Cognizance.

In our lives, when an era passes, we are not usually cognizant of its immediate occurance. We usually reflect and are then able to qualify the beginnings and endings of these eras. Most of the time. I think.

I mean, I recall leaving for college which, in hindsight, was a clear end-of-one-era-beginning-of-another time. But all I can remember thinking is ‘get me the hell outa here.’ I’m sure for my parents it was a different feeling entirely. I imagine for them it was very bittersweet - very sad, very relieved (“We kept her alive this long, and now it’s up to her!”) and very, very aware that nothing would ever be the same again. I can’t really think of any moment in my past where I was that present and aware of that moment happening at the moment. Not even when I have fallen in love or gone through a break up. Even then I’m just feeling what’s happening at that time. I don’t think I ever recognized it as a beginning or an end of a part of my life.

And then yesterday happened. My mom moved away. And as the weeks, days, hours and minutes approached that led up to the goodbye hug, curbside at LAX, I was enormously aware, painfully cognizant that something very big was happening - something bittersweet. The end of an era. And as Fred drove me home from the airport, I cried. But when he asked me what I was feeling I realized it was not so simple to answer. I was sad, yes. But I was also happy, relieved, comforted and confident that it was the very best thing. I maybe kind of even felt a little bit like she did when we hugged goodbye before I drove away to college. Maybe?

While my mom and I have always been close, and no one could ever deny that the woman is an incredible mom, an amazing nurturer, the queen of positive reinforcement and encouragement, we have definitely had our struggles with each other.

I think it all started when I was about thirteen. I was going through puberty right about the time she started to go through menopause. Talk about a hormone extravaganza. And two women at opposite ends of the hormone extravaganza spectrum. Double yikes. And you know, mom wanted to, like, mother me so much, and Dad, Dad was always so chill. I could get away with anything at Dad’s house. You get the idea...
 

Mom and I have always talked on the phone a ton, visited each other regularly and all the normal stuff. But we have always bickered. When she moved out here I realized that we had not spent so much physical time around one another since I moved away to college. When I was eighteen.

And so, for the first three of the four years she lived here, in The City of Angels, we treated each other like anything but angels. Everyone from my friends to my Dad had to either listen to us bicker or listen to one of us talk about it. We made each other, and everyone around us, crazy, mad, sad, and exasperated. And tired. Ourselves included.

And then, about a year ago, the tide changed. I don’t know what happened, I really don’t. But we have been closer than I can ever recall. We talk (too) many times a day, run errands together, cook together, cry together, share our laughter and fears, all of it. And then she left. And I wanted her to. She needed to. And though I’m sad and all the other stuff I already said, I am so happy to know that in the time she was living out here we fixed it. We fixed us. And now we have a truly enviable mother-daughter relationship. And I already miss her so much. And I’m so glad I do.

The week before she left, she practically lived with me and Fred. And during that time we cooked a lot of food. As I’ve mentioned many times, we have very different kitchen super powers. For instance, she can bake. So this last week we made a lot of things that I normally shy away from: banana/rum/pecan bread, a honey-lemon tart with salted shortbread crust, granola, and bagels. She has been making her own bagels since forever and they are really good - crisp and lightly brown on the outside and dense and chewy on the inside. They are extraordinary when eaten within a couple of hours of coming out of the oven. By the next day they are mostly only good as anvils or anchors for large ships.

So she showed me how to make them. The funny thing is, she made the bagels while I merely kneaded the dough for about thirty-eight seconds. And even though she made them, she told everyone how proud of me she was because I did such a good job on my very first bagels. That is so Mom.

And here is how to make her bagels.

Bagels

Yield 8 medium-sized bagels

Ingredients:

2 teaspoons of active dry yeast
1 heaping tablespoon of brown sugar
1 cups of very warm water (you may need ± ¼ cup more)
3 ½ cups of bread flour or high gluten flour (will need extra for kneading)
1 ½ teaspoons of salt
1 eggwhite
Cornmeal

Optional Toppings:

Coarse salt, minced fresh garlic, minced fresh onion, poppy seeds, or sesame seeds. 

Preparation:

In 1 cup of the warm water, stir in the sugar and yeast. Let it sit for five minutes, until frothy.

Add flour and salt.

On a floured countertop, knead the dough for about 10 minutes until it is smooth and elastic. 

Roll the dough into a tubular shape and cover with damp dish towel. Let rise in a warm place for 30 minutes.

Carefully divide the dough into 8 pieces. Shape each piece into a round. Now, take a dough ball, and press it gently against the countertop (or whatever work surface you’re using) moving your hand and the ball in a circular motion pulling the dough into itself while reducing the pressure on top of the dough slightly until a perfect dough ball forms. Repeat with 7 other dough rounds.

Coat a finger in flour, and gently press your finger into the center of each dough ball to form a ring. Stretch the ring to about ⅓ the diameter of the bagel and place on a lightly oiled cookie sheet. Repeat the same step with the remaining dough.

After shaping the dough rounds and placing them on the cookie sheet, cover with a damp kitchen towel and allow to rest for 30 minutes. Meanwhile, preheat your oven to 375f.

Bring a large pot of water to a boil. Reduce the heat. Use a slotted spoon or skimmer to lower the bagels into the water, 2-3 at a time.. Keep them in for 20 seconds on each side.

If you want to top your bagels with stuff, do so as you take them out of the water, you may use the “optional toppings” (listed above) to top the bagels, but before hand, you will need to use an egg wash to get the toppings to stick before putting the bagels into the oven.

Once all the bagels have boiled, give them a light egg wash (and have been topped with your choice of toppings), transfer them to a lightly oiled baking sheet that has been dusted with cornmeal.

Bake for 30 minutes, until golden brown.

Cool on a wire rack. 

Printable recipe.

One year ago: Cheebo

Two years ago: Cremini Mushroom & Meyer Lemon Risotto

Three years ago: Chicken Pot Pie

Five years ago: Oyster Stew

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

Thanks and Giving.

Thanksgiving has come and gone for 2012. This one was probably one of the best in my (not so great) memory. It wasn’t huge and crazy, and it wasn’t teeny tiny, but it maintained both social and intimate qualities, friends and family. I didn’t go too far overboard with the menu (some may argue that), but there was still enough for the all-important turkey sandwich fixins leftover. Most importantly, I was - and still am - quite cognisant of all that I am thankful for. During the toast, I looked over the room - the beautiful, beautiful room, filled with some of my favorite people in the world, filled with wonderful food and wine, our dogs, a fire in the fireplace - and tears welled up in my eyes. I was warm with love and happiness. And a calm that I rarely experience.

Of course there were minor dramas. Of course some people wouldn’t or couldn’t eat or drink certain things on the menu. Of course there was that frenetic energy in the kitchen right as all of the food was coming out to the table. Of course some people didn’t want to be seated next to certain guests and there was also that mysterious adjustment to the seating chart. Of course there was a monumental mess to clean up. 

Of course, of course, of course. 

But then there also were these moments: The moment Maggie showed up, before she began to decorate and turn the living room into a dining room - we both plopped down and took a breath to reflect on our previous Thanksgivings together and toast with a glass of sparkles. The moment Fred made me take just thirty seconds of time to dance with him in the hallway before we went to sit down at the table to eat. The moment I looked across the table, all decked out in my grandma Janie's ruby china, and felt so proud. The moment my mom was so into our game of charades that she was excitedly shrieking her guesses for both teams. The moment Nadia traded her five-inch black Gucci heels for my knitted socks and Crocs to go on an after dinner hike with the gang. The moment we all sat down in the den, after the meal, after charades and after the hike, to bask in the pleasure of a wonderful day and finish it off with Home For the Holidays and one more glass of lambrusco.

The turkey, the stuffing, the potatoes, the gravy, the pie - yes, they were present and delicious. But what I will remember about this Thanksgiving, what stands out from the turkey, the potatoes, the gravy and the pie, are those moments shared with those people. And that can never be duplicated. Not the moments.

And for that, for what we all gave one another, I am so very thankful.

*In addition to the very traditional menu we served this past Thanksgiving, there were a couple wild cards in there. A couple of dishes where I felt the urge to flex a bit. Usually this comes in the form of a soup. And though I heard a little hemming and hawing about this soup being on the menu, and how it would make everyone too full to truly appreciate the presumed star of the meal, the turkey, I made it anyway. As we all began to eat something pretty awesome happened: I immediately got three or four shouts from the other end of the table about how amazing the soup was. And the praise kept coming. Go figure.

I’ve already got the Christmas menu pretty much planned. The soup for that one will be an oyster stew, but this chestnut soup would be just perfect for your Christmas dinner.

Chestnut, Celery & Apple Soup with Sage Oil

Makes 6 to 8 servings

3 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil

1 medium onion, peeled, trimmed and thinly sliced

1 shallot, peeled, trimmed and thinly sliced

3 small McIntosh apples, peeled, cored and cut into 1/2-inch cubes

4 celery stalks, chopped

1 bay leaf

1 sprig thyme

Pinch of freshly grated nutmeg

Salt and freshly ground white pepper

3/4 pound peeled fresh chestnuts (from about 1 1/4 pounds chestnuts in the shell) or dry-packed bottled or vacuum-sealed peeled chestnuts

2 quarts chicken stock 

1/2 cup heavy cream

2 tablespoons of cream sherry

8-12 fried sage leaves

2-4 tablespoons sage oil

Heat the oil in a stockpot or large casserole over medium heat.  Add the onion, shallot, apples, celery, bay leaf, thyme, nutmeg and salt and pepper to taste and cook, stirring occasionally, for about 10 minutes, or until the onions and leeks are soft but not colored.  Add the chestnuts and chicken stock and bring to the boil.  Lower the heat to a simmer and cook, skimming the surface regularly, for 35 to 40 minutes, or until the chestnuts can be mashed easily with a fork.  Add the heavy cream and sherry and simmer for 5 to 10 minutes more, then remove from the heat and discard the bay leaf and thyme.

Puree the soup until smooth using a blender or a food processor, and working in batches if necessary, then pass it through a fine-mesh strainer.  You should have about 2 quarts soup.  If you have more, or if you think the soup is too thin -- it should have the consistency of a veloute or light cream soup - simmer it over medium heat until slightly thickened.  Taste and, if necessary, adjust the seasoning.  (The soup can be cooled completely and stored in a covered container in the refrigerator for 3 to 4 days or frozen for up to one month.  Bring the soup to a boil before serving.)

Serve topped with a couple of fried sage leaves and a drizzle of sage oil.

Printable recipe.

One year ago: Divinia's Tea Sandwiches

Two years ago: Sausage over Creamy Lentils

Three years ago: Bouchon Beverly Hills

I Just Can’t Get Enough

There are some foods, some dishes, that I feel I could eat to infinity - dishes where I lose all self control.  Or at least, I don’t want to stop eating, and making myself put on the brakes requires a great deal of discipline. Usually salty crunchy things fall into that category; for instance, I could eat Doritos until I turn orange, but the other foods that put me in a state of compulsive gorging followed by a state of gleeful shame are less obvious. These foods may include, but are not limited to, mashed potatoes, spaghetti carbonara, uni (Well, I’ve never actually had the opportunity to eat my body weight in uni. I’m guessing I’d get my fill faster than I think), chicken fricassee, sausage biscuits, my mom’s cream of mushroom soup (I could drink it like a milkshake), pimiento cheese, tomato sandwiches, burrata, buttermilk pie, Cadbury Creme Eggs (made myself sick eating four in a row) and vichyssoise (made myself sick on that one, too), and pan gravy. I can power down some gravy. And I don’t need it to be on anything, either.

Some of these foods come from my childhood, but just as many don’t at all. Some are sweet and some are salty, some are solid and some are liquid. I don’t see a particular profile or pattern in them at all. That’s what is so interesting about all of us. And what’s so fascinating about food.

Recently, like a bolt of lightning, a dish zapped into my head from my childhood. It was from the era of my mom’s ‘experimental and/or ethnic food phase’ - I’d say this was the late 1980s. We called it Anuradha Rice. I remember exactly what it tasted and looked like, but I couldn’t recall its story or what the recipe was at all. So I called Mom.

When she used to work at an art gallery back in Richmond, she had a co-worker that had recently moved, with her husband, from India. Her name was Anuradha. My mom, Harland and Leslie - all Anderson Gallery people - were all going through this ‘experimental and/or ethnic food phase’ together and thought it would be really great to learn about some of Anuradha’s favorite dishes from home and how to prepare them here. Or rather, how to prepare them in Richmond, Virginia.

I don’t know what, if any, other dishes came out of these cooking classes, but I do know that one in particular stuck in our kitchen. It was a rice dish with some sort of yogurty-ness on top. No one ever found out the actual name for this dish, if it had one, so it has always been Anuradha Rice. My mom, Harland and I ate it all the time, especially in the warm months. It seems like it would be a side dish but it was our meal. And I tell you what, I could have eaten a mountain of it.

After finding out about the dish, and a loose version of how to prepare it, I set to finding the ingredients so I could go about bringing Anuradha Rice into my house, here in LA. When I was searching for the mustard seeds, I was chatting on the phone with Heather. I told her I “was trying to make a rice dish that mom used to m...” At which point she cut me off and stated, “Anuradha Rice!” That shows you how much of a staple it was back then.

I’ve made it twice in the past few days, both versions came out perfectly. The main reason for that is it is a breeze to make. Not only is it a cinch, but the ingredients are easy to find and inexpensive. It’s a bright, fresh, clean, velvety and incredibly satisfying dish. The simplicity of the ingredients and the way they marry perfectly together is uncanny. The smooth, cool yogurt with little crunches of cucumber on top of the warm, soft rice with the teeny-tiiny pops of the mustard seeds make for an eye opening journey in temperatures and textures. My mom came over to visit today and is literally eating a bowl of it while I type this.

So, I recently noticed that I have a lot of new readers of late, and I would love to get to know y’all. I was thinking it would be fun to get some dialogue going between us. After going through my brain and digging up all of those edibles I just can’t get enough of, it made me exceedingly curious to find out what everyone else’s may be. So, please, leave me a list of yours in the comment section. And who knows I may have to try them out to see if they get tacked on to my list. Because, really, all I need is one more thing I just can’t stop eating!

Anuradha Rice

Serves 4 as an entree
Serves 6 as a side dish

Ingredients

For rice:
2 cups Basmati rice, cooked and cooled to room temperature
1 ½ tablespoon mustard seeds
1 ½ teaspoon turmeric
1 tablespoon oil or ghee

For yogurt:
2 1/2 cups plain yogurt
¾ cup red onion, diced
1 large (or 2 medium) ripe tomato, chopped
*1 cup cucumber, peeled and chopped
1 large clove garlic, minced
½ cup cilantro, chopped
Salt & pepper to taste

Directions

*Toss chopped cucumber in a small bowl with ½ teaspoon of kosher salt, and let sit 10 minutes. This is to remove excess water from cucumber.

Place all ingredients for yogurt mixture in bowl and mix well. Set aside in refrigerator.

Heat oil (or ghee) in wok or large cast iron skillet. Add mustard seeds and cook on medium-high until they begin to pop. Be careful not to get hit in the eyeball by hot, oily, popping mustard seeds. Cook until a few of the seeds have popped, but don’t worry about popping them all.

Add the cooked and cooled rice, add turmeric and stir well. Once rice is mixed well with the oil and mustard seeds, and heated through with the littlest bit of crisp remove from heat.

Portion rice on to plates and top with a generous amount of the yogurt mixture and serve.


Printable recipe.


One year ago: Yerp: Part 7 - The End
Two years ago: Great Balls on Tires
Three years ago: Baked Tomatoes with Goat Cheese, Fresh Herbs & Hazelnut Breadcrumbs

Blame It On the Rain.

Yesterday was another rainy Sunday. That’s fine, really. We’ve had the driest Winter that I can recall for some time. The city, and my garden, could certainly use the moisture beating. But I’m so anxious for sunshiny days and hitting the streets on my new, extremely cool, bike (with a basket!).

When it’s chilly and it rains, especially if you’re an Angeleno, accustomed to arid, sunny days ninety percent of the time, ordinary tasks turn into intrepid endeavors: letting the dogs out, checking the mail, getting gas. I get especially miffed when I’m all out in it, physically huddled inwards, scurrying towards cover, and then that One, Humongous, Drop of Rain hits me square in the one exposed inch of my skin, on the back of my neck. It’s just a drop of rain, but it really gets my goat. It sends chills throughout my entire body.

When the weather is like this we also tend to turn inward. It beckons a fire, a crossword and a stack of magazines. Jammies and a ceramic mug of hot tea. Spontaneity is unrealistic and gatherings must be deliberate. And although I knew Sunday was going to be crazy pouring rain, I also had a couple of events I knew I wanted to attend, rain or shine.

The first engagement was a stop at La Weekend for coffee, quiche and lumples - and to support my Mom. So after sleeping in as much as we could, letting the dogs out, and checking the mail, Fred and I bundled up, scurried out to the car (during which time the One Humongous, Drop of Rain hit me square in the one exposed inch of my skin, on the back of my neck. It sent chills throughout my entire body. It got my goat.) Then, of course, we had to stop and get gas as well. And a newspaper.

But then, drenched and wilted, we arrived at La Weekend, and suddenly entered a space that restimulated our sense of smell and reminded us of color and tastes: of rich coffee and sweet pecan pie. As we peeled off our wet coats and shook off our umbrellas my mom greeted us both with a kiss. While we sipped our coffees we shared a healthy slice of quiche baked with bacon, gruyere and spinach and a lumple filled with creamy pimiento cheese. The room was warm and the air danced with jazzy sounds from the stereo. 

And a few hours later, after braving the flooded blocks of Melrose, and bad drivers with too much bravado, we arrived at our second engagement: Domaine LAfor their Rosé and oyster tasting. We weren’t even certain that it would still be happening, the rain was coming down so hard. But Fred and I opened the door to see a room filled with happy, smiling and welcoming people - everyone was full of fresh oysters and tipsy from rosé. Now, together, undistracted by the sounds of the street, the pouring rain, we were all committed to our present time. We were enlivened by community. This day, this rain had become a recognition of a season and, moreover, that we need each other.

So stuffed with wonderful snacks and wine, Fred and I went back to his house to finally turn inward. Though the rain had actually stopped and the city's skyline was crisp, clear, bright and saturated with color, we put on our cozies, cranked up the heat, and, while we worked on the crossword together, I made a soup.

I love Sundays.

Rustic Cremini Mushroom Soup with Chives & Basil Oil

Serves 6

1 large shallot, peeled and diced

3 stalks celery, chopped

3 large cloves garlic, peeled and thinly sliced

3 tablespoons bacon drippings

2 tbsp butter

1 lb cremini mushrooms, wiped cleaned, ends trimmed and thinly sliced

¼ cup cream sherry or Madeira

6 cups chicken stock

1 tbsp fresh lemon juice

salt & pepper to taste

basil oil and chopped chives for garnish

Clean the mushrooms by wiping them with a dry paper towel. Don't wash them! Separate the stems, trim off any bad parts, and coarsely chop.

Heat the bacon drippings and 1 tablespoon of the butter in a large pot. Add the shallot, garlic, celery, 1 teaspoon salt, and 1/2 teaspoon pepper and cook over medium-low heat for 10 to 15 minutes, until the vegetables are soft. Add mushrooms and continue to sauté for another 10 minutes.

Add chicken stock and cook down on medium-low heat for 30-45 minutes. Turn up the heat and add the sherry.

Using an immersion blender puree soup until smooth.

Add lemon juice, remaining butter and salt & pepper to taste. Using a sparse amount of sifted flour, thicken to your liking.

Ladle into bowls and garnish with finely chopped chives and a drizzle of basil oil.

Printable recipe

One year ago: Nutter Butter Cookies

Two Years ago: The Grill 'Em All Truck

Taking a Leap

This is a leap year. Last Wednesday was the twenty-ninth day of February. A date that occurs once every four years.

A leap year is a year containing one additional day in order to keep the calendar year synchronized with the astronomical year. Because seasons and astronomical events do not repeat in a whole number of days, a calendar that had the same number of days in each year would, over time, drift with respect to the event it was supposed to track. By occasionally inserting an additional day or month into the year, the drift can be corrected.

A year that is not a leap year is called a common year.

Admittedly, thus far, this year has been anything but common. At least for me.

But I’m not writing about me today. Well, not much. This one is about my mom. My mom is also anything but common. My mom is also taking a leap right now. This isn’t unusual for her – a woman that packed up her entire life at sixty-one years of age and moved clear across the country with nothing but her two Chihuahuas – to be closer to her daughter. That’s me.

Mom had accomplished a great deal in Richmond prior to up and leaving. She was a bit of a local celebrity there – reinvigorating the 17th Street Farmers' Market, establishing Shockoe Tomato Festival, The Brunswick Stew Festival, a street/art/food festival called Broad Appetît and opened an art gallery – all of which are going strong to this day. She had two cafes that enjoyed much success and appreciation. People still lament the absence of her lumples and  signature sandwich: grilled fresh roasted turkey, pistachio goat cheese spread and red onion on a glazed doughnut.

Since she arrived those three years ago she has had all sorts of unusual jobs. But none of them have resembled the work she did in Virginia. Not even remotely. Let’s face it: this town can be really tough. Really tough.

And so very recently my mom decided that by Independence Day she will be independent of her current job situation - one that is both unrewarding and grueling. 

She is taking a leap.

This past Sunday she launched a project she has been considering for some time now: La Weekend. On Sundays, in the lobby of her rad, old-school building in Koreatown, my mom has set up shop. She’s selling her amazing baked goods – sweet and savory - from breakfast pastries to lavender cupcakes to buttermilk and pecan pies to Ghirardelli brownies to apple cake to sandwiches and breads with compound butters. She’s also offering bottomless coffee (free if you bring your own mug) and iced tea infused with honey and Meyer lemon. Everything ranges from $1 to $4 – and that you cannot beat.

And, no joke, this woman can bake - it is her passion. She was doing all of the desserts for Dinner at Eight until recently. Nastassia said Mom's pecan pie was the best she had ever had (and Nastassia is quite the baker, herself). On Sunday a woman that ordered a slice of her buttermilk pie in the morning (who had never had buttermilk pie before) knocked on her door at five o’clock that afternoon to order a whole pie. So mom got back to baking. Heck, since I've been writing this she's told me she has received two more pie orders: another buttermilk pie and an apple pie.

It’s pretty cool. It’s like she’s got her own, little pop-up. People from the neighborhood and people from the building milling about, chatting, mingling, reading the paper, doing the crossword, watching their dogs running around in the grassy courtyard and around the fountain, Marvin Gaye crooning from the speakers, everyone with their coffee (mostly in their own mugs) and their little breakfasts. It’s something you don’t see in this big ocean of a town too much. My mom has brought that Southern, small town, sense of community to a little nook of Los Angeles. And did I mention she can bake?

You know I’m a savory girl. My favorite item of the day was something she calls Left on Red, a little tribute to a significant element of our fair city. It’s simple, it’s her signature pimiento cheese sandwiched between a plain lumple. It’s rich, creamy and salty surrounded by soft, slightly crumbly and crispy. It’s perfect. It’s filling, yet you’ll want to want another. It’s $3.

However, as I’ve shared the recipes for both pimiento cheese and lumples here in the past, today’s recipe is that of Byrd’s Apple Cake. Mom found the recipe in one of those local Junior League-y type cookbooks in Richmond.  You know, the kind that have spiral binding and very low printing expenses involved; yeah, that kind.  This cookbook is called "Historic Richmond Cooks" and the recipe was submitted by Mrs. James E. Ukrop.  These are the very cookbooks that have some of the best finds.

You can make it yourself or you can meet me, Fred, Maggie, Uncle Dougerton, Nastassia and the gang next Sunday to sample it straight from my mom. And she’ll probably be dancing to Marvin Gaye while she serves it to you.

Oh, and true to the monikor, La Weekend will be open on Saturdays as well after Mom's independence day. 


Until then La Weekend is: SUNDAYS from 9am-1pm  
Ancelle Lobby - 701 Gramercy Drive, Los Angeles CA 90005 
CASH ONLY

*All photo credits go to Mr. Fred Turko.

Byrd's Fresh Apple Cake

Note:  This is the recipe exactly as it appears in the cookbook.  Mom does not include dates; she uses pecans and Granny Smith apples, goes heavier on the cinnamon, puts in a little fresh ginger and 2 to 3 generous tablespoons of bourbon.

2 cups sugar

1 1/2 cups vegetable oil

2 eggs

2 teaspoons vanilla

1 teaspoon salt

juice of 1/2 lemon

3 cups all purpose flour

1 1/4 teaspoon baking soda

1/4 teaspoon nutmeg

1/2 teaspoon cinnamon

3 cups peeled and chopped fresh apples (about 3-4 apples)

1 cup chopped nuts 

1/2 cup chopped dates

Mix sugar, oil, eggs, vanilla, salt and lemon juice.  Beat well.  Sift flour, soda and spices.  Add flour mixture to sugar mixture and beat well.  Add fruit and nuts.  Mix well.  Bake in greased and floured Bundt pan at 325 for 1 1/2 hours.  

This cake freezes well.

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One year ago: Son of a Gun

Two years ago: Creamy Artichoke Soup

Frankly, my dear...

I watched Gone With the Windfor the 7,539^th time on Thanksgiving. We couldn’t find Home For the Holidays on TV and Maggie had never seen it before. Seemed like a good idea. That film has always had a profound effect on me, but usually in that hopeless-romantic-why-can’t-Rhett-and-Scarlett-just-figure-it-out-already-and-realize-they’re-meant-to-be-together way. As usual, I was a bumbling mess of tears and sniffles when Rhett walked out the door, but this time, for a different reason. I again found myself really identifying with Scarlett, but for a different reason.

Yes, I always appreciate her spirit, her determination, her independence, her fortitude, her bitchiness, her passion. Her moxie. But this time I really saw what propelled these qualities.

Tara.

It made me think hard on that from which we draw our strength. Or, perhaps, that from which I feel I’ve drawn my strength recently.

The little brick house with the big blue doors. Grove Ave. Richmond. Home.

I don’t know what it is. I realize that, while the climate changes with each season, and, depending on where you fall on the matter, global warming, it also changes in our public and private lives. In our cities, our communities and ourselves. And I feel a new wind blowing through mine.

Los Angeles is so many things to me. The most complicated relationship I’ve ever had in my life is the one I have with this city. And yes, I do call it home. But, even at a fairly steady seventy-five degrees year-round, it can often feel very cold.

It loves me and I love it but rarely at exactly the same time do we love each other exactly the same way. And isn’t that always the rub?

I fancy to label myself as strong. And while, I think if I were in a horror movie, I’d probably play dead to fool the killer and not get killed, I really am a fighter. Or, perhaps, I am a survivor. I left home right after I graduated high school deigning never to return (to live). And since graduating from college in Ohio in the mid-1990s, I have been on a trajectory that has taken me to city after city, each one bigger and busier (and traffic-ier) than the one prior. And all the while I’ve been fighting. I’ve been trying prove something. Right now I’m just not so sure what.

And so lately I think It has all been catching up to me. I’m really tired. I mean, really tired. I feel like I’ve been a player in Running Manor something. I want to sleep.  I want to sleep for a long time. Like, a whole day. I want to sleep and I want someone to rub my head. I want to be the Scarlett that Rhett so longed she would let herself be, but just didn’t know how. And I don’t want to be the Scarlett that realized all of this when it was too late.

Or maybe it wasn’t. 

Photo by Maggie.

I mentioned a month or so ago that I think I just need to go home more frequently. I think it’s as simple as that. I think that once the holidays have passed, and my work slows down, I will do just that. Then and there I will sleep (if Dad lets me). I will fuel up, regain strength. And then I can return to my City of Angels bright-eyed and bushy tailed.

After all… tomorrow is another day.

My mom has been baking cranberry nut bread for as long as I can remember, usually around the holidays. And, although I have never wanted anything to do with cooked fruit, for some reason I have always loved this bread. And so - not unlike Scarlett and Rhett, or me and my City of Angels - here we have another complicated relationship. And one that’s worth it.

This bread is perfect lightly toasted with butter alongside your morning coffee and, perhaps your Scarlett or your Rhett...

Classic Cranberry Nut Bread

Makes 1 loaf

Ingredients:

2 cups flour
1 cup sugar
1 1/2 teaspoons baking powder
1 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon baking soda
3/4 cup orange juice
1 tablespoon grated orange peel
2 tablespoons shortening
1 egg, well beaten
1 1/2 cups fresh cranberries, coarsely chopped
1/2 cup chopped pecans

 

Directions:

Preheat oven to 350ºF. Grease a 9 x 5-inch loaf pan.

Mix together flour, sugar, baking powder, salt and baking soda in a medium mixing bowl. Stir in orange juice, orange peel, shortening and egg. Mix until well blended. Stir in cranberries and pecans. Spread evenly in loaf pan.

Bake for 55 minutes or until a toothpick inserted in the center comes out clean. Cool on a rack for 15 minutes. Remove from pan; cool completely. Wrap and store overnight.

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Two years ago: Bool BBQ Truck