The Law of Diminishing Returns

For no reason that’s ever been made clear to me, we have to do timesheets in my line of work. I’m not sure what good these loosely fact-based forms serve, as I’m not clocking in and out, I don’t know precisely which client should cover my facebook and google reader time, and though I make sure each day has at least eight hours noted, I know that I’ve put in my fair share of 12-hour days (as well as those 6-hour days).
I hadn’t done my timesheets since January, and HR was getting more than a little antsy. Hell, I was even starting to avoid making contact with her in meetings, for fear of reproach. Well, finally met with some downtime, I did my timesheets the best way I know how- by looking through my sent email to see what work I really did those days.
And in addition to meeting requests and important creative calls, there was another theme that ran rampant through my emails, “There’s something in the kitchen for you.”
Scones. Fresh bread & butter. Bacon cookies. Lemon cake. Carrot cake. Orange cake. Zucchini bread.
I enjoy bringing in the baked goods, it’s easy and fun. I like spending the Sundays or early mornings in the kitchen, incorporating the wet and dry ingredients, packing the finished goods in my bag, which, if I bring it out of the oven right before I leave the apartment, keeps me cozy warm on my ride up the Embarcadero.
There’s a trend I’ve noticed with the office foods though. I drop it off in the kitchen, slice a few modest pieces to get the whole thing started, and leave a note on the counter or via email, and then it begins.
The law of diminishing returns.

The law of diminishing returns is different than the one you might know. This is simply that every time I’ll return to the office kitchen, the baked good in question will have diminished significantly. First by modest slices, enough to with a cup of coffee.

Than with seemingly more substantial pieces, as this was taken not long after the previous.


But then the edges are sheared off, the slicing becomes more free-form, more angular. Where, instead of committing to a whole slice, the baked-good fiend wants just another taste, a snack. Depending on how many people are in the office, or if there are competing baked goods (this particular day, there were also brownie’s on the counter), this loaf-shaving can last well into the afternoon.

I’m not sure why it takes so long to polish off that final bite. To leave a crumbed plate on the counter, evidence of the zucchini bread gone by, the day coming to an end. It could be motivated by a gluttunous shame, or some modicum of politeness. But, more likely than any of that, no one wants to be the one to put the dish in the dishwasher.

Cereal Serial. Part One.

About once a year, overwhelmed with either work or life or just the pressure of having to get outside on a really nice day, I say “fuck it,” and spend the day resolutely planted on my couch with nothing to get done except stare down the shows I’ve racked up in my DVR and eat some cold cereal. I realize for most people, this is just called “Saturday morning,” but of late, I tend to spend my Saturday mornings elbowing my way for the last spinning pass at the gym or prepping a shaved fennel salad to take to the park. So succumbing to the couch, to not do a thing except change the channel and change the milk is something of a vacation.

I took last Friday off to do just that. I got up at a late hour (for me), and headed somewhere I hardly ever go for food. Safeway. It’s an interesting crowd at 8:00 in the morning. There are administrative assistants picking up their packaged lunches for the day, unabashed drunks picking up their daily dose of NightTrain, the elderly and me. My order consisted of both (both!) variety packs from the two leading breakfast cereal manufacturers and because I’m at once sustainable-forward and lactose intolerant, a carton of lactose-free, organic milk. Hello, day.

8:58 Last night’s daily show. Honey nut cheerios
Wanted to start with something hearty, but ease into the sweet. Even growing up, HNC was too much sugar to have in my house. It was one they had down the street at the Ebins place. In fact, the entire house smelled like cheerios, which always felt more dirty than comforting.

9:15 Lucky Charms. Mythbusters Demolition Derby Special.
This is a cereal I always ate dry, because the marshmallows were like candy. Because they are candy. I had a little trepidation going in, not sure if I could handle it. I literally said “fuck it” out loud in my kitchen. If a 7 year-old can eat it, so could I.

Not a good idea. It turned the milk blue and gave me a jittery sugar rush so severe, I was almost put off the rest of the boxes. I think I might turn to the healthy side of the Kellogs Variety Pack next.


10:09 Raisin Bran. The Price is Right
After my insulin levels had returned to normal, I decided to go to the far other end of the spectrum. Raisin Bran always comes with a sense of urgency: consume the flakes before they disintegrate into a fibrous glop reminiscent of Portland’s gutters after the first fall rain (I used to call it street cereal). On top of that, you’ve got to get to the raisins before they lose their only redeeming element, the sugar coating, to the milk. It’s a lot of stress for a little box of cereal.

(Possibly still under the mania-inducing influence of the Lucky Charms or simply inspired, I began to consider The Price is Right on a much deeper analytical level than I ever have. My study on the literal vs. ironic experience of the show will follow soon.)

10:55 Crispex. More Price is Right
Can’t handle any more milk for awhile. I’m going dry on this, snacky style. I like breaking apart the corn part and the rice part and eating them in two sections. The rice part is more fun, kinda like a rice crispy matrix. I don’t think this lady is going to win this brand new Honda Accord. Nope. She didn’t.

Damn it, they’re giving away a nice range.

11:30. Gym break.
1:00 Real food break. You know. Protein and vegetables.

1:43. Cocoa Puffs. Conclusion of Mythbusters premiere
After gym and real food, it was back to the couch. Was ready to go back to sweet, and something chocolately. Not chocolate, mind you. Chocolate with a very caveating suffix. Chocolateish. It smells weird, but it tastes good. It’s loud as fuck, but good thing Mythbusters is more show than tell. Big explosions + leftover chocolate milk = good times.

2:30 Cinnamon Toast Crunch. GhostHunters
Uh-oh. This day is catching up with me. I’m not feeling so great. Maybe it was lunch, maybe it was the strong coffee I’ve been making, maybe it’s the fact that I can’t help checking my work email, but I think I might have to take a break from the couch and the cereal. The thing is, I knew going into it I’d have many more little boxes of sugared joy than I’d be able to get through in one day. Good thing they’re impossibly shelf-stable, and now I have a supply for my next TV/cold cereal indulgences. I’mna go outside.

ok, ok

I know. It's been about 20 years since I've had the chance to write anything, but rest assured, I haven't been giving in to the take-out menus or trader joe's frozen pizza inclinations. Much.

Actually, I've been on something of a self-imposed Pantry Challenge. Really trying to dig deep into the dry goods and see what comes out. Fresh produce still makes its way to me via the CSA and impulsive Prather Ranch buys have kept the freezer stocked with protein. That, and cured meats that go a long way.

Take a new favorite, with only three ingredients. Penne, leeks and prosciutto. Insanely simple and light and just feels all kinds of springy.


Beyond leeks, I've fallen for fennel. One night I broke out the mandoline in hopes an artfully shaved fennel salad, but the bulb was reduced to a hash. I had a small sirloin tip searing (and setting off the fire alarm), and sauteed the hash in a simple pan sauce.

Once I figured out the secret of the mandoline (multiple blades!), the second bulb got a close shave, was paired with some asiago and dressed with lemon and olive oil.

I really like this fennel two ways, and it's become something of a staple.

The pantry is just about clear, save for some udon I've had since Portland, a bag of odd-shaped artichoke pasta that might become a salad and a few tins of fish that will probably be opened in case of the Big One. For me, it seems, earthquake preparedness means smoked oysters. Not too bad.

A eulogy for bacon

Tomorrow, BaconCamp comes to San Francisco. It's a celebration of all things delectably porcine. In addition to making the bacon cookies, I'll be reading the following essay. Enjoy.

--

My mother writes eulogies. Not as a profession, not for a newspaper, but instead, she writes them to relax. I think she’s summarized the lives of her mother, my step-father, a handful of best friends, close colleagues but not my brother and I, you know, because that would be weird.

It’s a nice exercise though. To try and sum up what someone means to you, what effect they’ve had on your life. To take a look at how your life wouldn’t be the way it is without them.

So, I thought I’d take a cue from my mom and write a eulogy for bacon.

I can’t exactly recall the first time I met bacon, but I’m pretty sure it was at my dad’s house, where the bacon press was displayed, without irony, next to the Seder plate I’d made in pre-school. Bacon was always there on special Sunday mornings, alongside cheese omelets and bagels. I’d put together my breakfast, my dad would go work on his crossword puzzles and I, inexplicably, would go and watch Golden Girls reruns. I’d sit there, watching the inspired antics of four geriatrics in Miami, not sure which I savored more: the savory bites of still-warm bacon or the salty snap of Bea Arthur’s bon mots.

Those mornings with bacon, and the girls, were a regular source of comfort, of sustenance. But as time passed, as I grew up, I turned to bacon for more than just a standard breakfast meat.

Through my life, I’ve found bacon has been there for me in times of need, like last year, when I was confounded with a bunch of collard greens from my CSA. Without being acutely aware of what I was doing, I started by laying a few pieces of bacon in a cold pan, and by the time the bacon was crisped, the shallots cooked in the rendered fat and the greens slow-wilted over all of it, I had created something even greater than the sum of its parts. A friend of mine accused me of not trying hard enough, that starting a dish with bacon is cheating. Well, if that’s the case, I’m not inclined to play fair.

It’s been so central to me, both as an ingredient and an inspiration, that now, asking for a “side” of bacon seems trivializing. After all bacon has done, from making any dish delectable to making serious inroads to conquer the tyranny of vegetarianism, putting bacon “on the side” is practically insulting. This is a humble meat that crumbled the "bacon is for breakfast” stereotype as it slowly made itself perfectly acceptable with any meal of the day. What will become of the BLT, the carbonara, the bacon-wrapped passed appetizer?

We can still learn from bacon, how it started from ordinary beginnings and ended up being a veritable icon. To do it all without being showy or ostentatious. Because bacon, in all its delectability, never required an excuse. Unlike other indulgences where you might justify your consumption with, “I’ve been good,” or “I’ll start my diet tomorrow, “ bacon never asked to be defended because bacon, in and of itself, was the excuse, was the reason. Why am I going to eat that? Because it’s bacon.

Wednesday Sweets

A moderately slow day at work compounded by total boredom with the pithy sugar offerings around the office meant just one thing: let’s see what’s in the Walgreen’s candy aisle!

There’s always something new in the candy aisle. That’s what makes it so fun. Well, that and all the candy! I love checking out the newest incarnation of a snicker’s bar, or the latest take on Take 5. It’s new, it’s old, it’s all going to give me diabetes.

I found something both old and new. Behold the Necco Old-Fashioned Cream Drop. There was a lot appealing here. Necco is the oldest candy company in America, with its “only nostalgia could keep me alive” Necco wafer. The multi-colored throwback disc that supposedly boasts flavors from orange to clove to wintergreen, but really only tastes like stale. But wafers aside, I appreciate things old-timey, and this bag had Old-Fashioned actually written on the package (which makes me wonder, has the candy been called “Old-fashioned” since their inception? During what era were they the
result of some confectionary epiphany? I bet Marc Summers could tell me).

Right, so, Old-Fashioned Cream Drop. No clue as to what this was going to taste like. I assumed there might be some orange essence, as I’m inclined to judge a candy by its package, but nothing in the ingredients could confirm that. Just sugar on sugar. Noted.

They’re about the size of a small walnut. Here’s a pic with a miniature penguin, you know, for scale.


Taking the bisected view, it’s a little Haystack Rock-reminiscent, The contemplative frog agrees.


And how does it taste? I can’t really tell you. I took one bite, and though it seemed reminiscent of something, I was hesitant to investigate further because I was getting word from my pancreas that there wasn’t enough insulin in the greater San Francisco area to counteract another bite. Holy Sugar.

I’ve now left the bag for my co-workers to enjoy. I hope HR doesn’t come track me down for sending everyone off the rails.

(edit: after some reflective time, I remember what the damn things remind me of. Easter candy. Not peeps or jelly beans, but the other candy that was opaque and molded into soft shapes of bunnies and chicks and tulips. The assumedly cheap stuff that was there to fill up the basket. The stuff you wouldn’t actually eat unless you were a candy-deprived child who relished each morsel of sugar-centric holidays in the hopes that the candy could actually be there year-round. Um, thank god that wasn’t me?)

Guilt makes good food.

Oh, the joy. I picked up my first CSA box of the year last Wednesday night, and though I had a couple nights of pizza weakness, it felt really good to be cooking again. I had actually missed that tinge of guilt I felt every time I opened the fridge. “Damn it, I have to do something with that chard” or “Right, there’s cauliflower. Not going to make soup and not going to roast it. Something new.”

Over the weekend I attended Cook Here and Now, Marco Flavio’s brilliantly successful cooking group, where we gather to cook and eat together. He chooses a theme ingredient, plus some additional produce notes for seasonal inspiration. This month was legumes plus root veggies. It was another cold, rainy day in a series of cold, rainy days and multiple plates of stews, dals and the like seemed pretty perfect.

I signed up for a lentil appetizer, and though I had visions of fried chickpea cakes in my mind initially, I changed the plan when I came across a recipe for Umbrian Lentil Stew with Olive-Oil Fried Eggs in this month’s Food and Wine. I made it for dinner (win), but decided to omit the eggs and somehow adapt it into an appetizer. Stew as app, it was a challenge.

But innovation came with the root veggie mandate. I took my cue from the Alice Water’s recipe I’d tried a few months ago, where all it takes to make turnips tasty is a little salt, a little butter and a pan. I turned the ‘nips into squares, browned them, chilled them, and called ‘em Turnip Toast.

I had a lot of lentils left over. Come Monday dinner, there they were in the fridge, alongside the CSA remains I had yet to get to. Though the prospect of continuing a somewhat sedate weekend was really compelling, I did the right thing. I put in a load of laundry, and I got to prepping some chard. Simple sautéed chard with super-fresh shallots in a bowl with some lentil stew and topped with, well, an olive-oil fried egg.

It was a really good bowl of food. I didn’t fully expect it to be. But there was something about this confluence of earthy flavors that felt particularly comforting with the storm outside. The crisp edges of the fried egg, the buttery softness of the spilling yellow into the bowl, the meaty bite of the lentils (helped by a little prociutto), and some red chard rounding it all out with a toothy, green bite. Not bad for leftovers.

Sprouts done right

It's that time of year when CSA's are just coming back from hiatus, where spring produce hasn't yet hit, and when root vegetables aren't quite as comforting and exciting as they were about five months ago. And the novelty of all the different cauliflowers in the rainbow has long since worn off. Cruciferous is as cruciferous does.

While the produce waiting game continues, I tend to fall back on old favorites. There's my go-to kasha pilaf, the inevitable pasta with scallops and peas, and, of course, Brussel Sprouts with Bacon. It's a recipe I've perfected over the years, it's easy in prep and satisfying to eat. Hell, all I need is a pint of sprouts, two strips of bacon and a shallot or two and I've got dinner. It's comfort food of an entirely different stripe, in that I can make it without thinking and that it tastes the same as it always does. I like that it straddles the line between really good and really bad for you. Brussels Sprouts. Bacon. You can't go wrong.

1 pint brussels sprouts
2-3 slices thick cut bacon
3 shallots, chopped
1-2 T butter
1/3 C seasoned breadcrumbs.

1. In a large uncovered sauce pan, start to cook the bacon over medium heat.

2. While the bacon cooks, bring a medium pot of salted water to boil.
Prep the sprouts by cutting off bottom stem and remove outer leaves.
Cut each sprout in half lengthwise. Once the water is boiling, blanch
the sprouts for about 2-3 minutes, depending on size. They should
still look vibrantly green, but just a little softened. Drain the
sprouts.

3. When bacon is done, remove to a paper towel, leaving the rendered
fat behind. Cook the chopped shallots in bacon fat.

4. When the shallots are edging towards brown, add the blanched
sprouts and toss to coat. Dust with the breadcrumbs and, if desired,
use tongs to arrange the sprouts cut-side down. Makes for a good
crunchy texture.

5. Add butter and cook covered over medium heat 5-10 minutes,
occaisionally shaking the pan to stave off burning. In the meantime,
cut the reserved bacon into 1/4" strips.

6. When sprouts are cooked to your liking, mix the bacon in with the
sprouts. A little salt, a little pepper, and sprouts have never had it
so good.

Back in the Kitchen

Sometime last year, I had spent an entire weekend almost exclusively in the kitchen, something I’m wont to do from time to time. It was a good day for a stew, and to pass the 6 hours of braising, I turned lemons into lemon curd, made some kind of breakfast bread for the week, plus some carrot soup. There may have also been scones. All told, I put in a good day’s work in the kitchen and though I was on my feet for 8 hours on a Sunday, it didn’t feel like work.

The next day I was having my weekly chat with my dad, and I detailed him all the food I had cooked the day before. “Who are you cooking for?” he asked.

It was a really simple question, one he didn’t intend to have much meaning, but I started thinking about it. I’m sure on that day, I really wasn’t cooking for anyone. All the food was ostensibly just for me- I didn’t have any dinner parties planned or bakesales on the horizon (not that there generally are). I was cooking for me for sustenance, but I was also cooking for me for the fun of it. I was cooking to cook, to make it through some of my CSA backlog, to spend an entire day chopping, simmering and incorporating wet and dry ingredients. No running around, no errands, no work. Being productive, but not in the 9-5 sense in the slightest.

But there are times when I am most certainly cooking for someone. When I do the shopping with a table set for two in mind, balancing flavors and pretty presentation. Where I get the chance to show off a little of what I do. Seasonal ingredients and simple preparation. Nothing too showy, nothing too out there. It seems effortless because it is.

I’d hit the Lake Merrit Farmer’s Market on Saturday with this kind of a meal in mind, though there weren’t any plans to speak of. I’ve taken something of a break from cooking any meal beyond breakfast, especially after the great Holiday Baking Frenzy of 2008 (5 kinds of cookies, panetonne, fruitcake, stollen, and on and on). It was time to put the Kitchen-Aid away and break out chef’s knife. Prather Ranch’s board tempted me with some thick-cut pork chops, the leeks were looking good, and there were some nice looking herbs in abundance. I also found some adorable mini-cauliflower that gave me ideas. Ideas like roasting the entire mini-head whole and serving it up in one big piece.

Even though I didn’t have a recipe in mind, the flavors just seemed to build themselves, and once I started cooking at home, the techniques fell in place.
The cauliflower hit the oven whole, drizzled with oil and dusted with salt.

I mixed the herbs with garlic and salt for a simple, rustic rub for the chops. Then once I had turned on all the fans and sealed off the kitchen, seared them for about 4 minutes a side then moved them into the oven to settle alongside the cauliflower to finish. The cauliflower came out, the chops got to rest, and then all the good porky juices met some sliced leeks back in the pan to turn into a nice side.

So good, so simple. The exact kind of meal I was after. Something easy to ease me back into the kitchen and away from the Chinese food menu. Great ingredients paying off quickly and well. And even though I didn’t get to share a second portion with someone else, I do get to have an awesome meal of leftovers tonight.

On dasher, on prancer, on donner, on dinner.

Holiday card for the Underground Food Academy.
Concept by me.
Execution by Sarah Tejada.

Giving in to the Pig

I’m not one to fall for trends. Namely food trends. I didn’t pick up molecular gastronomy, I’ve never deep-fried a turkey, and, for the most part, I’ve dodged the bacon bullet. See, all the food blogs have been blowing up with bacon antics. Lattice bacon over pies, formed bacon cups for salad, chocolate-dipped bacon with bacon on top. I get it, second only to topping anything with a poached egg, adding bacon where bacon hasn’t gone before will instantly boost your web traffic. Got it. People like bacon.

I had no plans of incorporating bacon into my holiday baking, but it seemed to happen without my will. I was shopping for cooking equipment in LA, and I came across an adorable pig cookie cutter. Then I turned the corner to find pink sanding sugars. It had to happen. Pig cookies. Pig cookies with bacon.

I did quite a bit of research to see what other baco-philes had done before. There were a few bacon grease drop cookies, a bacon shortbread, and a chocolate-chip cookie with a bacon garnish. None of these would roll out. I decided to modify a standard rollout cookie, reducing the butter by a quarter to compensate for what the bacon would add. Just to be safe I crisped up the bacon nicely and drained it well on some paper towels.

Per the recipe, I chilled the dough, rolled it out, added my pink sugar and baked them up.

And then the moment of truth.

They’re good. Really. And it’s been insanely fun giving them to people. I like to not tell them that there’s bacon in them, then let them taste, squint, and furrow their brow trying to identify the mystery flavor. It’s not overt—an added savory factor to a rich cookie. Then they look at me, look at the pig-shaped cookie and put two and two together. Oh, this is a good one.

parsnips?

It’s that time of year where I start challenging myself in my CSA. I choose some safety things, some produce I know will get me through the week and then I go with a wildcard. This week it was parsnips. No, turnips. Yes, google image search is right. Turnips. Purple on the bottom, rotund, baffling.

I had ignored them for a few days when I decided it was finally time to make something of them. Naturally I wondered, WWAD? I turned to Waters’ The Art of Simple Food and looked up parsnips. Then realizing my mistake, I looked up turnips.

Apparently, they have enough moisture in them that you can throw them peeled and cut into a pan with a little butter and salt and they will cook up magically. Skeptical, I did as told.

I have no business being surprised this time. Really. I should know that no matter how impossibly simple Alice Water’s recipes are, they come out insanely good, every time.

They were crazy good. Sweet and starchy and really satisfying. If the thanksgiving menu wasn’t already set and the guest list not so short, I’d be bringing these to the table tomorrow.

<

Beef and Broccoli redux

Prather Ranch has this lovely little deal at my local farmer’s market. Five steaks for a cool $20. They’re decent-sized grass-fed sirloin tips- just enough to satiate a steak craving or good to divvy up for a modest dinner for two.

I felt something of a meat craving coming on, so I moved one steak from the freezer to the fridge before I left, and came home to a perfectly thawed cut of meat. On the blogs lately there’s been a “World’s Best Broccoli” recipe making the rounds, so I thought I’d give it a shot.

I trimmed the stalks into florets, shook them with a little oil, S&P and turned to the steak. I’ve watched enough cooking shows to remember to dry the meat, salt and pepper it, and then lay it down in a hot pan. I let it cook about 4-5 minutes a side, and then, panic.

Crapfuckshitdamn, this must have been the part where I paid more attention to my email than the ‘how to cook a steak’ show of Good Eats. I quickly googled “bittman, steak,” and decided to have the steak join the roasting broccoli already in progress to cook through. The searing-hot pan, in no smart semblance of order was hit with a pat of butter, a splash of wine and sliced shallots. Not smart.

Smoking wine burned my eyes as I frantically opened windows and turned on fans in a stellar effort to keep my hair-trigger fire alarm from going off.

I failed. I hate my fire alarm.

But while the smoke was clearing, magic was happening back in the kitchen. The broccoli was searing itself into a sweet-nutty side dish. The meat was cooking through and the sauce was reducing all on its own.

Where the technique fell through, the ingredients saved the day. The steak came out perfect. Like, perfect perfect. Unabashedly pink with seared crust that made the smoke alarm seem almost justified in its reaction. This, with a roasted broccoli tossed with a little parm and a bit of lemon juice, made a damn fine beef and broccoli dinner. It was the kind of meal I was really glad I cooked for myself, because no one was witness to the spectacle that created it, plus I didn’t have to share if I didn’t want to.

Breakfast: The rut that isn’t.

Though I make a concerted effort to try new and different foods all the time, I’ll always fall into a breakfast rut. I’ll have something over and over for months on end, to the point that that food is so inextricably linked with that period of time. A double-tall latte and a bagel with two madelines drops me back driving carpool in high school. A misguided health phase in college meant a wheatberry English muffin topped with two floppy eggwhites and faux-sausage. Like an album you listen to over and over in one period of time, that you can’t shake the association.

And like that music seems to soundtrack that time period just right, for me that breakfast seems to go along just right with what was happening at the time. And it makes sense. Clearly, I believe food is more than just substance. That what’s on your plate says something about where you come from, what you hold dear, and what does or doesn’t matter to you. Driving those kids to school I was looking for something to offset my 1st cigarette buzz and the associate stomachache. That breakfast sandwich I wouldn’t go anywhere near now was well under 200 calories, which apparently was important to me at the time.

Right now, I’m in a different breakfast place. French-pressed coffee from Ritual, Four Barrel or Blue Bottle, zucchini bread I make every weekend, plus a daily attempt at the perfect omelette.

I like the new ritual of baking the week’s bread and deciding who gets the second loaf. I’m comforted by the 1 minute/3 minute rhythm of making coffee, seeing how much else I can get done around the kitchen in those intervals, and stirring the eggs in the pan until curds form, trying to find that perfect balance of hovering over the pan and just letting it be. I like looking out over my mini-side yard to see the animals run around, then unexpectedly getting a head-butt to the calf from a cat looking for any scraps. He never gets any, but that doesn’t diminish his resolve.

When it’s all done, I sit down and either catch up on yesterday’s Colbert or what piled up on the RSS feeder overnight. I make sure to make enough time for it all, even if it means getting up at ridiculous-o’clock to make it to the gym and have time enough for all this.

Yesterday I was trying to remember the breakfast ruts that came before and the spaces they came with: toast with sunny-side up eggs or bread with butter and jam at 90 Parker. Walnut rolls at my desk in the Pearl District. But I couldn’t remember when I had fallen into the habit of making time for breakfast, of setting aside some time to ease into the day.

I knew it was in Portland, and I knew Stumptown coffee was involved, and I knew that we used to trade urls like sections of a newspaper while some new band discovered on Pitchfork streamed wirelessly from the speakers. And just remembering these details brought back that time. It’s the same details that keep a sense of nostalgia always within arms length. The most-played tracks on my music library, my missing roasting pan, my first bike, spice jars.

But I had forgot about the rosemary bagels. Ideally with homemade butter or at least the good butter from the local dairy. And I forgot the name of the dairy, too. Not Strauss, that's here. I think it had two syllables. And I could look it up in an instant, I could have that name back at my disposal, but what's the point? Why reconstitute a memory and bolster that nostalgia?

I'm glad the details are getting lost. These threads of memory are quietly snapping one by one and one day, before I know it, they'll all have decayed through and broken, and then tension, the sinuous tug of longing won't be there so strongly. I think that soon enough I’ll fall into a new breakfast routine and before long, I’ll look back at a two-egg omelette, two generous slices of zucchini bread and a French-pressed cup of coffee and have an association I don’t have the benefit of knowing right now.

this lovely landscape

Apple Nougatine, recipe from the good people at Tartine Bakery, and a sure contender for new dishes that will grace the table at my family's thanksgiving. Apples were sliced and sauteed in butter and sugar, then piled over a puff pastry. Over the top is a magic little concoction of egg whites, sugar and sliced almonds that hints at a sticky candy that pulls it all together.

Just right.

I had no business making dinner. It had been a weekend of total gastronomic excess, starting with a breakfast of Duck Eggs Benedict, followed by a veritable cookathon of lasagna, roasted delicata squash, carrot-cauliflower soup and zucchini bread. There was a lot of produce that needed to be gotten through, and instead of consuming it, I just cooked all of it, all at once. Besides having a fridge full of food, I had just come back from my latest Underground Food Academy class- Cheesemaking Plus. We had spent the afternoon making ricotta and shaking cream to make butter, then ended it all by sinking pieces of baguette into a bubbling pot of expertly-crafted fondue.


More food should have been the last thing on my mind.
But there was something about the momentum of all the food-based activity that I couldn’t quit, and something about all the richness of the waiting leftovers I just couldn’t bear to tuck into. I wanted fresh and I wanted green and I think a part of me just didn’t want the weekend to end.


The only thing in my fridge that hadn’t been roasted, buttered or braised was a bunch of rainbow chard quietly awaiting its fate in the crisper. I like the ritual of chard. Of bathing the oversized leaves and stacking them in front of me. Of taking the time to see their astounding color veined through the greenery. Of separating the stalk from the greens in two deft slices and assigning them into different piles. The two parts cook at really different rates, and if you don’t treat it right, you’ll end up with super over-cooked greens or stalks that are more than a little toothy.

About halfway through prepping the chard, I realized I was going to have far too much food again, and the idea adding more leftovers to the obscene cache of food in my fridge was too much. So I called over a friend.

I boiled water for pasta, heated some oil in a pan to start some shallots softening. When they were edging towards brown, the slivered stalks go in. Also a good time for the pasta to start cooking. Once the stalks have softened enough. Chopped greens go to the pan (with a tablespoon of butter) and get covered and steam their way to doneness. Salt, stir in cooked pasta, add a little parm. Eat.

After a weekend of running around, of meeting people and prepping for an Academy class, of meals charged with expectation and interactions fraught with anticipation, there was something about sitting down to a simple meal comprised of all of 5 ingredients that felt like a whole lot of right. I hadn’t planned to cook, to have anyone over, to entertain, but I’m glad I did, that I gave into my impulses. Because once in awhile, shrugging off impulse-control can leave you feeling really, really satisfied.

UFA-The Ritual of Espresso

I thought I knew how to work an espresso machine. I really did. I learned the ropes when I was about 16. I’d quit my job manning the front desk at my dance studio to start over at the Dolce Café. Sam would reach up for the tins of Illy coffee I’d dump into the grinder and pull shot after shot for lattes, cappucinnos and, being that it was in Brentwood in the ‘90s, Iced-blended mochas.

I took the skill-set along with me to college and beyond, where I’d pull shots and steam milk, feeling confident in my concoctions. I stood behind my drinks. I can only feel terrible now for the hundreds, possibly thousands of coffee drinks I made for people, and how I contributed, in my own way, to the proliferation of terrible, ill-pulled espresso.


I hope that I can be forgiven now for the sins against coffee I once committed.

My revelation and re-education began on Sunday, when the Underground Food Academy got behind the counter and on the machine at Ritual Roasters. Chris Baca, Western Regional Barista Competition Champion 2008, was our fearless leader, giving the crew a crash course in espresso, from bean to machine.

There was a lot to take in, as every step was deceptively simple.

As I used to think it was something like this:
Grind the beans
Drop ground beans in the filter basket.
Sweep off extra.
Tamp.
Run the shot.
Enjoy!

In fact it’s more like this:
Grind the beans (single origin or blend? What size grind? Don’t grind too much- keep the grind fresh fresh fresh)

Drop ground beans into the filter basket (while you’re grinding them, quick motions to drop in an even little pile, and settle the filter twice, maybe three times, but not too hard or else you’ll get channeling)

Sweep off extra (what’s your style? Back and forth three times with your first finger a little elevated, or flat, or pinched off between two digits?)

Tamp (flat tamper or beveled? even consistent pressure, keep your arm straight, tap it a little loose with the back of the tamper- THE BACK of the tamper!)


Run the shot (run the water through first, clean your deck, lock in the shot, then let it run a little, cup under if it’s looking good, but don’t pull it away too early—or too late!)

Enjoy!


Like I said, it’s complicated. Katherine, a long-time espresso drinker (and maker) concluded that she “probably had never had a good shot of espresso before,” and vowed to try and apply her newly learned techniques “as much as (she) can!”

It was a damn good start to a new beginning, and Chris was a very patient teacher. There’s a lot more to learn, for certain. And with some luck and more UFA espresso classes, I’ll be on my way to righting my past wrongs.

donuts!

Spotted in LA at the farmer's market while waiting in line for ice cream. If I didn't have a mint ship on the way, I would have opted for a t-rex donut.

Donut!

New underground food academy classes!

I know, there's a post that needs to come about the food I've been making and the restaurants I've been discovering, but it's been all bikes and work and beans and rice for a bit of time now. But still, the UFA has been rockin' with Cheese 101 back in August and more classes up on the books. There are spaces available, somehow, so now's the time to get up on 'em.


Here’s the latest in classes for the UFA. Reserve your spot now. Like, right now.
Email us to see if there’s still a spot.

Behind the Bar with the UFA
September is comin’ up, and this month we’re on a theme of everything drinkable. Belly up to the bar, and take a taste of these new classes:

First up, Potent Potables.
Been watching Mad Men? Feeling a little thirsty? Well, get your cocktail on as Peggy Boston from coco500 takes us on a guided tour of the drink list. We’ll get all the bartending basics- from glassware to classic cocktails and tips on how best to stock your home bar. This is a hands-on class with full-on drink
building, stirring and shaking action. Get ready to get popular, as this class will have you hosting cocktail parties in no time.

Bartending 101

Saturday, September 20th, 1:00-2:00 pm
Coco500 in SOMA
$35/person. 10 people max.
Sign up via paypal to headmaster@undergroundfoodacademy.com

And now, for a totally different kind of bar.

Ritual Roasters boasts award-winning baristas that proudly pull the best shots in the city. And they’re going to let a few of us behind the bar to see what espresso-making is all about. From bean to grind to extraction to crema assessment, we’ll get a taste of the boot camp all ritual baristas undergo. It’s an
early class for a Saturday, but no doubt you’ll be wide awake by the time you’re on your way.

The Ritual of Espresso
Sunday, September 28th, 9:00-10:00 am.
Ritual Roasters, Flora Grubb Gardens.
$25/person. 5 person max.
Sign up via paypal to headmaster@undergroundfoodacademy.com

Underground Food Academy Update

The Underground Food Academy is up and running!

With over 130 students signed up and a half a dozen classes in the works, things are going exceedingly well. Last Sunday brought the inaugural class- a visit to Alemany Farms. Alemany Farms is an urban farm, right off the 280 freeway just on the side of one of the hills that makes Bernal Heights. Arriving at the farm, I had more than a little worry that my students wouldn’t be into it. After all, they were in for more than a few hours of actual, physical labor paid off by a harvest and simple farmhouse dinner of locally sourced meats and cheeses. But everyone dove in and got their hands all kinds of dirty. I felt slightly awkward taking (what I thought would be) the cushy job of weeding raspberry plants while a couple of them picked up shovels to fold in the new horse manure into the compost. But they were into it. Seriously.

Through the day we weeded, composted and harvested. And none of it was easy work. Even picking green beans for the dinner, which I thought would be really rewarding, took its toll on my back before too long. Within hours I had such a greater appreciation for all the effort that goes into the food on my plate.

Dinner was locally themed, as I took a cue from the urban farm to source meats, cheeses and wines produced as close to city centers as possible. We had a great goat cheese from Petaluma, a sheep’s milk from San Andreas, plus a kick-ass Mt. Tam from Cowgirl Creamery. Charcuterie came from Framani and Molieri in the east bay. So good, and so damn satisfying.


Class #2 took an entirely different tack, as we visited Adam Smith at Fog City News for a seven course chocolate tasting. Adam has amassed one of the most astounding chocolate bar collections in the city, and his knowledge of chocolate is more than a little impressive. He took the group on a descending tour of cocoa percentage. All the way down to zero with our toes dipping into the dark, sinister world of white chocolate. He talked us from bean to bar and back again, explained the difference between a chocolate maker and a chocolatier and gave me some good ideas for field trips. We rounded out the tasting with some mix-ins with my suggestions. Bacon! Cardamom! Salt! Everyone left with a few bars and a stomachache. Job well done.

Next up, well, check the class listings.

On the Move: Lamb-tastic

Cooking from the Cupboard continues as I defrost my freezer and forage for the best ingredients the pantry has to offer. I must say, it’s going pretty well.

From time to time when I’m ordering produce from the CSA, I’m tempted by the meat offerings. The lure of some grassfed beef or lamb is too much to resist, and I take some home to leave in my freezer until I forget about it. Which happens a lot. Right now I have a whole lot of chuck roast and a couple of pounds of ground beef to conquer.

Today, however, I took on the lamb.

As faithful readers know, I went on something of a cardamom kick earlier in the year, which really turned into a gateway drug for other spices. Cumin came in the mix. Then playing with peppercorn mixes.

You see where this is going?

I took some little lamb loin chops, let them take a quick marinade with a spice mélange, garlic and olive oil, then hit them with hot heat about 3 minutes a side in a pan. I let them rest from their flurry of activity while I deglazed the pan with a little white wine and butter, steamed some zucchini and made some cous cous. And a mid-summer morrocan feast was born.

Not bad for 30 minutes of work.