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!

Blais Runner.

Chances are, you have probably heard of Richard Blais. Most likely from television. Most likely from reality television: Top Chef, Top Chef: All Stars, Life After Top Chef, Top Chef Masters, Iron Chef, and his own show on the Science Channel, Blais Off.

But here's why you should know Richard Blais: he received an AOS in culinary arts from The Culinary Institute of America and has studied under chefs Thomas Keller, Daniel Boulud, and Ferran Adrià. Blais also studied at Chez Panisse. He currently runs four restaurants, three in Atlanta: The Spence, Flip Burger Boutique (also one in Birmingham), and HD-1 (also known as Haute Doggery). In 2011 he released his cookbook, Try This atHome: Recipes from My Head to Your Plate. And, finally, he is slated to open another spot in San Diego in December.

It looks like he's also running marathons as well - Blais Runner (I had to do it). With a wife and two daughters, Blais is a busy man, to say the least.

So you can imagine my good fortune to be able to catch him for an interview recently to talk about the South, pimiento cheese, vinegar and his perfect picnic.

FFF:   I’m curious about how you got to Atlanta.

RB:   I’m a native New Yorker and I was dating a girl whose dad was a restaurateur in Atlanta. I was working in Manhattan at the time at Restaurant Danielle and the restaurateur asked me to come down there and take over the restaurant and I did.

FFF:  When was that?

RB:  That was a long time ago, 1999-2000.

FFF: I know that you’re not known necessarily for Southern anything, but I’m curious where you see the trajectory of Southern food and how you fit into that and what’s happening in the South, food-wise, right now.

RB:  It took me a while to really embrace Southern food as a stubborn Yankee, self-admittedly.  I think the thing about Southern food is that it is not a trend.  It’s all about heritage, ingredients and recipes.  There are a lot of young, modern chefs that are now bringing back heirloom seeds.  It’s never going to go out of style.  Southern cuisine happens to be the trend at the moment but it’s not molecular gastronomy or small plates - it’s history and tradition and it’s not going to go away.

FFF:  What do you think the great Southern food cities are right now?

RB:  A few I haven’t been to that I want to visit.  Certainly I think Charleston is a great food city.  Obviously, I’m a little biased to Atlanta - I think Atlanta is great.  I have not been but I need to get to Oxford, Mississippi.  I think that is a place that is just calling me, and I need to get out there. There are so many cities now.  It's not just about one place. There are great chefs and great restaurants in every city.

FFF: Any specific restaurants or chefs that come to mind?

RB: I'm a fan of all my colleagues and peers. I think Sean Brock (Husk in Charleston), who is a good friend of mine, is one of my favorite Southern chefs. He's from Richmond. I think Hugh Acheson is doing a great job. There are just so many. I mean certainly (Steven) Satterfield (Miller Union in Atlanta) and Anne Quatrano (Star Provisions), who I don't think a lot of people know. She is a chef in Atlanta and one of the best chefs in the country, if not the world. You don't hear her name a lot but she's been around.

FFF: I want to know what you're cooking/playing with right now that's seasonal or that's just weird and crazy that is really inspiring you.

RB: Herbs and flowers and the idea of what happens after we pick them: rosemary flowers or blossoms on other herbs. The whole seed to stalk thing. Cooking with the seeds as well as the stems as well as the blossoms. Herbs and flowers are what I'm into at the moment, but it changes every day.

FFF: I've been hearing a lot of buzz about Peru and ingredients sourced from the Andes. Do you think that is the next big thing? If not, what do you think is?

RB: It's funny you say that because I'm opening a restaurant in San Diego in December and my business partner and I are taking a trip to Mexico City and Peru. So, yes, I don't know if it's the next big thing, but people definitely want to know what's going on there.

FFF: I feel like right now the egg is the new bacon. I'm wondering, what is your ideal preparation of an egg, if you had to pick just one?

RB: It's not going to be as romantic as you would want. I like a good sunny side up egg, but cooked really hard on one side. So the bottom is crusty and all browned on the edges. I'm a native New Yorker, so Egg on a Roll style. I mean, who says roll anymore? No one says that except for my dad. But, yes, cooked hard on one side.

I think scrambled in a microwave probably would be my second. Using the microwave is pretty inspiring to me at home. People give it a bad knock, but it's usually the food that goes into it, not the technology itself.

FFF: You're on your way home in Atlanta traffic at about four o'clock in the afternoon and you get a call from your wife announcing that four of your friends are coming over for dinner in two hours. What are you going to do?

RB: Pasta. For sure. I'm on a big extruding pasta kick so we always have a number of shapes ready in our kitchen. Our kids are even making it. So I would say a pasta of some sort with some garlic, some vinegar, some fresh herbs and a little touch of butter.

FFF: Pimiento Cheese.

RB: Love it. I love it on a sandwich. I also love it on a cracker. As a matter of fact, I just did an event in Napa a couple of days ago where that was my dish. It was a big, fancy Napa Valley wine auction and I served it pretty much like a grilled cheese. I did a riff on it using Jack cheese and poblano peppers instead of pimientos, and a little bit of horseradish and chiles.

FFF: Duke's Mayonnaise?

RB: I love Dukes Mayonnaise! I'm a big fan of Duke's Mayonnaise. It's got more of an acidity to it. I like it on white bread, too. Soft, white bread... I'm a convert of the pimiento cheese sandwich and we eat it a lot. I even buy it sometimes, prepared from Whole Foods, and I have no shame in that. I also like it as a topping for a burger, a pimiento cheese burger.

It's such a simple thing, but most people don't know about it. It's got this sort of mystique to it, like it's a very famous French cheese. But it's just some chopped up cheese with some peppers and mayonnaise in it!

FFF: What is your ideal picnic and what is the one must-have that you are going to take on that picnic?

RB: Wow. Well, I'm not as much of an experienced picnic-er as I should be. Not to just recycle the last answer, but I would probably bring some pimiento cheese sandwiches. And some carbonated beverages – soda for myself, I'm a big soda freak. I actually do work with a soda company (DRY) as the creative director, which uses only four ingredients like natural sugar – so we're packing some cucumber soda for our picnic. And crudité! And, hey listen, leftover fried chicken is not a bad picnic thing. Some chili vinegar. I usually do a buttermilk-vinegar soaked chicken, a couple dredges of flour. Vinegar is my favorite ingredient in the world. That's the one. Vinegar makes food great. A lot of people think it's fat or salt, and those are important, but it's really acidity and vinegar.

And, so, as we have deemed June Picnic Month here at F for Food, we decided to make Richard Blais' 'ideal picnic':

Pimiento Jack Cheese Tea Sandwiches

Crudité: Radishes with Salted Butter and Heirloom Tomato, Cucumber, Red Onion Salad

Cucumber Soda

Double-Dipped Buttermilk-Chile Vinegar Marinated Fried Chicken

Chocolate Chunks

Everything was sensational. I even like his version of pimiento cheese (I can feel my mom's eyes rolling out of her head right now). I think Blais would be pleased - we used vinegar in almost everything. I even made my own chile infused vinegar for the salad dressing and the chicken marinade. But the recipe I want to share is that of the fried chicken. That was the star. The chile vinegar added a really nice back end heat with every bite, and the double dredging ensures a super, extra awesome crackly, crispety, crunchety skin. And that's the whole point, right?

Happy picnicking!

Double-Dipped Buttermilk & Chile Vinegar Fried Chicken

Serves 4

2 cups buttermilk

3 tablespoons chile vinegar

1 tablespoon dijon mustard

2 teaspoons tarragon, divided

½ teaspoon paprika

1 teaspoon plus ½ teaspoon cayenne pepper

1tablepoon plus 1 teaspoon salt

1 tablespoon plus 1teaspoon ground pepper

1 chicken cut up into 8 pieces

3 cups all-purpose flour

Vegetable shortening & vegetable oil, for frying

Combine the buttermilk, chile vinegar, dijon mustard, 1 teaspoon tarragon, paprika, ½ teaspoon cayenne pepper, 1 tablespoon of the salt, and 1 of the pepper in a nonreactive bowl large enough to contain all of the chicken pieces with at least 1 inch to spare. Add the chicken and turn to coat fully in the marinade. Cover with plastic wrap and marinate in the refrigerator for at least 6 hours or overnight. Remove the chicken from the refrigerator about 45 minutes before frying.

Line a large baking sheet with aluminum foil. In a large, shallow bowl, combine the flour, remaining salt, pepper, tarragon & cayenne pepper. Remove the chicken from the buttermilk marinade and roll it around in the seasoned flour until completely covered. Set it on the prepared baking sheet; repeat with the remaining chicken. Dip the coated chicken pieces once more in the marinade, then again in flour. Return the pieces to the baking sheet (a few minutes’ rest makes for a sturdier, crisper coating).

Have a wire cooling rack set over paper towels ready. In a large, heavy cast-iron skillet, heat 1 1/2 inches of shortening & oil over medium heat until it reaches 350°F on a deep-fat thermometer. Using kitchen tongs, add a few chicken pieces at a time to the hot oil (crowding will lower the temperature, making for greasy chicken). Fry the chicken until the internal temperature reaches 180°F, about 10 minutes per side (watch carefully, it can easily burn). Transfer the cooked chicken to the wire rack. Serve immediately or at room temperature (don’t let the chicken sit more than 2 hours).

Do it Early
The chicken can be fried up to 2 days in advance, covered, and refrigerated. Serve it cold—a classic picnic food—or reheat on wire racks set on baking sheets in a 375°F oven for 15 to 20 minutes.

Tip 
If the chicken looks pretty dark before it is cooked through, transfer to wire racks set on baking sheets and bake in a 375°F oven until the meat reaches an internal temperature of 180°F on an instant-read thermometer. Keep fried chicken warm in a 200°F oven. Using a digital thermometer eliminates the need to stand over the chicken. When the alarm sounds, the meat is done.

Printable recipe.

One year ago: Fresh Mint & Chip Ice Cream

Two years ago: An Evening in Gruissan.

Three years ago: Shiso Leaf Butter

Pucker Up.

I've been thinking about the handful of fruits and vegetables that we use in cooking but would never just pop into our mouths, fresh. I mean to say, foods that require a significant transformation for them to be edible, like olives, rhubarb and cranberries. Olives have to be fermented or cured, rhubarb has toxic leaves and is almost always macerated then baked. And cranberries, have you ever tried to just eat a cranberry? Not pleasant. And acorns. It has never even occurred to me to eat an acorn. Yet, it is a nut. Squirrels eat acorns. And throughout history acorns have been used, ground up to make grain flours and even used as a coffee substitute for soldiers in both the Civil War and World War II.

It fascinates me to no end to think of the trajectory of how we, the people, figured out how to make these things (and all things) edible. 'Well, Hyram there died when he ate that acorn. So let's try and soak it in another poisonous substance, LYE, and give it another go. Yes? Rodney's okay? Alright, good to hear because this would make a lovely flour with which to create a noodle.'

Rhubarb. It comes into season in the Spring and everyone gets all aflutter about it. I'd say about ninety percent of the time you'll find rhubarb paired with strawberries and baked into a pie or a crumble. It's bright, tart and guaranteed to make you pucker up. My favorite bit of information I stumbled across in my rhubarb research: In British theatre and early radio drama, the words "rhubarb rhubarb" were repeated for the effect of unintelligible conversation in the background. This usage lent its title to the 1969 film Rhubarb and its 1980 remake Rhubarb Rhubarb. I guess it's just about time for someone to make Rhubarb, Rhubarb, Rhubarb.

I haven't played with much rhubarb in my day. I could probably count on one hand, the number of times I've purchased any. And so, last time I found myself staring at produce at the market looking for inspiration, I grabbed a handful of those awkward, glossy, orangey, reddish-pinkish stalks and got to thinking. Even though I entertained some compelling arguments to go the savory route, which is generally more apropos for me, I knew pretty quickly that I was going to go sweet.

But a muted, subtle sweet.

Time to bake.

Though I am no cake connoisseur, I have always really loved coffee cakes and pound cakes. They are less cake-like and more akin to very sweet breads (not sweetbreads, mind you – wildly different things). Interestingly, both are also Southern. To this day, I would eat the Tasty Cake version of a coffee cake or the Sarah Lee version of a pound cake in a hot minute. The most beguiling part of coffee cake is the crumb on top. Those brown sugary, buttery grape-sized chunks on top of the cake that are toothachingly, cloyingly sweet – that almost requires a swallow of coffee to allay the sweetness – that's my jam.

And what better an element to cut that sweetness than the tartness of rhubarb?

I was right. When my cake cooled, we all dug in. The rhubarb, which had been macerated prior to baking, was mellow and gently sweet, but maintained it's pert zing, adding an ideal offset to the sugar bomb crumby coffee cake. Well, that and a cup of hot coffee.

And no one even had to die in the process. But Hyram, we certainly do thank you.

Rhubarb Crumb Coffee Cake

Serves 8

For the rhubarb filling:


1/2 pound rhubarb, trimmed


1/4 cup sugar


2 teaspoons cornstarch


1/2 teaspoon fresh, grated ginger

For the crumbs:


1/3 cup dark brown sugar


1/3 cup granulated sugar


1 teaspoon ground cinnamon


1/2 teaspoon fresh, grated ginger


1/8 teaspoon salt


1/2 cup (1 stick or 4 ounces) butter, melted


1 3/4 cups all-purpose flour

For the cake:


1/3 cup plain greek yogurt


1 large egg


1 large egg yolk


2 teaspoons vanilla extract


1 cup all-purpose flour


1/2 cup sugar


1/2 teaspoon baking soda


1/2 teaspoon baking powder


1/4 teaspoon salt


6 tablespoons softened butter, cut into 8 pieces.

Preheat oven to 325 degrees. Grease an 8-inch baking pan. For filling, slice rhubarb 1/2 inch thick and toss with sugar, cornstarch and ginger. Set aside.

To make crumbs, in a large bowl, whisk sugars, spices and salt into melted butter until smooth. Then, add flour with a spatula or wooden spoon. It will look and feel like a solid dough. Leave it pressed together in the bottom of the bowl and set aside.

To prepare cake, in a small bowl, stir together the yogurt, egg, egg yolk and vanilla. Using a mixer fitted with paddle attachment, mix together flour, sugar, baking soda, baking powder and salt. Add butter and a spoonful of sour cream mixture and mix on medium speed until flour is moistened. Increase speed and beat for 30 seconds. Add remaining sour cream mixture in two batches, beating for 20 seconds after each addition, and scraping down the sides of bowl with a spatula. Scoop out about 1/2 cup batter and set aside.

Scrape remaining batter into prepared pan. Spoon rhubarb over batter. Dollop set-aside batter over rhubarb; it does not have to be even.

Using your fingers, break topping mixture into big crumbs, about 1/2 inch to 3/4 inch in size. They do not have to be uniform, but make sure most are around that size. Sprinkle over cake. Bake cake until a toothpick inserted into center comes out clean of batter (it might be moist from rhubarb), 45 to 55 minutes. Cool completely before serving.

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

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

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