Peace & Quiet - Caramel Banana Cake

Photo by Brian

While at the river last weekend, I stepped out of the house alone around midnight and walked a few yards away. The moon was just about full, the forest and river were lit just enough to see by it's light. I stood still and listened...total silence and stillness. I couldn't even hear the river.

I can't remember the last time I heard silence like that. So incredibly peaceful.

It's easy to forget that that sense of quiet and stillness even exists when you live in the city, amid the constant hum of fans, air-conditioners, motors, refrigerators, traffic, etc. After having been on the go non-stop for the 3 days prior to our river trip, it was an unbelievable relief to be able to stand completely still, and not hear a single thing. Just peace and absolute quiet.

After a few minutes, I did hear a car drive by on a road not too far away, and then a small splash in the river, and what sounded like a owl in a nearby tree. I can't tell you how peaceful that moment was, especially after 96 hours of being on the go, non-stop.

It was a good weekend. So good that we decided to head up again this Saturday. I can't seem to get enough river time these days.

Have I mentioned that summer is my favorite season?

So, more about that Caramel Banana Cake. A cake I'd never made before, but one that Leah had requested. She was quite specific, Caramel. Banana. Cake. Anything for her 30th! As I said in my last post, this batter would be perfect for muffins. It's like the worlds greatest banana bread. I mean come on, it has caramel in it!

Caramel Banana Cake
2 9-inch layers

3/4 cup butter
1 cup white sugar
1 cup brown sugar
3 eggs
3 cups all-purpose flour
1 1/2 teaspoons baking soda
1/2 teaspoon salt
1 1/2 cups milk
1 1/2 cups mashed bananas
1 1/2 cups caramel sauce (recipe below)

Heat oven to 325. Grease two 9" cake pans.

Cream the butter and sugar until fluffy then add the eggs and beat until silky and lightened. Sift the flour with the baking soda and salt. Whisk the milk and mashed bananas in a separate measuring cup and add to the eggs and butter, alternating with the flour. Beat just until smooth.

Pour batter into the prepared pans. Pour half the caramel sauce into each pan, and swirl with a knife. The pans will be quite full. Put in the oven carefully and bake for about 60 minutes, or until the centers are set and a knife comes out clean.

Cool completely before serving. Optional, whip about 2 cups of heavy cream with 1 tbsp of sugar and 1 tsp vanilla. Whip until the cream until it forms stiff peaks. Coat the cake in a layer of whipped cream with a flat rubber spatula.

Caramel Sauce
makes about 3 cups

2 cups cream
1 1/2 cups sugar
1/4 cup water
Pinch salt
1 tbsp butter

Warm the cream in a small saucepan over low to medium heat. While it's warming, add the sugar and water to a large, heavy, high-sided pan over high heat. Stir until the sugar dissolves, then leave it alone to boil until it reaches a deep amber color. It's hot, but if you can, taste while you go, you don't want to caramel to burn.

Remove from heat and slowly whisk in the cream. The mixture will bubble and spit while adding the cream, so stand back and go slow! Add the pinch of salt and butter and whisk smooth. Simmer until slightly reduced.

Leah's Birthday - Russian River Trip

This weekend found 14 friends piled up in a house on the Russian River together to celebrate our dear friend Leah's 30th birthday. She couldn't have picked a more beautiful spot, perfectly suited to this crew of avid innertubers, sunbathers, cooks and cocktail experts. We launched the tubes from a few miles up river, and headed downstream to end up at our own private beach, just down the bank from the house. From the tubes it was into the hot tub to warm up, and then onto the board game portion of the trip.

There's nothing quite like a getaway with friends. To just hang out, enjoy each other's company, cook and enjoy a heated game of Trivial Pursuit. It's just about the best thing ever, and I for one, did not want to leave that house.

And I think Leah had a good time. We all enjoyed some of her favorites through the heroics of group cooking. Bahn Mi sandwiches, fish and shrimp tacos, barbecued ribs, honeymoon pancakes and, as requested, a Carmel Banana Birthday Cake.

We're a very spoiled group when it comes to food.

Recipe for the Carmel Banana Cake to come later, and maybe Sonya's amazing Peach Gallette, and Sam's "Bomb Mi" Sandwiches...if I can persuade them to share their secrets! In the meantime, I'm recovering and planning the next river trip...

Pictures taken by Brian

Your Mother Was Right + A Birthday - Capellini with Shrimp and Tomatoes

"Listen to your Mother." It's a common phrase, one almost all of us have heard at some point or another, some of us ad nausium. And yet...very often we didn't. We insisted on learning for ourselves the hard way. Even if we knew she was right. And that was the most frustrating part of it. Knowing she was right, and ignoring the advice anyway.

My Mother has an impressive track record when it comes to intuition and advice. As much as I sometimes hate to admit it, I know that when she has advice to offer, I should listen. I can't think of one boyfriend or friend she was ever wrong about. I didn't take her advice as often as I should have, but, these days, with her stats being what they are, hers is the advice I ask for and most often take. I wish I'd taken it more often growing up. Her many years of social work speak for themselves. Not for nothing!

When it comes to food, her instincts are pretty spot on as well. She has a way with seafood pasta, and it brings to mind weeks spent at the beach on the Northern California Coast. Buying live crab and bringing it back to the house where they would meet their fate in a pot of boiling water. My Father would don an apron and crack the crab (when we did this at home our cat would attach himself to my Dad's leg, clawing away in a crab frenzy) and my Mom would make the most basic of seafood pasta's. Good seafood, pasta, garlic, lemon and white wine. Toss in some parsley, maybe some capers and tomatoes, throw in some crusty bread, a bottle of wine, a leafy salad and we were set.

It's still one of my all-time favorite meals. It's not often that I see a seafood pasta on a menu that I can resist...and yet, it's never quite as good as my Mom's. There's nothing quite like homemade, especially when it's a team effort.

On a side note, yesterday was my Father's 70th Birthday. When it comes to the lottery of being born into a family, I hit the jackpot, I'm well aware. And I couldn't be more thankful, more loved, supported or lucky. Happy Birthday Dad, words can't express how much I love you, and how thankful I am that you are my Father. You are the best man I know, and nothing makes me more proud than to say that you are my Dad.





Capellini with Shrimp and Tomatoes

3/4 lb capellini
1 lb large shrimp, peeled & deveined (I used frozen)
4 garlic cloves, minced
1 tbsp butter
1 tbsp olive oil
1/4 cup white wine
juice of 1 lemon
a pinch of red pepper flakes, more if you like a lot of spice
1/2 bunch of parley, chopped
3/4 cup cherry tomatoes

Heat the oven to 300 and roast the tomatoes on a pan for 20-30 minutes, until they start to shrivel and darken in color. You can also skip this part and just saute the tomatoes with the garlic.

Bring a pot of salted water to boil. In the meantime, heat the butter and olive oil in a large skillet over medium high. Once the pan is hot and the butter is melted, turn the heat to medium and add the garlic. Saute for about a minute, taking care not to burn the garlic. Add the chili flakes.

Add the shrimp to the garlic and cook until the shrimp is almost cooked through and turning pink, about 3 minutes. Add the wine and lemon juice and turn the heat to low. Remove the shrimp, and turn the heat under the pan to medium-high, reducing the wine, lemon and garlic liquid a bit. You should end up with about 3/4 cup of liquid.

At this point, the capellini should be ready to cook. Cook according to directions, about 3 minutes. Drain and add to the skillet with the wine, lemon and garlic. Add in the shrimp, tomatoes and parsley. Season with salt, freshly ground pepper and Parmesan. Serve hot.

To Eat Each Other's Cooking & Say it Was Good - Veggie Rice Bowl with Lemon Tahini Dressing

Sometimes you catch yourself, when you're giving advice to someone else...suddenly you realize that it's also the advice you should be taking. In some way, you're speaking to yourself. And it's comforting to realize that you're in the same place as the person sitting across from you. That in some way, you're in it together. You're not crazy for feeling whatever it is that you're feeling.

And I realized, it felt better. To listen, to give advice if asked, to be supportive and out of my own head and helping someone else to realize what we both already knew, because, as we all know, advice is what you ask for when you already know the answer. But we want that reassurance that we're not alone, that we're not nuts, that we're in it together and that it's not for nothing.

In the end we agreed, to be as kind to ourselves as we are to our friends. Not to judge and beat ourselves up for the process we have to go through to get to the other side of things, to come to realize what we want and deserve.

And tonight, that made sense.

I came across this picture recently...I haven't been able to stop thinking about it.




I can't remember the last time I read something that made so much sense.

Sometimes I think there are only two things you can do when you're feeling down. Enjoy dinner made by a good friend or loved one, and listen to a hell of a lot of Sinatra.




I can't remember where I stumbled across this recipe, but it's been around for awhile. If you love tahini, it's one of those recipes that just makes complete sense. Totally satisfying. Filling, lots of texture and tons of taste. I can't get enough of it. And you can feel very smug about how healthy it is. Packing in the veggies and whatnot. Fill the fridge with 'em and go through them in a day or so. Sometimes I just make a ton of the dressing and put it on everything. Seriously. Everything. Fish, chicken, your basic carrot stick. Just give me the spoon.


Veggie Rice Bowl with Lemon Tahini Dressing

4 cups white or brown rice
1/4 cup fresh parsley, chopped
3/4 cup plain yogurt (I used non-fat)
4 tbsp tahini
juice of 1/2 lemon
1 clove garlic, minced
1 tsp ground cumin
1/2 tsp coarse salt
1/8 tsp cayenne pepper
1/3 cucumber, seeds removed, cut into matchsticks
1 celery stalk, cut into matchsticks
1/2 carrot, peeled and cut into matchsticks
1/2 cup chickpeas
1/4 red or yellow bell pepper, cut into strips

Cook rice according to package directions. Once cooked, put it in the refrigerator until cool.

Mix yogurt, lemon juice, garlic, salt, and cayenne together in a small bowl until well combined.

Toss rice and all vegetables together in a large bowl, serve with tahini dressing. Serve.

Aced!

I'm not positive, but I would venture a guess that I might be the only person in history to go to Palm Springs for the weekend, and come back with bronchitis.

It just doesn't make a lot of sense.

It was hot in Palm Springs. Really hot. Sweltering and dry desert heat. The kind where you drive in to town, mouth agape as you watch the thermostat steadily climb and climb and climb up to 110. I mean, HOT.

The kind of hot where the thought of getting out of the pool is unbearable. Where the thought of venturing into a room where the air-conditioner is set any higher than 65 is ridiculous. Where ice becomes the most essential part of any beverage concoction. Well, except for the rum or gin, of course. We were all about priorities in Palm Springs.

My dear friend Brigid is getting married this summer. She suggested a girl's weekend in Palm Springs to begin the celebratory festivities. I had never been, thought it was a fantastic idea, and quickly did some research. I stumbled upon a room special for the Ace Hotel & Swim Club, which, on the website looked like some kind of hipster paradise. We booked, we went, it was and I can't recommend it highly enough. It's like they designed the place with the sole idea that you should never have to leave the hotel for any reason. Vespa rentals? Check. Free bikes to ride around the grounds? Check. Two luxurious pools with cushions, cabanas, misting systems, lawn chairs and umbrellas? Mmm-hmm. Old-school photobooth? Check. The ultimate desert dive bar? Oh yes. Great, kitchy restaurant? Yep. Stumptown Coffee? Oh man, yes. Pool side service from very good looking men? Yes. That too.

The Ace has just about everything you could want. Including BBQ's, DJ's and the most fantastic people-watching experience I've had in quite awhile. Everyone was friendly, everyone was looking to have a good time. All in all, it was one of the most vacationy vacations I've ever had.

Between the vacation, the bronchitis, and a trip up North for my Nephew's high-school graduation, you can probably understand why there hasn't been a whole lot of cooking going on around here. And by "whole lot" I mean none.

But as you can see. We did get to the roadside attraction outside of Palm Springs that is the Robotic Dinosaur Museum, so...there's that. I figure this picture alone is worth about 3 food posts. Right? Right.

Requirements - Asparagus Pesto

There are so many things to like about Summer. Warm weather, picnics and BBQ's, swimming and long and lazy evenings where the sun doesn't even sink till 9. The summer road trip is another much beloved tradition. I like to do as many of these as I can throughout the summer months. This past weekend brought the inaugural trip, in which we headed to Palm Springs (more on that later) and I plan to continue the trend with two more upcoming trips. I've been hearing the siren song to get out of town, and I am more than happy to heed the call.

When preparing to get out of town, I require the following:

• Access to a fast car with a full tank of gas, preferably with air conditioning
• A well rounded supply of music, at least several good mix cd's, ipod playlists, mix tapes, whathaveyou
• Snyder's sourdough pretzels (the giant kind)
• Strong coffee and plenty of water
• A necessary pit-stop at either Granzellas Italian Deli (if headed North on the I5) or In n' Out (if traveling in California)
• A keen eye to be on the lookout for various road-side attractions (such as the Robotic Dinosaur Museum just outside of Palm Springs (again: more on that subject later))

The above is made even better when a few dear friends are thrown into the mix. But the solo road trip is not to be overlooked. It's good for the soul, for clearing one's head, and for just being still with yourself...all whilst moving 70mph.

There's not a lot of cooking going on in my studio this week. Too much going on in between trips. But I do have some leftover asparagus pesto, recipe courtesy of Mark Bittman. I ate this on crostini and in pasta, I confess I even had it straight out of the bowl in the fridge from a spoon. Pesto is something I hadn't considered making with asparagus before, but I think it's a good addition to the repertoire. Asparagus is everywhere these days, and I always seem to have an extra bunch in the fridge that requires something be done with it before I can hit the market again. I think this would be excellent served over pasta, with some roasted asparagus on top. Or, as I did, even just eaten straight off the spoon.

Asparagus Pesto
adapted from Mark Bittman

1 lb asparagus, trimmed and cut into 1 inch pieces
3 cloves garlic (the recipe calls for 1, I love garlic and added 2, but found even that to be too mild)
1/4 cup toasted pine nuts
1/4 cup olive oil
3/4 cups freshly grated Parmesan
juice of 1/2 lemon or more
freshly ground black pepper

Bring a pot of water to boil and salt it. Blanch the asparagus until just tender, about 6 minutes.
Drain, but reserve about 1/4 cup of the cooking liquid. Let the asparagus cool slightly.

In a food processor, combine asparagus, pine nuts, 2 tbsp of the olive oil, Parmesan, a pinch of salt, and a couple tablespoons of the cooking liquid. Process the ingredients , pausing to scrape down the mixture from the sides of the container so everything is well-combined. Gradually add the oil and a bit more of the cooking liquid to moisten, if necessary. Add the lemon juice and season with salt and pepper to taste. Pulse to combine one last time, scoop into a bowl and serve with toasted bread, pasta, chicken and/or fish.

In Anticipation - Strawberry Chiffon Cake

It's difficult, if not downright impossible, to speak of summer BBQ's without a certain tone of anticipation. In fact, I would venture to say there are only two tones of which they can be spoken about: anticipation, and nostalgia. There are BBQ's that have passed, and there are those that are yet to come.

I can wax poetic about the ones of yore, and present to you in dramatic fashion what was consumed, but in truth, I'm all about the anticipation of the next one. As long as that next one includes this cake:

I'm happy to say that this is a cake recipe that won't need much in terms of refining. Sometimes, a recipe turns out a home run on the first try. This is just such a recipe. Plunged into and devoured in mere seconds, as any good summer cake should be. And there is nothing about this cake that doesn't scream summer. Fresh berries, clouds upon clouds of whipped cream, and a light and moist crumb with just a hint of lemon. The cake is a similar texture to angel food...but better. It's a cake that comes together in a couple easy stages. I baked the actual cake mid-morning, let it cool on the windowsill (so cliche, I know) while I macerated the strawberries, and then finished it off at the BBQ by whipping the cream and assembling. Easy.

I'm going to go out on a limb and declare it the perfect summer BBQ cake. It's here. The search has ended, and I can anticipate many more of these to come.

Strawberry Chiffon Cake

adapted from Smitten Kitchen

For the Cake:

1 cup + 2 tbsp cake flour

3/4 cup + 1 tbsp superfine sugar

1 1/2 tsp baking powder

1/2 tsp salt

1/4 cup + 2 tbsp cold water

1/4 cup vegetable oil

1/2 tsp lemon zest

1/2 tsp vanilla extract

2 1/2 egg yolks, room temperature

4 egg whites, room temperature

1/4 tsp cream of tartar

For the Filling:

2 cups heavy cream

4 tbsp powdered sugar

2 tsp vanilla extract

For the strawberries:

1 cup strawberries, hulled and sliced
1/2 fresh lemon

1 tbsp sugar

Pre heat the oven to 325 and grease a 9 inch round cake pan. You can also line the bottom and sides with parchment paper that has been lightly sprayed with cooking spray.

Sift the flour, baking powder, 3/4 cup of the sugar and salt together in a large bowl.

In another bowl, beat the yolks, water, oil, lemon zest and vanilla together on high until smooth. Stir in the flour mixture until smooth.

In another large bowl, beat the egg whites with the cream of tartar until soft peaks form. Add the remaining tablespoon of superfine sugar, and beat until stiff peaks have formed.

Using a rubber spatula, gently combine the egg whites into the egg yolk batter. Gently fold together until the egg whites have disappeared, taking care not to stir too much. If it's over-stirred, the egg whites will fall. You just want to combine the two mixtures.

Scrape the batter into the cake pan and bake for 40-50 minutes. Check at 40 minutes for doneness. If a toothpick inserted in the middle comes out clean, and the middle has a soft spring to it, the cake is done.

Cool the cake in the pan on a rack for about an hour. When the cake has cooled completely, slice into 3 layers using a serrated knife. Separate the layers onto separate plates for easy assembly.

While the cake is cooling, macerate the sliced strawberries with the juice of 1/2 a lemon, and about a tablespoon of sugar. Stir together and let sit in the refrigerator until you're ready to assemble. The strawberries will release quite a bit of juice, which you'll want to spread on the cake layers.

Make the whipped cream filling by beating the egg whites, vanilla and sugar together on high until stiff peaks have formed.

Assemble the cake by starting with the bottom cake layer. Spread 1/3 of the strawberry mixture on the cake, top with some of the whipped cream. Add the next cake layer, and repeat the strawberries and cream on that layer. Finish with the last cake layer, adding berries on top of that. Finish by spreading the rest of the whipped cream over the cake until the cake is covered. Chill in the refrigerator for 1/2 hour to an hour until you're ready to serve.

Guest Post by Amy - Gin Shandy

I'm guessing a great many of us attended some sort of function in the past couple of days where meat was grilled, sun was soaked up, and refreshing beverages were served. I was lucky enough to spend Memorial Day doing all of the above. Enter my friend Amy. Amy contributed the cocktail portion of our BBQ yesterday, and I'm very glad she did. Amy's known for coming up with delicious concoctions of all sorts, and her Gin Shandy's were no exception. I asked her to pass on the recipe with a guest post, and she kindly obliged.


Guest Post by Amy -

Memorial Day weekend, you are the devil! It's typically easier if your friends have their barbecues on SUNDAY so you get the full recovery day...but if you're not given that luxury, you've gotta show up with a drink that can pull the triple-duty hangover cure/ sunny day beverage/ I'm not gonna throw up at the office tomorrow. Hello, Gin Shandy. I will wear all kinds of white and drink up your business all day long. I just paid a big vet bill this weekend for my cat who had worms soooo it wasn't exactly the best time to be shopping for party supplies. The good news is that you don't need a top shelf gin for a good shandy. A) Because by the time I show up to the BBQ everyone is slightly tipsy, hot, and thirsty for some non-beer action and B) Because the magic shandy cauldron of awesome masks the taste of any mid-shelf gin, if it bothers you snobs. I went Beefeater- not plastic, not the end of the world, not too spendy. Hendrick's is good, or you can go for the old Tanqueray stand-by. But really, your money is better spent on a top shelf ginger beer and a tart lemonade.

Here's where the toil and trouble happens:

Gin Shandy

Equal parts (easy!)

- Ginger Beer (Bundaberg or Reed's)

- Gin!

- Lemonade (Santa Cruz is good, but a bit sweet for me. Newman's Own, Odwalla, or fresh-made are all good options if you're making a last-minute major grocery store stop, depending on your tastes.)

Ice it all up in a cute lookin' pitcher and call it a day (though you have to keep an eye on it because the ginger beer will go flat pretty fast. Feel free to splash in some club soda to bubble it up occasionally.) Best enjoyed out of a mason jar. A lot of recipes will recommend approximately 3/4 of a cup of gin, 12 ounces of ginger beer and 1 cup of lemonade, but I don't really understand math or conversions. Especially when math involves putting less booze in a thing or measuring liquor in cups. How many jiggers go in a shandy? Who knows. A damn tasty amount is what I know.

Garnish with a lemon wedge or a strawberry slice. I prefer a tarter drink, so I'd suggest squeezing some fresh lemon into each serving.

Be careful. Our soldiers didn't give their lives so that you could have a day off to sit outside and drink a strong ass cocktail that tastes like a Capri Sun.

USA!

More Adventurous - Daikon Radish Salad with Sesame Ginger Vinaigrette

When it comes to how we see ourselves, there's always the possibility of a disconnect between who we are, and who we would like to be. I would like to be a more adventurous, spontaneous person. I am in awe of people who are both of those things nearly all the time. But in reality, I know myself to be a person that is terrified of many things that might be considered adventurous. Jumping out of airplanes for example. Bungie Jumping. Anything having to do with the combination of great heights and jumping from them. Even scuba diving, which in all honesty, I would love to try someday, but the truth is, it scares me to death. I have only recently conquered my fear of snorkeling (I had issues with the idea of fish getting too close, or rather, me getting to close to them) so I'm taking this fear step by step.

When it comes to sushi, I have learned it pays to be adventurous. I know this. I've known it since I moved to the Bay Area in 2004 and my friend Derek introduced me to Uni, Sea Urchin. It took two vodka tonics to even get anywhere near the briny, alien looking form on the plate, but with the help of some liquid courage, I conquered my fear, and learned that I in fact, LOVE uni. The taste, both salty and mild, the strangely unfamiliar texture? Love. It.

After having been in a sushi rut at the delightfully cozy sushi place, Mitama, which sits exactly 1/2 block from my apartment (bliss.) I ended up there one evening after work with Leah and Lauren, and was introduced to my new favorite. I went for my usual (always 2 pieces of hamachi nigiri and one roll with maguro) and Leah ordered a Daikon Radish Salad that I had never tried. One taste and I was hooked. I spent the rest of the evening doing my best to restrain my chopsticks from bogarting her entire salad.

It struck me how easy it would be to make at home. And so that's exactly what I did. Thinly sliced daikon radish and cucumber, combined with carrot and yellow bell pepper, drenched in a sesame ginger vinaigrette. It's love between this salad and I. I'm quite sure of it.

This is not to say that I've entirely broken out of my sushi rut. This past weekend I had only added the salad to my usual. Oh well. Next time. Next time I'll find my next new favorite.

Daikon Radish Salad with Sesame Ginger Vinaigrette

1 tsp fresh ginger, minced
1 1/2 tsp sesame oil
2 tsp canola oil or grapeseed oil
1 tbsp rice wine vinegar
3 tbsp soy sauce
1 large daikon radish, peeled and thinly sliced into matchsticks
1/2 carrot, peeled and sliced into thin matchsticks
1/2 cucumber, sliced into thin matchsticks
1/4 yellow bell pepper, thinly sliced
1 tsp or so toasted sesame seeds for garnish
salt and pepper to taste

In a bowl, whisk together the ginger, oils, vinegar and soy sauce. Peel the radish and carrot, and slice all the vegetables into thin matchsicks. Toss all the vegetables in the bowl with the vinaigrette, and season to taste with salt and pepper. Top with toasted sesame seeds.

A Reinvention - Asparagus Salad - Raw & Roasted

I was talking with a friend recently about reinvention, and how often and unexpectedly it happens. Like that song you've heard so many times...the one that takes on a whole new light when it happens to be the one playing in the background when you have your first kiss with someone you eventually grow to love. The last dish you make for your Grandfather. The stretch of beach where a dear friend is married.

Those things become the maps to our inner-lives. The markers of where and who we were, until something happens to change the way we see or think about something.

It's funny, how those things happen so unexpectedly. All it takes is one memory associated with a previously innocuous thing, and suddenly it's endowed with meaning and memory. It's why I never skip a certain Pearl Jam or Elliott Smith song when they make their way through my headphones, and why just seeing the words "Shrimp Louie" on a menu can make me tear up. It's both lovely, and bittersweet. You never know what that unsuspecting object, song or dish might become to you in the future.

It's spring in the Bay Area, and that means asparagus at the farmer's market. Last year I was all about the thick purple stocks, this year, I'm leaning towards the pencil-thin green ones. The normal go-to recipe is to roast the whole bunch, but I was feeling adventurous. I decided to try a salad of asparagus two ways: roasted and raw, tossed with lemon and olive oil, and shaved Parmesan mixed in. Skeptical of raw asparagus? So was I. But don't pass it up. I used a vegetable peeler to peel off long, thin strips. The combination is surprising and delicious. Asparagus...but reinvented.



Asparagus Salad - Raw & Roasted

1 bunch asparagus
1 tbsp fresh lemon juice
2 tbsp good quality extra virgin olive oil
2 ounces or so shaved Parmesan
sea salt & freshly ground pepper
fresh lemon zest for garnish

Pre-heat the oven to 425. Roast about 2/3 of the bunch of asparagus for about 20 minutes, until the ends are crispy and brown. Peel the other 1/3 of the bunch into long strips using a vegetable peeler. Whisk the lemon juice and olive oil together with a fork. Once the roasted asparagus is done, toss both roasted and raw together in a bowl with the vinaigrette. Plate, and top with shaved Parmesan, sea salt, pepper and lemon zest.

Transformation - Roasted Radishes

Lately I've been thinking about transformations. Specifically, about how to make them occur. Can change really occur with a simple shift in attitude? And if that doesn't work, what do you do next? What do you do when you feel like you are more than ready to make big changes in your life, and you take what feels like the necessary steps to do that, and the universe simply won't seem to throw you a bone? Do you take that as some sort of sign? Do you press on and double your efforts? Change tactics? And what about people, and that age old question...can people really change?

I admit, I feel like I'm in a rut. I'm out of ideas and I don't know what the next step is. I need something to work out. One thing. Something to encourage me, and maybe point me in the right direction.

I need a change for the better. I want the good things to start happening for the people I love, and for myself. 2010 has been rough so far. Enough is enough for one year.

I joked with a friend today about finding someone who can change your aura, and by that I mean someone to aid in some kind of subconscious shift in mentality. The power of suggestion. Maybe I'll burn some sage??? Learn to meditate for world peace like the dude from the Beastie Boys?

Obviously, I'm getting desperate. But the point is, I feel like I'm open to ideas. Change is good. Change is desired by this girl. Now, any suggestions?

But enough whining (it's my blog, I can do that) if I can't change my immediate situation, I can sure as hell change the state of a bunch of radishes. From bright and hard with a sharp taste to tender, muted and nutty. I am a master of transformation in my kitchen.

I was so intrigued by the idea of roasting radishes. The thought had never occurred to me before. It seemed like such a new and novel idea. They came out of the oven, onto my fork and had been magically transformed into something very much like a roasted turnip. Buttery and soft, with charred and crispy edges. I was impressed. It may sound a little crazy, but that's crazy as in delicious.

If only such a complete transformation was so easy for everything else, eh?




Roasted Radishes
adapted from Saveur

3 bunches mixed radishes
2 tbsp extra virgin olive oil
coarse sea salt
freshly ground black pepper

Pre-heat the oven to 425. Mix the radishes in a bowl with oil, salt and pepper. If you have some fresh herbs (such as thyme) throw a few sprigs in. I had some scapes (fancy garlic) so I chopped those up and threw them in. Roast for 40-50 minutes, shaking the pan during roasting once or twice. Serve hot.

Nostalgia - Beef & Sugar Snap Pea Stir Fry

This has been a weekend packed with nostalgia. Everywhere I went, every event I attended, every song on the radio seemed to yank me back to my teenage self. Starting with Mortified on Friday at the Makeout Room in San Francisco. It's amazing how compelling it is to hear people read their junior high and high school diaries onstage in front of hundreds of people. How hilarious and poignant the angst of those torturous years becomes over time. If you've never seen Mortified before (the events are hosted all over the country) I highly recommend that you go. It's totally cathartic. If only I'd held onto my ridiculous teenage scrawling and not destroyed it in a fit of...well...catharsis. I'm sure I could read those pages now and laugh. Crushes, homework, arch-nemesis's and radio dedications.

I think the only thing I miss is the radio dedications. I wish we still had those. And mix tapes! Actual mix tapes that you have to re-wind and flip over. Is there anything better than a well-crafted mix tape that follows a theme and tone from end to end? That is an absolute art in itself, and I personally am sorry that they've gone the way of the VHS tape. An ipod playlist just isn't the same. I wish I'd saved the tapes I made. The ones I listened to over and over again. I wish I had the ones I sheepishly gave to whomever I was crushing on at the time, hoping they'd listen and pick up on the hidden meaning behind the order of songs.

Junior high. The age when spoken words are so insignificant that communication must be channeled via music and notes passed in 6th period. Le sigh. Ok, so maybe I miss the 6th period notes as well. E-mail never quite does the trick. Nothing like a hand-written note passed in secret.

I'd like to pass Melissa Clark of the NY Times a congratulatory note for publishing this recipe for Beef Stir-Fry with Sugar Snap Peas. Berkeley and Oakland are seriously lacking in decent Chinese food establishments, and forget all about trying to have it delivered. When I saw this recipe while pursuing the paper this morning, it was a like gift from above. I literally tore out of the house and down to the farmers market to grab some good ingredients. Once back at home, it all came together in about half-an-hour, and totally satisfied my Chinese food craving. I have no complaints! And I'm feeling very smug about being able to cook my own healthy version of takeout. Nothing wrong with that!




Beef & Sugar Snap Pea Stir Fry
adapted from Melissa Clark's NY Times recipe

1/2 lb lean grass-fed beef, cut into 1/2 inch strips
3 tbsp soy sauce
2 tsp dark sesame oil
pinch of kosher salt & freshly ground black pepper
1 lb sugar snap peas, trimmed (snow peas would also work)
3 good-size green onions, chopped
3 green garlic bulbs, chopped (or 3-4 cloves regular garlic)
2/3 cups chicken broth
2 1/2 tbsp Madiera or sweet sherry
1 tbsp cornstarch
3 tbsp peanut or olive oil
toasted sesame seeds for garnish

In a medium bowl, mix beef, 2 tablespoons soy sauce, sesame oil, salt and pepper. Set aside.

Thinly slice sugar snap peas crosswise into disks. Thinly slice green onions and green garlic, reserving dark green parts for garnish.

In a small bowl, mix chicken broth, Madeira, 2 tablespoons water, remaining 1 tablespoon soy sauce and cornstarch.

Heat a large skillet over high heat. Add 2 tablespoons oil. When pan is hot, stir-fry beef until browned, about 2 minutes. Transfer beef and any liquid to a plate.

Add remaining tablespoon oil to skillet and when hot, add garlic and white and light green scallion parts until lightly browned, about 1 minute. Add sugar snap peas and chicken broth mixture, lower heat to medium and cover. Let cook for 2 minutes. Transfer beef and juices to skillet and stir-fry 2 minutes. Serve over rice, garnished with more sesame oil, sesame seeds, and dark parts of scallions.

Painted Peach This Time Last Year - Popovers!

What it Takes - Roasted Mushroom & Bread Salad

I think one of the milestones of growing up must be when you choose to do the right thing, even when that is the hardest thing to do. To follow your heart, because you hold onto the belief that if you do that, you cannot be steered in the wrong direction. To do your best to handle disappointment with as much grace as you can muster. To keep looking forward, believing in possibility and opportunity and to be ready to greet those things with a heart that is wide open.

It takes a lot of strength to do those things. It takes confidence, and peace of mind in knowing that you've learned from your past, and that those lessons weren't wasted.

It takes knowing that the possibility for change only happens when you let go. Clear the decks and open up. Letting go of the control you only think you have. Nothing changes when you hold on too tight. It's a scary thing to let yourself fall. To jump into the wide open of change and possibility without a net in sight.

It's scary. But I can't help but think I'd rather grow, and change, and learn. Even when it hurts. Maybe especially when it hurts. Another opportunity to make myself stronger.

How's that for a positive attitude?

It took years before I could look a mushroom dead on. Fungus. I hated the musty little things. I would never even think of eating one. There was something so creepy about them. I couldn't really put my finger on it, but I had an extremely healthy distrust of mushrooms.

Thank goodness for change and growth. Now I can't get enough of them. Especially when they're roasted with a bit of sherry, torn off pieces of bread, tossed together with loads of herbs and topped with a dollop of creme fraiche. It's a delicious dinner that comes together in a snap. I could eat this stuff for days.

Roasted Mushroom & Bread Salad

1 lb crimini mushrooms (a blend of mushrooms would be fantastic in this)
1/4 cup extra virgin olive oil, plus 2 tbsp
salt & freshly ground black pepper
2 tbsp dry sherry
1/2 lb chunky breadcrumbs
1/4 cup fresh parsley, chopped
1/4 cup fresh chives, chopped
1 tbsp fresh thyme, chopped
creme fraiche (or plain yogurt) for garnish

Pre-heat the oven to 475. Put the mushrooms into a baking dish and toss with 1/4 cup olive oil. Sprinkle salt and pepper over the mushrooms. Roast the mushrooms for about 20 minutes on the upper rack of the oven, toss the mushrooms once and de-glaze the dish with the 2 tbsp of sherry. Put back in the oven and roast for an additional 10 minutes, until the mushrooms have darkened and shrunk significantly.

Meanwhile, coat the breadcrumbs with the 2 tbsp of olive oil and some salt and pepper. Toast in the oven or a toaster oven. When the mushrooms and breadcrumbs are done, toss together with the herbs. Add salt and pepper to taste. Top with creme fraiche and serve.

Possibility - English Pea & Pecorino Crostini with Mint

I am a planner at heart: A menu, a road trip, an evening out. When you need someone to book a reservation a month ahead of time, I am your girl. I live for that kind of thing. A hard-to-book table, the most affordable airline ticket, a unique date, an out-of-the-way beer garden in the next county or the best sandwich on Interstate 5. When it comes to planning, I am up to the task.

If only I were so confident when it comes to mapping out my life.

But I suppose that's the point of it all. I mean where's the fun in knowing everything that comes next? I'd love to meet the person who's life has gone according to plan. To be honest, it sounds fairly boring. Although I guess it would remove the sometimes anxiety-inducing uncertainty...which I admit, does sometimes sound appealing...

Uncertainty is just possibility in disguise. Isn't that what they say? I'm trying to keep that in mind as I get ready to spring into a week that has the potential to bring great change, or not. When I think about uncertainty, it tends to bring up negative connotations. But the same isn't true for possibility. Possibility, in my mind, is about the future, about looking forward to great success and happy events.

And I'll try to remember; if it's not this week that brings great change, it may be the next. Anything is possible. You just never know. Those are my positive thoughts for the day. Let's see if I can keep 'em going.

This week has already brought a ton of great scores from the Temescal Farmer's Market. I have a ton of things up my sleeve and a kitchen counter full of asparagus, fava beans, radishes and strawberries.

Also, one of my favorites, english peas.

I've got a Tarragon Chicken roasting in the oven, and I've invited Amber over for dinner, with clear instructions to bring the wine. While the chicken rests, these English Pea & Pecorino Crostini with Mint will be just the thing.

And then we'll toast to all the future possibilities.






English Pea & Pecorino Crostini with Mint
adapted from Molly Watson

2 lbs english peas, shelled
3 tbsp good quality extra-virgin olive oil
1 large clove garlic
1 fresh baguette, sliced on the diagonal
Pecorino for shredding
salt & freshly ground black pepper
mint for garnish
1 tsp fresh lemon juice

Bring a saucepan of water to boil and add the shelled peas. Boil for about 1 minute until slightly tender. Drain and rinse with cold water to cool the peas. Dry as best you can, and set them in a bowl. Mash peas with a fork with a touch of salt, the lemon juice and 2 tbsp of the olive oil.

Toast the bread and rub with the garlic. Discard the clove. Spread the pea-mash generously over each toast. Sprinkle with pecorino, mint and black pepper and drizzle the remaining tbsp of olive oil over the toasts. Add more salt to taste and serve.

Death by Caramel - Salted Caramel Tart

I nearly killed myself with caramel.

Perhaps that's a bit dramatic, but I need you to understand the severity of the situation. Caramel is not easy. It is treacherous. It took three attempts to get this tart right. THREE! By the end of it, I was so sick of looking at and smelling caramel, I was barely tempted to taste it. I was tired, no, exhausted, and so very. very. done with caramel. Was it worth it? Well. It's tough to say. I'm still having arm spasms from stirring.

Again with the dramatics.

My niece and I had discussed my Sister's love of caramel. I thought this tart would be just the thing for her birthday, served with a fluffy cloud of only slightly sweetened, fresh whipped cream.

So there I was at the stove, stirring away. About 10 minutes into the first batch, I noticed the caramel was turning an unexpected and disturbing shade of grey. I leaned in to examine it closer and removed the spoon: the spoon had half dissolved into the caramel mixture! I had thought it was silicon, but in actuality, it was plastic. Batch discarded.

I prepped the caramel once more. Wooden spoon in hand, stirring and stirring, watching carefully so as not to burn it. The recipe instructions said to bring the caramel to a distinctly dark color. I admit, I was skeptical: the picture looked so dark. I could have sworn the caramel shown was burnt, but, "have courage!" the recipe instructed. And so I did. I brought it to a dark color...and tasted it.

Burnt. Completely.

Batch discarded.

And so, onto the third batch, about an hour in at this point. Recipe for caramel committed to memory. Screw courage: at this point, I just wanted caramel that was neither burnt nor toxic.

And it worked. The third batch was perfect.

I'm told that the tart was good. Rich and buttery, as caramel should be. I had a bite. But the process had the unintended consequence of making me decidedly anti-caramel. But at the end of it, the tart had been completely devoured. And I guess, that's about as much of a recommendation as I can give for this recipe.

In the future, I will trust my own instincts when it comes to a recipe, and I will stick with silicon or wood when cooking candy.

So, if attempting this one, heed my warnings. Screw courage, trust your taste, and if all else fails, remember, caramel is tricky. It's not your fault.

Salted Caramel Tart
from the cookbook FAT by Jennifer McLagan

For the tart dough:

2 cups all-purpose flour
pinch of fine sea salt
2/3 cup cold unsalted butter, diced
1 large egg
1/3 cup superfine sugar

For the caramel:

1 1/4 cups superfine sugar
1/2 cup salted butter, diced
1 cup whipping cream
lightly whipped cream, for serving

Combine the flour and salt in a food processor and pulse to mix. Add the butter and pulse until the mixture resembles very coarse bread crumbs. Transfer the mixture to a large bowl.

In another bowl, whisk together the egg and sugar. Pour the egg mixture over the flour-butter mixture and mix with a fork. Squeeze a bit of the mixture between your fingers. If it holds together, transfer the dough to a lightly floured surface; if not, add a couple of teaspoons of ice water and test again. Knead gently and form into a ball, divide the pastry in half, and flatten into 2 disks. Wrap each disk in plastic and refrigerate for at least 30 minutes before using.

Roll out the pastry on a floured surface and line a 9-inch or 9 1/2-inch (23-cm or 24-cm) tart pan. Prick the base of the tart with a fork and refrigerate for at least 30 minutes.

Preheat the oven to 375. Place the tart shell on a baking sheet. Line the tart with parchment paper and fill it with dried beans. Bake until the pastry is just set, about 15 minutes. Remove the paper and beans and continue to cook until the pastry is a dark golden color, 10 to 15 minutes. Transfer the tart to a wire rack and leave to cool completely.

Combine the sugar and butter in a deep, heavy saucepan over medium heat. Stir to mix and cook, stirring occasionally, until the butter and sugar caramelize, 10 to 15 minutes. The sugar and butter will go through several stages. First it will look like a flour-butter roux, then it will appear curdled, and then the butter will leak out of the sugar mixture. Don’t worry: It will all come together in the end.

While the caramel is cooking, pour the cream into a saucepan and bring it to a boil over medium heat. Remove from the heat and set aside.

Keep stirring the butter-sugar mixture, watching carefully as it begins to caramelize and remembering that the heat in the pan will continue to cook the caramel once it is removed from the burner. You want a rich, dark caramel color, but you don’t want to burn the mixture, which will give it a bitter taste. When the caramel reaches the right color, remove the pan from the heat and slowly and carefully pour in the cream; the mixture will bubble and spit. When the caramel stops bubbling, return it to low heat and cook for 5 minutes, stirring to dissolve the caramel in the cream. Remove the pan from the heat and let the caramel cool for 10 minutes. Slowly pour the cooled caramel into the baked pastry shell and chill the tart for at least 2 hours.

This tart is easier to cut when it is chilled. Remove the tart from the pan and, using a wet knife, cut it into wedges. Serve the tart at room temperature, however, for maximum flavor, with a dollop of whipped cream.

Of Hot Tubs and Road Trips - Simple Lentil Salad

I've been in a bit of a cooking funk lately. I can't seem to get myself to the market very often, and when I do, I come home missing an ingredient or two, and then can't force myself out again to retrieve them. Meals have mostly been eaten out or foisted upon me by friends with leftovers to spare. I have to admit, I'm actually enjoying the break. More time for other things, such as a hot tub and sauna night at Piedmont Springs in Oakland. Delightful! Living in an apartment building has it's disadvantages. Lack of hot tub is one of them, so it's very refreshing to know that tucked away on Piedmont Avenue, there is a small oasis of outdoor, private redwood tubs which can be yours for one hour, for about the price of two cocktails.

It's a bargain. Add a few minutes in the sauna, and I'm a happy camper. Maybe someday I'll spring for the massage as well.

But I have a confession. I have been spoiled when it comes to hot tubs. In college, my roommate Beth and I lucked out with a ridiculously perfect house, 4 blocks from school, complete with wrap-around deck and hot tub. In case you were wondering: studying for finals is not too strenuous when up to your neck in 103 degree water. It is also rather easy for the party to come to you, when you are the gate-keeper of a hot tub. Party attendance was always more than we expected, but our hot tub space was always reserved.

After college, when I moved in with my friend Ilsa, I lucked out once again, with a large redwood hot tub in our yard in Berkeley. I wish I could say I'd enjoyed that tub more, but our hot tub fun was cut short when we found a family of opossums living under said tub. Let me tell you, those things are mean as hell. They hiss! Sitting up to your neck in 103 degree water is considerably less relaxing when being circled by hissing opossums.

Luckily, there are no rodents of unusual size (or regular size for that matter) at Piedmont Springs. Nor are there gangs of rowdy college kids. Just pure, private relaxation in the middle of the city. Happiness. Sheer happiness.

So now, to extend my relaxed, meditative state, I'm off on a road trip up North for my Sister's 40th birthday. We'll see if this cooking funk continues. I'm happy to trade my tiny kitchen for the open road, a Superbird Sandwich from Grenzellas on I5, all of my favorite restaurants in Ashland, Oregon, and, what is sure to be some superb family cooking. Cooking for 14 people is always a bit of a challenge. I suspect we'll be combining forces.

Until I'm back, I leave you with a single, simple recipe. For an evening when cooking needs to be minimal, without fuss. There's nothing more satisfying than a simple lentil salad. And Alice Waters has the best simple recipe I know. A few tweaks here and there to make it your own, you can throw in just about anything you have on hand. It's hard to ruin lentil salad, and the red wine vinaigrette is so perfect on this. It's what to cook when you don't want to cook.





Lentil Salad
adapted from Alice Waters, The Art of Simple Food

1 cup lentils, sorted and rinsed (Alice recommends French Green or Black Beluga, I had brown lentils on hand and they worked just fine.)
1/2 cup carrot, diced
1/2 cup potatoes, diced
1/2 lb spinach
1 tbsp red wine vinegar
salt & fresh-ground black pepper
3 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil
2 finely diced shallots
3 tablespoons chopped parsley

Bring the lentils to boil in about 3 inches of boiling water. Simmer and cook until tender, it should take about 30 minutes. Drain, and reserve about 1/4 cup of the cooking liquid. Set liquid and lentils aside.

Heat about 1 tbsp of olive oil in a pan, and saute the shallots, carrots, and potatoes until tender. Add the spinach to wilt. Stir in the parsley and remove from heat.

Toss the lentils and vegetables together with red wine vinegar, salt & pepper and the 2 remaining tablespoons of olive oil. If the lentils seem dry, add a bit of the cooking liquid. Serve room temperature or cold.

Guest Post by Pearl

My six year old niece, Pearl, has asked that her photo of her dinner be included on the blog. I am more than happy to oblige her. I happen to know that she is an excellent cook: masterfully arranging chocolate chips in cookies, raspberries in raspberry tarts, eating chocolate and licking spatulas clean.

I can tell you that her favorite meal is salmon sushi. She prefers it without rice. She also very much enjoyed the Pina Colada's (virgin) I made in Hawaii, but she prefers them without too much fresh pineapple, because the pineapple makes her tongue swell up.

So here is dinner by Pearl. Sweet potatoes, and chicken on peas. Very healthy and well-balanced, I must say.

It is obvious she has an eye for this thing.




Well done, Pearlyque!

The Old Familiar - Tacubaya Salad with Lemon-Lime Vinaigrette

About once every year, I pull out my old, tattered copy of East of Eden, my favorite book of all time. I re-read and re-visit the paragraphs and characters I love so well. I never really plan on reading it again, but once the urge strikes, I have to indulge. And so far, every year, it happens like clockwork.

I like to re-read books. I do the same thing with The Great Gatsby, and a few others. It might sound cliched, but it seems every time I pick one of these books up again, I find something I missed the last time around. Something new. I think about a passage differently than I used to. And I never, ever tire of reading the last line of Gatsby, possibly the greatest ending to a book ever:

"Gatsby believed in the green light, the orgastic future that year by year recedes before us. It eluded us then, but that's no matter -- to-morrow we will run faster, stretch out our arms farther....And one fine morning --- So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past."

That ending always thrills me.

I take no issue with the familiar, the well-trodden path. My friend Lesley tends to disagree with me on this. She thinks she'll miss out on something new if she sticks with what she's done before. Whether it's a book, an ice cream flavor...I see her point. But I still prefer chocolate ice cream nearly every time. I take comfort in the familiar, and in habit.

So it is with this salad. The Tacubaya Salad. Tacubaya is a Mexican restaurant on 4th Street in Berkeley. It's a favorite lunch spot of mine, not too far from where I worked when I first moved the the Bay Area. Once I discovered this salad on their menu, I committed. My order at Tacubaya is always, always: one chicken taco and the Primavera Salad. Which I have re-named, the Tacubaya Salad.

This salad is everything I want a salad to be. Bright, crunchy, filling, and tangy. There's a lot of texture going on here. Carrots, cucumber, radish, avocado, pumpkin seeds, baby lettuce and cabbage, all tossed in a lemon-lime vinaigrette. It's very possible that I could live off of this salad for quite some time, and be completely content.

I always feel a bit silly posting a salad recipe. I mean, it's a salad. You can probably see from the picture what the proportions are like, and to be honest, I don't measure for it. I throw it all together in the proportions I need. It's about an equal proportion of everything from the pumpkin seeds to the carrots to the cabbage to the lettuce. And the dressing really couldn't be easier. So, think of this as less of a recipe, and more as a few guidelines for this salad of salads.





Tacubaya Salad with Lemon-Lime Vinaigrette
adapted from Tacubaya Restaurant in Berkeley

1 bag mixed baby lettuce
1 bunch radishes, thinly sliced
2-3 carrots, shaved into strips
1 cucumber, thinly sliced
1 cup or more green cabbage, thinly sliced
1 cup or more red cabbage, thinly sliced
1 avocado, cubed
1 cup pepitas or pumpkin seeds, toasted (I usually get the raw ones from Trader Joe's)

for the Vinaigrette:
Juice of 1 lemon
Juice of 1 lime
1 tbsp or more of sugar
1/4 tsp salt
olive oil (you need enough for that magic 3 - 1 ratio of oil to acid)

Mix ingredients to taste. It should be sweet, sour, and salty, all at the same time.

Toss everything together and serve.

In the Pouring Rain - Roasted Salmon with Rhubarb & Red Cabbage

I braved high winds and pouring rain last Sunday afternoon to meet Brian for beer and lunch at the Monk's Kettle in San Francisco. Driving across the Bay Bridge, it occurred to me that I hadn't actually been over to the city since...well, mid-February. And it is now April. A very sorry state of affairs. The East Bay does its best (restaurant, food-wise and friend-wise) to make the trip unnecessary, but there's really no excuse for living so close to San Francisco, and yet making it over there so rarely. I couldn't help but feel slightly sheepish that it had been so long. And I have to admit, I'd missed the Mission in all it's grimy hipster-ness. Even in the driving rain, the mustaches, shaggy haircuts, fixie bikes and unnecessary eye ware were out in full force.

I love the Mission, but it always makes me feel as though I'm in some foreign country on a limited visa. I'mnot meant to stay, but just to visit, and staring in fascination at its inhabitants and culture.

I'm glad they let me visit. Elixir is still the only bar I've found in the Bay Area that serves my beloved Deschutes Green Lake beer, and it turns out they also have a make-your-own-Bloody-Mary-bar on Sundays. I think that's worth crossing a bridge for, as I've been on a serious hunt for the best Bay Area Bloody Mary for awhile now. Thus far, Zeitgeist has been the clear leader, but that may just be the sun, picnic tables, Tamale Lady and cheeseburgers talking...

Though we've been experiencing bouts of torrential rain for the last several months now, Bay Area residents still seem woefully unprepared for the weather. Umbrellas seem a rarity, the streets constantly flood, traffic comes to a standstill, and we run, diving under awnings and into shops, dripping wet from trying (unsuccessfully) to dodge the raindrops. I do have an umbrella but I must admit, it's more than slightly broken, and I think I must be a somewhat pathetic sight, running around with what is basically, only half of a working umbrella.

The best thing about torrential rain, is that it makes it easy to stay inside and cook. A horrible rainy day is actually a pleasant day to have the oven on.

I'd been eyeing this unexpected, and rather strange recipe in Bon Appetit: Roasted Salmon with Rhubarb and Red Cabbage. My on-going love affair with rhubarb makes it difficult to ignore any recipe in which it is featured. I'd been wanting to try it in something savory, and the pairing with salmon seemed like a good option. I was really happy with how it turned out too, as the sweet and sour tastes of rhubarb were a great compliment to rich and buttery fish.

I did, however, have a problem with the cabbage. My adaptation ignores the caraway seeds and most of the coriander: the original recipe called for several tablespoons of each, which I found overpowering and unnecessary. Next time I make this, I may omit the cabbage altogether and just top the fish with the rhubarb and orange.




Roasted Salmon with Rhubarb & Red Cabbage
adapted from Bon Appetit

2 tsp black or yellow mustard seeds
3/4 cup fresh orange juice
1/2 cup sugar
4 tbsp water
1 tbsp finely grated orange peel
1 tsp coriander seeds
1 tsp minced peeled fresh ginger
2 cups 2-inch-long 1/4-inch-thick matchstick-size strips rhubarb
4 cups thinly sliced red cabbage
1/4 cup Sherry wine vinegar
1/4 cup dry red wine
2 6- to 7-ounce salmon fillets with skin 1 tbsp olive oil or grapeseed oil

Stir mustard seeds in small dry skillet over medium heat until beginning to pop, about 3 minutes. Transfer to small bowl; reserve.

Bring orange juice, sugar, water, and orange peel to boil in large skillet, stirring until sugar dissolves. Reduce heat to medium; add mustard seeds, coriander seeds, and ginger. Simmer until syrupy, 8 minutes. Add rhubarb; reduce heat to medium-low. Cover and simmer until rhubarb is tender but intact, 2 minutes. Using slotted spoon, transfer rhubarb to microwave-safe bowl; reserve.

Bring syrup in skillet to simmer. Add cabbage, vinegar, and wine; bring to boil. Reduce heat to medium, partially cover, and simmer until cabbage is soft and most of liquid is absorbed, stirring frequently, about 45 minutes. Season to taste with salt and pepper. Remove from heat.

Meanwhile, preheat oven to 425°F. Line rimmed baking sheet with parchment paper or foil. Place salmon, skin side down, on prepared baking sheet. Brush salmon with olive oil; sprinkle with salt and pepper. Roast until salmon is just opaque in center, about 11 minutes. Rewarm reserved rhubarb in microwave just until warm. Divide warm cabbage among serving plates. Place 1 salmon fillet atop cabbage. Top with rhubarb.