5 second rule

Independence

Statuesque, dotted with poppy seeds, layered with sweetened creme fraiche, and toppled with berries, this cake screams July 4th.  I tip my hat to Emily Luchetti, a legendary San Francisco-based pastry chef and the cake's creator.  Luchetti has written several phenomenal cookbooks, and this recipe -- for Berry Creme Fraiche Cake -- appears in A Passion for Desserts, one of my all-time favorites. 

In fact, observant viewers will notice the similarity between this cake and the design schema of both 5 Second Rule and my professional website.  How many desserts can claim such cyber-influence?  When I made the cake two years ago (for a Memorial Day party, actually), I took more pictures of it than I'd taken of my kids in their first year of life.  Bad mom.  Good cake.

Obviously, if you're looking for a suitable dessert to feed and impress a crowd today, this is it.  But I don't want you stuck in the kitchen on your day off.  I really don't.  So no recipe for you.  Curse me if you must, but you'll thank me tonight.

And, as a means of exerting my own independence, I won't cook today either.

Happy 4th, everyone.  May your holiday be sweet, and may others cook for you the way I hope they'll cook for me.

Otherwise, we'll both be hungry.

Jam

It's not my fault.  I blame Johnny, the raspberry pusher.

I was all set to stick to regular foods -- you know, things like fish, pudding, bananas -- but every Wednesday he's there like a dealer, peddling his frouffy squash blossoms and fancy berries at the farmers' market.  This week it was black raspberries and marionberries.  I'm sure olallieberries will be next, and then you'll all really hate me.

I could pretend I don't have access to unusual produce like this, but that would be no fun at all.  I mean, it might be fun for you, but it would be no fun for me.  And until I start making some real cash-money at this blogging thing (insert peals of laughter here), I'd might as well have a good time.

Johnny's always full of advice.  When I fingered the black raspberries he edged me aside, all hush hush.  "You take the raspberries.  Add a little agave nectar -- not the regular stuff, but the raw stuff.  You can only buy it at Whole Foods.  It'll cost you, but it's worth it.  Cook it down, and you'll have an incredible jam."

I bought the berries. They were beautiful, too.  Smaller, tighter, with better-defined little bulbs than red or even white raspberries.  They looked less juicy but somehow more intense.

A few days later I was shopping at Trader Joe's when I saw it.  Agave nectar!  And it was pretty cheap, too.  No need to hit Whole Foods.  Perfect.

When I got home, I made the jam, just as Johnny had described.  I played with the proportions a little, adding some lemon at the end for balance.  Easy as could be, and ideal for slathering on toast, muffins, and leftover grilled pork.  The cheap agave worked fine.

But when I told Johnny, he wasn't pleased.

"Psssst," he whispered.  "Next time buy the good stuff. I'll give you an even better recipe."

Stay tuned.

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Recipe for Indigo Jam

Here's a jam with a deep, caramelly flavor from agave nectar, a natural sweetener that's now commercially available.  I used black raspberries in this recipe, but red raspberries or even blackberries would also work.  Plan to vary the amount of lemon juice according to your personal taste.  Also, I can't be bothered to strain seeds from my jam, but if you want to be all fussy about it then be my guest.

Yield: scant 1/2 cup jam

1-1/2 cups black raspberries, or berries of your choice

1/4 cup agave nectar

1-1/2 teaspoons fresh lemon juice, or to taste

Combine raspberries and agave nectar in a small, heavy saucepan over medium-low heat.  (I used an enameled cast-iron pan, which was perfect.)  Bring to a simmer, then reduce heat to low and continue simmering until mixture thickens and berries have begun to fall apart but still retain some shape, about 30 minutes.  (Stir occasionally with a heat-proof spatula to prevent scorching.)

Remove from heat.  Stir in lemon juice.  The mixture will continue to gel as it cools.

Keep refrigerated.

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Endangered?

I had no plans to be alarmist when I woke up this morning.  Particularly after yesterday's fish discussion.  But there's quite a lot of banana appreciation going on in my house lately, much due to a birthday banana pudding for one aforementioned, pluot-shmooshing 9-year-old.  I'd never made banana pudding before.  Rice pudding, chocolate pudding, butterscotch pudding, pot de creme -- yes, yes, yes, and resoundingly yes, but banana pudding, until recently, was an unknown beast.  No longer.  In one fell swoop it has zoomed to the top of the heap.

Anyway, turns out we need to praise these yellow beauties a little more, rather than take them for granted as mere corn flake toppers.  According to this recent op-ed by Dan Koeppel in the New York Times, banana importers sell only one type of banana variety worldwide.  Yup, one.  A thousand varieties grow in Africa and Asia, but only one is sold for import: the Cavendish from Latin America.

Here's the problem: because it's not a diversified crop (like pears, say, with your d'Anjou, Bosc, Bartlett, Taylor Gold, etc.), it's more susceptible to diseases, and a virulent strain of one fungus called Panama disease has begun to spread worldwide.  It may reach Latin America within 20 years.  If the crop isn't diversified before then, apparently, it could be wiped out.  Bye, bye bananas.

So as much as I write about pluots and white raspberries and baby artichokes and other exotica, it's time to give bananas some love.  Here's the pudding recipe I made.  My only change was to crush a package of ladyfingers in the food processor and use the crumbs in place of the vanilla wafers.  Oh, and I omitted the nuts and the mint.  (Mint & bananas?) Good choices on my part.  

The yield is listed as 6 to 8 servings, but that's a laughable understatement as there was enough for the whole neighborhood, plus all the neighbors' cousins.  Make it for a good cause.  In fact, do it for the bananas. 

As good a reason as any to make a pudding for 16.

Dilemma

Knowledge is power, certainly, but knowledge can also stymie you at the fish counter at Whole Foods.  I used to feel really proud when I bought fish.  I'm fortifying my body with omega-3s!  I'm eating the good fats!  I'm introducing my kids to a healthier form of protein!

But with overfishing and polluted waters and fish farms and trying to eat more locally, I find myself anxious.  There are oodles of resources out there for those who want to take the time to educate themselves, and I've made use of some of them.  I really should put another Seafood Watch Guide in my wallet.  I had one until about a month ago, but then I cleaned out my wallet and must have tossed it.

Never, ever clean out your wallet.

When I bought the tuna, I should have thoroughly grilled the man at the fish counter.  Part of me figured, 'It's Whole Foods, so it has to be environmentally friendly, right?'  I mean, right?  It's Whole Foods!  But according to the well-reputed blog Chews Wise, Greenpeace gave all the supermarkets whose fish programs it analyzed a failing rating.  Even Whole Foods.

Here's what I found out about the tuna, after the fact: looks like it was either a) the best choice; b) a good choice; or c) something to avoid, depending on how (troll? pole? handline? longline?) and where (Atlantic? Hawaii? Worldwide?) it was caught. 

So I either got an A+, a B, or an F.

Oy.

I feel kind of bad saying this without knowing if I acted responsibly, but it still tasted really good.

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Recipe for Grilled Ahi with Yellow Tomato and Avocado Relish

3 teaspoons olive oil, divided
3/4 to 1 pound wild ahi tuna steak ("searing grade") (about 1" thick)
coarse salt & freshly ground black pepper
1 avocado, diced
2 teaspoons lime juice
1/2 large yellow heirloom tomato, diced
1-1/2 tablespoons finely diced red onion
1/2 teaspoon minced jalapeno, or more to taste, optional

Preheat grill to medium-high heat.

Massage 2 teaspoons of olive oil into tuna.  Season generously with salt and pepper.

When grill is very hot, lay tuna on well-oiled grates.  Sear for about 6 minutes over direct heat: 2 minutes on the first side, then 2 on the flip side, then 2 on the first side again to get cross-hatch grill marks, if this is important to you.  Watch the side of the fish very carefully.  It's done when you can still see a bright band of red along the center.  (Grill more or less according to your preferred degree of doneness, but 6 minutes still leaves a nice rare center.)

In a small bowl, mix together the avocado, lime juice, tomato, onion, and jalapeno, if using.  Sprinkle with coarse salt, additional pepper, and the remaining teaspoon of olive oil.

Slice tuna. Serve with relish.

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Smashed

The pluots set out for tasting were outstanding.  Thin green peel, blood-red flesh, perfumed and heady. Like a gemologist, I pored over the pile fastidiously, rejecting any that were bruised, soft, or otherwise imperfect.  I chose only firm ones, ideal for eating out of hand.  No cooking, no pies, no crumbles.  I'd keep them in the fridge for easy grabbing throughout the week.  They'd pop slightly as my teeth punctured their taut skin.

I paid.

Then I handed the bag to my eight-year-old, who happens to turn nine today.

Do you hear those sirens, Batman?  Alarm bells are sounding in the distance.

A calm, mild-mannered child, he started swinging the bag haphazardly, banging it against his knee as we cased the rest of the farmers' market.  Thunk.  Thunk.  I stopped to chat up a vendor about his beautiful black raspberries, which you'll hear about later this week. 

What's that sound?  Could it be thunder?

Thunk.  Thunk.

We meandered a bit more, picking up a Vietnamese salad roll on one end, a chicken empanada on the other.  Thunk.  Some purple cabbage.  Thunk.  Thunk.  A zucchini, or maybe two. 

Look, there's corn!

Thunk.

When we got home, I unpacked our wares.  The veggies went right into the crisper.  The salad roll on a plate. 

And then, I saw them.  THE HORROR.

The pluots had been beaten to a pulp, victims of a then-eight now nine-year-old's repetitive knee brutalization.

Destined to be cooked down, unquestionably, into sauce.

Pork was happy.

And when I tasted it, I was, too.

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Recipe for Grilled Pork Tenderloin with Pluot Sauce

This takes a bit of coordination but hardly any effort.  If you're clever, you'll make the sauce earlier in the day and re-warm it just before serving.  If you don't have pluots, who's to say you couldn't try it with mushy plums?  Not me.

Serves 4

3 pluots, pitted, halved, cut into a few rough chunks

3 tablespoons balsamic vinegar (the cheap stuff's fine)

1 tablespoon honey

kosher salt & pepper

1-1/4 pound pork tenderloin, trimmed of visible fat

a little olive oil

Preheat the grill over medium high heat. Meanwhile, prepare the sauce.  Puree the pluot chunks in the food processor (skin and all) until liquified.  You'll have a good cup of liquid.

Scrape into a small saucepan with the balsamic, honey, and a good dose of salt and pepper to season.  Place over medium-high heat and bring to a hard simmer.

Reduce the heat slightly and simmer, stirring frequently to prevent burning, until reduced to 1/2 cup, about 20 to 25 minutes.  Remove from heat and set 1-1/2 tablespoons aside for basting.

Rub the tenderloin with a little olive oil, 1/2 teaspoon salt and 1/8 teaspoon pepper.  Sear quickly on all sides directly over the grill flames, then turn off half the burners/flames, and move the pork to the cool half.  Close the lid and grill until a thermometer registers 145 degrees in the center of the meat, about 20 to 25 minutes.

Baste with the reserved pluot sauce and grill an additional minute or two only.  Remove from grill.

Let rest, tented with foil, for 5 minutes.  Slice, nap with sauce, and serve.

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Texture

I'm a texture girl.  When I find a bit of sand, I like to rub my finger against it.  I crave nuts in my brownies.  Hard crusts on my baguette.  I like the skin that forms on homemade pudding. 

So imagine my delight when my husband's mother sent us a box of Samoas Girl Scout cookies when we were in the Peace Corps.  Samoas, with their chocolaty, caramelly, coconutty goodness. Their texture!

Against my better judgment, we shared a cookie with Mehari, our Tigrinya teacher, so he could experience the pleasure of an iconic American treat.  He chewed it.  Seemed to enjoy it, too, at least for a minute.  But suddenly he started spitting on the floor. Ptheh! Ptheh!  What the hell was he doing?

Turns out he didn't embrace the texture of coconut.  "I think there's packing material in this," he complained, obviously dismayed.

I was not pleased.

Anyway, on to pancakes.  I love a standard, uniformly fluffy pancake, but a pancake with a little textural interest adds an unexpected and (dare I suggest?) welcome twist.

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Recipe for Lightly Seeded Pancakes

Here's a little variation on your standard, fluffy pancakes.  This version is still pouffy and impossibly light, but seeds add textural interest as well as a delicate undernote of flavor.  I used toasted sesame seeds, but feel free to experiment with whole flax seeds, poppy seeds, or even hemp seeds (available at natural foods stores) if you like.

Makes 14 pancakes

1 cup all-purpose flour

2 tablespoons toasted sesame seeds (often in the Asian foods aisle rather than the spice isle), or seeds of your choice

2 tablespoons medium-grind cornmeal

1-1/2 tablespoons dark brown sugar

3/4 teaspoon baking soda

1/8 teaspoon salt

1 egg, lightly beaten

1/2 cup plain yogurt (I used European-style fat-free)

1/2 cup + 1 tablespoon milk (fat-free works well)

1-1/2 tablespoons canola oil

butter, maple syrup, and fresh berries, for serving

In a medium bowl, whisk together all dry ingredients (flour through salt).  In a second medium bowl, whisk egg, yogurt, milk, and oil.  Add wet ingredients to dry ingredients, and whisk lightly until combined.  Use a rubber spatula to scrape the bottom of the bowl and make sure the batter is uniformly moistened.

Heat a cast-iron griddle or skillet over medium-high heat until drops of water sizzle then evaporate.  Coat with non-stick spray. 

Use an ice cream scoop to dollop the batter onto the hot griddle.  Cook 2 minutes on one side, flip, and cook about a minute on the second side, or until nicely browned and cooked through.

Serve hot with butter, syrup, and fresh berries.

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Beer

I don't often write about alcohol for one simple reason: I'm not an aficionado, and the language of drink doesn't flow through me quite as fluidly as the language of food.  You'll still find me sipping an occasional glass of wine or nursing a weekly beer, but there are other blogs devoted to the finer points of alcohol discernment (try Everyday Wine). Mine isn't one of them.

That said, when I was in Canada recently, I did polish off a few bottles of Sleeman, the brew pictured at left.  Slightly sweet, it went down smooth and easy, with less apparent carbonation (if that's the right word) than its American counterparts.  If Sleeman were available here in California, I'd definitely seek it out.

I've got beer on the mind today after reading this article on caffeinated brews in today's New York Times.  Yes, caffeinated.  Who even knew such a thing existed?

Turns out Anheuser-Busch just agreed to stop selling Tilt, a raspberry-flavored (!) malt beverage containing caffeine and guarana (a natural stimulant).  The company had been accused of marketing the beverage, and another called Spykes (with fruit and chocolate flavors) to minors.  A-B denied the charges.

According to the article, Anheuser-Busch isn't the only maker of caffeine-laced beer.  Sparks, made by the Miller Brewing Company, is another flavored malt beverage (I love the phrase "malt beverage") with caffeine, guarana, and ginseng.  This class of products has acquired the name "alcoholic energy drinks."

(A month ago I wrote about college students mixing energy drinks with alcohol.  Apparently beermakers removed the extra step.)

If you came across an energy drink/beer combo, would it hold any appeal?  Do you think such products should be taken off the market, or simply advertised in ways that encourage their consumption by those well above the legal drinking age?

Real

Can someone please enlighten me: is the Pinkberry thing done yet?  If any of you live in L.A., do tell whether this chain still has lines out the door, or whether the whole media implosion/lawsuit over the improper use of the words "frozen yogurt" has caused people to seek out non-powdered food instead.

I'm actually a big fan of real frozen yogurt.  You know, yogurt that's made with what I quaintly refer to as... milk.  And live, active cultures.  I bounced around Silicon Valley earlier this year trying a few local froyo places for an article, and one shop in particular (called Fraiche) tickled my probiotic fancy.

But I'm not hemorrhaging gasoline to drive and get it again.  Not when making it at home takes all of 20 minutes.  With 4 ingredients and an ice cream maker, you can blend together a wincingly tart frozen yogurt that puts trendy imitations to shame.

Plus, and here's the kicker: I finally exchanged my cherry pitter. So the flavor of my yogurt was never up for discussion.

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Recipe for (Real) Tart Cherry Frozen Yogurt

Given the paucity of ingredients, be a sport and purchase whole milk organic yogurt for this recipe.  The fat content is important for the proper mouthfeel, and going organic will make you feel like you're consuming health food instead of dessert.  When you see what's in this, you're going to want to eat it for breakfast.  It also, I must add, makes a lovely summer soup if you let it melt.

2 cups fresh dark (red) cherries, stemmed and pitted
2 cups plain whole milk yogurt, preferably organic (I used Trader Joe's European-style)
3 tablespoons of sugar (or more, if tart just isn't your thing)
a few drops of fresh lemon juice

Pulse cherries 12 times in a food processor until roughly minced.  Turn out into a large bowl, and mix in remaining ingredients.  Stir until well blended.

Freeze in an ice cream maker according to manufacturer's instructions.  If you want soft yogurt, eat right away.  If you prefer a firmer texture, freeze it in a lidded container for a few hours, preferably with a piece of parchment pressed down onto the surface to prevent air from getting trapped between the yogurt and the lid.

If freezing overnight or for several days, which is fine, be prepared for the yogurt to completely solidify.  To soften, microwave for about a minute (stirring once halfway through), then serve.

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eyecandy

photo copyright Paulette Phlipot.  Used with permission.  (All rights reserved.)

There's food photography, and then there's food photography.  I am a writer, who occasionally blogs, who likes to take pictures.  Paulette Phlipot is a Food Photographer.  Note the capital letters.

Paulette and I met this past spring at the International Association of Culinary Professionals conference in New Orleans.  She showed me her portfolio on her iPhone, and a wayward drop of spittle immediately fell from the corner of my mouth onto her screen.

I've always been in love with the art of photography and have deep admiration for talented shutterbugs.  Paulette's work is riveting.  Plus she's nice.  Now how is that fair?

Two days after we met, the IACP gave out its annual awards at a big, fancy gala.  They dole out lots of awards: for cookbooks, food journalism, culinary entrepreneurs, and so on.  Up first: the food photography awards.  In a room full of big-time photographers who've been shooting for decades, the presenters called Paulette's name.  She won Best in Show.

A bunch of us who'd just met her squealed in delight. 

Above, you see the cover photo from A Taste of Wyoming: Favorite Recipes from the Cowboy State (Farcountry Press), a cookbook Paulette shot.  You're looking at the Warm Green Bean Salad with Mustard Dressing created by Joseph McGarry, executive chef at The Pines Resort and Country Club in Jackson Hole.

Wipe up your spittle, then check out the other pictures on Paulette's website. 

Shift

It's funny: writing about the whole high fructose corn syrup/sugar debate made me confront my own sweet tooth in a somewhat unflattering way. 

If you look through the recipe archives on this blog, which I hope you will, you're bound to notice a dual theme playing out fairly prominently: breakfast, and dessert.  I've come to realize in the last two months that I spend an awful lot of time flexing my culinary muscles in these two largely sweet categories.

Well, not today.  Today, I'm shifting gears.

Here's a light and lovely salad.  A change of pace, if you will.  A way to prove my savory mettle and highlight my appreciation for vegetables, herbs, and cheese.

There's a pinch of sugar in the lime vinaigrette, but the end result is bracingly acidic and refreshingly tart.

Today we eat salad, and tomorrow... back to pancakes and cookies.

Whatever.

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Recipe for Cucumber-Lime Salad with Mint and Feta

The title says it all.  This is a 5-minute, throw-together salad for when you're in a bad mood and don't really feel like cooking.  I even used the slicing disk on my Cuisinart, which I almost never use.  Of course. you can always use a mandoline or, shocking!, a knife instead.

1 teaspoon minced shallot

juice of 1/2 lime

2 tablespoons olive oil

pinch sugar

salt & pepper

1 English cucumber, sliced into thin-ish rounds

1-2 tablespoons crumbled feta

2 leaves fresh mint, slivered

In a medium bowl (big enough to hold the cucumber slices) combine the shallot and lime juice.  Slowly whisk in olive oil until mixture emulsifies.  Whisk in sugar and season with salt and pepper.

Add cucumber and feta and toss to coat.  Garnish with fresh mint slivers.

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