Bosc pear + mascarpone puff pastry tart.
The old bosc & masc(arpone), am I right?
I really love pears. Especially Bosc pears -- perfect for baking, insanely floral and off-sweet, lovely to behold in their understated, kraft-like skins.
And this tart couldn't be easier prepare, or more celebratory of the Bosc's simple beauty. It's comprised of five ingredients, it takes like 30 minutes to make, and it's tellement jolie laide — basically, it's the "I woke up like this" of food.
I like to complement the floral quality of the Bosc with equally floral honey; wildflower is my fave, followed by clover. But you could go ba-nay-nay and use orange blossom honey instead.
Or, if you're feeling sassy, use truffle honey, and sub some fresh nutmeg + a little pink salt for the five spice. Kabloom < your mind lol not sorry.
yours,
aa
Bosc Pear + Mascarpone Puff Pastry Tart
Prep time: 10 minutes
Cook time: 15 to 20 minutes
Serves 6 to 8
Recommended pairing: Coffee for breakfast; cava or a beautiful, round, rich Sauternes for dessert
What you’ll need
1 sheet frozen puff pastry (I get mine at Trader Joe's!)
1 Bosc pear, nearly ripe
6 oz. mascarpone
1 to 2 tsp wildflower or other floral honey (like clover or orange blossom, or truffle)
A pinch of five spice (sub fresh-ground nutmeg + pink salt if using truffle honey)
How to make it
Preheat oven to 425F and line a baking sheet with parchment.
While your oven is preheating, slice the pear thinly, like 1/4" if you can. Once your oven is heated, roll out your puff pastry onto the parchment. Working quickly, spread the mascarpone over the pastry, leaving ~1" clearance around the edges. Next, line up your lil pear slices, overlapping slightly if you must, but generally giving every slice her own personal space.
Drizzle the entire tart with honey, 1 tsp if you're into less-sweet, 2 tsp if you want the full floral-sweetness. Sprinkle your five spice over the the pears.
Bake 15 to 20 minutes, or until the pastry around the edge is puffed and golden, the mascarpone is bubbling, and the pears have softened.
Now eat it!
ps. If you don't have Bosc pears, you can use d'Anjou or even Bartlett, so long as they're a few days from ripe — because Bosc are a denser pear, they stand up well to baking; d'Anjou and Bartlett are much juicier, so if they're too ripe, they can wilt your pastry while it's cooking. Fair warning.
Toasty Amatriciana estiva, or, That's one saucy dish.
Now with more Roman history!
But first, some history. Skip if you think history is for goofuses.
Back in 18 BCE the Roman emperor Augustus (nee Octavian) created the Feriae Augusti, or Festivals of Augustus, a series of feasts, fetes, and donkey races that took place mid-August. He did this for a few reasons:
a) to celebrate himself, because he was a megalomaniac;
b) to link together a few existing Roman holidays into an extended, multi-day holiday season that was all about him (see first point); and
c) to give his people a break from the harvest, id est, give them a reason to love their emperor even more (see first, second points)
Cut to today, when the FAs have morphed into Ferragosto, a Labor Day-style long weekend celebrated in Italy on August 15, alongside the Catholic feast in honor of the Assumption of the Virgin Mary.
This year, I scheduled a small dinner party for August 15, so the theme was a total gimme, as was a tomato-forward pasta dish — like Amatriciana, a tomato/guanciale/pecorino sauce that's big, bold, and very Italian.
I used Katie Parla & Kristina Gill's recipe for Amatriciana Estiva ("Summer Amatriciana") as a springboard for building a rich, savory tomato sauce from fresh heirloom cherry tomatoes. I served it on bombolotti, but this sauce could work equally well on long pasta (like spaghetti or tagliatelle), pizza, or even bruschetta.
I like my tomato sauce spicy, so I added chili flakes, plus hot & spicy oregano from my garden. This oregano is typically used in Mexican dishes, but I figured what the hell, life's too short to silo my oreganos. In addition, I added ground fennel and dry white wine; I wanted to balance the intensity of the tomatoes and pork with some herbal notes and light acidity.
As for the requisite guanciale: I couldn't source any, so I used pancetta, which mimics the fat if not the flavor. And speaking of fat, I dispensed with olive oil (((SCANDAL!!))) and used the drippings from a whole roasted chicken — again, going for very rich, very roasty-toasty tomato flavor.
Pro-tip: Simmer this sauce in a big, well-seasoned cast iron skillet to bring out all that earthy sweetness in your tomatoes.
Mangia!
yours,
aa
Toasty Amatricana Estiva Sauce
Inspired by Katie Parla & Kristina Gill's Amatriciana Estiva, from Tasting Rome: Fresh Flavors and Forgotten Recipes from an Ancient City, 2016
Prep time: 10 minutes
Cook time: 45 to 65 minutes
Makes approx. 4 cups (equivalent to 4 to 6 servings of pasta, 2 small pizza pies, or 2 dozen bruschetta)
Recommended pairing: CHIANTI!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
What you’ll need
1 ½ tbsp fresh chicken drippings
4 oz. pancetta
4 big cloves garlic, smashed and roughly chopped
2 ½ to 3 pints cherry tomatoes (I used a variety of heirlooms for their sweetness)
1 tbsp chili flake
2 tsp ground fennel
¼ c. dry white wine
¼ c. fresh oregano leaves
Big handful Italian parsley, roughly chopped (about 1 c.)
Salt & black pepper to taste
Your chosen sauce vehicle, e.g., pasta, pizza dough, bruschetta
Fresh Italian parsley leaves & fresh shaved parmesan, for garnishing your saucy dish
How to make it
Heat chicken drippings in a 12-inch cast iron skillet over medium heat until shiny. Reduce heat to med-low and add pancetta. Let the fat render, 8 to 10 minutes, stirring occasionally. Keep an eye on your pancetta — if it's starting to burn, lower your heat. You want crispy little meaty bites, not pebbles of charcoal.
As your pancetta renders, halve all your tomatoes. This will take a while.
Once the pancetta is ready — lots of yummy fats in the pan, studded with crunchy mini-meats — add the garlic. Stir until the garlic is golden and fragrant, ~3 minutes.
Return heat to medium and add the halved tomatoes and chili flake. Season with salt & pepper to taste. Let the tomatoes simmer, stirring occasionally, until most of them have lost their shape, about 15 minutes.
Add the white wine and simmer 5 minutes more, stirring frequently. Add the oregano and parsley and continue to stir, about 2 minutes, until the greens are wilty and well incorporated.
At this point, you can serve via your selected sauce-delivery system (pasta, pizza, bruschetta), or reduce the heat to low and let your sauce bubble and thicken for another 10 to 15 minutes. As the sauce simmers, it'll reduce in volume and expand in flavor; the tomatoes will totally lose shape and get extra-toasty and extra- yummy. Your sauce, your call.
Heirlooms.
For the love of old things.
Estate sales evoke in me a strange alloy — the thrill of hunting through odd junk, mixed with what I can only call melancholy as I examine the castaways of a life, me the voyeur, they the divested dead.
I can't help myself, I've haunted thrift shops and swap meets for centuries, I'll die and ghost around them I'm sure, ringing porcelain bells. Tiny House is flush with curious old effects, plates with hairline fractures & black fork-marks, scruffy furniture my Dad painted models on when he was 9, weird ceramic cat statuary, probably too much of it, but propriety is overrated.
In a way, I'm a conservationist. I'm a collector, not so much of goods but of mythologies, stories for all the unstoried things. Like a cake stand, and a woman on her wedding day in 1892, it was November, a Wednesday, she wore a necklace of jet, she married a banker even though she wasn't in love, she wanted to visit Morocco instead, they served lavender tea and an allspice cake decorated with turtledoves on that cake stand, pressed by Adams & Co. out of Pittsburgh, stamped with every nuptial superstition: horseshoes, anchors, prayer mats, wheat.
A cake stand, which I bought for $5 from a woman named Rae, whose mother's estate had been carefully arrayed on rows of tables in an old boxing gym, and who had only seen this cake stand once before, when her mother's mother died and left it behind.
Do you bake? she asked me.
I said I did.
My mother was a baker, too. Her eyes glazed a little as she folded the bill into her pocket and turned to sell something else.
Creamy avocado + summer pea pasta salad.
“Summer was everything good to eat.”
"Summer was everything good to eat." — Scout Finch, To Kill a Mockingbird
We're a week past the Solstice here in Washington, and while the days are in fact getting shorter, it's still light from 5am to 10pm, and it's sunny and warm and gorgeous, and thus I conclude IT IS SUMMERTIME. #Poirot
And what's better in summertime than seasonal veggies (in this case, shelling peas, which fade fast but are abundant and delicious for about 3 weeks) in creamy, bright, citrusy pasta salad? Yumtown. And, if you omit the parm, it's vegan!
Yaaaaaaaaaaaaayyyyy summer
yours,
aa
Creamy Avocado + Summer Pea Pasta Salad
Prep time: 20 minutes
Chill time (optional): 2 hours
Serves 6 to 8
Recommended pairing: I drank a 100% piquepoul with this salad and it was doooooope. Being totally new to this varietal, I was pleased with the ancient grape's acidity, and the intense minerality, which proved an excellent counterpoint to the creaminess and lite spice of the salad. Highly complementary, 10/10, would pair again.
What you’ll need
14 oz. fresh pasta (small, textured pasta is best — think fusilli or farfalle)
1 lb. shelling peas (about 1 ½ c. when shelled)
1 large, very ripe avocado, smashed smooth
3 tbsp olive oil
1 ½ tbsp red wine vinegar (more if you like the piquancy)
Juice from half a large lemon
2 tbsp pink peppercorns, crushed
Giant handful Italian parsley, chopped
Salt & black pepper to taste
Fresh parmesan (optional, for grating)
How to make it
Bring 4 quarts of salted water to a boil. SALTED WATER, people. As hallowed chef Alex Guarnaschelli once said, Your pasta water should taste like the ocean.
While your water is heating up, shell your peas into a large bowl. Once the water is bubbling, add your pasta. Cook for ~3 minutes, then add the peas and cook for ~2 minutes more, or until pasta is al dente and the peas are bright green. Strain pasta and peas into your big bowl.
Add your smashed avocado, your olive oil, and some salt and black pepper to taste. With a big wooden spoon, stir the avo and oil into your pasta and peas. You want to coat the p+p with the avocado and olive oil — it's your creamy sauce!
Once combined, stir in the remaining ingredients. Season again as needed. Serve warm, or chill for 2 hours (up to 4) and serve cold. Before serving, though, top with freshly grated parm.
ps. For best color, serve day-of. Your avocados will oxidize overnight, so next-day salad will look kinda brownish. It's still delish, but fyi.
Mom's Christmas fudge.
And so this is Christmas.
Fudge is a goddamn Christmas miracle, and my mom's Christmas fudge is the most miraculous of all.
She's been making it for like 40 years, maybe longer, and it is THE BEST. It is neither sandy, like some fudge, nor is it melty, like other fudge. It has the perfect bite — slightly firm on the outside, heavenly soft on the inside. For me, my mom's fudge *is* Christmas.
Her signature fudge is studded with mini marshmallows, and it is get-out-of-town good, especially on Christmas morning, after she makes Nest Eggs for the family, but before we open our stockings, which have our names knitted into them and typically contain Reese's peanut butter trees and at least one pocket flashlight.
>> AND SINCE IT'S HOLIDAY TIME <<
I'm giving you TWO SPECIAL XMAS FUDGE RECIPES. Using Mom's method as a base, I made my own signature fudge: a cinnamon-y, hot pepper-y variety, reminiscent of Mexican hot chocolate. (And btw is that cutest makeshift double-boiler you've ever seen? Oh I just know it is.)
Happy holidays, sweet teeth!
yours,
aa
Mom's Mini Marshmallow Fudge
Prep time: 15 minutes
Chill time: 2 hours
Makes one 8"x8" dish
Recommended pairing: You may think me mad, but have this with hot chocolate. Or Irish coffee.
What you’ll need
3 c. (18oz) semi-sweet chocolate chips
1 14-oz. can sweetened condensed milk
Dash of salt (~¼ tsp, or, if you're my mom 3 shakes of your salt shaker)
2 tbsp unsalted butter
1 ½ tsp vanilla extract (Mom: "It has to be the good stuff.")
2 c. mini marshmallows
How to make it
Line an 8"x8" baking dish with two sheets of tinfoil, crossed at the middle, with about 4" excess hanging over each side. This excess foil will help you turn out the fudge when it's ready, so don't skip this step. Also, to quote my mother, "Some people tell you to use wax paper. IT'S A LIE. Wax paper will meld to the bottom of the fudge. Don't do it, ever."
Heat chocolate chips in a heavy-bottomed set to the low end of medium. Stir constantly, "because you don't want seized-up chocolate. That's never a good thing." When your chocolate is nearly melted, add sweetened condensed milk and stir to combine. Follow with the salt, then the butter. Once everything is melted and well-combined, remove from heat. Add vanilla and stir to combine. Fold in marshmallows.
Pour into your foil-lined baking dish. Chill uncovered in the refrigerator, at least 2 hours. Remove from fridge. Using tinfoil handles, remove from baking dish. Place a cutting board directly on top of fudge and turn upside down. Peel off foil and slice into 2"x2" squares. Wrap in festive cellophane and give to your friends, like my mom. Or just eat it all, like me.
Store in an airtight container in the refrigerator. Will keep peak flavor for ~1 week. After that, the flavor and texture start to degrade slightly, but it's still damn tasty.
Mom's ps. If you don't like marshmallows, use walnuts. Just eliminate the butter and stir in 1 c. of chopped walnuts just before you remove from heat.
Mom's pps. If you don't like marshmallows or walnuts, don't use either. Just eliminate the butter.
Mom's ppps. You can use other chips, too, like white or dark chocolate, peanut butter, or cinnamon (which she has never done, but it seems reasonable).
Bittersweet + Spicy Fudge
Prep time: 15 minutes
Chill time: 2 hours
Makes one 8"x8" dish
Recommended pairing: Seriously, HOT CHOCOLATE. With mezcal.
What you’ll need
1 c. semi-sweet chocolate chips
2 c. bittersweet chocolate chips
1 14-oz. can sweetened condensed milk
Dash of salt (~¼ tsp)
1 ½ tsp vanilla extract (I agree with Mom: "It has to be the good stuff.")
2 tsp cinnamon
½ to ¾ tsp ground cayenne* or ¼ tsp ground African bird pepper**
Pink peppercorns & coarse sea salt for sprinkling
How to make it
Prep your dish like Mom does: Line an 8"x8" baking dish with two sheets of tinfoil, crossed at the middle, with about 4" excess hanging over each side.
In a heatproof bowl set over a pot of simmering water, melt chocolate chips. Stir frequently to help it along. When your chocolate is nearly melted, add sweetened condensed milk and stir to combine. Follow suit with the dash of salt, cinnamon, and pepper. Once everything is melted and well-combined, remove from heat. Add vanilla and stir to combine.
Pour into your foil-lined baking dish. Sprinkle with coarse sea salt and pink peppercorns. Chill uncovered in the refrigerator, at least 2 hours.
Remove from fridge. Using tinfoil handles, remove from baking dish. Place a cutting board directly on top of fudge and turn upside down. Peel off foil and slice into 2"x2" squares. Store in an airtight container in the fridge. Will keep peak flavor for ~1 week.
*If you like a little more spice, stir in ¾ tsp of cayenne, or go even wilder with 1 tsp.
**African bird pepper is hot, y'all. I love love love spicy food, but this stuff doesn't mess around, cf. cayenne ranks between 30,000 and 50,000 on the Scoville scale, and African bird pepper ranks at 150,000+. Proceed with caution if you're sensitive to hot stuff.
Nest eggs are the best eggs.
For some holiday cheer (or for whenever, really).
At Christmastime, some families have egg nog. Mine has nest eggs.
My mom makes Nest Eggs for the family on Christmas morning every year, so they occupy a very special place in my tiny chef's heart.
This down-home delicacy goes by the noms du guerre "Eggs in a Nest" and "Toad in a Hole," the first of which is unnecessarily prolix, and the second of which is something I'd never want to eat, ever, so out of respect for my mother, linguistic efficiency, and, let's be honest, simple propriety, we shall call them Nest Eggs.
Like Lemon Curd Mousse and RTTH on Toast, Nest Eggs are foolproof. They are simply over-easy eggs nestled in grilled bread, but they have a super cute name and that au courant rustic-chic look, too.
You can use any bread and any egg for this dish, e.g., my mom uses whole wheat bread and chicken eggs, and I use brioche and duck eggs (dear lord, I'm a lush). The point is that you're grilling bread and eggs simultaneously, so choose a bread that browns at about the same rate as your egg cooks. Like, don't use thick-sliced pumpernickel and a quail egg — you get me?
Kick your Nesties up a notch with grated cheddar and pepper jelly; blue cheese and pickled nectarines; or Apple Campfires and a drizzle of Hickory Smoked Maple Syrup (both an absolute snap to prepare).
Or eat them like Mom makes, unadorned and awesome — wheat, chicken eggs, salt, pepper — on Xmas morning, alongside a giant mug of coffee, while your Dad gives you and Mom the daily-paper Super Quiz, your older brother sleeps in, and White Christmas plays on the tv.
yours,
aa
"Just Ducky" Nest Eggs with Hickory Smoked Maple Syrup + Apple Campfires
Prep time: 5 minutes
Cook time: 10 minutes
Makes 2 nests
Recommended pairing: Coffeeeeeeeeeeee
What you’ll need
For the nests
2 duck eggs
2 slices brioche
1 ½ tbsp salted butter
Salt & pepper to taste
For the syrup + campfires
¼ c. maple syrup
2 to 3 drops hickory liquid smoke, depending on how smoky you like it
¼ c. Granny Smith or other tart green apple, julienned
1 tsp fresh-squeezed orange juice
Salt to taste
How to make it
Heat butter in a 10" cast iron skillet over low heat. While butter is heating, prepare your syrup by whisking hickory liquid smoke into maple syrup. Set aside.
Drizzle your julienned apples with orange juice and add a tiny pinch of salt. Stir to coat and set aside.
Using a 2" biscuit cutter, cut a hole in the center of each slice of bread. (Or just tear it. We're not fussy.) When butter foams, place bread in the skillet. Crack an egg into each hole, season with salt and pepper, and let it brown, 2 ½ to 3 minutes. Using a flat spatula, flip each slice and brown for another 2 ½ to 3 minutes, or until the yolks have reached your desired consistency.
Plate your nests. Build a mini apple campfire on each nest, as pictured above, leaning your apples against one another as though you were a Girl Scout vying for that sweet Camping Skills merit badge. Drizzle with syrup. Feast!
ps. If you're adding cheese to your nests, sprinkle it on top in the last 1 to 2 minutes of cook time so it has a chance to melt. Ditto pepper jelly.
pps. Note that apple campfires would work with any of the flavor combos above, mainly because apple campfires are, quite frankly, too legit to quit.
Tomato coconut soup.
Reinventing discontinued soup from a box.
Hot damn, it's soup season!
So I had a tomato coconut soup from a box, and it was pretty good.
But I procured said soup-box at the mystical food graveyard that is my hometown Grocery Outlet, meaning that this soup doesn't exist in real life anywhere. Plus, I surmised I could make an even better bowl of it, without all the additives and Red 40s and whats-have-you, and thus is the origin story of Tiny House Tomato Coconut Soup, all blessings to Nox-al-Umbra the Great and Powerful, etc.
This vegan soup = big tomato flavor + rich texture. The creamy, slightly sweet coconut offsets the acid in the tomatoes, and five spice powder and cayenne amp the counterpoint of sweet and spicy.
As per the mise en lunch image above, I like to top it with crème fraîche (ALERT ALERT NOT VEGAN SORRY PEOPLE), something crunchy (like cabbage or crumbled plantain chips or both), a sprinkle of fresh lime juice, and lots of black pepper.
As an added bonus, here's one of my favorite rhymes about table manners, this one re: eating soup politely:
As little ships go out to sea,
I dip my spoon away from me.
Ha ha, this is so cute. I actually do this.
yours,
aa
Tomato Coconut Soup
Prep time: 5 minutes
Cook time: 20 to 25 minutes
Serves 2 to 4
Recommended pairing: Blonde ale (if you want to gel), or rich, barley-y stout (if you want to contrast a little).
What you’ll need
2 tbsp olive oil, divided
1 medium yellow onion, chopped
1 ½ tsp five spice powder
1 ¾ tsp ground cayenne pepper
1 28-oz. can ground peeled tomatoes (or tomato puree)
1 14-oz. can light coconut milk
½ c. coconut cream
Salt & pepper to taste
How to make it
Heat 1 tbsp olive oil in a heavy-bottomed pot over medium heat until it shimmers. Add onion, season with salt and pepper, and sweat until almost translucent, stirring frequently (3 to 4 minutes). Add remaining olive oil, five spice powder, and ground cayenne, and stir to coat onion. Cook approx. 2 minutes more, or until the onion is fully translucent and well-cloaked in spices.
Add tomatoes and coconut cream. Stir to combine (and to melt cream). Once cream is melted, add coconut milk. Season with salt and pepper, and bring to a boil. Reduce heat to med-low and let your soup bubble away until it thickens, 15 to 20 minutes -- but definitely stir it a few times throughout, just to make sure nothing is sticking to the bottom.
Remove from heat and let cool enough to pour into a food processor. Puree until it reaches your desired consistency (smooth, or a little chunky). Alt: Like me, you can use an immersion blender for this part. Just be careful! Flying hot soup is dangerous.
Reheat and serve: Ladle into bowls and garnish with whatever you want to garnish it with. I could imagine hoisin or chili jam, plus bean sprouts; sour cream, pork cracklins, and parsley; or even straight saltines. This soup is mad malleable! xx
How I make a menu.
The most meta way to menu.
Menu design combines three of my favorite things: food, lists, and themes.
1. Food.
I think it's preeeeettttttty clear that I love food. Food makes us happy, it fuels us, it brings us together, it honors our history or culture or traditions. The convening power of a meal is boundless, and dear lord I just love it.
2. Lists.
Well this is meta.
I write my menus by hand, with lots of cross-outs and re-orgs, question marks and underlines, circles and arrows. You might call them maps. Maps to a meal. The ephemera of eating. Artifacts of gatherings and good times. I may be spinning out of control.
3. Themes.
When I host a meal, I want it to feel of-a-piece. Holistic. I want that prandial red thread, you know?
I tend to start with a single dish or profile -- something I've picked up at the food co-op or eaten at a restaurant or seen on Beat Bobby Flay. Something as specific as maiale al latte (pork braised in milk) or broad as "The Harvest." I'm not dramatic at all, obviously.
From there, I usually extrapolate to a region, and then to regional flavors. I imagine ways to apply those flavors to other dishes: apps, soups, sides, desserts, etc. Typically, I imagine way too many dishes for a single meal, but that's cool, because it's easier to edit than to fill out.
From the regional exploration and its resulting brainstorm, I devise a fabulous theme! This theme guides me as I revise and refine. It's the menu's polestar. I come back to the theme again and again when I'm weighing flavors or ingredients, and I do my damnedest to make every dish fit, patently or tangentially.
And for your amusement, a handful of past themes:
A Classic Steakhouse for the 21st Century
June Is Bustin' Out All Over
Let's Go Baja-nanas
Midnight at the Oasis Diner
A "Bless Your Heart" Birthday
(You really want to know more about these menus, don't you.)
That's it. Oh, and then I cook the meal. Nbd. So how do you menu?
yours,
aa
Meatloaf.
This meatloaf doesn’t mess around.
I'm gonna shoot straight, because this is a meatloaf recipe, and meatloaf doesn't mess around.
Let's skip the jokes about how no one likes meatloaf, it looks like baked brains, blah blah blah, because that's nonsense. Meatloaf is the Don Corleone of dinnertime, and today I'm its consigliere.
There are probably as many meatloaf recipes in the world as there are cats on the internet. Mine is atypical in its freedom from tomatoes and/or tomato products. It's also packed with veggies (rather than Saltines), which lend it some extra moisture and sweetness without sacrificing body.
Smothered in Smoked Apricot Glaze and/or Pickled Green Apple + Shallot Relish, and served with a side of sour cream mashed taters and a simple arugula salad dressed up with truffle honey vinaigrette, this loaf is basically transcendent. Mangia, mangia.
yours,
aa
Meatloaf à la Tiny House with Smoked Apricot Glaze and/or Pickled Green Apple + Shallot Relish
Prep time: 20 minutes
Cook time: 1 hour, 15 minutes (give or take)
Serves 6 to 8
Recommended pairing: I ate this with a dark-jammy, slightly slate-y Côtes du Rhône. It was yum.
What you’ll need
For the loaf
1 ¾ lbs. ground pork
1 lb. ground beef (I used 75% ground chuck, and 25% Wagyu omgomgomg)
¾ to just under 1 c. carrot, grated
¾ to just under 1 c. sweet onion, grated
1 c. sweet potato, grated (not yam; legitimate sweet potato)
4 cloves garlic, smashed and roughly chopped
1 ½ tsp Herbs de Provence
¾ tsp Hungarian paprika
2 tbsp half 'n' half
1 egg, plus 1 egg white
Plenty of salt, plus equal parts freshly ground white and black pepper (about ½ tsp of each pepper, seriously)
For the toppings
For each slice of loaf:
1 tbsp apricot jam
1 to 2 drops hickory liquid smoke, depending on how smoky you like it
1 heaping tbsp Pickled Green Apple & Shallot Relish
How to make it
Preheat the oven to 350. Line a quarter sheet (one that's 1- to 2-inches deep) with parchment. Using your hands, mix everything together in a big bowl. Don't overmix it. JUST BE COOL
Turn out the meaty mixture onto the quarter sheet and mold it into a loaf. Keep the same thickness throughout so it cooks evenly. Bake for about an hour and 15 minutes, or until the loaf is browned on the outside; you can't take it anymore because your house smells so good; and the center registers 160 degrees on your trusty meat thermometer. Let the loaf rest for ~10 minutes.
While he's resting up, make your glaze. In a small saucepan over medium-low, heat apricot jam. Add 1 to 2 teeny-tiny drop of hickory liquid smoke per serving and stir to combine. Keep warm.
Slice your meatloaf and arrange attractively on a plate. Pour glaze o'er-top, and garnish with relish. Serve immediately, preferably with mashed potatoes and a salad of some variety.
Staples, and cooking for 1.
What’s in my pantry?
Fyi, I'm talking about food staples, not Mavis Staples, even though I love her just as much.
I feed myself and myself alone most days. Cooking for one has ups and downs. On the ups, it usually means leftovers! On the downs, I don't always feel like making some multi-course, fancy-gal dinner if I'm the only one who's going to enjoy it.
Which always results in my favorite game,
>> WHAT'S IN MY PANTRYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY!!??!!? <<
wherein I have to make a decision about breakfast/lunch/dinner/snacktime/what-have-you based on
>> THE TINY HOUSE STAPLES LIST <<
As a certified/iable list addict, I do, in fact, possess a Staples list. This is the list of things I always have on-hand,* because they are endlessly adaptable, viz. my above-pictured cornmeal-crust pizza topped with olive oil, burrata, pickled cherry peppers, sunnyside eggs, and fresh arugula. IT WAS GLORIOUS AND IT WAS ALL FOR ME.
So guess what. I'm sharing my list with you, because you're a doll, and because you obviously like food, or you like my hilarious writing, or both!
I'm not gonna tell you how to combine these items into like a zillion crazy good things, at least not right now. But if you read my blog long enough, I bet you'll see a pattern emerge. A pattern that looks suspiciously like this list. Spoiler alert.
yours,
aa
The Tiny House Staples List
PANTRY
Yukon gold potatoes
Yams
Garlic
Lemons
Red onions or shallots
Dried figs
Pickled peppers, preferably sweet cherry ones
Light coconut milk
Honey, usually clover and mesquite
Israeli couscous
Smoked fish in a can (ideally trout)
Chocolaaaattteeeeee
Sweetened condensed milk
Unsweetened shaved coconut
Red wine
FRIDGE or FREEZE
Greek yogurt
Soft raw-ish cheese, either ricotta, burrata, or chevre
A hunk of parmesan
BUTTER, duh
Big buttery brown eggs, double duh
Prosciutto
Dijon mustard
Chicken stock
Soy sauce
Arugula
Beets
Fennel
Red kale
Mushrooms, either shiitakes or chanterelles
Pizza dough, or this ridiculously delicious frozen Vicolo cornmeal crust ommggg
White wine
SPICES, ETC.
Olive oil
Balsamic vinegar
White wine vinegar
Chipotle powder
Chile flake, alias crushed red pepper
Whole nutmeg
Cinnamon
Herbs de Provence
Vanilla extract
Lemon curd
ps. If I'm feeling flush, I add fun meats and cheeses to my list, e.g. scallops and pork butt, and smoked gouda. Or neat seasonal produce, like persimmons and quince in the fall; satsumas in winter; asparagus, garlic scapes, and rhubarb in the spring; and all the cherries, berries, and heirloom tomatoes in the summer. All of them.
*Exemptions include: salt, pepper, vegetable oil, flour, and sugar, which are kind of boring to mention in a funsie list like this one.
It's my birthday. Thanks, Mom.
I love my Mom.
My mom was raised by bakers, and worked in the family bakery after school, kneading and measuring and doing baking things, which means I grew up eating brownies, the best brownies.
She put herself through college, working at a dime store, a bank, a truck stop. It was the late 60s, and she was cute and small at 5-feet-3, with long, dark, soup-can-straightened hair parted down the middle and grey-green eyes, and she tells stories of sassing handsy truck drivers.
She's fond of saying "We're born, we make our choices, we suffer, then we die." If anyone is in charge, it's probably her. As a kid, I got squirmy when she asserted her place in line, saying "I'm next" and holding up her little hand when other people tried to cut. Now I do it.
In the summer, when she wasn't teaching high school students about the symbolism in The Awakening and The Handmaid's Tale, she read J.A. Jance novels. Her powers of prediction are uncanny when it comes to mystery stories, and she doesn't give a rip about spoilers. She always wants to know the end, if for no other reason than to confirm her flawless logic.
She made dinner for the family every night, no buts about it. When I was little, we ate from quintessential 1970s dishware, Noritake Folkstone in a pattern called Orinda. Earlier this year, Mom and I split the set.
She is the strongest woman I know.
Crispy-skin roast chicken with bahar asfar coconut curry.
Like eating a hug.
Remember how homey and comfy those chicken n dumplings were, how warming and wonderful?
This dish is their flavor equal, and it's even prettier.
I had never heard of bahar asfar (sometimes called baharat, sometimes called djaj bil-bahar il-asfar) until my friend Peter gave me some. This version of the age-old Iraqi spice blend was handmade at Sugarpill, an independent, woman-run shop full of spices, specialty delectables, homeopathic remedies, and a soupçon of vintage jewelry that I swear owner Karyn Schwartz curates just for me.
As I found out, this multi-faceted, highly aromatic spice is ideal for building a richly flavored sauce in a short amount of time (hint, hint: on a weeknight). Were I to list its flavor gifts, they would shake out thus:
Toast
Cinnamon, cloves, cardamom, allspice
Zest
Black pepper, cumin, coriander, chili
Mild astringency
Nutmeg, ginger
Flowers!
Rose hips
Bahar asfar is fabulous with coconut milk, playing perfect counterpoint to the milk's fattiness. Classic curry veggies add body, and dried figs add sweetness (plus, figs and rose hips are a beautiful pairing). Topped with pieces of crispy-skinned, juicy roast chicken, this dish is aces.
yours,
aa
Crispy-skin Roast Chicken with Bahar Asfar Coconut Curry
Prep time: 15 minutes
Cook time: 50 minutes
Serves 4 to 6
Recommended pairing: I messed up and ate this while drinking cabernet sauvignon. It was not ideal. Were I to do it over, I'd probably choose a dry, slightly floral rose or a pinot grigio. Or an IPA.
What you’ll need
14 oz. light coconut milk
8 oz. coconut cream
1 c. chicken stock
1 ½ tbsp bahar asfar spice blend
½ tsp ground anise
¼ tsp ground cumin
½ medium onion, chopped into ½"-thick slices
1 medium potato, chopped into 1" cubes
1 medium yam, chopped into 1" cubes
1 c. dried figs, halved (about a dozen)
1 half chicken, 2 to 2 ½ lbs., neck, gizzard, wingtips, and spine removed (if still intact)
Olive oil
Salt & pepper
Italian parsley for garnish (optional)
How to make it
Preheat oven to 400 degrees. Remove half chicken from the fridge and pat dry. Rub the skin with olive oil, and be generous! This is gonna seal the deal on that crispy skin. Season liberally with salt and pepper. Let stand at room temp while you prep the rest.
Place onion, potato, yam, and figs in a single layer in a 9"x13" baking dish. Season with salt and pepper. In a medium bowl, whisk together coconut milk, coconut cream, stock, and spices, until spices are dissolved and the color is uniform. Pour over veggies/figs. Nestle chicken, cavity-side down, amidst the veggies and coconut broth.
Roast until the chicken skin is taut and golden, about 20 minutes. Reduce heat to 375 degrees and cook 30 minutes more, or until a thermometer inserted into the thickest part of the breast registers 165 degrees. Remove from oven and let rest for 5 minutes.
Ladle curry into bowls. Slice some crispy chicken pieces and arrange them artistically atop the curry. Garnish with fresh Italian parsley if you've got it. Serve immediately.
ps. If your local grocery mart or butcher doesn't sell half chickens, sub with a small bird (~3 lbs.), spatchcocked.
pps. If you can't find bahar asfar, try making it. It's as simple as grinding and mixing a bunch of spices and letting them hang out for a little while. And, fwiw, it turns out that the recipe for bahar asfar varies by household (gotta love an idiosyncratic spice blend), but here's one recipe, and here's another.
I eat this lemon curd mousse every damn night, so what.
I’m drooling.
Drooooooollllll
This recipe is dead simple.
Honestly, I think you could Weekend-at-Bernie's somebody into making this mousse. If you like the tangy sweetness of lemon curd (and maybe some tart rhubarb on the side), RUN THIS WAY.
yours,
aa
Lemon Curd Mousse
Prep time: 5 minutes
Serves 4 normal people, or 1 glutton like me
Recommended pairing: Medium-roast coffee in the morning, preferably with some acid and fruit notes. Yes, I HAVE EATEN THIS IN THE MORNING. Sauternes dessert wine at night.
What you’ll need
1 c. heavy whipping cream
1 tbsp light brown sugar
¼ to ⅓ c. prepared lemon curd (depending on how tart you like it)
Tart Rhubarb Rough Jam (optional)
Pink peppercorns for garnishing (optional)
How to make it
In a small bowl, whip cream and brown sugar until soft peaks form (they should look like Conan O'Brien's hairdo). Alternatively, use a wide-mouth pint jar and an immersion blender — this is my method, because sometimes I have the willpower to put a lid on it and store the mousse overnight.
Working ⅛ c. at a time, fold in ¼ c. lemon curd. Add a bit more if you want bigger, lemonier flavor, up to ⅓ c. THAT'S IT THAT'S ALL YOU HAVE TO DO PEOPLE
If you wanna get fancy for your friends, layer the bottoms of four, 4-oz. compote dishes with ~1 tbsp of Tart Rhubarb Rough Jam each (recipe below — holla, today is 2 for 1). Top with lemon curd mousse, about 3 oz. per dish. Don't even garnish it! Or drop a couple pink peppercorns on top. Whatever, man; just do what you need to do to get this stuff in your face.
Refrigerate leftovers (ha ha yeah right) in an airtight container up to 2 days.
>> OMG BONUS RECIPE WHAT <<
Tart Rhubarb Rough Jam
Prep time: 5 minutes
Cook time: 20 to 25 minutes
Makes approx. 4 oz.
Recommended pairing: Lemon curd mousse, obvi. Or ricotta on crostini. Also gin + tonic.
What you’ll need
1 c. rhubarb, chopped
⅓ c. light brown sugar
1 c. water
How to make it
Combine rhubarb, brown sugar, and water in a small saucepan over medium-low heat. Stirring occasionally, cook until rhubarb has broken down and takes on a rough, jam-like consistency, 20 to 25 minutes. Let cool. Refrigerate an airtight container up to 2 weeks.
Ricotta, tomato, tarragon, and honey on toast.
The new way to Caprese.
This may be the new way to Caprese.
No disrespect to Capri, of course. The traditional Caprese salad comprises the culinary triumvirate della Italia: tomato, basil, and mozzarella. Topped with olive oil and balsamic vinegar, the Caprese is iconic, beautiful, perfect.
To be fair, I'm not altering that ideal mix of Italian ingredients. Rather, I'm using it as inspiration for these amazing lil toasts, which are great for breakfast, brunch, lunch, snacktime, dinner, oh hell pretty much any time.
And since tomato season is coming to a close, I figured I do it one last solid until next year. The combination of flavors on these toasties is heavenly. Allow me to elucidate:
A foundation of earthy whole-wheat bread
A base of creamy, just-so tangy ricotta
A layer of sweet, brightly acidic cherry tomatoes
A dash of herbal, licorice-y tarragon
A drizzle of rich, golden mesquite honey
A sprinkle of sea salt and black pepper
Oops, that's the recipe. Ha ha. Enjoy.
yours,
aa
Ricotta, Tomato, Tarragon, and Honey on Toast
Prep time: 5 minutes
Serves 1
Recommended pairing: Vinho verde, or if you don't booze at lunchtime or whatever, sparkling water with lemon.
What you’ll need
2 slices whole-wheat bread
2 to 3 tbsp whole-milk ricotta cheese
½ to ¾ c. cherry tomatoes, sliced
1 tbsp tarragon, loosely packed, chopped or torn
Scant 2 tsp mesquite honey
Sea salt & fresh-ground black pepper to taste
How to make it
Toast your bread according to your preference. (I like mine chestnut brown, but I'm not you. Fwiw, I don't recommend super-charred toast for this recipe.) Spread each slice with a healthy schmear of ricotta, ~1 to 1 ½ tbsp, depending on the size of your bread. Top with cherry tomatoes and tarragon. Drizzle with honey, about just under 1 tsp per slice. Drizzle a bit less if you want to cut the sweetness. Sprinkle with sea salt and pepper to taste. Eat it all.
ps. If you're really into Caprese flavors, sub basil for the tarragon. Drizzle with olive oil and balsamic. Or go nuts: skip the olive oil, but keep the honey and balsamic. It'll wow you.
Chicken n dumplings for the new millennium.
Almost like Martha used to make.
Chicken n dumplings are like chicken noodle soup, but better. Richer. Stick-to-your-ribsier.
Flour-based dumplings are simmered in a rich, buttery gravy studded with veggies and succulent chicken. Where I come from, this is a dish that everyone's gramma made, and everyone's gramma made it best.
Take, for example, my gramma. In the gospel according to Leslie (my mom), Arlowyn (her mom) made the ultimate chicken n dumplings. But Arlowyn, a bona fide farm-woman from Montana who could cut a clean pie crust in one perfect motion, didn't use recipes. Thus, there is no extant historical record of this legendary dish, which is a total bummer.
So when, last weekend, I wanted to make something warm and hearty, something that simmered and made Tiny House smell like home, I sought guidance from another culinary matriarch:
Martha Stewart
Martha Stewart is a titan of the home, the Rhea of the modern era. She worked her ass off to build the Death Star I mean Martha Stewart Living Omnimedia. She brings all the swagger to the kitchen, especially when it comes to "home cooking," so naturally I assumed she'd canonized a recipe for this classic comfort food.
Interestingly, Marty's recipe differs from those of the hoi polloi in a few ways:
Classic mirepoix flavor? No way! There is no celery, celery seed, cream of celery soup, etc. in this recipe.
It calls for peas, which are surprisingly uncommon for this dish.
Herbed dumplings! Most dumplings consist of flour, baking powder, milk. Maybe salt. But these include dill!
Forget the fryer: Martha uses boneless, skinless chicken thighs instead.
These modifications intrigued me, so I made the recipe -- as well as few modifications of my own, cf:
I made the gravy gravier with extra milk.
And more spice, i.e., cinnamon and nutmeg.
Oh, and red wine, one of my favorite food groups.
I also recalibrated the herbs in the dumplings, adding herbes de Provence and nutmeg.
These alterations yielded a richer, pie-spicier gravy than the original recipe. Its depth of flavor pairs beautifully with the juicy, dark-meat chicken thighs, offsets the sweetness of the carrots and peas, and really highlights the herbiness of the dumplings. It is autumn incarnate.
yours,
aa
Chicken n Dumplings like Martha Used to Make*
Prep time: 30 minutes
Cook time: 45 minutes
Serves 4 to 6
Recommended pairing: Dry red. Ideally, you'll drink the wine you're adding to the gravy. Pro tip.
What you’ll need
For the gravy + veg
3 tbsp butter
1 medium onion, cut into 1" pieces
5 medium carrots, cut crosswise into 1 ½" pieces
1 ½ tsp dried thyme
¼ c. all-purpose flour
2 c. chicken broth
½ c. whole milk
⅓ c. dry red wine, like Cotes du Rhone
¾ tsp cinnamon
¾ tsp nutmeg
Coarse salt + fresh-ground black pepper
1 ½ lbs boneless, skinless chicken thighs, cut into 1" x 1" squares
10 oz. frozen peas
For the dumplings
¾ c. all-purpose flour
1 ¾ tsp baking powder
½ tsp salt
½ tsp dried dill weed
½ tsp herbes de Provence
⅛ tsp nutmeg
⅔ cup whole milk
How to make it
In a large, heavy-bottomed pot with a tight-fitting lid, melt butter over medium heat, then add onion, carrots, and thyme. Cover and cook, stirring once or twice, until onion is soft, ~5 minutes.
Add ¼ c. flour and stir to coat veggies. Add broth, milk, and wine and bring to a boil, stirring constantly. Add chicken, cinnamon, and nutmeg. Season LIBERALLY with salt and pepper. I mean it. Like, 1 tbsp of salt and 1 to 1 ½ tbsp pepper. Cover and cook, stirring occasionally, until the carrots are par-tender and the gravy has thickened (somewhere around 25 minutes).
While your gravy and veg bubble away, make your dumplings. In a medium bowl, stir together all dry ingredients. Then, using a wooden spoon, gradually add the milk, stirring constantly. To quote Martha: Your batter "should be a little thicker than pancake batter." She's right. Set aside.
Uncover your gravy and stir in the peas. Drop batter into simmering liquid by the tablespoon — about a dozen dumplings. Give each dumpling a little room to grow as it cooks, btw. Cover and simmer until chicken and dumplings are tender and cooked through, ~20 minutes.
Ladle into bowls and top with a dollop of ricotta and some torn Italian parsley. Serve immediately. Or, if you have an iron will, forget the ricotta & parsley and throw the dish into a to-go container — chicken n dumplings travel, refrigerate, and re-heat very well.
*This recipe is 98% Martha Stewart! I've noted my mods in italics. If you want to make her original dish, here you go. If you want to know why she's cool, Buzzfeed will tell you. xx
Salmon, apples, sliders, yum.
Yes, I’m from the Pacific Northwest.
Something special happens when you grow up in the Pacific Northwest, and then you make a recipe with salmon and apples.
Some call it team spirit, others nostos. I call it delicious.
This slider screams SEATTLE! (figuratively, dur). The robust, buttery salmon* is a wonderful foil for the tangy, sweet Pickled Green Apple + Shallot Relish.
Mixed with mayo and a little Greek yogurt for added body, apple and green onion for crunch, yummy capers for that earthy, herbal-y note, it's downright toothsome. And it's great for cool/casual get-togethers, where you're like Oh yeah, nbd, just some salmon sliders that are gonna breakdance on your palate.
yours,
aa
Salmon + Apple Salad Sliders
with Pickled Green Apple + Shallot Relish
Prep time: 10 minutes
Makes 8 to 10 sliders
Recommended pairing: I didn't do it, but I think these could kick ass with a lite French red, like Beaujolais-Villages. If you serve these for brunch, try extra sec champagne with a splash of grapefruit juice. (Full disclosure: I didn't try that, either, but you trust me, right?)
What you’ll need
8 to 10 slider buns (I use potato, but ciabatta or another chewy bun would be just fine)
10 oz. Pickled Green Apple + Shallot Relish
15 oz. canned salmon, preferably half Pink, half Sockeye
⅓ to ½ c. mayonnaise
¼ to ⅓ c. plain Greek yogurt
½ to 1 tbsp Dijon mustard
¼ c. chopped green onion
¼ c. green apple, julienned (Granny Smith apples are ideal)
1 to 1½ tbsp capers, plus ½ to 1 tsp of their liquid
Salt & pepper to taste
Squeeze or two of lemon juice
How to make it
Un-tin your salmon into a medium bowl and mash with a fork. As you break down your fish, remove the bones. (This might take a minute or two.) Once bones have been removed, add your mayo and yogurt,** green onion, green apple, capers and liquid, s&p, and lemon juice. Mix it all together with that trusty fork.
TASTE IT. OMG, this is key. If you're not tasting as you go, how do you know it's any good? Fundamentals, yo. If you want more tang, add a little yogurt. If you want a punch of heat at the back of your palate, add some more Dijon. If you want more pucker, squeeze yer lemon. If you just want pop, add a touch of salt.
Slice your slider buns. Spread each side with a thin-thin-thin layer of mayo, or, if you're feeling fresh, Dijon. Spoon a few tbsps of salmon salad onto a bun. Top with ~tbsp of relish. Tip the top bun at a rakish angle, as seen above. This gives your slider a jaunty edge!
Serve with potato chips, or, if at brunch, a simple green salad.
ps. Kick out the jams! 86 the apples, and incorporate a tsp (or more!) Vietnamese chile sauce/Sriracha into your mayo. Skip the relish, and instead top with sliced purple cabbage or even Daikon radish and carrot, julienned. Serve with jalapeno-flavored potato chips and Singha beer. (This is an equally SEATTLE! presentation, btw.)
*A note about salmon: I buy canned salmon from Trader Joe's or my local co-op, and I use a half-n-half mix of Alaskan Pink (flavor petit) and Sockeye (flavor royale). If you're a fancyman and you have smoked salmon hanging around, you could use that, too, but the salad's profile will be different. I'd suggest playing off the smoke by adding a little more caper liquid, and maybe a double-shake of chile flake.
**A note about measurements: I'm giving you a range of measurements in this recipe, because you might like your fish salad crumbly (less mayo/yog, less liquid) or creamy (more mayo/yog, more liquid). It's up to you. You're the chef. Be that brave lil champion you've always been. Take a risk!
Bacon tortilla chips + bacon pico de gallo. Yep.
I said what I said.
I'm going to keep it short. These are bacon tortilla chips:
And this is bacon pico de gallo, served with said chips:
Sweet, end-of-season heirloom tomatoes with salty, crunchy bacon, plus bright cilantro and piquant shallot. And crispy, bacon-y chips. oh my god.
It's cool, you're busy, la la la weekend, bacon is the best, li-loo-la, here's the recipe. Go on, enjoy.
yours,
aa
Bacon Tortilla Chips + Bacon Pico de Gallo
Prep time: 10 minutes for the chips, 5 minutes for the pico
Cook time: ~25 minutes
Serves 2 to 4
Recommended pairing: Friends! Also lager and spicy margaritas.
What you’ll need
For the chips:
8 oz. uncured bacon, preferably applewood-smoked, with some hearty fat
4 6" flour tortillas
Salt
For the pico de gallo:
3 slices cooked, room-temperature bacon, chopped
1 c. heirloom cherry tomatoes, quartered (or sixth-ed, depending on how big they are)
¼ c. shallot, diced
1 heaping tbsp cilantro, chopped
Juice from ½ small lime (about 1 ½ tsp)
¼ tsp chipotle powder
1 small dragon cayenne pepper, diced (totally, completely optional)
Salt & pepper to taste
Extra lime wedges for table-time squeeze-overs
How to make it
To make the chips, line a baking sheet with foil. Lay out your bacon in a single layer on the sheet (all 8 oz. should fit if you snuggle the slices). Then pull an Alton Brown: put the sheet into a cold oven. Then AND ONLY THEN set it to 400 degrees. If you want, you can set a timer for 16 minutes, but you don't have to. You'll know when it's done because your kitchen will smell like dreams.
While the bacon is doing its thing, prep your chips. Stack your flour tortillas, then slice them into wedges. (You should get 8 wedges per 6" tortilla.) So easy.
Once your bacon is cooked (~16 minutes), remove it from the oven. Re-set the oven temp to 350 degrees. On a large platter lined with paper towels, drain your bacon and set aside to cool to room temperature.
Depending on how fatty your bacon is, you should have anywhere between ¼ and ⅓ c. of melted fat (liquid gold) on your baking sheet. Pour it into a heatproof bowl, and set your baking sheet nearby.
Using tongs (or your heat-hardened chef fingers, which I don't have at all), dredge your tortilla wedges in the warm fat, then nestle them in rows on the foil-lined baking sheet. Once you've filled your sheet, sprinkle your soon-to-be chips with salt. Bake at 350 degrees for 8 to 10 minutes, or until chips are golden. Remove sheet from the oven. Put chips in a bowl and salt again lightly. LIGHTLY!
To make the pico de gallo, complete the knifework as directed in the ingredients section. Toss together everything but the salt & pepper and lime wedges in a small bowl. Then, season with s&p. Serve with chips and extra lime wedges.
"I went to Israel."
Best friends forever.
I met Justin when we were freshmen in college, just kids, the both of us. We were into the cinema, The Beatles, and bowling with very little accuracy at Tower Lanes, the smokiest of alleys, where you could scrape a fingernail across your ball and dig a furrow in the tar.
The next year, we moved onto the same floor of the same slummy house kitty-corner from campus. I lived in the big room on the corner, just off the kitchen and just over the entry to the basement apartment, which housed at one time or another:
a pair of twins, squatters, one of whom we called "Downstairs Justin"
a man whose face I never saw but whose boxy leather jacket and gently receding hairline I did, and whose never-ending trip-hop beats earned him the name "Dance Party"
and a 40-year-old washing machine, which didn't have a name, but should have
Justin lived in a closet under the stairs, and for a while he slept from 2 to 4, both a.m. and p.m. Once, he taped a note to the outside of my bedroom window, sprayed the perimeter with Aqua Net, and lit it on fire. (This was before that same aging window got stuck in the open position and I tried to close it by hitting the frame with a hammer, a terrible idea.) Every Wednesday, we hosted a Bridge club, and every Thursday, he made falafel.
We co-owned a pair of black & white, highly stylized, hand-painted portraits of Andrew Jackson and Ulysses S. Grant, perhaps inspired by Franz Kline, or maybe they were studies for Ecce Homo, I'm not sure.
One day, I came home and Justin wasn't there, and he wasn't there the next day, either. A few days later, I got an email with the subject line "I went to Israel." He went there to dig up artifacts. He couldn't tell me or didn't want to tell me when he'd come home. But one day he did, and we ate falafel and he gave me a Coca-Cola bottlecap with the logo written in Hebrew.
When, years later, he disappeared to Japan, he returned with this handmade bowl, just a few aesthetic steps above the bottlecap.
For years, I wore his polyester picture shirt of Venice, Italy, the one I'd mended and rebuttoned, until he stole it back.
I'm a pickle packin' mama.
Packing pecks of pickles.
The harvest is here, so I'm packing pecks of pickles, the better to preserve their piquancy. (I'm not revising that sentence. Deal with it.)
These aren't just just any pickles. No, no. These are quick pickles.
Let break it down real quick (ha haa). With quick pickles, you're not rendering the fruit/veg shelf-stable by preserving it in salt and/or acid, and protecting it from bacterial infiltration with a seal, most often achieved via a boiling water bath.
Rather, you're making delicious personal pickles that will last about two weeks in the refrigerator.
You're like, Oh who cares, get to the recipe, and that's when I start laughing like a simmering madman. Because the recipe isn't a recipe, per se. It's a proportion — an experiment. It's your chance to be creative in the kitchen! (You might be freaking out right now, but trust me, you'll be fine. Life finds a way.)
The deal is, you just combine water, vinegar, and sugar (and spices if you want) at a certain ratio. For tangy-sweet pickles, like my nectarines and green apple/shallot relish, the ratio is 1:2:2. That's 1 part water, 2 parts vinegar (I use white wine vinegar for these), and 2 parts sugar. Bring those ingredients to a boil with some spices, and then pour the hot mess over the fruit/veg you've washed, cut, and stuck in your jar. Let it cool, then refrigerate. It's that simple.
If you're going for savorier pickles, like cherry tomatoes or beets, back down on the sugar. The ratio will be more like 1:2:1 or 1:2:1.5, water:vinegar:sugar. For these, I like to use apple cider vinegar, which is earthier and more medicinal (in good way).
All right, all right: so you want a recipe. I'll oblige, if only because I like you.
yours,
aa
Pickled Green Apple & Shallot Relish
Prep time: ~10 minutes
Cook time: ~10 minutes
Makes approx. 10 oz.
Recommended pairing: Add this relish to pork chops or to salmon-, trout-, or tuna salad sandwiches. It's Thanksgiving-spicy, so drink Gewurztraminer or dry Riesling. Floral IPA.
What you’ll need
For the relish:
1½ c. green apple (Granny Smith is best), julienned
½ c. shallot, also julienned
For the brine:
½ c. white wine vinegar
½ c. white sugar
¼ c. water
¼ tsp five spice powder
1 cinnamon stick
Big pinch salt
How to make it
Combine all brine ingredients in a small pot and bring to a boil over medium heat, stirring occasionally.
While the brine is heating up, julienne your apples and shallots. I use the julienne attachment on my mandoline, but you can julienne however you please. Shove the apples and shallots into a clean jar. Because you're not sealing your pickles, you can reuse a jelly jar, or you can go out and buy a cute jar from the becardigan'd old gentleman who runs your local junk shop (his name is probably Ernie or Boyd). Just make sure it has a tight-fitting lid.
Once your brine has boiled, remove it from the heat and let it cool slightly, about 2 minutes. Then, pour the hot brine over the apples + shallots in the jar. Let them cool, screw on the lid, and refrigerate. You've got pickles!
ps. You can use this brine to make nectarine pickles, too. For a quart: Slice 4 medium or 5 small nectarines (or enough to fill a quart jar to the bottom of the mouth), and 2.5x your vinegar, sugar, and water; 1.5x your salt and five spice; and keep the cinnamon stick as-is.
pps. For cherry tomatoes, follow the 1:2:1 ratio, and substitute apple cider vinegar for white wine vinegar. Rather than cinnamon and five spice, use black peppercorns and pickling dill. And pierce your cherry tomatoes with a skewer in a few places to let in the liquid.
Platter at rest.
Never trust anybody at the potluck.
I didn't know my dad's mom. She died when I was 3.
She chain-smoked Camels, and after that cigarillos, and drank at taverns with her best friend Ruby Arrowwood, a Faulkner castaway if ever there was one.
She made her own head cheese, wore the kind of bumpy polyester that feels like Berber carpet, and painted the interior of the family farmhouse in shades best described as "Easter on Acid." She lived for Magnum, P.I.
She ran a grocery store and carried a Saturday Night Special in the cashbox. The story goes that the pistol went off once and blew a hole in the floor of my granddad's car. After that, you could watch the pavement pass by as you drove.
She was a Catholic, and she didn't trust other Catholics not to take her dishware in the course of so many Sunday potlucks in the low-lit basement of the Sacred Heart, so she wrote ARTH in permanent marker on the back of every platter. This is one of them.
Her name was Edith.