Bad Home Cooking

Meme a little meme of me...

Holler, my veggie blogger friend from Scotland, has tapped me for my first ever blog meme! I don't even know how to pronounce meme. Meem? Mem-eh? Is that like a memo? Who the heck knows. I'm just plumb honored. And giddy.

Of course, this meme is called: Seven random foodie facts about me. Harder than it sounds. Well, here goes:

Seven Random Foodie Facts About Me:

1) I grew up being fed eating American cheese, Wonder bread, diet Shasta and Hostess products.

2) The first three grocery items I ever bought for myself, when I moved out at 18, were: real butter, French bread and a wedge of Camembert. I didn't realize that there was good wine that didn't come in jugs until I was 22 and went to Napa Valley for the first time.

3) I still can't decide which I love more: A Japanese breakfast with fish, nori, miso soup, green tea and rice, or a French breakfast, with fresh croissants, berries and a big cup of cafe au lait (in a bowl, bien sur).

4) I don't know how to set a formal table. This doesn't matter at the moment, since I don't even have matching place settings for five.

5) I almost never finish my plate.

6) My favorite meal is still about grazing: Olives, good cheese, fresh bread, hummus and a little salad.

7) I am made unreasonably happy whenever my ten-year-old daughter asks me to make her my tortilla Espanola or my chicken no-no soup.

And three bonus answers:

8) My favorite ice cream is mint 'n chip, because that's the flavor my mom always got.

9) I love to watch small children (under 5 ) eat a meal. Total focus. Total satisfaction.

10) I have never watched a cooking show. Never seen the Food Network. I don't have cable. And besides, I waste all my extra time on the Internets.

Meat and greet

It goes without saying that I am a feminist. But there are some jobs that are just better suited to the menfolk. BBQing is one of them.

Tony brought down his "smoker" for my last BBQ, and it's been sitting on my patio since then. So when my mom friend Lynn suggested getting together for dinner and a playdate the other day (our sons are in the same first grade class together), I readily agreed. "Maybe we can BBQ some hamburgers," she said. And then she gave me that look.

"Can we do that, do you think?"  I asked.

She paused. "I don't know. Maybe. Heck, I don't see why not. Have you ever BBQ'd before?"

"No. You?"

"No."

And we looked at each other.

"Well hell," I said. "We're smart, capable women. How hard can it be?"

So Lynn arrived Thursday afternoon with her two kids, all their Pokemon cards, a salad and a dozen CostCo frozen hamburgers. I had washed the grill, emptied the last of the easy-light charcoal into the bin of the smoker and thrown a few matches in, hoping they would catch. To my delight, they did. I was greatly pleased with myself. This would be a cinch.

As the fire burned down and the coals turned gray, we poured some wine, got the water on for the corn on the cob, and started making the salad. Then we sat and watched our kids playing, and drank some more wine.

An hour later, we realized maybe it was time to grill those burgers. Maybe it was more than an hour. We found the grill not as hot as it should be. In fact, it was downright lukewarm. Whoops.

We made several off-color jokes about how if only we had certain adult toys that can't be mentioned by name in a family blog, we might not be making these stupid mistakes.

But being women (and mothers), we pressed forward, determined to do our best with what we had. We put the hamburgers on. Ten minutes later, they still hadn't cooked. We called Tony for a consultation. "You let the coals go too long, he said. "Put the top on, but just for a minute. It'll give the burgers a nice, smoky flavor."

We put the top on. The hamburgers sizzled and dripped fat onto the coals. It seemed like it was taking an awfully long time. We finally started turning them and proceeded to drop one through the grill and onto the charcoal. We fished it out with tongs and washed it off. "I'll take that one," said Lynn.

We watched. We waited. We drank some more wine.

"I don't think it's supposed to take this long," I opined.

"No," she said.

The burgers finally cooked. The kids, who had filled up by this time on corn on the cob and cookies, each ate half of one.

We ate all of ours. It was the least we could do after this pathetic show of masculinity.

We positively glowed with estrogen, though, when it came to the salad. Lynn brought her kick-ass glazed pecan salad. Here's the recipe:

GLAZED PECANS

1T Butter
2T Sugar
2 tsp. Water
1 C. Pecans (whole or pieces) lightly toasted
Melt the butter in a saucepan over medium heat.  Add the sugar and water, stirring to combine.  Cook until the sugar is dissolved and becomes bubbly.  Stir in the pecans, coating well, cook until mixture browns and caramelizes.  Remove from heat and spread onto a baking sheet to cool completely.

BALSAMIC V. DRESSING

3 T Balsamic Vinegar
6 T EV Olive Oil
1 large clove garlic, crushed
1/2 tsp salt
1/2 tsp dry mustard
1/2 tsp dry basil
1/4 tsp pepper

Throw this over a salad of baby greens. Add sliced pears and cranberries for extra tangy goodness.

Lesson learned: Next time, use fresh meat for the burgers. Don't drink so much wine. Pay more attention to the coals. And don't forget the strap-on.

Baby foodie

I'm reading Ruth Reichl's fantastic book, "Comfort me with Apples." It's the second part of her memoir, after the best-selling and also page-turning "Tender at the Bone." This one details her transformation from right-on Berkeley foodie into a nationally-known restaurant critic. Reichl, in case you don't already know, is these days the editor in chief of Gourmet Magazine. She writes in an engaging and lively style. And I am riveted.

The foie gras was molten velvet in my mouth, and when I took a sip of wine the flavor became even more intense, richer and rounder than it already was. Coleman looked at me, and I felt the thrill all the way down to my fingertips. I understood, for the first time ever, why those turn of the century restaurants had private rooms with velvet couches. I would  have liked a couch.

The scrambled eggs with truffles were even better than the foie gras. Minutes earlier I would not have thought it possible. each forkful was like biting off a piece of the sun. It was like musk and light, all at once, and suddenly I burst out, "This is what I always imagined sex would taste like."

I like to read this sort of passage after I've gotten the kids down for the night and I'm tucking into my bowl of Cheerios, which are brilliantly set off by the cherry notes in my glass of two-buck-Chuck (merlot, 2007). Can you say Living Vicariously? Go on and try.

I had fois gras once. I think. Isn't it like pate?

That's the best part of this kind of book. As much as I love to wallow in another woman's affairs and career-trajectory, I most enjoy confirming my suspicion that I am an infant in the world of food.

I know the surface. The stuff I'm supposed to know. The details you can pick up in any food magazine.  I know what three Michelin stars mean for a restaurant...but I've never been to one.  I know that black truffles are something to exclaim over. But I've never tasted one. My two meals in Paris consisted of an ice cream (which I bought from a street vendor, who then screamed at me in French when I found I didn't have quite enough money and tried to indicate that I would get more from my stepfather, just inside the cafe. I was 11.) And a candy bar I bought at a vending machine during a 4-hour layover in the Gard du Nord. I don't know the first thing about what wines pair with which flavor or exactly what a sauce bearnaise entails. I only know that there's a whole world of sublime eating out there and I can't even pronounce the name of the ingredients.

It keeps me humble whenever I start to crow about how good my lentil soup turned out last night.

Truth be told, I don't know if I'll ever scramble to this level of eating, much less cooking. I am made so happy by such simple tastes. Of course, if I can make a tortilla Espanola then there's really no reason why I couldn't make a passable pissaladiere nicoise, right?

But first I have to figure out what one is. And then I'd have to learn how to dice an onion properly, no?

Kitchen Goddess Two

This is the first in a series of profiles of the Kitchen Goddesses: Friends who cook and can coax major culinary experiences out of a handful of fresh produce and a few utensils. Each of these women over the years has inspired me in some way. If I can't exactly follow in their footsteps, then they've encouraged me to gimp along behind as best I can.

I met Julia in The Courtyard. For a select few who were there, it is understood that the Courtyard refers to our student family housing complex at UC Berkeley. There were many courtyards at UC Village. But ours was the best one. Fifteen families, all graduate students. All with small children. Potlucks were rampant. We had neighbors from all around the globe (and Utah). Julia hailed originally from L.A. We bonded instantly.

My fondest cooking memory with Julia? The one that springs to mind first is our gazpacho factory. Our plots in the village community garden were overflowing with zucchinis and tomatoes. She taught me how to make the stuff, tasting continually for the best combo of tomato and green. Our student family kitchens were way too small for two people to actually cook together, so more usually one of us would cook while the other sat and monitored the proceedings, filling the wine glasses frequently.

What's the first dish you remember making by yourself?
"I attempted a very complicated butter cookie with strawberry jam filling at five (including reading the recipe from the cookbook).My mom found me bawling in a dark kitchen with the ingredients out and flour all over the place. I had never even helped her cook before so I think she was surprised."

What's your earliest kitchen memory?
"Being bathed in the sink"

Who inspired your love of cooking/baking?
"My step-mother among others (my sisters would probably be angry with me that I didn't say my own mother but I just don't remember her being that interested in cooking and my step-mother really was. I was her sous chef. We worked seamlessly together for hours in the kitchen. We really bonded over cooking together.)"

What's your favorite dish to make right now?
I like simple recipes. I love thinly shredded zucchini in a lemon/garlic vinaigrette with parsley and shaved parmesean.

Are you a bread person or a pie person?
I don't consider myself a pie person or a bread person, even though I've made successful bread and I've made successful pie. Because I think those were both flukes. I'm good at sauces, I'm good at soups. I'm good at vegetables.

Describe a dish you botched badly.
There have been so many - usually it's because I'm not really wanting to be cooking or not paying attention.

Your favorite cookbook of all time?
I don't have one, yet.

If you could be anywhere in the world, eating anything you wanted, where would you be, and eating what?
In Mexico, eating hot "elotes" slathered with cheese, lime and chile from the street vendor.

The sure thing

Everyone needs a dish they can pull out of thin air and impress strangers with. Many people have several. I have one. And I am grateful.

No. I'm not talking about the dish in the photo. Oy.

This dish has accompanied me to every potluck and every picnic I've attended in the last ten years. It's a concoction that not only tastes good, but looks good too. More to the point, it makes me look good.

No matter where I take it, invariably at least three people will approach on hands and knees, begging for the recipe. They've devoured their plate, noted that the communal plate has been consumed in the five minutes it took them to digest, and they make the assumption that this dish is a complicated, secret recipe of my own devising. If I were a more clever woman, I would play on this assumption. Except that would mean I'd be expected to follow up my bravado with a dinner party or something. And that, as readers of this blog know all too well, is a feat I can't much pull off.

So I quickly cop to the truth. Vegetable Couscous. It's a simple recipe, pulled from Jeanne Lemlin's mighty Quick Vegetarian Pleasures. It involves the chopping of an onion and two small zucchini squash, plus measuring out a few spices. Also, the making of some couscous, which in this day and age, with a Trader Joe's around the corner, is an instant, almost idiot-proof task. Yes, thank you, even I can do it. Usually with some semblance of success.

The upshot is, this is one delicious dish. Fresh-tasting yet tangy. The spices beguile. The couscous underneath lends a comforting, buttery starch, for those of you who are squeamish about lots of veggies cooked together. Just about everyone loves this one. Including avowed carnivores and my own ten-year-old daughter. Don't believe me? Take this to your next potluck and see for yourself:

2 Tbs olive oil
2 garlic cloves, minced
1 medium onion, diced (or thereabouts. Fineness doesn't really matter here)
2 tsps ground cumin
1/2 tsp turmeric
1 tsp paprika
1/8 tsp cayenne pepper
2 medium zucchini squashes, cut lengthwise, then lengthwise again, and chopped into little squares
1 15-oz can of chick peas, drained and rinsed
1 16-oz can of diced tomatoes, including juice
1/2 cup raisins
1 1/2 cups vegetable stock
1/2 tsp salt
1 or 2 tbsp butter
1 cup couscous

heat the oil in a large skillet over medium high heat. Add the garlic and onion and saute for a few minutes. Add the spices, and cook a few minutes more, stirring often.

Stir in the zucchini, chick peas, followed by the tomatoes, then the raisins. Cover the pan and lower heat to medium. Cook, stirring occasionally, about 15 to 20 minutes, or until the zucchini is tender.

While the vegetables are brewing, prepare the couscous. Bring the veggie stock to a boil with butter and salt (if you're using it, and I say, life's too short not to use butter whenever you can). Stir in the couscous, cover tightly and remove from heat. Let it sit 5 minutes, or however long it takes you to finish the veggies. Fluff with a fork before serving.

You can make the vegetable part of this dish a day or two before with nothing but upside flavor potential. Impress everyone by serving the couscous in an audacious Moroccan bowl with the veggie mixture mounded in the center.

A final aside: Quick Vegetarian Pleasures is one of those rare cookbooks in which almost every entree is a winner. Simple, sure. But even snobs have to enjoy good eatin'.

Happy potlucks!

Perfect

Quick: What's the most satisfying meal you've ever had? I bet you have several. The perfect meal is hard to pin down because they're all about context. Where are you? How hungry are you? Who are you with? Where did you just come from? What did you do just prior to this perfect meal?

Like you, I have several perfect meals. None of them are fancy. In fact, most are not even technically "meals." They're more memorable tastes. For example, whenever I go to Berkeley my first stop bar none is Gordo's Taqueria, where I sit and eat my black bean, cheese and rice burrito (with just a dollop of sour cream) in a state of complete and silent bliss.

In Santa Cruz there's a bistro called Gabriella's that serves fresh figs wrapped in prosciutto...the only possible response to which is delighted, astounded, laughter.

In North London there's a storefront restaurant with samosas that will render you mute, especially if you haven't had a bite of Indian food in eight, nine months but have spent every day of that time daydreaming about it. 

The crawfish at Felix's in Orange. The blue fin tuna at Asenabo in Studio City. The egg bagel just out of the oven at 108th and Broadway in NYC. That salt cod and garlic dish a friend made on New Year's eve 1999. The meat and potato stew my neighbor brought over an hour after I gave birth to my son, at home. A bowl I finished in minutes and literally licked clean, while my neighbor, a big and radiant woman from Kenya, laughed all the way back to her apartment to retrieve the entire pot for me.

Here's a more recent perfect meal: A grilled cheese sandwich and a pickle. Washed down with a $14 glass of red wine. Tony and I discovered this one at Greenblatt's about a year or so ago.

Greenblatt's is a Jewish Deli on Sunset in LA. It's been there for at least 50 years. It's got much better food than the more famous Canter's Deli on Fairfax. As well as a vaunted wine collection. It's open late and we like to go after a show and slump in a booth and watch the Hollywood people come and go.

One night we were trying to decide what to eat. "Know what I really feel like?" Tony looked over his menu sheepishly.

"What?"

"A grilled cheese sandwich."

My last experience with grilled cheese had something to do with a slice of American cheese between two pieces of Wonder Bread. There is a lot to choose from on the Greenblatt's menu, all of it worthy. So eyebrows were raised. But not for long.

Imagine a place that serves grilled cheese sandwiches for adults...yeah, I know. Tart up a grilled cheese and call it a panini. It's still just a grilled cheese to me -- and that can be more than OK. Tony ordered jack cheese on rye bread. Creaminess with a bite. And then there's that pickle, which is like a satisfying, final exclamation point. I don't know how we came to order the $14 glass of wine. A cab out of Napa somewhere. Our waiter, the tall and improbably-named Gide, told us it would be good. And who the hell has a decent wine with a grilled cheese? Well, exactly.

And thus a classic perfect meal was born.

There's a lot more to be written about grilled cheese sandwiches. They're popping up all over. In the Williams Sonoma catalog, in the New York Times (which irritatingly cancels its free links within days), to the food blogosphere. There are contests. All sorts of grilled cheese chatter. They've also gotten the nod from the heavens. Seems God, some ten years ago, saw fit to affix an image of the Virgin Mary into a toasted cheese sandwich. True believers have been making pilgrimages to see this holiest of grilled cheese in Florida (where else?) until recently, when it was sold at auction on Ebay for $28,000.

I could write a lot more about grilled cheese sandwiches. Even detail my pseudo-successful attempts at making them at home. But not today.

I know you have a favorite meal or two. Let's hear them.

Bad graphic designer

Forgive me. I'm trying. Really. I want this blog to look nice for y'all. And I dipped into it today aiming to achieve that very goal. Tragically, much like my cooking, I really, truly suck at graphic design. Several hours of trying to find just the right font and a better shade of puke color, I gave up and went to ballet class to sweat out my frustration.
In other words, gentle readers, stay tuned while I continue to futz with BHC. I'll get it right eventually.