Check One-Two.

Fred and I just returned from our final trip to San Francisco before we embark on our Eastward adventure. Our last trip, period, before we head East. So, of course, I had a few restaurants, two in particular, to cross off my never ending list. One was Mission Chinese Food. I have been trying forever to find the perfect Chinese food spot. One that's not trying to keep up with the healthy Jones' (I want some of that MSG, umami, and some greasiness, dammit), one that's not too far off the beaten path (no molecular gastronomy here, please), but one that is trying to insert a modicum of creativity into the food. I have been coming up empty. To the universe's credit, I haven't been making any backbreaking attempts either. It would certainly not fall into 'my life mission' category. But, whenever I crave Chinese food I am reminded of the whole issue.

Well, now I'm even more irritated about this since I found EXACTLY what I was looking for in a city where I do not reside and in the very state I am leaving permanently in a few short weeks.

Within a couple of hours of waking up on our first morning, we grabbed coffee, picked up my Dad and his girlfriend, Dale, checked out the Diebenkorn exhibit at the de Young Museum, and found ourselves standing face to face with the wonky, old-school, hole-in-the-wall-Chinese-eatery, pop-up turned restaurant-within-a-restaurant, hipster-hot Mission Chinese Food.

Inside it was still, it was dark and it was hot. If you want ice in your drink, too bad. No ice.

I skipped breakfast for this so I could order as many different items as possible. So we did. Beers for the boys, soda for Dale and a grüner for me. Then we went for it: Beijing Vinegar Peanuts with smoked garlic, anise, fennel seeds, rock sugar ($5), Fresh Rice Noodle with peanut sauce, tofu skin, pickled mustard greens ($8), Stir-Fried Pork Jowl and Radishes with fermented black bean, shiso, mint ($12), Grandma's Spicy Lamb Dumplings with peanuts, dill pickles, chili oil ($9), Squid Ink Noodles with cumin, fennel and chick peas, lamb dipping broth (I can't recall the price), and finally Braised Pea Leaves with pumpkin, pressed tofu, salted chili broth ($12).

All of the flavors were bright, fresh, creative and surprising – think dill, smoked garlic, fennel, pumpkin, all mixed in with the tofu, pork jowl, dumplings, and rice noodles. And somehow, amidst all of this intrigue we were completely sated in the Chinese-food-craving department. This vibrant and intelligent food still had enough of the classic flavors and textures, even the oil, and the unctuous quality we know and love (within reason) about traditional Chinese food. And, no joke, I will be making those vinegar peanuts at home very soon. I could eat those forevers.

I will happily remember that meal for a very, very long time. I'm pretty sure we all will.

Check one.

The second place I knew I had to visit on our short trip was Tartine Bakery. I don't eat a ton of pastries, nor do I crave them very often. However, I have been really exploring the world of baking of late and am extremely interested in everything that goes into the science of it. More importantly, I am a sucker for an incredible butter croissant – and it's almost shocking how few I come across.

And so, on our last morning in San Francisco, while Fred was brunching and bonding with his Aunt and cousins, and Dad and Dale were wrapping things up and checking out of their their hotel, I knew exactly what I would be doing. I knew I had to go at it alone, and really, I wanted to. My dad would never in 2759870 million years have tolerated that line for a pastry, or anything really. Actually, I'm guessing no one involved in this trip would have wanted to endure that line unless it was to pick up their winning Powerball check.

So I hopped into Fred's car (a stick shift), clocked my destination on my smartypants phone and headed out, lurching and jerking along the way (it had been quite a while since I had driven a stick – and this was possibly the worst city to test that time lapse). After spending twenty minutes finding parking, which was about two blocks away, I walked up to the bakery and settled in back of the infernal eternal line, halfway down the block – and yes, it was formidable. And, no, there were no available seats inside or out by the time I received my order: a ham and cheese croissant, a plain butter croissant, a loaf of their sourdough bread and a latte (totaled around $20). So I walked back to the area where the car was and plopped right down on the curb.

I don't know. To most people none of this may sound appealing in the least: driving strange car in strange city to wait in seemingly endless line to get 'breakfast' only to find there is nowhere to sit and then sit on the side of the road in mid-August to drink hot coffee and eat a pastry. All alone. Not even a book to read.

Well, I'm not certain exactly what it was. The journey, the anticipation, or even the little spot in the shade all by myself, but that croissant and that latte and that moment were... perfect. I mean, perfect. It was one of those – and I've talked about them before – Cosmic Muffin moments. Those Nowhere-I'd-Rather-Be moments.

The latte was warm, rich, smooth and comforting. The croissant was flaky, crunchy, light and yet somehow strapping, with heft... and buttery, oh so buttery, like a delivery system of cultured French butter, buttery. After two bites in, it looked like there had been a flash snowfall of flaky crumbs around my toes on the sidewalk.

Nirvana, pure bliss; I was truly happy.

Check two.

And then I was ready. Ready to get back into the car and brave the drive to pick up the grow ups, then Fred, to head up for the bucolic segment of the trip: Inverness.


One year ago: Heirloom Melon & Tomato Gazpacho
Two years ago: Beer Braised BBQ Pork Butt
Three years ago: Classic Southern Deviled Eggs
Four years ago: Nebulous Misadventures (AKA The Lost Weekend)

The Egg Man

Eggs. They are the new black. Or at least the new bacon. Eggs can be used in every type of meal in countless ways: sunny side up, scrambled, frittata'd or used to coat bread for French toast for breakfast, on top of a burger at lunch, deviled eggs for a snack, over roasted asparagus, in an avgolemono soup or used to make a pasta for dinner and even baked into cakes, cookies, whipped into meringues for dessert. You can have them soft, medium or hard boiled, or go for the sixty-two degree version. The options are endless.

And the types of eggs with which to play are also numerous: chicken eggs, duck eggs, quail eggs, ostrich eggs, fish eggs (roe and caviar). Think of the infinite creations and myriad of recipes using all manner of eggs. And, in every single type of regional cuisine, from Japanese to Italian to Israeli to every place.

I've got it: eggs are the little black dress of food. Dressed up or dressed down, accessorized or kept simple. A classic. A staple. And much like always wanting to have that little, black dress in your closet, one always wants eggs on hand in the refrigerator.

One iteration of the egg I haven't seen much of in recent memory (save for untouched in deli cases), but I grew up with, is egg salad. I know a lot of people get a little ooged out by proteins followed by the word salad: tuna salad, ham salad, chicken salad, shrimp salad, egg salad, and the grossest of all, Jell-o salad. Usually these salads involve mayonnaise as a binder, and there is a pretty substantial anti-mayo cult out there. This particular family of salads is also considered straight old school. It can be grouped into things like casserole, Betty Crocker and the like which dates back to the 1950s and 1960s.

Even though, theoretically, these salads should fall into the category of not suitable for packed lunches or picnics, what with the mayonnaise and the tuna fish and the eggs and all, that is exactly where they do fall. How many of you had one of these fill-in-the-blank salad sandwiches, wrapped tidily in wax paper in your lunch box or brown paper lunch bag? How many of you have had one of these fill-in-the-blank salads on sandwiches, crackers, on top of lettuce or just straight out of their container on a picnic? I am willing to bet quite a few.

My dad had to learn how to make shrimp salad in a home economics class in high school in the mid 1960s. He food poisoned himself. So I don't recall much of that around growing up. But, between Mom and Dad, there was a lot of tuna salad, chicken salad, and a weird-but-totally-delicious sandwich my mom packed for school lunch involving cream cheese and sliced green olives between two slices of bread. But, though I'm not sure why, my dad's egg salad always stood out to me. Whenever he made it, which was usually for a late-afternoon, dog days of Summer snack, I was thrilled.

Egg salad is one of those things I have never given mountains of thought. I could probably count on one hand the times I've ordered it out. But I order chicken and tuna salads often. And make them. And even more often, I order, and prepare at home, deviled eggs. And really, a deviled egg is pretty much the same thing as egg salad, but constructed differently.

As we have deemed June picnic month here at F for Food, andJune is when his birthday falls and, of course, Father's Day, I called my dad to find out his egg salad recipe to take on our next picnic. He made a couple of batches so he could recall his recipe-non-recipe and sent it forth.He wanted to let you know that either white or wheat bread is acceptable but the bread you choose MUST be a soft bread and it is certainly not to be toasted. And if you must add lettuce, tomato or bacon, feel free. But he won't be having any of that.

I left the recipe in his words since they are so extremely cute. Googier?! I love it.

Steve's Egg Salad

Makes enough egg salad for 3 or 4 sandwiches.

6 hard boiled eggs:

(Foolproof hard boiled eggs can be made as follows: Start the eggs in cold water, bring the water to a boil, then remove the pan from the heat, cover and let the eggs sit for 10 minutes.)

The cool or room temperature eggs are peeled and chopped up in a mixing bowl.  I use a fork and do a mixture of slicing and pressing to get my desired base. A mixer makes it too creamy.

Add and mix:

1/3 cup Duke's mayo. You can add a little more if you want it googier.

1 tablespoon brown spicy mustard

1/2 kosher dill pickle, finely chopped

1/4  teaspoon ground pepper, kosher salt & (secret ingredient) vinegar.

Bon appetite, y all.

Printable recipe.

One year ago: Mussels with Chorizo & Kale

Two years ago: Artichoke-Potato Hash

Three years ago: Duchess Salad with Romaine, Avocado, Cucumber & Pine Nuts

We Got the Beet.

Growing up we had a Patrick Nagel print hanging on a wall in the dining room. It's exactly the one you're thinking of. Or maybe not. A lot of them have that woman in them. You know, the woman on the cover of Duran Duran's Rio. I never much cared for it. Oh, I loved the album, just not the print hanging on the wall in our dining room. My dad really liked that whole style; that very 80s, minimalist, pastel thing. My dad really liked the 80s, in general. And the 80s liked my dad. They made sense together. He was newly single, very handsome, a great cook, liked to travel, play tennis, hang glide and party. And, of course, he was into the art.

Patrick Nagel was born in 1945. My dad was born in 1945. Patrick Nagel's work was greatly inspired by and directly descended from Art Deco. And Art Deco is, without a doubt, my dad's favorite visual design style. His house and work are both filled with furniture and light fixtures from the Deco era.

Unlike my dad, who is alive, healthy and happy, Patrick Nagel died at the peak of his life and career, at thirty-eight years of age. Strange as it sounds, immediately after participating in a fifteen minute celebrity 'Aerobithon' to raise money for the American Heart Association, Nagel was found dead in his car. From a heart attack. The Reagan Era was a bitch.

This past weekend I was in a fun, food frenzy in the kitchen. I just wanted to make stuff. I see some rhubarb. Let's make a cake! I see leftover coffee and a pork tenderloin. Let's make a marinade and grill stuff! I see beets and carrots. Let's make a borsch! I see Greek yogurt and horseradish. Let's make a garnish for the borsch! You get the idea.

The borsch came out so bright, saturated, rich and vivid that it immediately reminded me, visually, of Pop Art. Flashes of bright colors and sharp shapes from the works of Warhol, Lichtenstein, and yes, Nagel rushed through my head. Fred agreed, but his head was swimming with images of Bauhaus and Kandinsky. Which is totally appropriate for cold borsch as all three are/were Russian! And thus our Sunday unfolded into the eighties-inspired photoshoot of borsch. I did very little styling on this shoot. Fred really ran with it on his own. I picked the soundtrack: The Go-Go's. Right around the time that Nagel was at his peak, so were The Go-Go's. And right around that time I participated in a lip syncing 'class' at Summer camp. And our group's piéce de résistance was, you guessed it, 'We Got the Beat'. I was Belinda Carlisle and my tennis racket was my guitar. Though I'm pretty sure Belinda Carlisle did not actually play the guitar. Man, I miss my Swatch.

The bosrcht was quite good. A success. It was rich and bold with a rear kick of subtle heat from the white pepper and the horseradish yogurt. It was complex on the palate but finished very neatly. This innocent little soup also made a morbid mess of anything that came near it. We had so much left over that we took it up to a Memorial Day BBQ in the canyon. I think I saw one person try it. Who can blame them? At a cookout abundant with steaks, lamb, burgers, sausages, corn salad, chips, banana crème pudding and booze, who wants to deal with a bowl of borsch?

Ah, well. It's not for everyone. People kind of either love it or hate it. I'm not certain what Patrick Nagel liked to eat, but if he's anything like my dad, borsch was not high on the list. 

Me, I'll take a bowl any time.

Chilled Beet Soup with Horseradish Yogurt

Serves 4-6

4 cups (or more) chicken stock

1 pound beets, peeled, chopped

1 cup chopped onion

1 cup peeled chopped carrot

2 teaspoons chopped garlic

1 teaspoon sugar

1 bay leaf

2 tablespoons horseradish

A handful of fresh chives, trimmed

Greek yogurt

Generous salt & white pepper to taste

Combine 4 cups broth, beets, onions, carrot, bay leaf and garlic in medium saucepan. Bring to boil.

Reduce heat to medium-low; cover and simmer until vegetables are very tender, about 35 minutes. Cool slightly. Remove bay leaf and puree in blender in batches until smooth. Transfer to bowl.

Thin with additional stock if soup is too thick. Mix in sugar. Season with salt and pepper. Cover and chill until cold, at least 4 hours or overnight. (Can be prepared 2 days ahead. Keep refrigerated.)

Ladle soup into bowls.

In a small bowl, mix horseradish and yogurt. Put a dollop of horseradish mixture in the middle of the bowl of soup and top with chives.

Printable recipe.

One year ago: Classic Shad Roe with Bacon & Fresh Herbs

Two years ago: Yerp: Part 1 (of many).

Three years ago: Sautéed Baby Artichokes with Olive Oil, Garlic & Lemon

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

Coming Clean

While I was certainly no angel as a child, next to my childhood friend, Ben, I was definitely perceived as one. But he was a little boy and I was merely a little tomboy. Ben got into far more trouble than I ever did; invariably he would get caught.  I would often get caught but, clearly, far less.  Most of the Ben stories I have heard have come from our parents and these stories are based on incidents that took place circa the mid-1980's. 

One story, from the mouth of my dad, is one I not only recall well, but one in which I was a player. A sweet, little, innocent bystander, of course. So here's the story...

I guess it was around about 1985, and Dad had just done some work on the kitchen. Most notably he replaced the counter with an all new butcher block top. It was all shiny and new, with nary a cut mark in it. Ben's mom, Susan, was out for the evening and and so Ben was over at my house. We were just noodling around, goofing off, watching TV and whatnot. And honestly, it was so long ago, I don't know the how or the why, but I do know that I took the butcher knife and hacked a chunklet out of the edge of the new butcher block counter. I don't even remember if Ben was in the room at the time or not. I don't even know if Ben knows anything about this story, either.

Well, needless to say, the next day when Dad noticed the rather obvious, shall we say, blemish, on his new countertop, he went through the roof. And let me tell you, that man does not visibly agitate easily. When he actually erupts, you know it's really bad.

So clearly I blamed Ben. 

It seemed obvious that a rambunctious, rascally little boy who was always in some sort of trouble anyway would be the irrefutable culprit. Plus Ben wasn't there to defend himself, and we weren't hanging around as much in those days, and who would care or remember about a little nick in the counter for very long? Right? And my dad has a terrible memory to boot. Right?

Well, jeez. Who knew Dad was such a harborer? Yes, he stayed pretty irritated about the butcher block situation for a good long while. Cursing and mumbling under his breath as he ran his fingers over the disfigured area of the countertop. So I just kept quiet.

Then Ben and I went to separate middle schools, high schools, colleges, grew up, moved away, and I literally cannot even think of the last time we saw one another. So it hardly mattered anymore. To me.

Here is a glimpse of the countertop, but not the defaced part.

The last time I went home, Dad and I were standing in the kitchen, assembling a cheese plate and sipping on our glasses of crisp white wine, as I jokingly pointed out the nick in the countertop. Although it was something I had seen every time I did anything in the kitchen, it had become so much a part of the landscape, I had pretty much forgotten about its lore. But not Dad. He said every time he looked down at the aberration in the now, well-worn countertop, he cursed Ben's name. Though, he said, he never said anything to Susan or Ben about it.

I then realized it was time to come clean. He was shocked when he heard my story, but not more than just a little vexed thanks to time and that glass of wine. Plus, it's much more forgivable when it's your dear, sweet, innocent only child daughter...

And now we laugh about that funky little spot in the kitchen. It has a story to tell. It's part of the fabric – a sweet, anecdotal, minuscule imperfection.

When Susan was in LA recently to help Mom move back to Richmond, I decided to come clean to her, too. Although she never knew anything about the butcher block, I thought she should hear the tale. If nothing else to sort of exonerate Ben from his mischievous rep as a child and to fess up about my angelic one (or lack thereof). We laughed, but she did agree, Ben really did take the heat for a lot of stuff: some valid and some, maybe not so much.

Only one person left: I must confess to Ben and receive his forgiveness. So I emailed both Ben and Susan to find out what Ben's most favorite dish was. They both said broccoli casserole. I then emailed Susan and got the recipe. She emailed me back promptly with the recipe that she unearthed. It was her grandmother's recipe in her mother's handwriting. The recipe was as one would expect; ingredients like mayonnaise, a can of cream of mushroom soup, Ritz crackers, and the like. My mission was to make the recipe as authentic as possible without using mayonnaise, a can of cream of mushroom soup, or Ritz crackers. I wanted to keep the integrity of the dish but try to vamp it up for 2013.

I began by making a roux and adding fresh mushrooms, and then slowly adding cream until it was about the consistency and quantity of a can of cream of mushroom soup. I also added a splash of sherry for good measure. In lieu of the mayo, I simply used cream. And finally, to substitute the Ritz crackers, I used fresh bread crumbs. Now, I'm sure it would be way more yummy and fun, and would totally satisfy that like-grandma-made-when-I-was-a-kid thing most of us have, to use mayonnaise, a can of cream of mushroom soup, and Ritz crackers, but this turned out beautifully. Fred and I basically ate that, and nothing else, for dinner last night. And later as a snack.

Later this week, we will be traveling up to Northern California for a little respite, and plan on staying one night in San Francisco, where Ben now lives with his wife. And so in person I can share the story of The 25 Year Long Mystery of The Butcher Block with him. And hopefully we will laugh together over it. If not, Ben, here is the recipe your mom shared with me for your favorite, cozy, homey food, exactly as your grandmother wrote it and made it. That makes it all right, right?

Mimi’s Baked Broccoli

(Mimi is Sara in this instance)

(in Mother’s handwriting, so I know this is the one Ben likes)

Serves 4

Ingredients:

2 large heads of broccoli, if using fresh (2 packages chopped broccoli, if using frozen)

1 can cream of mushroom soup

½ cup mayonnaise

1 small onion, minced

1 Tablespoon lemon juice

1 egg

½-3/4 cup cheddar cheese

½-3/4 cup cracker crumbs (can use cheese crackers, saltines, or Ritz – I used Ritz)

Directions:

Preheat oven to 350 degrees.

Make sauce by mixing 1 can of undiluted soup, mayonnaise, onion, lemon juice, and egg.

Add a little salt and pepper.

Steam the broccoli for a few minutes if cooking fresh florets with short stems (don’t cook it until soft, but until it softens a small amount). If using frozen chopped broccoli, thaw only.

In casserole, put a layer of broccoli (one-half of it), then a layer of the sauce (one-half of it). Next, put in a layer of remaining broccoli topped with remaining sauce. Put ½ of crackers on top, the cheese, then ½ of remaining crackers.

Bake for about 30 min. at 350 degrees.

Printable recipe.

One year ago: Grilled Oysters with Garlicky, Lemony Butter Sauce

Two years ago: Celeraic Soup with Sunchoke 'Croutons'

Three years ago: French Red Pepper Soup

Five years ago: Yang Chow

Girl on Grill.

I feel bad. Maybe you haven’t noticed, or maybe it’s not a big deal, but I feel bad for being kind of absent lately. For the past couple of months a lot of things have been in flux. It’s felt a little bit like a deck of cards tossed up in the air. And some haven’t even hit the ground yet. But everything is all good, mind you. 


You all know Maggie, my dear friend and roommate of two years? She recently moved out. She found a magical, little spot all her own. Don't worry, she didn't go too far. In fact, we have plans to kick back with some wine at her new place tomorrow night.

Alas, you know how it go – Ch, ch, ch, ch, changes.

In the midst of Maggie’s move, my birthday happened. It was a fun one. Fred and I went to Los Olivos (and places surrounding) for the better part of the weekend, explored, went to wine tastings, had a beautiful dinner, and embraced the drive both up and back. I got some beautiful and touching cards and some wonderful gifts. Surprisingly, I actually received a couple of pretty extravagant gifts. One of these was from my dad. He called me and told me he wanted me to have a gas grill. The wording here is important: he wanted me to have. I already have a charcoal grill that I have been perfectly happy with for years. I had no idea I wanted or needed a gas grill. Dad’s logic was that, with a gas grill, I could use it like an oven and wouldn’t even have to heat up the kitchen. I guess in the Summer in the South that is a huge plus.

Dad seemed very enthusiastic about his gift idea (it reminded me of the time I was thirteen years old and he was brimming with excitement to give me the surprise gift of, wait for it… a plant), and I get it. It’s fun to give a gift. It’s rewarding. And when you think you’ve drummed up the best gift idea ever, it’s downright titillating. I’ve often felt it more fun to give gifts than to receive them. I guess that all depends on the gift going in either direction, though.

And so, after an arduoulsy involved process, I brought home my shiny, new gas grill. Dad insisted I get a Weber. He has one and he loves it. He told me, “I’ve had dozens of gas grills and this one is the best.” So that’s what I got.

This was about two or three weeks ago, and ever since the first day we put it on the patio, Fred (who was captivated by the idea from the get go) and I have done some thing or another with the grill almost every day: steaks (two or three times), BBQ chicken, mojo chicken wings (courtesy of Erika at Lindy & Grundy), vegetables, salmon, veggie burgers, meaty burgers, sausages, lamb chops, onions, a pork tenderloin. More than once I’ve sparked it up just to grill a zucchini or a sausage to use in a separate dish. And tonight we are going to grill oysters! I must admit, I love it and it is tons of fun – Thanks, Dad! Don’t worry, I haven’t forgotten about my little charcoal grill still which sits proudly on the patio, right next to The Monolith.

The most interesting thing we’ve been doing on the grill, and the most frequent – hell, and the most fun – has been pizzas. We have now made pizzas four different times, with a number of different kinds of pizzas each night. This past weekend we made four pizzas: a breakfast pizza with sausage egg and cheese, a classic pizza Margherita (but with purple basil instead of green (pictured above)), a dessert pizza with grilled peaches, mascarpone, mint and honey (not pictured) and Fred’s wild card pizza with grilled corn, salsa, cilantro, onions, bacon and Cotija cheese (pictured at top). They were all fantastic except for the dessert pizza. A - we didn’t think it through completely and the mascarpone turned into liquid and B – grilled fruit is going to make me hesitant because it just does. But I loved the idea of breakfast, dinner and dessert pizzas, all in a row. My favorite of all of our pizzas was the 'breakfast pizza'.

And so, my dear dad ended up giving me a pretty rad gift. And one I didn’t even realize I would want at the time. And I can’t even imagine all the amazing meals that lie ahead in the years that I will have my grill. So much better than a plant.

And with this, things are settling. New colors and shapes and people and sounds. 


You all know Fred? Well, pretty soon he’ll be moving in. The grill, Maggie, Fred…

Strange fascination, fascinating me.
Ah, changes are taking the pace I’m going through.

Ch-ch-ch-ch-changes.

Sausage, Egg & Fontina Cheese Pizza

Makes 8 slices

What you need/what we used:

Pizza dough: make your own or use prepared pizza dough. In full disclosure, we used the prepared stuff from Trader Joe's = Not. Too. Shabby.

1-1 1/2 cup crushed tomatoes, cooked down with olive oil, basil, salt & garlic

1 1/2 cup grated Fontina cheese

1-2 grilled Andouille sausage(s), sliced

2-4 eggs (entirely depending on your eggy wantonness)

Salt & pepper

What you do/what we did:

Prepare the grill for high direct heat. If using a gas grill, preheat for 10 minutes until the temperature is between 550 and 600 degrees. Prepare a small bowl with olive oil for greasing the grill grates and for brushing the pizza. Prepare the toppings so they are ready to go on the pizza - tomato sauce, cheese, and anything else you wish.

Shape the pizza dough by flattening it with your hands on a slightly floured surface. Either use your fingers to stretch the dough out, or hold up the edges of the dough with your fingers, letting the dough hang and stretch, while working around the edges of the dough. Once you've stretched the dough, let it sit for 5 minutes and then push out the edges with your fingers again, until you have a nice round shape, about 12-inches in diameter. Do not make a raised rim, it will interfere with the grilling process.

Note that if you are preparing the pizza dough for a party, you can make several pizza dough rounds, stack them separated by parchment paper, and keep them in the refrigerator for up to two hours before cooking.

Once the grill is hot (you can hold your hands an inch over the grates for no more than 2 seconds), dip a tightly folded up paper towel in olive oil and use tongs to wipe the grill grates. Then place a pizza dough round on a lightly floured (or you can use cornmeal) pizza stone (or rimless cookie sheet). Let the dough slide off the stone onto the hot grill grates. Close the lid of the grill and let cook for 2 minutes.

After 2 minutes, open the grill and check underneath the dough to see if it is getting browned. If it is on one side, but not another, use a spatula or tongs to rotate the dough 90 degrees and cook for another minute. If it is not beginning to brown, cover the grill and continue to cook a minute at a time until the bottom has begun to brown. It should only take a couple minutes if you have a hot grill. The top of the pizza dough will start bubbling up with air pockets which you should stab and pop - gently.

Once the pizza dough has browned lightly on one side, use a spatula to flip the dough over so that the grilled side is now up. 

Paint the grilled surface of the pizza with a little olive oil, then cover with 1 ladle of sauce – no more, or you'll end up with a soggy pizza. Sprinkle on your grated Fontina cheese, slices of grilled sausage and, finally crack the eggs on top. Remember to go light on the toppings, or your pizza will be heavy and soggy.

Slide the topped pizza back onto the grill. If you are using a gas grill, reduce the heat to medium. If working with a charcoal grill, close the vents on the cover almost all the way. Close the lid and continue cooking. After 2-3 minutes open the lid to check the egg and the bottom of the crust. You want the whites just cooked through and the yolk soft. If the grill marks start to get too dark before the eggs is done, lower the heat some more and rotate the pizza 90 degrees. Check every 2 minutes until the eggs is done and and the cheese is bubbly, pull off the grate with a spatula onto a cutting board or other flat surface and let rest for a couple minutes before cutting into slices.


Salt & pepper that bad boy, slice and serve!

Printable recipe.

One year ago: Chicken Breasts with Anchovy-Basil Pan Sauce

Two years ago: Summer Squash Gratin with Salsa Verde

Three years ago: Pimiento Cheese