Five Things About Me

I was tagged by D-man of Sourdough Monkey Wrangler to write 5 Things About Me for my readers. I found myself shying away from the exercise because I like a certain amount of anonymity or the guise of it anyways and besides which five things to pick? In the spirit of revealing more of me especially as I forge new friendships, we have fresh out of the head and onto the net:

One- I am a prudent rule follower unless I am under my own direction. This is why I need to be alone if I can help it. In spite of this the most reckless behavior in my student life occurred in my formative years. My kindergarten teacher reprimanded me for the “uncivilized” behavior of a few classmates. A developing foodie, I spied unshelled sunflower seeds within the caged confines of the class pet gerbil’s cage. I enthusiastically reported descriptions of this delicious snack to my friends apparently causing my fellow five year olds to storm the cage. I had to sit out recess with my head down for instigating the group and potentially starving the gerbil. I remembered being annoyed with this teacher for not getting it, but crying out of sheer shame anyways.

Two- I love most kinds of dance and for some reason this translated into becoming a cheerleader in high school. My school was no different than most, the cheerleaders tended to be blonde, busty, popular and date football players. I wanted to cheer because I actually liked the choreography and the athleticism. I had a mean jump and I also happened to excel academically. After I made the squad, other honor society girls began auditioning. And by dint of being hard working, determined and excellent at goal setting, many eventually made the team. Critical mass took over and by the time I graduated the popular girls seemed to shy away from trying out. Three- If I were a superhero my talent would be “pattern vision”. I get a strange satisfaction from looking around me and tracing the patterns which surround constantly. The overlay of shapes and grids excite and rejuvenate me. I like to move items in the room around to compose lines and forms that please me. As I see it the environment both inside and out, is an ever changing snapshot of time.

Four- I was an extra on Nash Bridges starring Don Johnson and Cheech Marin. The production crew called the knitting shop where I learned to knit and asked for 7 knitters to portray a hippie commune in an upcoming shoot. We were paid $100 to walk across the set in single file and then sit down to knit. The rest of the day involved snacking, hair and makeup and standing around squealing at how much older Don Johnson looked in real life. I didn’t watch much TV then, but I was a diehard Nash Bridges fan and went into short mourning when the show was cancelled. I don’t think our show ever aired. Five- The underwater world fascinates me. I especially love cephalopods (octopus, squids, nautilus). I once had a very kinesthetic dream where I was an Octopus swimming deep into my body. I was the powerful pure sensation of tentacles propelling me deeper and deeper in. This dream occurred during a frightening period when I was diagnosed with a rare muscular disease and had to leave college to get well. Though I didn’t consciously understand the dream, when I awoke I felt taken care of by this ancient sea being. Ever since then I feel a real kinship with those funny, strange, beautiful creatures. Although I don’t mind eating them anyways!
And how about you? If there is anyone reading this that wants to reveal all or at least five things, please tell me about it- I'm listening.

Private Fare

Today I met the sandwich of my dreams, primordial snack stuff, maybe even the genesis of it all. Last summer I made manifest the smorgastorta and it was stupendous. But it was pomp and circumstance, a primped up sandwich cake full of smug satisfaction demanding adulation and trumped up ornamentation. Yet underneath the chiffon cream top and fussy radish rose festoons sat plain the noble and elemental desire to mash together whatever is on hand in the larder and turn out a meal or finer yet, a midnight snack. I don’t mind admitting that the one that called to me first and has eluded me until now is the rather unexpected sardine sandwich.

The sardine sandwich has been an idea or an icon born off the nightly illustrations of Blondie. It represented an adult world, a far away place both charming, whimsical and perhaps even a touch mystical. There are foods that enchant us, possess us with their full bodied allure and for me those tiny tinned fish led the way. Stacked obediently in rows, the somnolescent school afloat in tomato or mustard-y brine intrigued me with its unapologetic realism. Appended to the side of a bullet shaped body, a scrape of silvery skin, the stiff ridge of fin and even the jointed stem of spine could be found. Nothing hidden, no buffer, life and death and in between contained within a palm sized sarcophagus. For a child accustomed to chicken morphing into nuggets and pig snouts turning into hot dogs, these miniaturized ocean water creatures became another world sought for, if not in dreams.

But as I’ve discovered, not all dreams are meant to be shared by others. There can be something lost in translation as one tries to convey meaning and significance to another body, case in point the chicken sandwich. Years ago after going to the SF Farmers Market I’d amble over to a café in the Justin Herman Plaza. It was a fancy place that served over priced build-you-own sandwiches and perfectly roasted chicken. Over months I created a flawless sandwich which consisted of a juicy herbed chicken breast on top of a crusty sourdough roll slathered mercilessly with mayonnaise. To enrich the snack a 1/3” slab of truffle mousse liver pâté was lightly pressed into the bread along with 2 pieces of thick cut bacon, sliced onions capped off with a juicy tomato on top. I’d slink off possessively guarding my prize, moments later free to sink into a private reverie. The mistake I made two times later was to have my friends meet the sandwich. Suffice to say one thought it too rich and the other was relatively unfazed by this gastronomical wonder. I was crushed twice and seriously miffed at least once.

The moral of that story is that there is an important place for solo food experiences. Maybe one doesn’t always need to share, connect with or even accommodate another’s taste or preference. But instead relish in a space where one feasts on food in a wolfish kind of way, primal, free and without utensils or apology.

Variation on a Sardine: I tend to always have a variety of sardines on hand for snacking with crackers. A combination of thinking about the Adriatic Sea where I first had fresh grilled sardines, missing pickled herring on knäckebröd with sweet butter, and wishing for a springtime picnic á la Wind in the Willows with Ratty and Mole, inspired me to gulp down this simple treat. I am working up a Vietnamese bánh-mi version as well.

Idea on a theme Take 1: AM Sardine sandwich
Lightly toasted walnut bread, cooled
Unsalted butter, cold
Thinly sliced onions
Sliced hard boiled egg
Sardines in tomato sauce
Lemon zest
Chopped parsley
A few capers
Lightly toasted walnut bread, cooled

Take 2: PM Sardine sandwich
Lightly toasted pumpernickel, cooled
Unsalted butter, cold
Sliced Jarlsburg cheese
Generous slather of secret sauce or mayo if you must
Thinly sliced onions
Sliced thin sweet and spicy pickles and/or sauerkraut
Sardines in mustard sauce
Horseradish
Lightly toasted pumpernickel, cooled

Ajvar Matey!

When I moved to this small town located in the shadowy foot of the White Mountains and home to license plates that read, Live Free or Die- I tried to mentally prepare myself for the isolation that would surely follow. It wasn’t the withdrawal from friends that concerned me most; I was gravely worried about the state of my belly and the foods I would eat. Upon informal research of the local culinary climate, I tried my best to stock up on ingredients I might soon desperately need. I frantically threw together an assortment of ethnic comestibles, a custom SOS things-I-cannot-live-without cooking kit, unsure of what I might find or rather not find here. It included things like kombu and hijiki, ume plum paste and spelt, dried shrimp, quince paste, rooibus, asafoetida and ajvar. Most of my booty garnered quizzical looks or deep sniffs followed immediately by the puckered face of disgust, repulsion, even ennui. But ahhh, the Ajvar (Eye-var)! I made the mistake of praising and elaborating upon its virtues one too many times and even worse, spooning generous swoon worthy helpings next to beautiful sunny side eggs or nudged alongside a bronzed nub of potato crusty with herbs and garlic, all the while chiding a new friend to eat. Too soon my jar emptied out and I had to push this Serbian salsa into the far recesses of my mind to cope with the brutal realities of a poorly stocked ethnic food aisle at the local food mart.

It might not be too great an exaggeration to claim that ajvar, an immodest shockingly orange-red pepper condiment is the one thing that I clearly remember from 1987, a turning point that changed my life forever. When I travel back in time and fix upon that summer I uncover dusty fragments of memory: whispers, textures and crumbs of the most magnificent sights and sounds of Europe. I was “Going for Baroque” with a group of students taking in the Renaissance and Baroque architecture of Italy, Austria, Germany, the former Yugoslavia and the former Czechoslovakia. If it weren’t for a scattering of photos in possession documenting my participation, I might not believe that I was actually there. I was blind and closed, dumb from heavy saturation of all the richly layered experiences for which I had no words for: the hollow slap of cobblestone upon the concave soles of my feet disconnected from the quiet play of shadow chasing light in mischievous dance apart from the explosion of gilded putties and undulating rows of marbled columns thrust forward in enthusiastic religiosity. And as much as I loved food then- as now, nothing more than bland cottony rolls with butter and strawberry jam, beer, Wiener schnitzel and lots of Mozartkugeln dared to step forward.

With dismay and confusion I poke at my flabby memory with more holes than substance- and it occurred to me that I was not properly cooked. I was simply an unformed thing unable to grasp at the wondrous sensations around me. I did not have the eyes to see, the hands to draw or the complexity to hold the patterned web of mutuality which displayed about in dazzling array. Luckily the problem and remedy was anticipated and solved by the program’s organizers with a three week sail around the Adriatic Sea and it was there on a boat- where the few experiences retained began to knit and form a story and the inner and outer parts of me formed some sort of whole. Perhaps it was because I was held in a water womb bounded only by transparency, light and vapor that sensation stilled enough to finally be absorbed. In that dream world the vibrancy and full bodied sensuality of ajvar began calling out to me from the private corner of the captain’s breakfast spread- and before long small doses were metered out to me with my own morning eggs.

Ajvar is a roasted red pepper and eggplant paste popular in the Balkan countries. It is a lively mouthful that can easily accompany eggs, meats, fish, vegetables and breads. And as amplified as it sounds, this mere condiment shook me out of the stupor that I was in. It is not really surprising considering how arresting this vegetable like fruit is. These showy orbs peek and preen; they are self aware ornamental jewels seductive from every angle and when mixed with fire and smoke…one has a pretty devastating combination on hand. The flesh turns to something like dampened crushed velvet, silky and a touch sinful and the flavor is the aching pure heart of passion. When this pulse quickening food matches up with roasted eggplant, olive oil, garlic, vinegar and salt you end up with a soulful marriage hard to soon forget and I can’t. It seems to me that I transformed and became a whole person after eating ajvar. I grew eyes, ears, mouth and indeed even a heart. After this I discovered that I could string words together to form complete sentences and the gaps in my memory closed. While I cannot promise that the same will hold true for you, after all a story told backwards is different than the same moving forwards and the veracity of the claim may be suspect, ajvar may at the very least hold its own between the ketchup and the peanut butter in your pantry. And that my friend is still a very impressive thing.


The Elusive Ajvar adapted from navarrovineyards.com

After emptying my only jar of this pepper paste from Berkeley Bowl, I managed to locate one from Trader Joe’s and yet another from the Hanover Co-op. Being that two of these places are three hours away, I decided to make my own. As simple as this recipe is, I sadly discovered that it is not as good as the bottled stuff I last emptied. The flavors were not quite as piquant or flavorful, the color not as breathtaking. I offer it still as inspiration and starting point for something that inevitably will be tweaked and hopefully perfected. I do urge you to find the Trader Joe brand which is acceptable and for heaven sakes don’t hurry the roasting process like I did. The skins really need to char and the flesh underneath needs to lose cellular integrity and slump over before being ready.

Ingredients:
1 pound red peppers (could use 1-2 yellow or orange peppers as well)
1 yellow hot banana pepper, or any other slightly spicy pepper
1 medium eggplant
1 garlic clove crushed
1/4 C olive oil
2 tablespoons apple cider vinegar to taste
¼ tsp. salt

Directions: To help set the appropriate tone put on some KITKA and turn the oven onto 475 degrees. Place the peppers and eggplant on a cooking sheet and roast until blackened and soft. Place peppers in a paper bag for about ten minutes and then de-skin, remove seeds and stems. Scoop out the eggplant pulp and mash with the finely chopped peppers. Heat the oil in a pan and sauté the garlic, vinegar, eggplant-pepper mixture and salt. Cook this mixture until it thickens, condensed and jam-like without bringing to a boil. Cool the ajvar and eat on breads and such.

Finding Fire

Sunrise
You can
die for it-

an idea,

or the world. People

have done so,

brilliantly,

letting

their small bodies be bound

to the stake,

creating

an unforgettable

fury of light. But

this morning,

climbing the familiar hills

in the familiar

fabric of dawn, I thought

of China,

and India

and Europe, and I thought

how the sun

blazes

for everyone just

so joyfully

as it rises

under the lashes

of my own eyes, and I thought

I am so many!

What is my name?

What is the name

of the deep breath I would take

over and over

for all of us? Call it

whatever you want, it is

happiness, it is another one

of the ways to enter

fire.

-Mary Oliver

Chasing the Cold Away Groundhog Style

Punxsutawney Phil and I are huddled in a corner celebrating the good news, the welcomed forecast that cloudy skies and a tardy shadow make for an early spring. We couldn’t be more pleased after breezing through the first half of a rather benign winter. With the promise of lightly fragrant vernal greens just around the bend it is almost easy to ignore the intensifying blustering winds rattling across the valley. But the sheer surprise of winter’s frigid breath and icy chill keeps us firmly rooted in our arctic reality, one that includes frozen paws, frosty tails and emotionless expressions. Something quick needs to happen before we retreat too far into ourselves, closed blind like a tight fist. To enliven our spirits a lusty decision is made to unite beef with brew, or body with soul and make a Carbonnades Flamandes. There is nothing new in tantalizing taste buds with meat fortified with wine or beer. Given the fact that liquor relaxes and mellows those that partake in its spirit, it stands to reason that booze will exhibit and extend the same properties to neighboring ingredients in the close quarters of a braising pot. Be forewarned, this concoction makes for a convivial atmosphere, the safe passage of an unbearably cold winter’s night and at least one loquacious dinner guest, guaranteed.

Phil’s Carbonnades Flamandes inspired by Saveur No. 62 November 2002
Serves 6 people/ just-out-of-hibernation groundhogs

Saveur suggests using a dark Belgian beer like Chimay or Orval. To my dismay I discovered that this was not an option open to me- I cracked under the pressure of selecting a suitable alternative and chose Apple Jack instead. The hard cider out of the bottle was completely unsatisfactory, no depth or shimmer. The caramelized onions and fennel give the body needed and the resulting soft velvety stew is a potent taste sensation which will echo flavor and warmth to the most closed of the closed.

Ingredients:
1 Tbsp. oil
3 lb. boneless chuck (I used beef loin, short cut grilling steak- the butcher said it would be more tender) cut into 1 1/2” pieces
7 Tbsp. butter
2 large yellow onions, peeled and thinly sliced
1 fennel bulb ends and tops trimmed and thinly sliced
3 Tbsp. flour
1 ½ C beef stock
1 ½ C hard apple cider (Apple Jack brand)
2 bay leaves
½ tsp allspice
1 Tbsp balsamic vinegar
5 pitted prunes
Salt and freshly ground black pepper

Directions: Heat oil in a cast iron pot over medium high heat and cook meat in approximately three batches, browning pieces well on all sides. When each batch is done, put aside in a bowl. Lower temperature and add 4 Tbsp. butter to the pan. Add onion and fennel slices to the butter and mix to coat. Stir occasionally to allow the color to develop. Cook for about 35-40 minutes until the vegetables are a golden brown. Pull out the vegetables and add the rest of the butter. Once melted add the flour and stir to form a roux. Keep stirring for about 2 minutes until it turns nutty brown. Slowly add the stock and hard cider while mixing to incorporate all of the roux and cooked bits stuck to the pan. Add the bay leaves, allspice, vinegar, and prunes to the sauce. Add salt and pepper to season. Return the meat and vegetables back to the pan and stir. On medium low continue to cook the meat until soft and tender for another 1 ½ -2 hours, partially covered. Serve hot with plenty of brew on the side.