours. Sterilize a couple of 8 oz jars. Pour berries and liquid (sugar should be dissolved) into a heavy pot. Bring to a foaming simmer and let it simmer gently, stirring frequently with a wooden spoon, until berries break down and it looks almost like jam (it should still be a little runny, since it will thicken as it cools, and you don't want it over-thickened and rubbery). Spoon into jars, put on lids, and put in a deep pot with hot water to cover. Simmer 8 minutes, then remove and let cool. Test for seal when completely cool.
Need to Know
Saturday, August 30 in San Francisco
The French-American queer connection presents:
THE ORIGINAL SIN
A night of lascivious and scintillating readings, screenings and performances at the Center for Sex and Culture
Featuring hot local stars and sexy imported babes:
Michelle Tea
Madison Young
Kentucky Fried Woman
Ms. Cherry Galette
Billie Sweet
Lynn Breedlove
Sadie Lune
Wendy Delorme
T.R. Moss
... and surprise guests!
Hosted by Carol Queen
Curated by Wendy Delorme and Corrie Bennett
Show starts at 7pm
1519 Mission St.
San Francisco (Between 11th and South Van Ness)
Tix $8-$15 (sliding scale, natch).
The French-American queer connection presents:
THE ORIGINAL SIN
A night of lascivious and scintillating readings, screenings and performances at the Center for Sex and Culture
Featuring hot local stars and sexy imported babes:
Michelle Tea
Madison Young
Kentucky Fried Woman
Ms. Cherry Galette
Billie Sweet
Lynn Breedlove
Sadie Lune
Wendy Delorme
T.R. Moss
... and surprise guests!
Hosted by Carol Queen
Curated by Wendy Delorme and Corrie Bennett
Show starts at 7pm
1519 Mission St.
San Francisco (Between 11th and South Van Ness)
Tix $8-$15 (sliding scale, natch).
Wednesday, August 20, 2008
Osento, 1980-2008
So, the much-loved women's bathhouse on Valencia St is no more. Osento, I just found out, closed on July 31st, after a 28-year run.
I loved Osento. My very first lesbian date took place there, when a girl I'd met at a Queer Nation bar takeover (where a bunch of queers swarmed a het hook-up joint in North Beach) called and asked if I wanted to join her, her sister, and a bunch of their friends for a steam and soak. They were on their way there after dinner, and she thought I might want to come along. I was a little nervous--after all, we'd only talked once, and here she was inviting me to get naked and meet her family and friends. But I was 22, and game, and so I went. And I fell in love--not with her, although we did end up dating for the next 3 months, mostly to drive around Berkeley listening to the Indigo Girls--but with Osento.
It was a funky old Victorian that had been refashioned into a bath house. What had been the parlor now had lockers and a sink with a counter full of water glasses alongside a bowl of lemons, plus a little cutting board and knife so you could make your own glass of lemon water to sip on while you soaked. Behind one door was a tiled shower stocked with Dr. Bronner's liquid peppermint soap; behind the other was a blue-tiled room with a big, deep soaking pool. At night, the lights were soft and hazy, making everyone look straight out of an Ingres painting. And unlike the men's bathhouses, it really was a place for bathing. Although I heard stories of late-night sauna nookie, I never witnessed any; the rules were no sex ("not even with yourself"), and privacy was respected. But if you couldn't touch, you could look: it was a place to experience the myriad beauty of real women.
Whatever your orientation, the sheer variety was reassuring: everyone was different, and there was beauty to be found in every curve. Forget those dopey Dove soap ads; this was a place to see the tattooed rings of a double-women's-symbol inked as a pair of linked handcuffs; to see dreads, scars, huge breasts, no breasts, every kind of variation of taut skin, wrinkled skin, flared hips, skinny legs, women with extravagant curves and spare women straight up and down.
Outside in the garden, there was, originally, a rain barrel full of chilly water for post-sauna plunges (later replaced by a cold plunge pool). There were two round cedar saunas, one with a wooden bucket and ladle inside, for steam, the other dry. The wet sauna was the good one, hot and steamy, with an astringent san francisco smell of eucalyptus going deep into your lungs. Over the saunas was a wooden deck. At one point, an avocado tree grew right up through a hole in the deck, and I would stretch out naked in the sunshine and look up at the ripening avocados hanging down between the leaves, still amazed that I'd found a place in a city where something as exotic as avocados just grew on the trees.
Osento was open every day, from noon to midnight. Anytime you needed relaxation, solace, hot water up to your neck to fight the summer or winter chill, or just a peaceful place to be surrounded by naked women, it was there. The Valentine's Day I locked out of the house by mistake without a coat, feeling sad and sorry and single while everyone else was dining a deux, it was to Osento that I went to warm up my self-pitying self until my roommates got home. When P. and I lived in the same building across the street, we soaked there all the time. I've been with friends, with girlfriends, and by myself, and I always came out softer, cleaner, and happier than when I went in.
Owner Summer is giving up the business so she can retire upstate, to Clearlake, turning the building back into residential units so she can pay the mortgage. According to the Osento website, this is her only option; were another person to take over the business, they'd have to bring it up to current code. This, which would take many, many thousands of dollars in renovations, would by necessity mean turning it into a more upscale, expensive, pampering type of spa in order to make the money back.
During Osento's early days, Valencia St was full of women's businesses. There was Amelia's, a dyke bar where the Elbo Room is now. Artemis Cafe (which became Radio Valencia, now Beretta) and Valencia Rose had open mics, comedy and performances. Womyncrafts West, women's bookstore Old Wives' Tales, and more...the street, run down as it was, was a welcoming place for lesbians and feminists and women with and without a "y". Now, with the closing of Osento, the last of the old lesbian-feminist vibe of the street will finally fade.
Moving to SF in 1990, I didn't experience too much of the old Valencia St. Sure, Old Wives' Tales and Womyncrafts West were still there. My then-girlfriend Anne and I snuck out of a party at her house on Guerrero to go to the closing night of Amelia's. I felt way too young, and femme, to fit in with the old-school bardyke crowd there, but we felt we had to honor it, somehow, in acknowledgment of the days when bars like Maud's, Peg's Place, and Amelia's were the only places a lesbian could be out, and where butches weren't "mannish" but sexy women in their own right. I heard about Artemis from another girlfriend, who'd helped to run shows there.
What I did know was the second wave of dyke businesses that opened along the street, like the Lexington Club, a punky dyke bar just off Valencia, at 17th St, and Red Dora's Bearded Lady, a closet-sized cafe and performance space near the notoriously sketchy Valencia Gardens housing projects. Red Dora's was where Michelle Tea and Sini Anderson started Sister Spit, with their weekly writers squeezed up against the muffin counter reading to sweaty overflow crowds. It would get so hot in there that I remember asking the crowd one night if they'd mind if I stripped off my shirt and read just wearing a bra. And Leathertongue Video at 18th St (now denim store Self Edge), which got started at the kitchen table of a house I lived in on 22nd Street. It carried all kinds of kooky videos--the sort of place to have entire shelves dedicated to both Jodie Foster and Bruce LaBruce.
Things are different now, of course. Ellen and Portia's wedding at their $35-mil Beverly Hills mansion is People-magazine fodder (The outfits! The rings! The cake!). My friends are getting a little tired of getting married, in fact. Once-It Girl punkettes have partners, kids, and careers as midwives or yoga teachers. The stores on the street sell fancy coffee and $120 sneakers. I wish I could still go get wet and naked in the middle of day behind an ordinary door on Valencia Street, but times change.
Thank you, Summer, and all the ladies of Osento. It was a good time.
I loved Osento. My very first lesbian date took place there, when a girl I'd met at a Queer Nation bar takeover (where a bunch of queers swarmed a het hook-up joint in North Beach) called and asked if I wanted to join her, her sister, and a bunch of their friends for a steam and soak. They were on their way there after dinner, and she thought I might want to come along. I was a little nervous--after all, we'd only talked once, and here she was inviting me to get naked and meet her family and friends. But I was 22, and game, and so I went. And I fell in love--not with her, although we did end up dating for the next 3 months, mostly to drive around Berkeley listening to the Indigo Girls--but with Osento.
It was a funky old Victorian that had been refashioned into a bath house. What had been the parlor now had lockers and a sink with a counter full of water glasses alongside a bowl of lemons, plus a little cutting board and knife so you could make your own glass of lemon water to sip on while you soaked. Behind one door was a tiled shower stocked with Dr. Bronner's liquid peppermint soap; behind the other was a blue-tiled room with a big, deep soaking pool. At night, the lights were soft and hazy, making everyone look straight out of an Ingres painting. And unlike the men's bathhouses, it really was a place for bathing. Although I heard stories of late-night sauna nookie, I never witnessed any; the rules were no sex ("not even with yourself"), and privacy was respected. But if you couldn't touch, you could look: it was a place to experience the myriad beauty of real women.
Whatever your orientation, the sheer variety was reassuring: everyone was different, and there was beauty to be found in every curve. Forget those dopey Dove soap ads; this was a place to see the tattooed rings of a double-women's-symbol inked as a pair of linked handcuffs; to see dreads, scars, huge breasts, no breasts, every kind of variation of taut skin, wrinkled skin, flared hips, skinny legs, women with extravagant curves and spare women straight up and down.
Outside in the garden, there was, originally, a rain barrel full of chilly water for post-sauna plunges (later replaced by a cold plunge pool). There were two round cedar saunas, one with a wooden bucket and ladle inside, for steam, the other dry. The wet sauna was the good one, hot and steamy, with an astringent san francisco smell of eucalyptus going deep into your lungs. Over the saunas was a wooden deck. At one point, an avocado tree grew right up through a hole in the deck, and I would stretch out naked in the sunshine and look up at the ripening avocados hanging down between the leaves, still amazed that I'd found a place in a city where something as exotic as avocados just grew on the trees.
Osento was open every day, from noon to midnight. Anytime you needed relaxation, solace, hot water up to your neck to fight the summer or winter chill, or just a peaceful place to be surrounded by naked women, it was there. The Valentine's Day I locked out of the house by mistake without a coat, feeling sad and sorry and single while everyone else was dining a deux, it was to Osento that I went to warm up my self-pitying self until my roommates got home. When P. and I lived in the same building across the street, we soaked there all the time. I've been with friends, with girlfriends, and by myself, and I always came out softer, cleaner, and happier than when I went in.
Owner Summer is giving up the business so she can retire upstate, to Clearlake, turning the building back into residential units so she can pay the mortgage. According to the Osento website, this is her only option; were another person to take over the business, they'd have to bring it up to current code. This, which would take many, many thousands of dollars in renovations, would by necessity mean turning it into a more upscale, expensive, pampering type of spa in order to make the money back.
During Osento's early days, Valencia St was full of women's businesses. There was Amelia's, a dyke bar where the Elbo Room is now. Artemis Cafe (which became Radio Valencia, now Beretta) and Valencia Rose had open mics, comedy and performances. Womyncrafts West, women's bookstore Old Wives' Tales, and more...the street, run down as it was, was a welcoming place for lesbians and feminists and women with and without a "y". Now, with the closing of Osento, the last of the old lesbian-feminist vibe of the street will finally fade.
Moving to SF in 1990, I didn't experience too much of the old Valencia St. Sure, Old Wives' Tales and Womyncrafts West were still there. My then-girlfriend Anne and I snuck out of a party at her house on Guerrero to go to the closing night of Amelia's. I felt way too young, and femme, to fit in with the old-school bardyke crowd there, but we felt we had to honor it, somehow, in acknowledgment of the days when bars like Maud's, Peg's Place, and Amelia's were the only places a lesbian could be out, and where butches weren't "mannish" but sexy women in their own right. I heard about Artemis from another girlfriend, who'd helped to run shows there.
What I did know was the second wave of dyke businesses that opened along the street, like the Lexington Club, a punky dyke bar just off Valencia, at 17th St, and Red Dora's Bearded Lady, a closet-sized cafe and performance space near the notoriously sketchy Valencia Gardens housing projects. Red Dora's was where Michelle Tea and Sini Anderson started Sister Spit, with their weekly writers squeezed up against the muffin counter reading to sweaty overflow crowds. It would get so hot in there that I remember asking the crowd one night if they'd mind if I stripped off my shirt and read just wearing a bra. And Leathertongue Video at 18th St (now denim store Self Edge), which got started at the kitchen table of a house I lived in on 22nd Street. It carried all kinds of kooky videos--the sort of place to have entire shelves dedicated to both Jodie Foster and Bruce LaBruce.
Things are different now, of course. Ellen and Portia's wedding at their $35-mil Beverly Hills mansion is People-magazine fodder (The outfits! The rings! The cake!). My friends are getting a little tired of getting married, in fact. Once-It Girl punkettes have partners, kids, and careers as midwives or yoga teachers. The stores on the street sell fancy coffee and $120 sneakers. I wish I could still go get wet and naked in the middle of day behind an ordinary door on Valencia Street, but times change.
Thank you, Summer, and all the ladies of Osento. It was a good time.
Friday, August 08, 2008
pie, and more pie!
Countdown to the pie contest! Got my flour, got my Sonoma Gravensteins (thanks, Bi-Rite!), got my butter, got MY LAAAAAARDDDDDDD....(anyone else singing Porgy & Bess here?). Off to the wilds of San Rafael tonight, jam and pink wine in hand. Keep your fingers crossed for PQ!
And speaking of pie, as we so often are here, you can do a pie class with PQ in September, if you happen to find yourself in Eureka Springs, Arkansas on Sept. 11. I'll be teaching a hands-on pie workshop in the beautiful kitchen at the Writer's Colony at Dairy Hollow, followed by a brunch workshop on Sunday, Sept. 14. Will post more info about these soon...
And speaking of pie, as we so often are here, you can do a pie class with PQ in September, if you happen to find yourself in Eureka Springs, Arkansas on Sept. 11. I'll be teaching a hands-on pie workshop in the beautiful kitchen at the Writer's Colony at Dairy Hollow, followed by a brunch workshop on Sunday, Sept. 14. Will post more info about these soon...
Wednesday, August 06, 2008
love you like lard, here on the hill
The kind folks at Avedano's on Cortland Street are rendering me some fresh lard for my contest pie...now that's some neighborly service! They also do a nice meatloaf sandwich, kind of a Cali version of a classic Brooklyn meatball-parm sub. Soft, mildly flavored meatloaf, swished with marinara sauce and a slice of provolone, sandwiched in ciabatta bread and grilled in a panini press. Mmmmm. And for dessert, a tiny Fiat square, smooth, creamy-good chocolate with a hazelnut filling. These come from Bologna, and were a fave of mine when I lived there. Almost never seen outside of Italy, so a fun treat...
Hey, it's one-dollar ice cream day at Maggie Moo's! rocky road, here I come...that is, until I can get up to Picco Pizzeria, in Larkspur, for their supposedly awesome soft-serve.
What else? Free wild plums from the share-the-love garden-freebie box outside of Heartfelt, also on Cortland. Unapologetically rich and wonderful oyster stew, perfumed with pernod, at Hog Island Oyster Bar in the Ferry Bldg. Way more vegetables (carrots, onions, and celery, mostly) than would ever be allowed to mingle at Grand Central's Oyster Bar, but v. tasty nonetheless, and they keep you from feeling like you're downing a straight half-pint of cream. Alas, just as I sat down, they ran out of the bitchin'-looking, spicy grilled octopus and padron pepper appetizer. Watermelon agua fresca from La Taqueria, and a carne asada taco with avocado...always, always delish. Ollalieberry pie and seafood chowder (with a stock base, and rice, rather than cream and potatoes) at Duarte's in Pescadero, then ollalieberry picking at Phipps, home of white peacocks and every kind of dried bean ever.
Hey, it's one-dollar ice cream day at Maggie Moo's! rocky road, here I come...that is, until I can get up to Picco Pizzeria, in Larkspur, for their supposedly awesome soft-serve.
What else? Free wild plums from the share-the-love garden-freebie box outside of Heartfelt, also on Cortland. Unapologetically rich and wonderful oyster stew, perfumed with pernod, at Hog Island Oyster Bar in the Ferry Bldg. Way more vegetables (carrots, onions, and celery, mostly) than would ever be allowed to mingle at Grand Central's Oyster Bar, but v. tasty nonetheless, and they keep you from feeling like you're downing a straight half-pint of cream. Alas, just as I sat down, they ran out of the bitchin'-looking, spicy grilled octopus and padron pepper appetizer. Watermelon agua fresca from La Taqueria, and a carne asada taco with avocado...always, always delish. Ollalieberry pie and seafood chowder (with a stock base, and rice, rather than cream and potatoes) at Duarte's in Pescadero, then ollalieberry picking at Phipps, home of white peacocks and every kind of dried bean ever.
Monday, August 04, 2008
Pie Contest!
OK, pie bakers, prove your mettle! The annual Sebastopol Gravenstein Apple Fair is coming up this weekend, and you know what that means: Apple Pie Contest!! Getting me some Sonoma county apples (as required, in a completely un-enforcible but honorable rule) and some happy-pig lard, and keeping a close eye on the kitchen scale, so I don't screw up this time. P., who lives out near Novato, just where the subdivisions give way to cows, will be my escort to the land of country twang and apple fritters. And hey, no pressure, just because I won the Grand Champion ribbon upon my first entry a few years ago. But really, this is an awesomely fun little country event, definitely worth a visit, especially for families. Pies have to be turned in by 11am, judging takes place around 2pm, on Saturday, Aug. 9. See you there!
Sunday, July 27, 2008
thunderstorms, gazpacho, free pudding
Thunderstorms! Rain is teeming down here, lightning flashing on this dark and stormy Brooklyn afternoon. It's peaceful, actually, since I haven't heard rain in the summertime for a while. K. doesn't want to leave the house while it's pouring, so we're browsing through the Times, doing the crossword, eating microwaved chocolate-chip cookies (since her oven doesn't really work, and I'd made the cookie dough before realizing this) and contemplating take-out vietnamese noodles. But if the rain stops, it's onto the R train to see the new film of Brideshead Revisited, since it would take more than a little rain to stand between me and dissipated, self-torturing English types in 1920s haircuts. Not that anything could really beat the 1980s BBC miniseries (Jeremy Irons! Anthony Andrews with a teddy bear! Nude sunbathing, in Venice!)
Pizza at Grimaldi's was, as usual, exactly the right thing, eaten elbow-to-elbow off red-checked vinyl tablecloths. Before seeing Laurie Anderson's show at the gorgeous Rose concert hall (part of Lincoln Center, in the fancy slate-gray mall that is the Time-Warner Center), we tried to have dinner at Jack the Horse, a nice bar and restaurant on a leafy stretch of Hicks St. Except that after waiting in vain for our dinners for 30 minutes, we finally tracked down the waiter, who blithely informed us that our order had been lost--in a place where maybe 6 tables were occupied, the chef was chatting with the table next to ours, and half the wait and kitchen staff were standing around with nothing to do. So we split, grabbed a sandwich at the deli on the corner, and ran for the subway. And now this place will forever be known to us as Jack the Ass. After the show, we stopped in at Epices du Traiteur, off Columbus, for a big golden fan of brik (fried phyllo, stuffed with egg and tuna), peach gazpacho, and chopped mediterranean salad.
On Saturday, we took a breezy spin around the East River on the Pioneer, a 1880s ship turned schooner. Very peaceful to be out on the river with nothing but the splash of waves and the slap and creak of billowing canvas sails overhead. Best part: going right under the Brooklyn Bridge, so that we could look up and see the underside of the bridge--a rare perspective. Then, in keeping with the maritime theme, I dragged K. up to The Mermaid Inn, a favorite little seafood joint on 2nd Ave, which takes its theme seriously--goldfish crackers on the bar, fish-info placemats, little mermaids on the matches. Keeping with the fruit-gazpacho theme of the weekend (hey, it's 89 degrees, with humidity!), I got the watermelon gazpacho, which was a little too sweet, but had cute tiny watermelon balls and lots of lovely blue crab. Then fab fresh sardine filets, sans the usual head, tail, and backbone, with pineapple bits, a mango-ish sauce (I think) and thinly sliced cukes, radishes, and onions with vinegar, reminiscent of what NYC delis used to call "health salad". To save on table-malingerers, Mermaid doesn't offer dessert. Instead, you get a demitasse of free chocolate pudding to send you on your way.
Pizza at Grimaldi's was, as usual, exactly the right thing, eaten elbow-to-elbow off red-checked vinyl tablecloths. Before seeing Laurie Anderson's show at the gorgeous Rose concert hall (part of Lincoln Center, in the fancy slate-gray mall that is the Time-Warner Center), we tried to have dinner at Jack the Horse, a nice bar and restaurant on a leafy stretch of Hicks St. Except that after waiting in vain for our dinners for 30 minutes, we finally tracked down the waiter, who blithely informed us that our order had been lost--in a place where maybe 6 tables were occupied, the chef was chatting with the table next to ours, and half the wait and kitchen staff were standing around with nothing to do. So we split, grabbed a sandwich at the deli on the corner, and ran for the subway. And now this place will forever be known to us as Jack the Ass. After the show, we stopped in at Epices du Traiteur, off Columbus, for a big golden fan of brik (fried phyllo, stuffed with egg and tuna), peach gazpacho, and chopped mediterranean salad.
On Saturday, we took a breezy spin around the East River on the Pioneer, a 1880s ship turned schooner. Very peaceful to be out on the river with nothing but the splash of waves and the slap and creak of billowing canvas sails overhead. Best part: going right under the Brooklyn Bridge, so that we could look up and see the underside of the bridge--a rare perspective. Then, in keeping with the maritime theme, I dragged K. up to The Mermaid Inn, a favorite little seafood joint on 2nd Ave, which takes its theme seriously--goldfish crackers on the bar, fish-info placemats, little mermaids on the matches. Keeping with the fruit-gazpacho theme of the weekend (hey, it's 89 degrees, with humidity!), I got the watermelon gazpacho, which was a little too sweet, but had cute tiny watermelon balls and lots of lovely blue crab. Then fab fresh sardine filets, sans the usual head, tail, and backbone, with pineapple bits, a mango-ish sauce (I think) and thinly sliced cukes, radishes, and onions with vinegar, reminiscent of what NYC delis used to call "health salad". To save on table-malingerers, Mermaid doesn't offer dessert. Instead, you get a demitasse of free chocolate pudding to send you on your way.
Friday, July 25, 2008
Tea Time--NOT!
UPDATE: Well, that was a bust! I schlepped over the river and down to Union Square in my cute pink dress, only to find a dark, empty bar with cavernous scaffolding outside, a couple of women with a blender filling tiny plastic cups with tea smoothies, a guy on the corner handing out free tea, and nothing else. Even the PR flack there admitted there was nothing for me to do. So after several conference calls with Lipton and Ogilvy being briefed about the product, about a million emails, and too many minutes on the hell-hot platforms of the 2 and 4 trains, I flipped around on my kitten heel and left. What a giant waste of time! So, skip this, and hey, make your own iced tea. Much better, cheaper, and less sweet. Save your sugar for PIE! And note to self, and all others: don't shill for a fat corporation unless they're paying you real cash.
************************
Want to meet the Pie Queen? And quench your thirst with some nice chilly iced tea on this hot summer afternoon? I'll be at the Union Bar at 200 Park Avenue South near 17th St just off Union Square, in Manhattan today, from around 11am to 3pm. There's a promotion going on for Lipton's new Pure Leaf bottled iced teas, so there will be free tea samples and tea smoothies and tea cocktails, all kinds of tea-related festivities going on. Not to mention the usual farmers' market around the corner.
Why will the PQ be there? Because someone at Lipton (owned by corp giant Unilever) via ad agency Ogilvy thought it would be a snappy marketing idea to get some of those kooky bloggers the kids like so much to do some promoting--for free!--of their product. Yup, they did send me (via K.) 54 bottles (4 1/2 cases! sheesh! luckily K. has an elevator to her fifth-floor apt) of tea for sampling and recipe-testing, but otherwise PQ's not getting paid.
Which, in retrospect, seems a little dumb. Why would I want to promote a corporate product for anything but cash? (Ok, I do repeatedly sing the praises of the microplane grater and the jam-jar lifter here for free. But that's evangelism, and better kitchen living through invention, not shilling.)
However, K.'s been enjoying the tea, and she's a tried-and-true, Southern-born sweet tea lover. So far her favorite is the red fruit-flavored rooibos tea, followed by the white tea with tangerine. Also in the line-up: plain old black tea that's unsweetened, thank you, which is a hard, hard type of cold tea to find, as all of us unsweet-tea lovers know. As far as I've ever been able to find, Tejava is the only fairly common unsweetened tea out there, and it's more health-food store than kwiki-mart. What else? Green tea with honey, and a sweetened black tea with lemon.
All of these, except the unsweetened black tea, are sweetened with sugar (cane and beet) not the usual h/f corn syrup, and don't have any weird chemicals in them. Interestingly, you might think the redbush (rooibos) tea is extra-healthy for you, what with the blueberry & pomegranate touted on the label. But nope, as the bottle will tell you if you look hard, there's no actual blueberry and pomegranate juice in the tea, just "natural fruit flavors." Thanks, New Jersey!
(Yes, PQ grew up in Jersey. Which meant high school chemistry class involved mixing things in test tubes to make liquids that smelled exactly like banana, or grape, or sour-apple chewing gum. That's my home state, providing better living through chemistry, candy-aisle division.)
Well, how do they taste? Well, K. says they're pleasant and refreshing, without that weird puckery too-much-citric acid flavor that mars most bottled tea. Even without the corn syrup, though, they're plenty sweet for a non-soda-drinker like moi. There's about 27 grams of sugar per 16-oz bottle, or a little over 6 teaspoons. Probably more than you'd put in your own made-from-scratch tea, but less than a can of soda, which have about 38-48 grams per 12-oz can, on average.
Anyway, much as I like a nice iced tea, I can't really drink it, since the caffeine gives me a debilitating rebound headache the next day. Much better: iced peppermint tea, watermelon agua fresca, or limeade with mint (what Valencia Street's Luna Park dubs a 'nojito'), especially with a little salt added, Vietnamese-style.
************************
Want to meet the Pie Queen? And quench your thirst with some nice chilly iced tea on this hot summer afternoon? I'll be at the Union Bar at 200 Park Avenue South near 17th St just off Union Square, in Manhattan today, from around 11am to 3pm. There's a promotion going on for Lipton's new Pure Leaf bottled iced teas, so there will be free tea samples and tea smoothies and tea cocktails, all kinds of tea-related festivities going on. Not to mention the usual farmers' market around the corner.
Why will the PQ be there? Because someone at Lipton (owned by corp giant Unilever) via ad agency Ogilvy thought it would be a snappy marketing idea to get some of those kooky bloggers the kids like so much to do some promoting--for free!--of their product. Yup, they did send me (via K.) 54 bottles (4 1/2 cases! sheesh! luckily K. has an elevator to her fifth-floor apt) of tea for sampling and recipe-testing, but otherwise PQ's not getting paid.
Which, in retrospect, seems a little dumb. Why would I want to promote a corporate product for anything but cash? (Ok, I do repeatedly sing the praises of the microplane grater and the jam-jar lifter here for free. But that's evangelism, and better kitchen living through invention, not shilling.)
However, K.'s been enjoying the tea, and she's a tried-and-true, Southern-born sweet tea lover. So far her favorite is the red fruit-flavored rooibos tea, followed by the white tea with tangerine. Also in the line-up: plain old black tea that's unsweetened, thank you, which is a hard, hard type of cold tea to find, as all of us unsweet-tea lovers know. As far as I've ever been able to find, Tejava is the only fairly common unsweetened tea out there, and it's more health-food store than kwiki-mart. What else? Green tea with honey, and a sweetened black tea with lemon.
All of these, except the unsweetened black tea, are sweetened with sugar (cane and beet) not the usual h/f corn syrup, and don't have any weird chemicals in them. Interestingly, you might think the redbush (rooibos) tea is extra-healthy for you, what with the blueberry & pomegranate touted on the label. But nope, as the bottle will tell you if you look hard, there's no actual blueberry and pomegranate juice in the tea, just "natural fruit flavors." Thanks, New Jersey!
(Yes, PQ grew up in Jersey. Which meant high school chemistry class involved mixing things in test tubes to make liquids that smelled exactly like banana, or grape, or sour-apple chewing gum. That's my home state, providing better living through chemistry, candy-aisle division.)
Well, how do they taste? Well, K. says they're pleasant and refreshing, without that weird puckery too-much-citric acid flavor that mars most bottled tea. Even without the corn syrup, though, they're plenty sweet for a non-soda-drinker like moi. There's about 27 grams of sugar per 16-oz bottle, or a little over 6 teaspoons. Probably more than you'd put in your own made-from-scratch tea, but less than a can of soda, which have about 38-48 grams per 12-oz can, on average.
Anyway, much as I like a nice iced tea, I can't really drink it, since the caffeine gives me a debilitating rebound headache the next day. Much better: iced peppermint tea, watermelon agua fresca, or limeade with mint (what Valencia Street's Luna Park dubs a 'nojito'), especially with a little salt added, Vietnamese-style.
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