I remember a few years back observing my family eat at the Olema Inn in West Marin. I was so sick that weekend. I laid in bed sweating out a fever, having delusions that the stuffed squirrels on the mantle were dancing around my bedposts. So when my sisters begged me to just come downstairs and sit at the table even if I didn't feel like eating, I decided it was time to get a little fresh air (and escape those demonic squirrels). I stumbled downstairs, and sat in the sweet candlelit dining room admiring the menu and wishing that I could eat just a little something. These days it's common to ask if our meat is corn-fed, grass-fed, free-range etc. But at the Olema Inn, they went so far as to list whose field the cows had grazed on (The Turner's field down the road a bit). At the time I thought this was a little too precious: do we really need to know that many details? Seriously, does it matter whose grass the cows consumed on what day? But the Olema Inn was two steps ahead of me. They understood that what your food eats, where it's raised, and the conditions in which it's raised greatly affect the taste and quality.
It’s finally hot here. Like really, really ‘summer has certainly arrived’ hot. As I write, the dogs are sitting at my feet panting away, the fan is blocking out all street noise, and things are very, very still. No breeze. No squirrels darting across the…
Sunday was basically a wash. I had a great run along the Mill Valley bike path. The sun was out. I felt strong. Stopped by Peet's for a mid-morning latte on the way home, took a hot shower, watered the lawn and got ready to head over to the East Bay with my girls. Then... the plumbing disaster that ended up consuming the rest of the day. Suffice it to say there was lots of water, numerous soaking towels, a $1000 plumber (who happened to be an expert on black widows), and an afternoon down the drain--literally. So after napping a bit and ruminating about the Sunday I'd never get back, my curly-haired traveling companion and I hopped in the car and started driving with no clear sense of where we would go. Driving through Albany, it hit us: Fonda! Don't they have an all-day happy hour? Weren't they on the 100 Best List from the SF Chronicle? Yes and yes. Fonda is an interesting marriage of rustic and industrial. Dark woods, dewey yellow paint, dim lighting, and a hatched big-beam ceiling. All this joined with funky metal tables, an upstairs loft for diners wanting to be set back away from the bustle a bit, and large warp-around windows. It's almost two concepts, but it works. Everything but the booths. You sit down and immediately reminsice about last week's Iyengar class and how much your grandma told you not to slouch. Stiff, firm, and unforgiving.
Being relatively young and living in Marin often proves to be a bit tough...socially. Thank god for Friday night bocce league. Yes, there is certainly an older crowd, but there are also young couples and groups of coworkers, downing PBR, getting rowdy, and staying up past 9 p.m. Now let's clarify one thing: our team isn't any good. In fact, I believe we're at the bottom of the roster. So often, other things steal our attention: Cathy K's hot bean dip, cheap red wine, Michelle's awesome cheese plates, Cathy A.'s popcorn, Fred's banana muffins. More cheap wine. You get the picture. So this week, I decided to make some ultra thin oatmeal, coconut cookies to add to our spread. A little sugar and butter to help us hone in on that pellino. Maybe even take home a win. We'll see--they're good, but they're not magic. Now there are chewy cookie people and crispy cookie people. This is a super thin, super crispy cookie.
Ah...food out of Airstream trailers. What could be better than gathering around outside a parking lot with dozens of other Austin hipsters waiting for a savory crepe, a slow roasted green chile pork taco, or fried chocolate chip cookies? For my 30th birthday, I went to Austin to celebrate. In talking with my curly-haired travel companion recently as we reflected on the trip, neither of us really remember what we did. I vaguely remember the Texas History Museum, and learning more about settlers than I ever really wanted to. I remember seeing old friends and trying on expensive cowboy boots. I remember walking by the City Lake and seeking out those elusive South Congress Bridge bats. Other than that, we decided, we were basically camped out at various mobile food trailers around the city, thinking how much we wanted to bring a funky airstream back to SF and start 'er up.
On Monday our little family of three is headed to the airport at 6 am to board our first with-baby cross-country trip. We'll be visiting Sam's family in New Jersey for a few days, then renting a car and driving over to meet up with my family at my mom's lake house in the Adirondacks. Sam's younger sister and her kids have yet to meet Oliver; my grandpa has yet to meet him, and Oliver has yet to take a dunk in a lake, see a firefly, or spend quality time with energetic dogs -- of which there will be three. A lot of firsts. This week my family has been madly texting, volunteering to make certain meals or sweets on assigned days while we're at the cabin and it got me thinking about really simple, effortless summer desserts -- in particular, ones that you can make while staying in a house with an unfamiliar kitchen and unfamiliar equipment and still do a pretty bang-up job. I think fruit crisp is just that thing.
Somehow, in what seems to have been a blink of an eye, we have a six month old baby. In some ways I can't remember a time we didn't have an Oliver, and in other ways it's all a blur broken up by a few holidays (a Thanksgiving thanks to grocery store takeout, and our very first Christmas in Seattle), a few family visits, a one-day road trip to Portland, a birthday dinner out, a birthday cake, weekend drives to nowhere in particular, swimming at the pool with Oliver, weekly get-togethers with our parent's group, doctor's visits, hundreds of walks around the neighborhood, hundreds of cups of coffee, dozens (or more?) of scoops of ice cream. Most of the worrying about keeping a baby alive has made way for other concerns, and Oliver's need for constant stimulation or soothing walks and car rides has been traded for stretches of time playing with a new toy or checking out his surroundings. In truth, it's thanks to that tiny bit of baby independence that this humble, summery cake came to be in the first place. So we've all got an Oliver to thank for that. Or, really, we have a Yossi Arefi to thank, as it's from her beautiful new cookbook that I've bookmarked heavily and am eager to continue exploring.
We walked to the library last week and I had a strange realization standing in line watching Sam check out his usual massive stack of books: Will I ever have the time to read stacks of books again? I used to be much more of a reader than I am today -- a fact I'm not at all proud of. But when evening rolls around and the more formal workday ends, I find emails and other odds and ends creep in. Walking home from the library, I began obsessing over free time for reading, asking Sam if we'd ever be those two old people who study bird manuals and can recognize birds on walks. I want to have the time to read bird manuals someday. For now though, we're young and we're working a lot. We did sneak away on that one-night camping trip I told you about, and cooked some interesting, haphazard meals which I hope to share with you soon. For now though, for summer: a strawberry dessert recipe.
Much like friends, types of Sunday mornings, or books -- there are many different kinds of desserts. Sometimes you may be in the mood for a light French cake piled high with summer fruit. Other days, a thick slice of fragrant pound cake will do. And then there are those days when you crave a rich chocolate mousse that you share after a night of good conversation and a little too much wine. But let's be honest. When it comes right down to it, the most basic and unassuming dessert of all is sometimes the only one that will do. A good and simple affair. Vanilla ice cream. So I want to talk about that today--about a dessert that withstands the test of time, that will always be there for you. A dessert that is far from trendy, that doesn't play favorites or trick you into thinking it's something that it's not. It's a good foundation. A solid beginning.
[ Pie. if you've been around here much in the last few months, you know that I make pie. A lot of pie. And I'm particularly excited to share this pie with you today because it helped me break out of a rut. A pie rut. A baking rut. A Marge inspiration rut.
This past week we've had quite a heat wave in Seattle. I've been getting into the bakery early in the mornings so as to avoid the afternoon heat + hot oven combination, and it turns out the upstairs of our new house is quite a little hot box. I bought some aggressive blinds and a new fan and am hoping both will help cool things down a bit. The wool blanket is in the linen closet for the season, and Sam's been making iced tea like it's his job. Summer has arrived! A few nights ago, the thought of actually doing much real cooking seemed a bit overwhelming, so I figured it was time to dig out the ice cream maker and get to work. I'd wanted to do something with the beautiful strawberries we have in the markets right now, but it seems every time I get a little pint it's gone before I have the chance. They are just so incredibly sweet, and it seems a shame to do anything other than eat them right out of the container, preferably while sitting on the Moroccan picnic blanket you brought back from honeymoon on the lawn in your new backyard trying not to stress out about the incredible, insurmountable number of weeds. So. Many. Weeds. But cherries: somehow the bag of cherries made it safely through the weekend, so I set about to find a great cherry ice cream recipe.
It's been a uniformly gray and rainy week in Seattle, and I'd planned on making a big pot of salmon chowder to have for the weekend, but then the new issue of Bon Appetit landed on my doorstep with that inviting "Pies for Dinner" cover, and I started to think about how long it's been since I made my very favorite recipe from my cookbook, Whole Grain Mornings. I'm often asked at book events which recipe I love most, and it's a tough one to answer because I have favorites for different moods or occasions, but I'd say that this savory tart is right up there. The cornmeal millet crust is one of my party tricks; when we need a quick brunch recipe, this is what I pull out of my back pocket because it's so simple and delicious. This is a no-roll, no fuss crust with a slightly sandy, crumbly texture thanks to the cornmeal, and a delightful crunch from the millet. In the past, I've used the crust and custard recipe as the base for any number of fillings: on The Kitchn last year, I did a version with greens and gruyere, and I teach cooking classes that often include a version heavy on local mushrooms and shallot. So if you are not keen on salmon or have some vegetables you're looking to use up this week, feel free to fold in whatever is inspiring you right now. Sometimes at this point in winter that can be hard, so hopefully this recipe may help a little.
A recipe for Blueberry Cornmeal Custard and a giveaway of Megan Gordon's cookbook, Whole-Grain Mornings