5 second rule

Today I was a fallow field.

Today I was a fallow field. 

Outside, undisturbed, I sat sun-drenched. Book open, eyes drifting. First I saw a printed page. Then, the inside of my eyelids.

I may have dozed.

Twice.

We always go, don't we? We wake, eat, scurry, work, greet -- (hello, goodbye) -- drive, cook, clean, read, kiss, yawn.

At night, for some of us, sleep doesn't come. Gears turn in endless loops, our tape-deck caught on autoreverse. Our off-button's cracked, our on-button jammed, stuck, locked into place.

We are plots forever planted.

Rain, sun, sprout, grow, tend, pluck, and then, before we look up, before we draw a single, cleansing breath, the cycle starts anew.

Except last week.

Last week everything screeched to a sudden, terrifying halt.

Trauma. Drama. Soul-crushing, horror-gazing, disbelieving, heart-searching, peace-rending, body-aching, car-chasing, fear-numbing halt.

And then.

A forced re-set.

(For us, the lucky ones.)

Today, for an hour, I sat in the sun. Listened to the sound of nothing. Didn't let my body move. Absorbed the rays of solace, peace, and warming calm. Told inner voices shhhhhhh.

Today I was a fallow field.

Tomorrow?

...

Recipe for Golden Frittata with potatoes, peas, and parmesan

I had in my head a frittata-vision, eggs sun-golden, peas emerald, potatoes ruby-red. So I made it, for you. This is perfectly lovely hot or warm, but it's especially outstanding at room temperature. This means you can make it ahead, and then go outside and forget about it, and everything else, for a good long while.

Serves 4

4 medium new potatoes, unpeeled, scrubbed
4 eggs
1 egg yolk
1 tablespoon heavy cream
1/8 teaspoon dry mustard
1/8 teaspoon turmeric
2 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil
1/3 cup fresh English peas
3 tablespoons freshly grated Parmesan cheese
Handful pea shoots or tender spring herbs, for scattering

Set the potatoes in a small pot of cool water. Bring up to a boil. Simmer until tender, about 10 minutes, give or take. Cool completely. Slice thickly.

Meanwhile, in a large bowl, whisk the eggs, yolk, cream, dry mustard, and turmeric. Season generously with salt and pepper. Flip on the broiler with a rack about 5 inches from the heat source.

Heat the olive oil in a 9-1/2 inch cast-iron skillet over medium-high heat. Add the potato slices, and crisp on both sides until nicely browned. Add the egg mixture, the peas, and the Parmesan. Cook, lifting up portions of the frittata as it sets, swirling a silicone spatula around the edges to keep everything nice and loose. You want the liquid eggs to flow towards the edges and then slip underneath so it begins to set first in portions, and then all around. After about 3 minutes on the stove, transfer the skillet to the broiler. Broil, watching carefully, until puffed, golden brown, and set, 1-1/2 to 2 minutes only.

Remove from the oven. Cool to room temperature, if desired. Add the pea shoots or herbs just before serving. (If they sit too long on a hot or even warm frittata, they'll wilt.) Cut into wedges.

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Ripe Party at the Rustic Garden Bistro

Join us.

Outside.

In the garden.

Under the stars.

We will be serving a complete, 5 course meal from Ripe, followed by a potluck dessert buffet. 

We will drink festive libations. Talk about fruit. Commune with vegetables. Discuss life. Get to know each other. Share stories while we share a meal. Then I will do a reading and sign some books with the neatest handwriting I can muster. But please: make sure I don't drink more than one glass of wine. I am a Notorious Lightweight. Note the capital N and capital L. Now imagine them highlighted. And in 34 point.

Many thanks to my friend Kim Burnell, hostess for the evening. She's the owner of a home with what I understand to be a stunning edible garden in Orange County, California. And she's generously opening her garden for this special event on Saturday, July 21. 

If you live in the LA / Orange County area, or know folks who do, please pass along this invitation. While anyone may attend, you get first dibs. Bring a friend, or three.

Click the EventBrite link to get all the details and snag your ticket before they're gone. (Space is limited.) http://ripeinthegarden.eventbrite.com/

And if you don't live in Southern California, but you do like the idea of hosting a Ripe party sometime in the future, please let me know. I'm game to exploring similar parties in other cities. 

Let's talk.

Red Bull: Now at a farmers' market near you.

My original plan was to toss up that photo and just let you discuss it, but a bit of context may be helpful.

A few weeks ago, while at the farmers' market with my kids, I noticed two young women sporting huge Red Bull backpacks. They were handing out free drinks to the vendors.

"Hi, there! Would you like a free Red Bull?"

They were chirky and cute. People noticed. Some stared.

When I first saw them, I assumed they were there to market their product to actual shoppers, but no, their stated purpose was to be kind to the vendors alone. You know, give them a little lift on a long, hot workday.

But was it really?

My kids and I followed them around for a bit. The market is small, and crowded, and I was intrigued because branded promotional activity of this  sort never happens here. The vendors are the same folks week after week. I know several of them.

Had they asked the farmers' market association if they could have rented a stall or table, I'm not sure they would have been approved (though who knows?), but in simply walking around I'm guessing they couldn't be accused of breaking any rules. Also, they weren't selling anything, right? They were just giving farmers and vendors, who had probably woken up very early to make the long drive to San Jose, the generous gift of quaffable energy.

Some vendors accepted; others declined.

I was going to explain to my boys what a health halo was, but I didn't have to. They've lived with me long enough. "What do you think is going on here?" I asked.

My 10-year-old answered, after a beat. "I think they want people to see the farmers drinking Red Bull near all the fruits and vegetables. Then people will think it's healthy."

Smart boy.

In a surprising discovery, Red Bull's current marketing plan is posted online here, accessible through a simple Google search.

One of their 3 goals is to "Position Red Bull as an alternative to coffee." Another is to "Increase interest in Red Bull among males and females age 35 to 65."

Finally, this: "Through the following year, Red Bull has set a goal to increase revenue by 20% $6.22 billion. By gaining customers in a new demographic, as well as releasing a revamped campaign, Red Bull believes this is possible."

Psst, hey, new demographic: is it possible?

Are you thirsty?

Tasting Oregon: land of freekeh, cow parsnips, and verjusette (pt. 1 of 2)

Last weekend, Travel Oregon invited me and about 20 others to experience the culinary scene both within and beyond Portland's borders. Disclosure: they paid for everything.

My hope is that even though my expenses were paid, I can still provide meaningful, informative food coverage of some locales worth visiting. I try to be thoughtful. I try to approach these experiences with a critical eye. But whether I've succeeded is ultimately for you to determine yourselves.

Below is a key to my photos, which appear in the slide show above. In a follow-up post, I'll introduce you to some local artisans and their food crafts, and give you my sense of this changing, growing, youthful, and very quirky city -- warts and all.

Frame 1. Lovely Mt. Hood on a clear September day. Kayaks drifted. Trillium Lake sparkled. Flowers flowered.

Frame 2. A picnic bench at Penner-Ash Winery (15771 NE Ribbon Ridge Road, Newberg, OR). Dusk. I wanted to lie on that table, flat on my back, and gaze at the sky.

Frame 3. Powell's (flagship: 1005 W Burnside, Portland). I wandered the 68,000 square-foot bookstore, then got lost walking back to the hotel even while using the turn-by-turn on my phone's GPS. This is not unusual for me.

Frame 4. Dinner at St. Jack (2039 SE Clinton Street, Portland), named 2011 Rising Star of the Year by the The Oregonion. Highlights included the crispy-salty frites, chicken liver mousse, and...

Frame 5. ...a dessert of plums and vanilla poached pluots.

Frame 6. I like tea. This is no surprise. Portland is home to a fine little shop called Steven Smith Teamaker (1626 NW Thurman Street, Portland), which I'd toured back in 2010. Pictured is one of their herbal bags (Meadow?). I'd like to tape it above my desk, for art. It's prettier than what's up there now, which are some crappily framed postcards I bought when I was 17.

Frame 7. Dr. John Kallas led us on a leisurely forage through the woods and took care to point out several leaves and berries that would cause hemorrhaging and instant death should we consume them. I'd had romantic visions of piling a wicker basket high with chanterelles, or pretty twigs, but there was something equally pleasant, and less taxing, about listening to him speak knowledgeably about huckleberries, thimbleberries, baneberries, and cow parsnips, the lower stem of which can be peeled and eaten like a banana. I bet you did not know this.

Frame 8. A foraged salad at Timberline Lodge (27500 E Timberline Road), a ski lodge founded in the 1930s in the throes of the Great Depression under Roosevelt's New Deal. If you're an architecture buff, you'll enjoy this place and its historical importance. There were a lot of old people milling about, but that didn't faze me because a) I enjoy old people, and b) I was fed a salad of smooth yellow violet, indian paintbrush, wild ginger, tiny tomatoes, bush berries, huckleberries, and verjusette. I swear I did make any of that up. Executive Chef Jason Stoller Smith knows how to make food plucked from the forest taste like it came right from the earth. Oh, wait.

Frame 9. He also knows how to make ice cream threaded with pineapple weed, which pairs especially well with peaches and something he casually refers to as vanilla-olive oil powder.

Frame 10. Picturesque McCurdy Farms orchard (2080 Tucker Road, Hood River). The pears here grow in bottles. I'm not kidding. They grow inside bottles. More on that next time.

Frame 11. Here is a pear. I do recognize that this one is not, in fact, growing inside a bottle.

Frame 12. This man is making burgers on the roof-deck of the Wieden+Kennedy Ad Agency, which  handles accounts for Nike, Kraft, Target, and (dingdingding) Travel Oregon. The building itself is crazy-ridiculous and security guards about the same age as my kids are apparently keeping all kinds of corporate secrets very safe. I'm glad they were there protecting me, too, since I was very busy eating sliders.

Frame 13. Sliders! These are the beef ones from Chef Gregory Denton of Metrovino (1139 NW 11th, Portland). They had a fancy sauce. (The menu actually said "fancy sauce.")

Frame 14. A close-in, mildly disorienting look at a gorgeous freekeh salad with toasted hazelnuts, pickled cherries (!), and borage flowers (!) from Chef Scott Dolich of Park Kitchen (422 NW 8th, Portland). Freekeh is a grain. Borage is a flower. They are both real things.

Frame 15. Dark chocolate-dipped caramels with sea salt. I dipped them myself. More on those next time.

Frame 16. And this is the real spirit of Oregon right here. There were 3 unscripted moments in the trip, all on the last day. Passing this sign while boarding my flight home was one of them. You'll have to wait for the other two.

Go on now.

Get out of here.

Is Your Body Craving Antioxidants? You Need Soda.

Stuff like this used to make me mad.  I'd see it and think, how on earth can a company get approval to slap "antioxidant" on a soda simply by injecting it with vitamin E?  Isn't there some law, or international treaty, banning this type of thing?  And then I realized, maybe I'm wrong.  Maybe the problem's with ME.  After all, I do know basic logic.  It's easy, and super, SUPER fun.

Watch and learn:

If antioxidants like vitamin E are good for me AND Diet Cherry 7-Up has vitamin E, THEN Diet Cherry 7-Up is good for me.

Also:

If Diet Cherry 7-Up is red AND cherries are red, THEN Diet Cherry 7-Up has cherries.

Also:

If roast beef is red AND Diet Cherry 7-Up is red, THEN Diet Cherry 7-Up has roast beef.

Also:

If Jergens Replenishing Vitamin E Lotion has vitamin E AND Diet Cherry 7-Up has vitamin E, THEN Diet Cherry 7-Up has Jergens Replenishing Vitamin E Lotion.

It's all starting to make sense now.  Let's play more.

If Diet Cherry 7-Up has a picture of a cherry on it AND I chalk a picture of a cherry on my driveway, THEN I can drink my driveway.

Also:

If cherries grow on trees AND Diet Cherry 7-Up has cherries, THEN Diet Cherry 7-Up grows on trees.

And finally:

If antioxidants may help prevent cancer AND Diet Cherry 7-Up has antioxidants, THEN Diet Cherry 7-Up may help prevent cancer.

And this last conclusion, of course, is the one we were being led to all along.

Nostalgia

When was the last time you had a root beer float?  If it was more than 3 years ago, that's just sad.

Why is it that foods that brought us such great pleasure in our youth so rarely make an appearance in our adulthood?  Is it because they're unhealthy?  Made by people who have since moved on to the great beyond, or to Florida?  Or is it because we simply forget about them?

Here are a few of the foods I relished as a person less old than I am now.  Foods I genuinely loved.  Foods I thought of as I fell asleep, that made my heart do backflips, that made me absolutely love being alive.

1.  Cinnamon toast.  I'd slather on the butter from the edges to the center, so any butter left on the knife would rest right in the bulls-eye, melting into a little crater.  The cinnamon sugar was premixed McCormick, from the spice aisle, and I always accidentally shook on too much. 

2.  Butterfish.  My maternal grandmother, Eve, always served butterfish, sturgeon, and lox on Sunday mornings.  We'd have bagels and cream cheese, too, and little cherry tomatoes from her garden.  I have absolutely no idea when I last ate butterfish. 

3.  Soup nuts.  My paternal grandmother, Sarah, used to serve her soup with these puffy, crispy bread pouffs marketed as soup nuts, even though they weren't nuts.  The last time I ate, or even saw, a soup nut was probably in the 80s, when Dexy's Midnight Runners ruled the airwaves.

4.  Grilled Muenster sandwiches.  I used to play with Laurie, Dougie, and Marc, three siblings who lived up the street from me growing up.  Their mom made these melted Muenster sandwiches, and cut them up into cubes.  Have you ever tried a melted Muenster sandwich?  You should.  I think you'd really like it.

5.  Big League Chew.  I don't actually miss Big League Chew, but I do remember shoving an entire pack in my mouth at once. How I didn't choke and die is beyond me.  I should probably be dead right now.

6.  Date Nut Bread.  This I've had, and made, recently. Oh my god.  It's just so good. Here's the recipe.  You'll see.

7. Baked apples.  It's the wrong season now, of course, but a baked apple with cinnamon, butter, and cold cream (not Noxzema) (remember Noxzema? Does anyone still use Noxzema?) was better than pretty much any dessert of my youth.

8.  Sarah Bernhardts.  I was just talking with cookbook author Jennie Schacht about these recently, because she and I grew up in the same hometown.  It turns out that she actually knew the family that owned Jesperson's, the bakery that turned out these insanely addictive chewy almond macaroony things with a hard chocolately cap.  I'm not doing them justice.  Words fail me.  They still haunt me.  Now I'm depressed.

9.  Fiddleheads.  Steamed, with butter and salt. 

10.  Coconut Froz-Fruit.  When I first met Colin, I made some comment about how I needed a coconut Froz-Fruit, and he was like, "What's a Froz-Fruit?"  WHAT'S A FROZ-FRUIT?  Really, Colin?  What's a Froz-Fruit?  Tell me I'm not alone in this particular obsession.  I mean, I'm not alone.  I'm not. 

I'm definitely not.

Fantasy

In my current fantasy, I quit my job and spend my days writing not for magazines, or websites, or cookbook publishers, but for Steven Smith Teamaker.  I went to this soothing little shop recently in Portland, and I'm quite smitten with their whole tea vibe/genre/mystique/aura. 

Each individually-wrapped tea sachet is numbered by blend, and has a funny, pithy little saying.  Steven Smith, listen up: I can write funny, pithy little sayings!  I'm even saving my tea trash for inspiration/research.  No, I'm not saving the spent, soggy leaves, just the colorful sleeves your teabags (sorry, sachets) come in, with instructions like:

"Bring filtered water to 190 degrees.  Steep 3 minutes while practicing ikebana, or Japanese flower arrangement."

That was on the full leaf, antioxidant-rich  #72, with white peony tea leaves, Egyptian chamomile petals, and Chinese osmanthus flowers.  Osmanthus flowers!

Or how about these instructions, which appear on the Lord Bergamot, an Earl-Greyish tea (#55):

"Bring filtered water to a rolling boil.  Steep 5 minutes, while pondering the Earl's affair with the Duchess of Devonshire."

I think I could do this, too.

Let me try...

For mint tea, I would write:

"Bring cheap tap water to a rolling boil.  Steep, while you make the kids' lunchboxes.  Don't forget the ice packs or they'll get food poisoning and die, especially if it's 110 degrees and you've used mayo.  Sip, and picture your feet in Bermudan sand, a minty mojito in hand, convincing yourself the Bermuda Triangle is just a hoax, and that you'll probably be perfectly fine."

Or, for a full leaf black tea, how about:

"Bring water to a rolling boil.  Steep while you wonder why you're not funnier, and why you seem to be making more typos than usual.  Brew a second cup.  Maybe the caffeine will help you focus?"

Now let's try green tea:

"Bring filtered water (I'm only saying this because Smith Teamaker says this, but do most people really use filtered water for their tea? I don't, but maybe I should.  Is something wrong with me?) to a very hot, tea-like temperature.  Steep, while you think about why you don't lift weights, even though you're really  weak, and, let's be frank, you're really not getting any younger."

Steven Smith Teamaker, I'm not making fun of your tea.  Quite the contrary: I've developed quite a fondness for it, especially the Kandy (#23).  I like your style, your humor, and, well, your tea.

I can do this.

Call me. 

Soda

The thing is, I’m for a soda tax.  I really am.  I think soda is totally useless, and I honestly wonder how people can drink so much.  The link between these suckable empty calories and obesity seems patently clear to me, to say nothing of the impact of soda on dental health and now, as one recent study suggests, pancreatic cancer.

So when several states proposed and then passed taxes on soda, I cheered.  If our nation’s healthcare system is crippling under the weight of too many supersized Sunkists, then a tax seems like a sensible solution.  Use the money for anti-obesity efforts!  To subsidize fruits and vegetables (as Kelly Brownell of Yale has proposed)!  To teach children how to make a yogurt and fruit smoothie, so they can whip up a 2-second drink that has calcium, vitamins, and protein instead of popping open a fizzy can of artificially colored and sweetened corn syrup!
`
But if I were being honest with myself, I’d have to ask the question in my graphic above now that discussions of a national tax are gaining momentum.  Is soda really responsible for the nation’s obesity epidemic?  And if not, why pluck soda out from all the other foods and beverages that stink nutritionally and hang a tax around its bottleneck?  (Some answers are offered here, in Mark Bittman's thought-provoking article in Sunday's New York Times.)

Is it because we’ve got to start somewhere?  Because I’m okay with that, I really am, but if I were a Coke, I’d be wondering why my good buddy barbecued-chicken-pizza-with-extra-cheese-injected-into-the-crust seems to be getting a free pass.

Sip/Soup

 
Quiz time: do you recognize these jars?  Do you?  Do you?

Yes, they're the empty glass yogurt jars I squirreled home in my suitcase after my trip to Paris.   They fared relatively well on the journey, though one of them did smell like yogurty feet when I finally unpacked it. My advice?  Use soap if you ever wash trash for a transatlantic journey. 

(Now I feel bad that I used the phrase 'yogurty feet' in a post that's, at heart, a celebration of Mark and Bruce's simple but sophisticated spiced plum soup.  Note to self: send note of apology to M&B.)

So, yes, the soup.  If you make this soup for your next dinner party, your guests will move in and never leave.  They will mop your floors, polish your fixtures, and install crown-molding in your living room.  They will walk your dog.  They will wax your car.  They will do anything to continue sipping this soup, which starts out perfectly lovely but somehow develops even more flavor with each passing day.  Do I exaggerate?  I do not.

The recipe comes from Cooking-Know How (Wiley, 2009) by Mark Scarbrough and Bruce Weinstein, which I've blogged about before here.  It's a cold, creamy summer soup, one that's open to infinite variations.  Mark posted this blackberry version last month on his blog Real Food Has Curves. 

If cold soups aren't your thing, no worries.  Call it a wine-infused smoothie and sip away.

...

Recipe for Spiced Plum Soup

Adapted from Bruce Weinstein and Mark Scarbrough's Cooking Know-How (Wiley, 2009).  Used with permission of the authors.

Makes up to 12 small first course servings

4 cups (1 quart) cold water

2 pounds plums, halved and pitted

One 4-inch cinnamon stick

4 whole cloves

1/4 teaspoon ground nutmeg

1/2 cup sugar

1/2 cup plain unsweetened yogurt

1/2 cup red wine

Salt to taste

In a large saucepan, bring the water, fruit, cinnamon stick, cloves, and nutmeg to a boil over high heat.  Reduce the heat to low, cover, and simmer slowly until the fruit is meltingly tender, about 10 to 25 minutes.  (-csr: mine took 10.)

Remove and discard the cinnamon stick and whole cloves.  Transfer any plum halves (csr: mine has turned to mush, but it made no difference) to a bowl, turn the heat to medium high, and boil the remaining liquid in the pan, uncovered, until its volume has reduced by half, stirring occasionally.

Puree the plums, the reduced cooking liquid, the sugar, yogurt, and wine in a large blender or food processor fitted with the chopping blade, working in batches if necessary.  (csr: I did it in batches with a stick blender.)

Transfer the soup to a large, nonreactive (csr: glass); seal and refrigerate for at least 4 hours or up to 3 days.  Season with salt to taste just before serving.

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Chai

When I was at the Cooking for Solutions gala at the aquarium a few weeks ago, I walked around with one hand clutching my plate of fancy seafood and the other grasped tightly to my younger son, whom I feared would be separated from me in the crush of humanity.  I worried we'd be ripped apart and he wouldn't be able to find me, and that, God forbid, I'd have to case the jelly fish tanks and baby seahorse exhibits to locate him.

At some point, about 45 minutes into the evening, we passed a table with Zhena's Gypsy Tea, and I let go of my son's hand when I spotted sachets of coconut chai right there on the table. Now I'm not a bad mother, but you know how I feel about coconut.  And anyway, Colin was nearby and Alex just transferred one parental hand-grab for another as I stopped to get myself a little cup of tea.  Of course, once I had it, I lost my family, and soon realized that carrying a boiling hot cup of tea is pretty much the stupidest thing anyone could do in a room packed with nattily-clad folks sipping all-you-can-drink-wine.  I was pressed and jostled, risking 3rd degree burns as I went to find the boys, which I eventually did.

(I'm waiting for someone to make fun of me for drinking tea at an event with all-you-can-drink wine.)

So as I sipped my tea and nibbled my seafood, I realized, you know, I love this tea, but as good as it is, I'm not going to drive all around town to find it once I get back to San Jose. I'll just make my own version.

And so I did.

 

...

Recipe for Coconut Chai Tea

It's important to point out that my method below is NOT authentic.  I am not Indian, nor are my ancestors Indian, but I do know that making chai is a time-honored process that involves boiling milk along with water and steeping spices and loose tea leaves for a Long Time.  This is my quick and dirty version.  My apologies to true chai aficionados. 

Makes 1 cup

1/3 cup 2% milk (or milk of your choice)

1 tea bag (I use Trader Joe's decaffeinated black, but use what you like)

Large pinch UNsweetened toasted coconut shreds

2 cloves

3 to 4 whole cardamom pods, smashed gently with a meat mallet, rolling pin, or some such

Sugar, to taste

Place the milk in your favorite large mug and microwave for 30 seconds until hot.

Place some cold water in a kettle (as much as you'd normally use for tea) and bring to a boil.  Place the tea bag, coconut, cloves, and cardamom pods in a glass (Pyrex) measuring cup.  Just as the water comes to a boil, pour about 1-1/4 cups of it over the tea and spices.  Let steep for about 4 minutes, depending on the type of tea you use and your preferred strength.  Place a small strainer over your mug and strain the tea into the mug.  Add sugar to taste, and stir.

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