The Road Taken

I started writing this post over a month ago. Since then I have started and stopped quite a few times. Then I just stopped. And stared. Nothing. Then I started again, but didn't know where to take it. I wasn't sure why. Normally once I start something, anything, I stay right with it until I finish. But this one is different. Change is afoot.

Like many writers, I often grapple with how much, or how little, to expose about myself here. To you. I like to talk, I like to tell stories, I like to share. It helps me process. It helps me see. I used to be religious about writing in my journals, almost excessively some days. In a sense, this has become my journal. The big difference is there is now an audience. An audience with reactions I cannot gauge while I 'talk'. For the most part I keep things on the lighter side, but I assure you that this voice is mine and mine alone. If you met me, that would be clear within moments. This voice is more disciplined, however, and part of an identity I am able to control.

Here I tell you about me, but within the framework of food and within the realm of my kitchen, or, perhaps, someone else's kitchen. I will tell you about Fred, or Besito, or anecdotes about any number of members of my family and certainly friends that come in and out of the spotlight at any particular time. And from all of that, and the years we've known one another, I can imagine you have gleaned quite a bit about me.

I have been hinting about some big news and I'm finally ready to tell you about it. At the end of September, after twelve years in the City of Angels I will be moving back home. And by home I mean Richmond, Virginia. I will not be alone, however. My love, Fred and our pups, Besito, Eduardo and our newest addition, Byron, will all be moving together. Our little family is going to join my Richmond family and the horizon is enormous.

I am not sure if you knew this, because I know I've never told you, but I have owned a dog walking businessfor the past decade. It has been quite successful and very good to me. This business has been the most solid, consistent, dependable and reliable thing I have known during my life in Los Angeles.

So, at almost forty years old, I am selling my business and am moving clear across the country. To do what? I'm not entirely certain, but the idea is a lot more of this. Writing. Cooking. Eating. Food. Recipes. Pictures. With Fred.

And there you have it.

I feel a little bit naked now. But good naked.

And relieved.

One very, very fun and exciting part of all of this is the actual journey. We will be driving and taking our time. Specifically, this will be a culinary journey from California to Virginia with a huge focus on the South. In the cities where we don't know people, we hope to rely on folks we know via social media to assist us in finding our next meal, or interview, or as Fred wants to do, a place for us to cook with locals; both home and professional chefs, and in both homes and restaurants. Part of the thrill of our cross country trip is the serendipity involved. We know that we will have food adventure and discovery that we are not even aware of at this moment. The best part is that we will be documenting everything as we go along.

I hope all of you get involved. Tell us where to go and what to eat. Better yet, if our paths cross, let us meet! And cook! And eat! Let's all do this together, shall we?

And, OMG, what should our hashtag be?!

In honor of this post I thought long and hard about what dish to share with y'all. Fred suggested I make something I've never made before, in the spirit of the unknown road ahead (very Robert Frost of him). I wanted to do something that represents what is happening with food here in LA then and now, so to speak, and food that signifies where I'm from and where I'm going: The South.

I settled on what I will call a Low Country Benedict: fried green tomatoes with Smithfield ham, poached eggs and a pimiento cheese hollandaise. Oddly, I have never made fried green tomatoes. And this summer my fecund garden is bursting with tomatoes – red, yellow, orange and green. When I think of eggs Benedict I think of the LA from the eighties, think LA Story and people lingering over coffee, mimosas and bloody marys and fancy, bougie French fare wearing sunglasses, white linen and big hats. That said, southern food is so, so, very, very en vogue here in LA (and everywhere) right now. Think Willie Jane and The Hart and the Hunter's entire menu, , A-Frame's fried chicken picnic, Son of a Gun's pimiento cheese with Ritz crackers, Lucques' annual rib-fest, everyone's deviled eggs, and so on. And perhaps most obviously, fried green tomatoes are, and have been for quite some time, very prominent in the south.

And so without further ado...

Fried Green Tomato Benedict with Smithfield Ham & Pimiento Cheese Hollandaise

Makes 4 servings

Ingredients

4 thin slices of Smithfield ham

2 tablespoons chopped chives, for garnish

4 eggs

2 teaspoons white or rice vinegar

4 large slices of fried green tomatoes

Salt & freshly cracked pepper

Pimiento Cheese Hollandaise

8 tablespoons (1 stick) unsalted butter

4 egg yolks

1 tablespoon lemon juice

4 teaspoons powdered cheddar cheese (found in your standard mac n' cheese package)

1 4 ounce jar of pimientos, chopped

Dash of cayenne or tabasco

Dash of Worcestershire sauce

Salt to taste

Directions

Start with the fried green tomatoes. Recipe below. Once they're cooked, keep them in the oven on warm until you're ready to assemble the dish.

Next bring a large saucepan two-thirds-filled with water to a boil, then add the vinegar. Bring the water to a boil again, then lower the heat to a bare simmer.

Make the pimiento cheese hollandaise. Vigorously whisk together egg yolks and lemon juice in a stainless steel bowl until the mixture is thickened and doubled in volume. Place the bowl over a saucepan containing barely simmering water (or use a double boiler); the water should not touch the bottom of the bowl. Continue to whisk rapidly. Be careful not to let the eggs get too hot or they will scramble. Slowly drizzle in the melted butter and continue to whisk until the sauce is thickened and doubled in volume. Remove from heat, whisk in powdered cheese a teaspoon at a time, Worcestershire sauce and cayenne. Stir in the pimientos. Cover and place in a warm spot until ready to use for the eggs Benedict. If the sauce gets too thick, whisk in a few drops of warm water before serving. Salt to taste

Poach the eggs. Here is  an easy method for poaching eggs. Essentially, working one egg at a time, crack an egg into a small bowl and slip into the barely simmering water. Once it begins to solidify, slip in another egg, until you have all four cooking. Turn off the heat, cover the pan, and let sit for 4 minutes. (Remember which egg went in first, you'll want to take it out first.) When it comes time to remove the eggs, gently lift out with a slotted spoon. Note that the timing is a little variable on the eggs, depending on the size of your pan, how much water, how many eggs, and how runny you like them. You might have to experiment a little with your set-up to figure out what you need to do to get the eggs exactly the way you like them.

Gently remove the eggs from the poaching water and set in a bowl. 

To assemble the eggs Benedict, put two fried green tomatoes on each plate and top each with a thin slice of Smithfield ham. You can trim the ham to fit the tomato if you’d like. Put a poached egg on top of the ham, pour hollandaise over. Top with sprinkles of chives and fresh cracked black pepper. Serve at once.

Fried Green Tomatoes

Ingredients

1  large egg, lightly beaten  

1/2 cup  buttermilk

1/2 cup  all-purpose flour, divided

1/2 cup  cornmeal

1 teaspoon  salt

1/2 teaspoon  pepper

1/4 teaspoon red pepper flakes

3  medium-size green tomatoes, cut into 1/3-inch slices

Vegetable oil

Bacon drippings

Salt to taste

Directions

Combine egg and buttermilk; set aside.

Combine 1/4 cup all-purpose flour, cornmeal, 1 teaspoon salt, red pepper flakes, and pepper in a shallow bowl or pan.

Dredge tomato slices in remaining 1/4 cup flour; dip in egg mixture, and dredge in cornmeal mixture.

Pour oil/bacon dripping to a depth of 1/4 to 1/2 inch in a large cast-iron skillet; heat to 375°. Drop tomatoes, in batches, into hot oil, and cook 2 minutes on each side or until golden. Drain on paper towels or a rack. Sprinkle hot tomatoes with salt.

Printable recipe.

One year ago: Anuradha Rice

Two years ago: Yerp: Part 7 - The End.

Three years ago: Great Balls on Tires

Four years ago: For the love of TOMATOES!

Swimming Into the Spotlight.

Yellow Umbrella, or Yellah Umbrellah as many Richmonders call it, has been serving up choice seafood in Richmond's West End since my whole life (they opened in 1975). I only learned about the place a few years ago but it quickly became my The Go-To for extraordinary – and sustainably harvested - fresh fish (when I was in town, of course). I also always had to grab some of their remarkable prepared cheese grits right before checking out. Random, right? Not in the South.

This past February they moved. Across the street. You can throw a rock, it's so close. But now they are way bigger and even better. I imagine much to Belmont Butchery's chagrin, they now boast a nose-to-tail, butcher shop with humanely-raised meat. Even better, they offer 'cellar-to-table' wines and cheeses, seasonal produce, artisanal breads and homemade prepared foods.

On their website they claim to have 'fanatical and quality service', and I'm here to tell you it is absolutely true. A week or so ago, whilst my dad, Fred and I began planning a dinner party for six people, their intrepid Travis endured twenty-four hours and a myriad of phone calls from yours truly. During one return call I mistook Travis for my friend, Spencer, and squealed familiarly; during another, Travis thought I called him 'honey' – I'm pretty sure I didn't, but one never knows. I for sure knew I wanted whole fish. They expected whole Rockfish, Red Snapper and Branzino delivered the next day and did not know the exact specs of the fish. Why?

Because someone had to go catch the fish.

So, my new BFF, Travis, called me first thing the next morning with the option of fifteen pounds and over thirty inches of Rockfish. That was definitely the option I desired most but I was quickly reminded that cooking something of that size would be impossible. There was no way it would fit in the oven or the grill. Parade rained on, I settled for four large Branzino and about six pounds of mussels. And a huge chunk of those cheese grits. They scaled and gutted the fish right there in front of us in the store, and even asked if we wanted heads and tails on – which we did.

We cooked everything that night. Dad was on fish duty, Fred took the Mussel patrol, and I was assigned 'the sides' (I made a delicate salad of frisée, lightly dressed with finishing oil, lemon and salt, and roasted sunchokes with a buttery bagna cauda). The mussels were so plump, briny and rich – and the Branzino – which we roasted whole, was bracingly fresh, simple and exquisite.

Back in LA and doing some grocery shopping yesterday, I poked around the fish counter to check out my options. They had whole Branzino, but even to say that it paled in comparison would be weak. Paz had a memorable Yellah Umbrellah story to share: she bought a whole Red Snapper from them once and named her fish Carl. I recall her sending me a picture of Carl. This was probably about four years ago and she still waxes on about Carl, the most beautiful, freshest fish she had ever seen and eaten. Ask her about him, I'm serious.

The crew at Yellow Umbrella Provisions are doing something singular and noteworthy. I honestly think their product is unparalleled and the people behind it are equally so. I just don't understand why they are still in the best-kept-secret category.

When I return, I'm going to go back and give Travis a hug.

Spicy Coconut Mussels with Lemongrass

Serves 2

2 tablespoons coconut or safflower oil

1 shallot, finely chopped

3 garlic cloves, finely chopped

1 stalk lemon grass, trimmed (outer layers removed) and finely chopped

1 serrano chile, seeded and finely chopped

1 cup unsweetened coconut milk

2 pounds fresh mussels, rinsed well & de-bearded

Zest of 1/2 lemon

1 teaspoon lemon juice, or to taste

1/2 teaspoon fish sauce, or to taste

1/2 cup whole cilantro leaves

Heat the oil in the bottom of a large pot until hot. Add the shallot, garlic, lemon grass and chile. Cook over medium heat until soft, about 3 minutes. Add the coconut milk and mussels. Cover with a tight-fitting lid and cook until the mussels have opened, 5 to 7 minutes (discard any mussels that remained closed). Remove from heat, and use a slotted spoon to transfer the mussels to a large bowl, leaving the liquid in the pot. Stir the lemon zest and juice, fish sauce and cilantro into the pot. Taste and add more fish sauce and/or lemon juice if needed (fish sauce provides the salt).

Scoop the mussels into a large serving bowl. Pour the remaining sauce on top. Finish with a generous sprinkling of fresh cilantro. Add lemon or lime wedges on the side.

Serve with crusty French loaf to help soak up the juices.

A good, crisp white wine pairs nicely with this dish. 

Printable recipe.

One year ago: Pasture

Two years ago: Classic Tuna Salad

Three years ago: Paz's World Famous Rice & Beans

Back to the Future

Prohibition Era Vibe Meets Post Modern Cuisine at Belmont Food Shop

I was back in my old stomping grounds last week. Spring in Richmond is breathtaking. Dogwoods, daffodils, azaleas, and zillions of tiny inchworms falling from the sky onto everything. Falling onto everything. That was a new one for me. I thought they were sort of cute and endearing and the whole thing seemed very biblical, or like the end of Magnolia, but with inchworms not frogs. Then I Googled 'inchworm' and changed my tune. Take a macro look at one of those bad boys and then see how cute one is inching its way up your sleeve. But still, Fred was way girlier about it than I was.

On our first night in town, my dad booked reservations (for three, of course) at the Belmont Food Shop. From my research in the world of social media, and hungrily reading everything food and drink related coming out of Richmond Magazine and Style Weekly, and whatever else I could get my eyeballs on months in advance, this was the restaurant I was most anticipating. Plus it is smack dab in my old neighborhood, literally one block from Dad's house. And since our flight had just arrived a few hours prior, it seemed perfect to be able to walk to and from dinner on a beautiful, warm evening.

Well, first off, this place is precious. Richmond has and always has had the market cornered on charming, intimate bistro environments, but this one takes the cake. A ye olde, prohibition-era looking cake that houses a mere five tables. And a sweet little bar with a handful of seats. At the sweet little bar a sweet little mixologizing is going on – with house made sodas. Just opened this past September; owner-chef Mike Yavorsky has created an enchanting atmosphere.

A few non-palate related things I like a lot about Belmont Food Shop:

They have three seatings each night – five o'clock, seven o'clock and nine o'clock. Simple. Makes sense. Everyone can own their table for two solid hours. And whomever deals with the reservations has a pretty straightforward system to work with.

The seasonal chalkboard menu's pricing is structured very intelligently – appetizers are $8, entrees are $20 and desserts are $6 (there are a few exceptions here and there (like foie gras(!))). And there is also the crowning glory of an option: the prix fixe. $36 will get you all three-courses plus a glass of wine, or one of those house-made sodas, or a beer. This pricing structure forces the diner to select what they really want to eat, not based on the dollar amount. 

As we sipped our bubbles/martini/artisanal cocktail, an amuse bouche, of sorts, appeared: a trio of gougéres. My dad will not put a bite of food into his mouth during martini o'clock. He will not do it. So Fred and I ate ours and his. They were a lovely touch, a beautiful, ephemeral texture, but a skoch under seasoned and/or under cheesed.

They boast a confident selection of Virginia wines that I was very curious to try. Dad wanted a Pinot Noir. The bartender let us taste the Virginia malbec which Dad quite liked, so we ordered a bottle. That's when he realized he thought he was tasting the Pinot Noir. I felt like we pulled the old smell the apple bite the onion trick from science class. And hopefully it opened up my dad's eyes a little about his wine options.

We started with the Crab and Avocado with Orange Gelée and Black Pepper, the Duck Confit with Orange and Fennel and the Foie Gras with Sally Lunn and Rhubarb Chutney. When our server arrived with our starters I was slightly surprised by the plating. And the plates. I was expecting modest, confident, simple, almost rustic looking food, but was presented with the whole small food, big plate thing. With lots of smears, droplets, and tweezer-placed elements. I was expecting far less composed dishes. I guess I'm just a little bit over that food aesthetic.

Coming from California, which now has the foie gras ban, I was elated to look down at that plate of foie. I found it so, so very, very clever that he made it Southern with the Sally Lunn roll, and I also appreciated the play on the varying levels of pedestrian and fancy pants by having them on the plate together. My dad was so pleased with the crab and avocado that Fred and I barely got our tastes in. It was bright, cool, colorful and refreshing. The confit came at us in salad form, and admittedly, we pretty much cherry picked the rich, succulent shreds of duck meat out and left the greens behind. And the dollops. There were dollops artfully dolloped across the plate reminiscent of a Man Ray photograph. Chestnut, perhaps?

Next up came Tuckahoe Veal with Bok Choy and White Beans. This was like a giant veal steak, and it had been thoughtfully braised for some generous amount of time. My dad was very impressed and said, more than once, that he had never had veal prepared in that style before. Fred's order of Seared Scallops with Peas, Mushrooms and Parsnips was simply beautiful. The colors were so saturated and lustrous it hardly looked real. This was an inspired dish with bold flavors and topped with beautifully, carmelizey-browned-to-a-crisp-on-the-outside, scallops. Me, I ordered the Chicken with Mushrooms, Greens & Fingerlings. I almost always order the chicken when dining out. It's my litmus test. Some folks think it's the throwaway dish. I think it can be the star. And my reasoning is, if the chef pays as much attention to the chicken as the more, shall we say, elevated dishes, then you'll end up eating some of the best chicken you've ever had. My chicken tastedgood. The skin was crisp and seasoned well. It was white meat, which is not my favorite, and was a little overcooked. I found myself taking each bite and dredging it through the pan sauce to bring some moisture back into the meat.

The service was attentive and kind, the food came out at a nice, leisurely pace, allowing us to really enjoy and savor those two hours during which the little table by the window was ours, all ours.

Chef Yavorsky clearly has a way with food. It's obvious he is putting forth a great deal of effort and thought into what he is serving. The space is beautiful, the cocktails are solid, the pricing is smart, the food is nice and I dig the wine list. I personally look forward to walking in again, bellying up to the bar, sampling the wines by the glass and having a couple of small plates.

One year ago: Zebra Tomato, Pistou Basil & Burrata Crostini

Two years ago: Classic Tuna Salad

Three years ago: Orzo Salad with Tomatoes, Feta, Spinach & Mint

Leftovers

Christmas has come and gone. The gifts have been thought out, purchased, wrapped, received, unwrapped and put away. The guests have come and gone. What remains, however, is a lot of leftovers. Fred and I have done all sorts of things imaginable with all of the leftovers in the fridge - the most creative being a shepherd pie of sorts. We took the leftover prime rib, chopped it up with some carrots, celery and red wine and turned it into a boeuf bourguignon. Then we took the scraps leftover from the domino potatoes, boiled them and made a mash. We put the remains of the winter greens gratin in the mash and stirred it all together. Then we put the bourguignon in a casserole, topped it with the mash and baked it. That was dinner one night. And a snack the next day. The funny thing is that now we have that leftover in the fridge.


I feel like Sisyphus, but my rock is leftover food. Actually, my rock is the ham. We weren’t entirely certain we would have enough food to feed our seven, possibly eight, guests for Christmas dinner (a thought, that in hindsight, was absurd) so we asked Fred’s mom’s boyfriend to bring a ham (he had offered). Needless to say, the ham never even saw the dinner table on Christmas as we had an over abundance of food.


So I sent everyone home with some ham that night. And the next day there were ham sandwiches. And some ham biscuits the day after that. We even had ham and eggs for breakfast the next morning.


But even yesterday, when I opened the fridge, the ham was still there. And a lot of it. I wanted to get the hock to make ham and beans, but there was still so much ham left to use. So, I did what I often do in these situations; I called Mom. You see, my mom makes a killer ham salad.


My mom is also moving back to Virginia in less than two weeks. So right now, any excuse to see, or talk to her is welcomed. In fact, lately, we’ve been talking about five or six times a day. Yesterday it was about ham salad. She told me her recipe and her technique, and while Fred watched football in the den, I took every last shred of meat on that ham, got two chefs knives, and went cray cray on some ham salad. My mom told me Uncle Dougerton especially loves her ham salad, so I delivered some to him today. I also took some to my girls at Lindy & Grundy, since they love anything my mom makes.


Today is New Year’s Eve, and I’m sitting on the sofa, writing this, completely swaddled in the blanket my mom knitted me for this Christmas. She has been working on it for well over a year and it shows. It’s huge. It’s like twenty feet long huge. It’s bright and colorful and filled with different textures and shapes. I know it will be in my life forever. My kids and grandkids will love this blanket. I look at the blanket and I know she touched, and thought about, and poured love into every thread, every millimeter of it. Did she know what she was giving me right before she is moving away? My favorite leftover of them all. An heirloom.


And this recipe for ham salad.

Kathy's Deviled Ham Salad

Ingredients:
2 cups ham, really finely chopped
1/4 cup sweet onion, finely diced
1/4 cup celery, finely diced
1 large dill pickle, diced
3 tablespoons mayo
1 teaspoon dijon mustard
Dash of sherry vinegar
Salt and black pepper to taste


Directions:
Mix all the ingredients together until blended but not too smooth as you want a bit of texture. Taste and adjust any seasoning or add more mayonnaise if you like. A little drizzle of pickle juice is excellent as well.


Yield: About 3 cups. Keeps in the refrigerator for a few days.

Printable recipe.


One year ago: Domino potatoes
Two years ago: Linguine with pancetta mushroom cream sauce
Three years ago: 2009: The Year of the Food Truck

Lighting Up My Life.

I very recently went on a mini vacation to New Orleans. Fred and I were celebrating our one year anniversary. We had a really wonderful time - ate A LOT of food. I had fully intended to write and tell you all about it. I even started on the returning flight.

But then I returned home to some staggering and devastating news about someone very significant to me: Breeda had finally succumbed to a long battle with Cancer. And then Newtown happened. And then my trip really didn't seem relevant, interesting or important anymore.

And so I thought. I thought and I felt. And I cried. Mostly by myself, in my studio.

And here's the thing: I have decided that my trip to New Orleans is actually very relevant right now. New Orleans embodies and exudes a spirit that I have rarely seen anywhere else. Interestingly, here's the only paragraph I had written about my trip on the day I was returning home. Before everything.

As I fly away, over The Big Easy, to return to the City of Angels, I am choked up. I am. Although always, when I visit other cities I very seriously consider whether or not I want to live there, and this visit to New Orleans was no different. I don't think this is where I will necessarily land but there is a love, a friendliness, a kinship and a spirit that I am extremely sad to be flying away from. And I rarely feel this sense of freedom and community, this spirit, in my town. Not as a city. 

Love, spirit, kinship, friendliness. We need those things right now. I really need those things right now. 

In the cab on the way to the airport, on my last morning in New Orleans, I had an extremely chatty driver. I had nary a sip of my coffee and was not exactly in the mood for the banter at first. But then I started to really listen to what he was saying. First he told me about the ubiquitous Cajun-French phrase all Louisianans are familiar with that is literally translated as 'Let the good times roll": "Laissez les bons temps rouler". He talked about the strength and power of the spirit, the joie de vivre, that exists in New Orleans. He told me about his wife and their kids. He told me he has been married for forty years and is still madly in love with his wife. He told me that the very night before, the two of them sat on their front porch and shared a bottle of wine. He told me they uttered only a few words to one another as the sun set, sipping their wine. And he told me that, "although it wasn't anything fancy, mind you, that was one very special bottle of wine". He and his wife were both career school teachers, had retired but lost their pensions during this economic downturn. So, with the kids long grown up and moved away, to make ends meet, his wife picked up a real estate gig, and he started driving a cab. And he was so damned happy.

And while clutching my too-hot-to-drink coffee, under my hat and sunglasses, I cried a little. That same guy that wouldn't stop talking and caused my eyes to roll out of my head in exasperation, now seemed a sage. I never wanted that ride to end. 

I forgot about him until I started doing all of my feeling and thinking and crying about other things. I am so glad I remembered, though. Because yes, there is loss and tragedy and darkness. But there is also so much love, and comedy and light. So, so, so much love.

This is for my Breeda, my third parent, and one of the brightest lights to ever shine: thank you so much for everything you have given me throughout my life - from the 8X10 portraits, to Fictionary and The Infamous Rum Cake, to The Runes, to all of my wonderful boxes, to countless hours of giggles, for your beautiful, lasting friendship with my mother, and for your song. I'm not sure if I ever told you, but you light up my life, too. Laissez les bons temps rouler…

While I was making dinner last night, I became fixated on a pile of pomegranates that have been hanging around since Thanksgiving. I'm not a huge fan of pomegranates, but I didn't want them to go to waste. And then it hit me; pomegranates are supposed to have Cancer fighting properties and are a key element in the Greek myth about how we got our four seasons. Hades and Zeus make a deal; Fall and Winter for Spring and Summer. The pomegranate seemed life-giving and death-dealing. And to top it all off, we can look to the stars, in the story of Orion. Hera, the supreme goddess of women, wears neither a wreath nor a tiara, but clearly the calyx of the pomegranate that has become her serrated crown. What then could be a more perfect item to top our main course, seared duck legs. Though she'd probably pour it over chocolate rather than duck, Breeda would dig it.

This reduction was lovely poured over seared duck legs, but would be beautiful with turkey or pork as well. It would just as nicely work drizzled over an olive oil cake or some creamy vanilla ice cream. Go figure!

Pomegranate-Sherry Reduction

Serves 6

3 tablespoons unsalted butter
1 medium shallot, finely diced
1 tablespoon whole black peppercorns
1/2 cup cream sherry
3 cups home-made chicken stock
2 cups pomegranate juice 
2 tablespoons maple syrup
Salt and freshly ground pepper
1/2 cup pomegranate seeds

Melt the butter in a large saucepan over medium heat, and sweat the onion until tender, about 3 minutes. Add the peppercorns and cook another 3 minutes.

Add the sherryand cook, stirring, until most of it has evaporated. Add the stock, pomegranate juice, syrup, raise the heat to medium-high, and reduce slowly to a sauce consistency. The sauce will turn brownish red. Season, to taste, with salt and pepper. Remove from heat and add pomegranate seeds.

Printable recipe.

One year ago: Cassoulet

Two years ago: Linguine with Pancetta Mushroom Cream Sauce

Three years ago: Aunt Babe's Mashed Potatoes

This Bud’s For You.

I talk about my family a lot here. Mostly my mom and dad, but also Aunt Babe and my paternal grandparents, Janie and Paw Shaffner. And, of course, Breeda (family by proxy). Although it’s been almost five years since I’ve seen any of the Shaffner posse, and about ten years since I’ve been able to go back to spend Christmas with them, we keep in touch to a degree via social media and updates from my dad. And though we all differ greatly spiritually, politically and socially (and socio-politically) we all love each other and I miss them terribly. Especially around the holidays.

I know. I sound like a broken record since I say that every year. Around the holidays.

Let’s see here, I can tell you that my Uncle Doug and his wife, Aunt Janice, have both had some health issues, but they seem to be on the up and up now. Cousin Carey is very happily married, been doing some travelling and tattooing himself. His sister, my cousin Lisa, sometimes has some pink in her hair and  is very exercisey and in shape (damn her). Aunt Babe moved in with her daughter Noel in Alexandria. Scott and Dolly and their kids live pretty close to Richmond and Scott just visited with my dad today. My dad tells me they are simply amazing parents. Uncle Pat and Aunt Trish always seem strong. Pat, as always, is the big brother, oldest of the sibs and essentially patriarch of the Shaffner clan. His daughters, Kim and Missy are both happily married with kids and great jobs and much success.

But what, or rather on whom, I want to focus today is Uncle Joe. Uncle Joe and Aunt Connie. Aunt Connie is my dad’s sister, and if you followed the paragraph above you can pretty much put together this particular cluster of Shaffners. You see, Uncle Joe passed away rather unexpectedly a couple of days ago. And with this news, I am left a little bewildered and, of course, quite sad.

When Dad and I made our annual Christmas trek to Roanoke, we always, always stayed with Connie and Joe. Dad would stay in the front bedroom upstairs and I would sleep on the couch downstairs by the Christmas tree. Suffice it to say, this was torturous geography when I was a child; the temptation of all of the beautifully wrapped presents just begging to be opened. It was also torturous from ages 18-28 when I drank a little too much holiday fun times and the family assembled in the living room EARLY Christmas morning - way earlier than I was ready to start the holiday coffee and present opening. But it was the ritual. And ritual is very important to me (I’m not sure why).

There seemed to always be a cat or two around. Usually at least one of them was finicky or scared or mean or fragile or an escape artist or never came out from the basement. There was always a fire in the fireplace. Uncle Joe always had a can of Budweiser in his hand. Until the Christmas Eve dinner at Aunt Babe’s. Then it was wine. A big beef tenderloin (mouth-watering and delicious) was an annual tradition and the centerpiece of our Christmas Eve dinner, which Joe was responsible for after Aunt Babe tapered off her chef-sponsibilities. But even back when Aunt Babe bought it and cooked it everyone would laugh about how Joe would show up and immediately warn her not to cook it too long. He was also a gun toting, very far right wing, Republican. And he was my Uncle Joe. He was family.

It’s funny. When I was in high school I dyed my hair a lot and often pierced things. I especially loved going to Roanoke for Christmas for the expressions on my family’s faces. The shock value. In college, I considered myself a bit of an upstart, and I loooved to protest almost anything I could involving government. I was very easily the leftiest lefty of the Shaffners. And probably lots of other families as well. Again, I still think there was some satisfaction in the shock value of that, too. I almost looked for some extreme sentiment to spill out of Uncle Joe’s mouth so that I could heave a huge sigh and clomp out of the room. And though I still lean pretty far to the left, what I love about my family, and people, and hell, this country, is that we all get to have those opinions and we get to talk and laugh and argue about them. And who better to experience all of those things with, who has to stick by you through decades of change, hair dyes, piercings and political protests? Your family, that’s who.

I’ve been looking back at Connie’s online photo albums that she’s been archiving for years. There are tons of pictures of the entire family spanning as far back as my Great Grandparents. I was particularly drawn to the ones from the seventies, with Connie, Joe and my mom and dad and their hippie friends, everyone with long hair - so iconic, camping at The Fiddler’s Convention in 1972, in New England in 1973, and Okrakoke in 1974. They all look so rad. My mom laughed as she told me about one of these trips to Okrakoke where everything seemed to be going wrong. Dad stabbed through his hand with a knife while trying to shuck an oyster, Mom was pregnant and wasn't in the mood to have sand in her pants and big green flies feasting on her. Joe insisted on camping as planned. Ordinarily Joe would have emerged victorious, but not this time. Mom and dad checked into a hotel with Joe kicking and protesting all the way. But so very Joe. Such a contrarian. So badass.

Idiosyncratic, nuanced, difficult, compassionate, generous, kind, opinionated, honest, interested, interesting, intelligent, a great cook, camper, fisherman, smoker of meats (and cigars), true to himself and good to his family. Salt of the Earth. That’s what comes to mind when I think hard about Joe.

Normally I would wrap up this post with a recipe, or sometimes a restaurant review. This time I decided to drive out to an old hamburger stand, deep in the Valley; Bill's Hamburgers. It's been there, unchanged, with it's eight (8) stools, since 1965 (which is really old by LA standards), and run by 85 year-old Bill who is as salty as his burger. Bill, and his jokes-to-offend-and-enchant every race, creed, sex, and color, has been there since day one flipping his burgers - and on the very same griddle that is but a few years his junior. Joe would like this guy and this spot, for sure. So I grabbed Maggie and six pack of Budweiser (in the can) to sit on the side of the road, eat a burger and make a toast. 

This one's for you Uncle Joe.

One year ago: M.B. Post
Two years ago: Homemade Pasta
Three years ago: Griiled Cheese Night at Campanile

To Everything, There Is A Season.

According to my calendar it is officially Fall. But according to the thermometer, leveling at a tranquil 90 degrees today (or, it was when I started writing this), it is still very much Summer. Most people don’t think LA really has seasons, but we do. The changes are subtle and nuanced for the most part: June Gloom and the ocean layer, the smell of Night Blooming Jasmine, a shift in the quality of light, the Santa Ana winds (and the wildfires fires that follow), and perhaps most obviously, the produce at the markets. The Halloween (and some Thanksgiving) decorations are in the stores and all my magazines are showing up in my mailbox with pumpkins, fall leaves and all manner of oranges and browns on their covers. Except Vogue.  You can always tell it’s the beginning of Fall when you get the tome that is the Fall Fashion issue of Vogue. Tolstoy, step aside.

This is my favorite time of year. I never liked back to school (except the movie), but I always loved back to school shopping. Trapper Keepers, pens, notebooks, rulers, I coveted them all. Argyle, wool, jaunty hats, layers, scarves - who doesn’t get excited for all that? And, though we don’t exactly get vibrant yellow, orange, and red leaves falling from trees here in LA, we do have little pockets, stretches of streets that give us but a glimpse of that. Most of Halloween was filmed less than a mile from my house. And that’s certainly all Fall-y looking. But I can’t lie, I miss the East Coast this time of year. I would love to feel that clean, crisp bite of cool air on the tip of my nose as I walk down the street on my way to meet friends for a welcoming glass of red wine and perhaps a cheese plate. Wearing some cute, little layered number. With my Trapper Keeper.

This always seemed like it would be the best time of year to fall in love. Actually, I suppose it was this time last year that I did just that.

This year, ushering in Fall, has been a bit wonky. Which is why, perhaps, I have been seriously absent here in my blogland. Beso, my dog, my baby boy, my mascot, and my constant companion for the past twelve years, is sick. Again. He has had the worst luck in the huge-things-that-can-go-wrong-in-the-health department. And he is one tough nut. This sick is a bad one and one that will always be with us from here on out. Poor little guy just has too big of a heart. Literally. Anyway, he’s standing strong and getting even more mountains of love than usual, so we won’t dwell on that anymore here.

As an adult, the thing that I geek out about the most with that which is Fall is that it lends itself perfectly to my kind of cooking. I like to cook big. And not just quantity, I like to cook big, comfortable, classy, confident and strong food. I’ve said it before, food that loves. Food that hugs. And even though the past week has been hotter than the devil’s oven, I just couldn’t help myself - I made lasagne and then I slow roasted a chicken for five hours. Additionally, I’ve got all the fixins to make another lasagne with butternut squash and rapini. In the lineup this week I will also be making a chili and the most exciting thing, a Lima bean and ham hock pot, with a real, Southern Smithfield ham. I see lots and lots of brown butter and sage on my horizon. And pasta. And red, red wine. And snuggling with my Autumn love, Fred, my spunky, firecracker of a pup, Eduardo, and my sweet, little Beso - who, I suppose is in the Autumn of his years. And sort of looks like a Lima bean. 

Ham Hock & Lima Beans

Serves 8-10 (12?)

1 Large, meaty ham hock

3 Cloves garlic, minced

2 Medium onions, chopped

2 Lbs. dried large Lima beans

3-4 Stalks celery, cut into pieces

4-5 Carrots, cut into pieces

2 Bay leaves

Celery salt to taste

Kosher salt & fresh , black pepper to taste

Clean and soak Limas. Drain and rinse beans.

Cover beans and ham hock with water, add onion, bay leaves and garlic and simmer until tender (about 2 hours). Add celery, celery salt and carrots for last hour of cooking. When ham is done, and falling off the bone, remove from pot and cool. Remove skin and bone and cut into bite-size pieces. Return to pot and continue cooking until beans are done.

Salt and pepper to taste.

Serve with a crust of bread and a big glass of big, red wine. Or a hearty stout. Enjoy!

Printable recipe.


One year ago: Cousin Flonnie's Spoon Bread
Two years ago: Spaghetti & Meatballs
Three years ago: Roasted Cauliflower Soup with Saffron & Asiago Cheese Crisps