Good: harney & sons bangkok green tea

O, tea of suntan oil soaked, and sun-toasted bikini flesh I am happy you are back in my life. (Allegedly green tea flavored with coconut, ginger and lemongrass. I know you are green tea flavored with joy.) And thanks to dave, who gave me a lovely assortment of tea in a presentation box, unwittingly introducing me to the Bangkok long ago.

Girl's dinner: Abundance for four

Abundance, originally uploaded by miss_rogue.

Radishes with fancy ass salt
4 year gouda and Sweet Grass Dairy tomme
Small pots of simple mushroom soup with tiny tarts of Humbolt Fog
Chicory with red & yellow beets, blood oranges, grapefruit, mint and olive oil
Tiny artichokes
Local halibut poached with leeks, fennel, lemon zets and young carrots
Cauliflower gratin
Bi-Rite chocolate ice cream with bergamot olive oil and fancy ass sea salt
Tea with silver spoons to melt dark chocolate in

Winter dinner for Erin

Fizzy Lizzy Lone Star grapefruit greyhounds

Tiny pots of simple soup of wild mushrooms
Tiny tarts of French goat cheese, herbs and pink peppercorns
Beet and supremed orange salad
A lot of prosecco
Cauliflower gratin
Chocolate pudding served in vasoline glass custard cups that might be radioactive. Maybe

Monday dessert: Kumquats, assorted

kumquats, originally uploaded by tofu666.

L made coq a vin, and the usual thousand side dishes. I made marzipan squares (fail), tiny cookies, and and individual marmalades from three types of Berkeley Bowl-sourced kumquats.

Lunch for a new dad.

February 22: U-Pik Meyers, originally uploaded by gwen.

Pasta Shop lemon ravioli filled with lemon ricotta, simply tossed with rough-chopped backyard Meyer lemon (preserved) , and frozen peas warmed on olive oil. Golden pillows of joy, much tastier than the durian variety of the same name. Good to see T.

At Leslie's: An alledged potluck

° p i s t a c h i o s °, originally uploaded by ° d i + m a r s °.

Leslie always cooks too much food, and a zillion courses. She's a dinner party rockstar. She apparently only invites brilliant and witty conversationalists. I know she didn't really mean it when she invited me over for a potluck. She did only cook one dish, but it had seven condiments. Piffle. Some break she took from being a culinary goddess. To show my loyalty and support of her pretend potluck I invented:

Dessert of Seven Tiny Things
One tiny scoop pistachio gelato
One tiny scoop (different) pistachio gelato
One tiny scoop pistachio ice cream
One tiny sandwich of pistachio-studded cookie with backyard apricot jam
One tiny sandwich of pine nut-studded cookie with Buddha's hand citron marmalade
Spoon of rose petal jam
Leaf-on clementine

Tiny Butter Cookies
(adapted from Maida Heater's Fruit Cake Icebox Cookies, Book of Great Cookies,1977 p 136)

1/2 lb. butter
1 C confectioner's sugar
1 egg
Zest from a lemon-sized citrus fruit (lemon or small orange, 2 clementines, 1/4 grapefruit)
2 1/2 C Flour
2 cups total dried fruits or nuts (For the dessert above I divided the dough in half and added 1 C pistachios to A, 1 C pine nuts to B. There were a christmas cookie in my family, made with dried papaya cut into 1/4 inch cubes and pistachios.)


Cream the butter, add sugar, cream it too. Add the egg, beat well. Add zest. Gradually add flour on low. Mix in the fruit and or nuts with your bare hands, and mean it. Grab out lumps the size of your fist, roll into snakes the diameter of a bratwurst. Roll up in waxed paper or parchment, twisting the ends. I prefer parchment, because I have turned into a maniac about material things and you can reuse it by baking the cookies on it. Refrigerate, or if you're in a hurry, toss them in the freezer. When hard (frozen is okay, but not required) slice them like coins 3/16 inch thick. (I know...specific. But 1/8 is too thin, and 1/4 too thick.)

Bake on parchment @ 350 degrees until very slightly toasty on the edges. Watch like a hawk, they'll burn in an instant. Impress the pants off your guests by serving them hot.

Mini gougere, goodbye 2007

Made in an edition of two, a Tartine-based delight of cheesy poofs. Will post link, second edition was (ha!) for television.

Mini Gougere

Modified from Chef Elisabeth Prueitt’s recipe, published in the Tartine cookbook.

1 1/4 cups nonfat milk
10 tablespoons unsalted butter
Coarse salt
1 cup all-purpose flour
6 large eggs
3/4 cup grated Gruyere cheese, plus more for garnish

Directions
Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Line a baking sheet with parchment paper; set aside.

Place milk, butter, and 1 teaspoon salt in a large heavy-bottomed saucepan over medium heat. Cook until butter has melted and mixture comes to a boil. Add flour; stir constantly until mixture is smooth and begins to pull away from the sides of the pan, about 3 minutes.

Remove from heat and add 5 eggs, one at a time, making sure each is fully incorporated before adding the next. Mixture will be thick, smooth, and shiny. Stir in cheese.

Using two teaspoons, form rounds about 1 inches wide and ½ to ¾ inch high on prepared baking sheet, spacing each about 2 inches apart. In a small bowl, whisk together remaining egg and pinch of salt. Brush each pastry round with egg mixture and sprinkle with cheese. Also, you can forget to do this and do it half way through the baking process.

Transfer baking sheet to oven and bake until puffed, golden brown, and light for their size, 20-25 minutes.

Sugarfest.

I just finished bringing these to temperature, except they were quince & Crimson Gold apple caramels. Thinking lots of my caramel-making grandfather. My mom would be proud, I used a fancy vat cultured butter from Sierra Nevada.

Plus a 16oz jar of poached quinces, two 24oz jars of poached Crimson Golds (o, the tarts!), and two 12oz jars of Crimson Gold jelly.

Distracted.

Several hours ago I got up to find the name of a knife company. i just sat down again to eat the fennel and squash soup occupying one of four burners on my stove. The others are quince quarters poaching in simple syrup, Crimson Gold tiny apples poaching in future jelly, and apple/ quince trimmings getting made into pectin. Name of knife company? No idea.

Mussels at Fritz.

Mussels, originally uploaded by ~Dezz~.

S and I had the most lovely date last night. I'm giddy about winter and Christmas, and went out in a green argyle sweater and red cable-knit scarf. We walked a few short blocks to the new Fritz. I've been to the new location three times. First for fries and wine after a draining day. Then Tuesday after dinner at L's I joined P & E, who I spotted in the posh window seat. I disappeared a Hoegarten and stole a few of their 'Delphi' mussels (feta, Kalamatas, garlic, oregano). S is working tons these days, so I'd been plotting a relaxing night. When I suggested mussels, he thought of a few lovely and schwank places to enjoy them. I was angling for the $11 mussels with $4.75 fries, enough for two to spilt.

When we arrived, the line was out the door. We zipped through it, so fast that we had to concur on which mussels and tasty fry dipping sauces at the register. We cozied up in the window on the white vinyl bed sofa, with a tray table across my lap. Fabulous people watching from our perch at the front. A large Fritz arrived with roasted pepper mayonnaise and wasabi mayonnaise, both of which could have been more flavored. We later returned for curry ketchup and Thai hot sauce ketchup. Spiennes Mussels came in Hoegarten (yay!) with fresh fennel, lemon zest, garlic and shallots. I drank a yummy white French wine which will remain unnamed, because it was too damn far away to read the name.

Eggs for Naya.

Soft scrambled eggs with perhaps Jarrahdale squash cubes, a bit of preserved Meyer lemon and carmelized onions with thyme and sage. Applewood smoked bacon, Ritual coffee N brought, after staving off the empty belly with walnut toast and strawberry jam made yesterday. We followed this with hours of drinking tea and knitting. A magnificent Saturday.

Eggs for Naya

3 very small onions, sliced (about 2/3 C.)
Thyme
Sage
1 Tbs. butter
2 C. squash cubes, steamed
2 Tsp. minced preserved Meyer Lemon

6 eggs

1/4 C. cream

1 cup plain yogurt (I used Brown Cow lowfat)

Salt

Pepper

Carmelize onions in butter, while steaming squash. Adding thyme, sage, preserved lemon, salt and pepper to onions at finish. Turn heat to low. Drink some coffee.

Fork-whisk eggs, add cream, add yogurt. Whisk more, but don't worry about evenly incorporating the yogurt. Add egg mixture to pan of squash and seasoned onions. Cook over very low heat, flipping the edges into the middle and stirring gently. Drink more coffee. While the still-a-bit-runny eggs are cooking, put a lid on the pan and turn off the heat. Relax. Cook the bacon. Then eat the perfect eggs. Adding yogurt does a cheesy trick that I still don't fully understand, but adore.

Missed.

Hello Creme of My (Your) Name and JBS and ioerror. Lovely to hear from you all. Smooches and coddled eggs.

Camellia.

In Joigny I bought a secopnd and third bottle of Gris de Joigny at the farmers market from a cheese shop. I also bought a handfull of tiny thimbles of hard aged goat cheese. The were unforgettable. As in I think of them three times a day. So when I see California Crottins at the corner store, I always miss the thimbles, and apparently their "wrinkly, geotrichum candidum rinds." Last night S and I were walking home from the video store (Perfume and Black Tights) I stopped in to pick of packed lunch tidbits. I bought a gooey ripe Camellia, a soft goat cheese...overrripe by American standards.

I gooely cut it in two this morning, sending S away with half. Plus a pink lady apple, walnut bread, a hard boiled egg, tiny containers of salt and fresh ground pepper, a salad of arugula/ strawberries/Point Reyes blue, a tiny bottle of balsamic dressing, a clementine, and a tiny jar of Crimson Gold apple jelly. (I was regretting forgetting to pack a bar of Scarffenberger until I typed that list. What a lunch!) A linen napkin even, and rather nice cutlery like this. I took the other half of the cheese, a perfect pear and walnut bread.

I ate lunch first. The cheese was shockingly redolent of sweaty woman. Blink. Hooray for ripe cheese.

Black Tights.

Yowzers. Cyd Charisse in Black Tights. I need more vertically striped corsets. They'd look great with my kitchen.

You want food porn?

the complete sausage tree, originally uploaded by a nameless yeast.

Watch Julia make sausage in The French Chef with Julia Child: Disc 2, episode 4 (or 10, depending on how you're counting) "To Stuff a Sausage." She's as hands on as usual.

It's thoughtfully followed with the cold shower that is Tripes a la Mode. Ever see a whole cow's stomach? Large.

Winter rain salad.

the radishes dreamt of being roses, originally uploaded by Splat Worldwide.

I recieve a magical box every other week. This week, I vowed to eat the most perishable things immediately--big red radishes and a funny bag of 4" assorted lettuce leaves. The dressing was a discovery.

Winter Dressing
1/4 cup Point Reyes Blue cheese, crumbled
1/2 cup plain yogurt (I used Brown Cow low fat)
Dash habanero hot sauce
1/2 tsp worchestershire sauce
Lots of fresh ground black pepper

Once, there was the most magical dinner.

The crew of the Saint Vallerie staked in and tied down to a scandalously central bank in Auxerre, France at sunset. Seven of the crew disembarked to explore, and S and I sauteed aboard to transform cassoulet for two or three into dinner for nine. El Capitan suggested dining ashore. S surveyed the resources from the increasingly delightful foredeck.

We trundled the tables and every chair across to shore, pulled up the gangplanks, replaced them farther forward, and carried everything to the foredeck. Deeply short on chairs, we improvised benches out of gangplanks balanced on chairs. A sheet became the table cloth as I madly quartered and steamed strategically filling artichokes as a starter. Pressure-cooked haricots blancs had already power stewed in the pressure cooker with a mildly outrageous quantity of multicolored Joigny farmers market carrots and our meagre looking two legs/thighs of duck confit. The concoction was bubbling away in out one glass casserole in the tiny boat oven, crispy duck fatted crumbs toasting on top.

The dueling cathedrals created an unforgettable scene as the rest of the crew trouped home to steaming artichokes and white Burgundy. An utter victory. And in striped shirts.

Cracked.

After 10 years of owning assorted Le Creuset, Dansk, etc. enamel pans, I've finally hurt one. My red Dansk saucepan with lovely wooden handle now has a crackled and cracked bottom, with bits flaking off everywhere. Replacable. The thinnker Dansk enamel is perhaps less tough than the Le Creuset?

Creme de Pissenlits, or Bridey Soup

Bridey, Erin, S and I filled our bike baskets with greens from the edge of the canal, never picking more than one third of the leaves from a plant, per Bridey's foraging ethics.

Creme de Pissenlits(Cream of Dandelion Soup)

Modified from Madeleine Kamman's When French Women Cook (Ten Speed Press, 2002) to be made without blenders or strainers, and on a boat that had lots of carrots.

2 lbs. dandelion greens, trimmed, and washed
Salt
8 tbsp. butter
1 cup rich chicken stock
1 large onion, peeled and diced
3 small carrots, peeled, trimmed, and chopped
¼ cup flour
4 cups milk, hot
Freshly ground black pepper
1 cup heavy cream
1 tbsp. Dijon mustard
2 strips bacon, chopped and cooked crispily
Butter soaked, garlicky herbed croutons for garnish.

1. If using young dandelion greens, chop them and set aside. If using older, tougher greens, blanch them in a pot of boiling salted water, then cool them in a bowl of ice water. Drain them, squeezing out excess moisture, chop, and set aside.

2. Melt 4 tbsp. of the butter in a large heavy-bottomed pot over medium-high heat. Add dandelion greens and cook, stirring often, until moisture has evaporated, 15-20 minutes. Add stock and simmer, stirring often, until it has almost completely evaporated, about 15 minutes.

3. Melt remaining butter in a medium saucepan over medium heat. Add onions and carrots and cook until onions are translucent, 8-10 minutes. Add flour and cook, stirring constantly, for 2 minutes. Remove pan from heat and gradually whisk in hot milk. Return pan to medium-low heat and cook sauce, stirring constantly, until thick, 25-30 minutes. Season to taste with salt and pepper.

4. Combine cream and mustard, then stir into soup. Heat soup over medium-low heat until hot (do not let soup boil; it will curdle). Crumble bacon into soup and adjust seasonings. Serve soup garnished with garlicky croutons.

Hark, the appled pies are singing.

The winter, she is upon us. When first back from France, S bought me a dozen of the cutest tiny apples. I made them into two tiny tarts. Newly invented, the candied apple pie, in a larger version:

Candied Apple Pie
2 lbs. tiny apples (I used Crimson Golds, 1.5-2" in diameter)
2 cups white sugar
2 cups water
1 recipe pate sucre

Halve and seed the tiny apples, leaving the peels on. Boil in saucepan with sugar and water, mixing gently to insure all apples are candied. Do not burn or carmelize. Cook until the apples are cooked through but not mushy, ~20 minutes on medium heat.

Prepare the pate sucre in a short tart pan, 8-'10". The dough can just be pressed in, not rolled. Arrange the tiny apples on end in concentric circles. Drizzle 2 Tsp of the cooking liquid over the tart. Reserve the rest. Bake at 375 for 45 minutes, or until the crust is nicely toasted and the tops of rosy apples are lightly burnt, all French like. Serve with whipped cream.

The cooking liquid will be reduced to about 1 cup, and is likelt to magically transform into a luscious jelly. If not jelling properly, get out your candy thermometer and adjust.

Photo Credit:
the lure of the ice storm and the journey through st. cloud, Many Fires http://www.flickr.com/photos/manyfires/317596011/