Food Woolf – Page 11

Nancy Silverton's Focaccia Monday

Nancy Silverton—the woman that many call “the queen of bread” and the person I call my boss—is excited. “Have you tasted my focaccia?” she asks. I’m busy setting up the Amaro bar for a busy night’s service. There are four large buckets of ice needed for the well, a long list of wines to pull, and three kinds of citrus I have to hand juice before I can even think about taking a moment to focus on Nancy’s newest bread.

“You need to taste it,” she says. “We’re going to serve focaccia at Mozza to go every Monday. You should blog about this.”

Minutes later, Nancy appears with a thin, triangular slice of a roasted cherry tomato and herb foccia, just pulled from the oven. She watches me lift the focaccia to my mouth with an eagerness usually reserved for children just before they open a present.

“Do you like it?” she asks.

For more on Nancy Silverton’s Focaccia Monday »

October 11November 14

Know Your Audience

I had the good fortune of meeting an anonymous reader the other day. And not just any anonymous reader. A former anonymous reader.

It was late. I had put in a full shift behind the bar on a busy Friday night. It was nearly midnight when a woman in a wrinkled shirt and skull cap purposefully flopped onto a stool at my bar. Her posturing—the way she knowingly observed the closing servers as they criss-crossed the dining room and finished up odd bits of busywork—indicated that she was waiting for someone on staff.

That someone it turns out, was her girlfriend, my co-worker. The two of us were introduced as we counted money and processed the end of the night paperwork. The woman (I’ll call her “G”) made friendly banter until, just a few minutes into getting to know each other, she stunned me with a statement I wasn’t expecting.

“I used to read your blog,” she said. Her girlfriend shot G a look that almost looked like a wince.

“But then I stopped. It pissed me off too much.”

There was an uncomfortable silence. Upon seeing the stunned look on my face G added, conciliatorily, “It wasn’t just you. Your blog was the straw that broke the camel’s back.”

To read more about

October 6January 4

Food Woolf Nominated for Foodbuzz ‘Best Writing Voice’ Award

I got the news today that I was nominated for Food Buzz.com’s food blogging award for “Best Writing Voice.” Amy, my editor at the LA Weekly’s food blog, emailed me with the news.

First of all, it should be stated that I still can’t believe I’m getting paid to write about food. Add to that, the fact that I’m getting paid to write about food at a Pulitzer Prize winning weekly newspaper that won that award for the incredible food writing of Mr. Jonathan Gold. Then, sprinkle on top of that, the fact that the only reason my food editor agreed to interview me for a job was because of the writing found here on this blog–it’s officially mind blowing what this blog has done for me.

I’m jump-up-and-down happy. Just typing the sentence “my editor emailed me the good news that I was nominated for Best Writing Voice” has my heart racing. I can’t believe it. It’s such an honor to be considered.

Continue Food Buzz Blog Awards »

October 5January 4

A Seafood Recipe–Inspired by an International Fish Market

The alarm went off at 6 AM—an uncharacteristically early wake up call for someone who waits tables past midnight. Eyes hazy from a lack of sleep, I stepped into the warm shower with dreamy thoughts of an early visit to an unfamiliar downtown market. Soon there would be coffee. And fish. Lots of fish.

International Marine Products

The day started early at International Marine Products (IMP), a small but world-class fish market open to restaurant professionals only. On the fringe of downtown Los Angeles, chefs from LA restaurants don hairnets or baseball hats while perusing the diverse selection of ice packed fish, mollusks, and shellfish.

Continue Razor Clam recipe »

September 30November 14

Expect the Unexpected-Blogher Food ’09

Expect the unexpected is a great motto, but it’s a hard one to follow. Especially if you like knowing what’s going to happen next.

Blogher Food ’09 was—without a doubt—a thoroughly surprising experience. I enjoyed meeting my blogging heroes and a throng of fascinating blogging personalities. I learned technical lessons, had theoretical discussions, and listened in on inspirational ideas about blogging. But one thing I didn’t expect was bad frozen food, rubber gloves for a chocolate dessert tasting, processed frosting in a can, and the organizers’ overall misunderstanding of the culinary needs of conference attendees. Though the programmed conference programs were educational (I wish I could have gone to all of them), the most disappointing aspect of the conference was the food.

Bloggers snap on rubber gloves and wait to plunge their hands into a box of chocolate.

Why am I smiling if really–deep down–I’m horrified?

Continue Blogher Food Conference »

September 25November 14

Where to eat at the Blogher Food Conference

I’m not gonna lie. I’ve got butterflies in my stomach. I can’t focus on my work. Rather than concentrate on the story I have to write, I’m day dreaming about the food I want to eat and hoping I get to meet all of my favorite bloggers while I’m in San Francisco for the Blogher food blogging conference.

Though I’m clicking away at my computer keys, my fingers direct research rather than writing. What else can I do? My inquiring mind needs to know each and every restaurant surrounding the conference site. And then, for convenience sake, I’ve charted a lean sampling of culinary locales and placed them on a Google map for easy access.

San Francisco Restaurants »

September 19

A Whole New Beet

best beet

I was five years old when I remember eating my first beet. It was from my mother’s garden, picked earlier that day. She cooked the red root vegetable for dinner and I remember being skeptical that I would like it. “Just try it,” she said. And when I tasted its earthy sweetness and saw how the slices could stain my tiny finger tips a bright shade of pink, I knew I was a fan. Food that could double as a magic marker and was sweet, was automatically good stuff in my book.

Since then, I’ve made a lot of beets. I prefer the wrap-in-tin-foil-and-roast method of cooking . I love sautéeing the green-red tops for a midday snack. But recently, after seeing a favorite farmers market vendor offering up thin slices of beets soaked in citrus hot pepper, I thought it was time to try his technique.

After rinsing my bunch of freshly picked beets, I used a mandolin to slice the red root vegetable into thin rounds. I juiced a handful of lemons and limes (2 of each) and poured the mixture over the beets. I added a generous sprinkling of kosher salt and cayenne pepper until I could taste the salt and the spice against the sweetness of the beets. I sealed my plastic container and waited a day to taste the results of the marinade.

Unfortunately, even after a day, the beets lacked the tart, pickled quality of the farm stand’s beets. Something was missing. I waited another day and found that the beets had taken on much more of the citrus flavors. By the third day the beets were nearly perfect and were great in salads or popped directly in my mouth for a snack. On the fourth day, just before I ate the last spicy beet slice, I dreamed of bloody Mary’s garnished with beet slices.

The following week I returned to the market to find out what key ingredient I had missed. It turned out that my market partner and friend, Leah, was equally besotted by the crunchy treat and had the very same questions. Thanks to the translation skills of the farmer’s young son, we learned that lime juice was the only citrus needed to soak the beets. And as for the spice, we learned we had missed one key ingredient–paprika.

Now that I have the recipe for that great citrus-soaked beets, I’ll be making this recipe often. I hope you do, too!

Marinated beets at Hollywood Farmers Market

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Lime Marinated Beets

These get better the day after you make them.

1 bunch of small beets (no more than three)

1 bunch of limes (4 or more depending on how big your beets are)

2 tsp kosher salt

1 or 2 generous pinches of cayenne pepper

1 or 2 generous pinches paprika

Thinly slice beets on a mandolin. Toss beets in a mixing bowl with 2 teaspoons of salt. Add a generous pinch of cayenne pepper and paprika. Juice 4 limes and toss the mixture together. Taste for balance. Add more spice or salt if necessary. What you’re going for is a nice, spicy flavor. Put beets in a shallow dish that allows a thin layer of beets submerged in lime juice. Add more lime juice if necessary. Wait a day or two before serving. If possible, move the beets around to allow for a more equitable distribution of lime juice.

Serve citrus soaked beets in salads, or as a garnish for a fancy Bloody Mary or Martini.

*PS A special thank you to Diane at White on Rice for her help making my beet picture the best it could be!

September 7

Thank you, Shelia Lukins

The New Basics Cookbook was the first cookbook I ever bought. The year was 1993 and I was a fish-eating vegetarian (I didn’t know the word pescatarian yet) in search of a way to eat good food on a tight budget. Up to that point I was a ramen noodle, brown rice, stir fry and salad eater with an untouched Mollie Katzen vegetarian cookbook on the shelf.

But when I first saw Julie Rosso and Shelia Lukins’ The New Basics Cookbook, I recall thinking (with much remorse) that I was late in joining the gourmet food revolution. The cookbook’s unfamiliar cooking techniques and recipes made me want to get in my kitchen, start cooking, and catch up. Pronto.

The simplicity and playfulness of Lukins’ illustrations were beguiling—like a picture book for a child–and distracted me from my fear of learning something so new and unfamiliar. With Lukins and Rosso’s help, I started simply. I bought olive oil and fresh herbs. I roasted whole heads of garlic. I made fresh pesto. I chopped tomatoes and onions and made something called gazpacho. I cooked down eggplant and peppers for eggplant caviar. I watched in awe as my blender turned egg yolk and olive oil into aioli. With my new found culinary skill, I scoffed at store bought mayonnaise. For the first time in my life, I was using familiar ingredients in strange new ways.

The New Basics introduced me to new ingredients like watercress, fresh dill, and catfish; these were inexpensive items I could afford to experiment with. I learned how to make challa bread pudding with a whiskey sauce and oven roasted catfish with a a lemon dill sauce. I cooked these two dishes again and again until I could prepare them from start to finish from memory. For years, these were my go-to entree and dessert choices for every special occasion.

When Shelia Lukins stopped in for a meal at Pizzeria Mozza last year, I recognized her the moment she walked in the door. My heart rate whizzed as I watched the manager sit the author of my dog-eared cookbook at a table in my section. “Do you know who that is?” I said, as the manager walked past, nonplussed. I scurried to the back kitchen to find Nancy Silverton (my boss) and told her of Lukins’ arrival. Nancy’s eyes went wide and it took only moments for her to reassign her cooking duties so that she could join Lukins at her table. The pair embraced and shared food stories over plates of pizza and antipasti.

When I learned that Shelia Lukins died this week from brain cancer, I was stopped cold by the news. Lukins was my first teacher in the kitchen. Her words, basic instructions, and illustrations set me on my path. Her recipes intrigued me and guided me through a culinary infancy. Lukins’ legacy may not be as flashy as a Food Network chef, but like Julia Child, she was a cookbook author with abilities and recipes that changed the way people thought about food.

I am grateful to have had the opportunity to meet Lukins. Though she may have thought the server standing before her was simply offering a perfunctory thank you as she got up to leave, my parting thank you meant so much more than that. In actuality, my thank you was for inspiring me to get into the kitchen and learn more about food.

Thanks again, Sheila. You changed my life for the better.

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Reddened Catfish with Lime Watercress Aioli
From The New Basics Cookbook, Sheila Lukins and Julee Russo

For the Lime Watercress Aioli
1 egg yolk
1/2 cup minced watercress leaves (or leftover greens)
1/4 cup chopped scallions
2 tbsp fresh lime juice
1 tbsp Dijon mustard
1/2 tsp salt
freshly ground black pepper
3/4 cup vegetable oil
2 tsp grated lime zest

1. Blend the egg yolk, watercress, scallions, lime juice, mustard, salt, and pepper in a food processor or blender until smooth.

2. With the machine running, slowly add the oil in a thin stream. Blend until the sauce is thick and smooth. Transfer to a bowl and stir in lime zest. Refrigerate until ready to use.

For the Reddened Catfish
1/2 cup breadcrumbs
1 tbsp lemon zest
2 tsp paprika
2 tsp dried oregano
2 tsp Kosher salt
1 tsp dried red pepper flakes
1/4 cup half-and-half
1 egg
1/4 tsp sugar
6 catfish fillets (about 3.5 ounces each), skinned
1 cup lime watercress sauce

1. Preheat oven to 450F. Grease baking sheet and set aside.
2. Toss the bread crumbs with lemon zest and herbs on a plate. In a shallow bowl, lightly beat the half and half with the egg and sugar.
3. Dip the filets one at a time into the batter mixture and then the crumbs.
4. Arrange the fish on the baking sheet and bake until sizzling and cooked through, about 12 minutes. Serve immediately with the sauce.

September 2November 14

Ben and Jerry’s big gay ice cream

When you grow up as a teenager in a small colonial town in Massachusetts there aren’t a lot of things you can do. In the 80’s, I passed the time in my small town with a cassette tape Walk-Man, movies on the VCR, diary writing, walks in the woods, and Ben and Jerry’s. I was eating Cherry Garcia long before this small town girl had any clue who Jerry Garcia was.
courtesy of Ben and Jerry’s

As a lifetime fan of the multi-textured ice cream company (I credit them for giving me my first understanding of the need for multiple textures in food), I was pleased to see Ben and Jerry’s announcement yesterday that for the month of September their popular “Chubby Hubby” ice cream would be renamed “Hubby Hubby” as a way to celebrate Vermont’s recent decision to grant gay and lesbian couples the freedom to marry.

With so few mainstream companies today willing to stand up for anything that could possibly threaten their market share, it is refreshing to see Ben & Jerry’s team up with Freedom to Marry, a marriage equality group, to show support of the right of gay couples to marry.

“At the core of Ben & Jerry’s values, we believe that social justice can and should be something that every human being is entitled to,” said Walt Freese, Chief Executive Officer of Ben & Jerry’s.

According to a press release Ben and Jerry’s hopes the renaming of the flavor will “raise awareness of the importance of marriage equality and to encourage other states to follow the blazing trails of Vermont, Massachusetts, Connecticut, Iowa, and Maine.” The name change of the ice cream is temporary and, for states like California, largely symbolic. The iconic ice cream flavor–a vanilla malted ice cream swirled with fudge and peanut butter and filled with fudge covered peanut butter pretzels–will only be available in Vermont for the month of September.

Let’s hope that soon, Ben and Jerry’s will announce that Chubby Hubby will forevermore be called Hubby Hubby, in celebration of a nationwide decision to allow marriage for all men and women, regardless of their sexual orientation.

Sign me up for a creamy scoop of social justice.

August 31

Art of the Bar

I recently stumbled across a full-page spread in the August Bon Appetit devoted to a former friend from my days of bartending in Boston.

from Bon Appetit Magazine

I knew Misty as a hard working, spunky brunette that worked long hours at Toad, the Cambridge restaurant/music club we both worked at. Back in the day, when I wasn’t writing screenplays and she wasn’t attending classes at Harvard’s Divinity school, we would commiserate over late night Manhattans and talk about what our lives would look like once we got out from behind the bar. They were hopeful days filled with big ideas and limitless possibilities.

Photo, circa 1997. My last night working in Boston. Celebrating with Misty, and all of my Toad friends

In the years since I came to Los Angeles, Misty decided to put her Divinity schooling behind her and dedicate herself to the art of the bar. Her devotions went from the teachings of God(s) to a new kind of religion: celebrating classic cocktails, via the Boston based chapter she founded called the Ladies United for the Preservation of Endangered Cocktails. Now she runs the bar program at Drink. The Bon Appetit article reminded me just how influential those early years in restaurants really were for people like Misty and myself.

And that’s when it hit me. We restaurant people really are a different from most people. We don’t share the same wiring of the nine-to-five, business suit wearing set. We work odd hours, dream in cocktails and recipes, and share a secret language that is truly unique. For many of us, making it in the business of food and drink isn’t about the money. Success is being able to create truly great product–drinks and food and service–and do it night after night. Success is consistently great product that people from all over the world stop and take notice of. Success, for many of us in the restaurant business, is about getting street cred.

Street cred may not pay the rent, but it certainly does has its benefits. Respect from restaurant brethren equals a table at a busy restaurant, a spot at the front of the line at the bar, a dish on the house, or a handshake from the person in charge. Witness a restaurant pro with a lot of street cred walk into a restaurant and you will see something akin to the way Italian restaurants cater to the Mafia. It’s a beautiful thing. A full page spread in a food magazine is, without a doubt, the print version of street cred.

The Nomad, The Bartender and The Writer

I belong to the service branch of the restaurant business. Servers, bartenders, runners, bussers are the mercenaries and carnival people that make up the front of the house–or service unit–of restaurants. We are a nomadic group with a touch of the performer in us. We rely on a toolbox of skills and a range of talents that are always required because every day is filled with a flurry of difficult and trying situations.

Bartenders are a small subsection of the service branch. Equal part technician and server, bartenders offer a level of service very different from waiters. Not only do they act as a liaison between the guest and the kitchen, but bartenders must be able to create cocktails in the manner that a chef creates food—they must be consistent, have good technical skills and understand their ingredients. Despite the fact that bartenders often offer the same services as the waiters, life behind the bar is a very different place than on the floor.

Which is part of the reason why I am so excited to start work behind the bar again. For just a few nights a week, I will step behind the bar at Osteria Mozza to bartend, serve and fine tune the technical skills to create amazing drinks on the fly. Bartending is an aspect of the restaurant business I have missed greatly—ever since the good old days when Misty and I were just starting out in Cambridge and finding our way in the world—via restaurants.

In order to give more time to my freelance work as a frequent contributor to Squid Ink, LA Weekly’s food blog, I have made the difficult decision to leave my full time job at Tavern Restaurant.

Now I must sadly say goodbye to Suzanne Goin, Caroline Styne, and the inspiring team of people I had become a part of. The dedication, tenacity, fearlessness and attention to detail of Goin and Styne was a constant inspiration that made me want to be better at what I do. They are, without a doubt, two incredible women that deserve every bit of their enormous street cred.

August 26

The Perfect Fruit by Chip Brantley, a Book Review

While pursuing my undergrad and masters degree in writing, I consistently heard the advice that the life of a writer is one that should be avoided, if at all possible. “Do anything else if you can,” the teachers begged. But despite their warning to turn back from a life of hard work, no respect, and very little (if any) financial reward, I persevered.

Turns out, artists aren’t the only foolish ones with careers that don’t always pay off. According to Chip Brantley‘s book, “The Perfect Fruit: Good breeding, bad seeds and the hunt for the elusive Pluot,” fruit breeders are also part of a cursed bunch of men and women shackled with unfaltering passion, a blinding desire to create something, and a life of hard work that doesn’t necessarily offer any financial reward.

In fruit breeders, Brantley found a kindred spirit. It’s no wonder that a single piece of fruit, and the history of its breeder would eventually become a subject so compelling Brantley would dedicated a couple years of his life to tell the story. One bite of a ripe Flavor King plum was all it took to ignite an obsession in Brantley, a journalist and founder of Cookthink. In what could be described in movie terms as the cute meet, Brantley’s stone fruit encounter was so thrilling and exciting it changed the course of his life forever.

An obsession is born

Brantley’s research lead him to the fruit of his of his affections: a Flavor King Pluot. A relatively new hybrid created by a man named Floyd Zaiger, the writer tracks the history of the fruit through its creator’s lineage. From the fields of San Joaquin Valley, California, to the text books of early American fruit breeders, Brantley leads us through the meandering path of plant husbandry. He unravels the history of the hybrid and tells the stories of the growers responsible for creating obsession-worthy fruits. What results is a mostly compelling story of dedication, competition, invention, and an undying passion to create a perfect piece of fruit.

Brantley spends time in the field with an array of fruit breeders: an interesting bunch that have hybrids on their minds and an insular culture that keeps the group rather off the grid. Brantley navigates the world of the plant breeders and corporate fruit buyers as an inquisitive observer that would happily spend a full day wandering around a field to taste hundreds of juicy plums.

With the growth of interest in fruit that tastes good, Brantley shows readers why breeds such as the Dapple Dandy and the Flavor King are now just starting to make it on the buying public’s radar. And with the popularity of farmers markets growing by the week, Brantley is only able to guess at the affect of local consumer demand on stone fruit farmers.

Brantley’s “Pluot” is a must-read book for food lovers, plum obsessives, and any writer that has ever felt alone in the world of struggle. Thanks to Brantley’s research, it becomes clear that one can find artistry in just about any field of work. Take for example one fruit breeder’s desire to grow fruit. In his mission statement for growing fruit, he states that he hopes his plums will illicit a response equal to “a first kiss, a grandma’s smile, the last day of school, and outside fastballs over the right field fence.”

And maybe, if you’re a food blogger with a dream of someday making enough money to do nothing but write about food, consider this: it took Floyd Zaiger, the creator of the Flavor King (Brantley’s perfect fruit), twelve years before he saw any profit from his labors. The amount that he made after twelve years of planting, cross breeding, and creating an intricate system of tracking genetic crosses only resulted in a small check for just two hundred and fifty dollars.

Brantley’s research has a way of filtering into a food lover’s mind (mine) and affecting buying choices. After reading about the passion it takes to grow delicious plums, I couldn’t resist the eat-over-the-sink juicy plums at my local farmers market. As the season comes to a close I will enjoy every last, anti-oxidant rich bite.

According to Brantley, most Americans eat only one pound of plums a year. Since reading “The Perfect Fruit,” I am well on my way of breaking the record for average plum consumption.

Photo courtesy of Bloomsbury

The Perfect Fruit
Good breeding, bad seeds and the hunt for the elusive Pluot
Published by Bloomsbury

August 21

Thick as a brick chicken

There are little stories we tell ourselves to make it past the little things we do that might not be so noble. The guilt associated with a late night ice cream run is easily assuaged by the internal voice of you deserve it and who’s gonna know?

Then there are other little lies we tell, like when you bump a car on your way out of a parking space and the voice in your head tells you, it’s not your fault. They were parked too close. Cut in front of someone in line and the voice barks, what’s their problem? Why were they dawdling?

In the world of blogging there are plenty of white lies people tell themselves to get away with certain things. Why can’t I write about this box of food they gave me? Who says I have to say I got it for free? The borrowed phrase, the lifted post, the stolen photo it happens every day. Writers, bloggers, and photographers stumble upon instances where strangers with a need for content have taken what they want without regard for others. Who’s gonna care? I’m not making money off this blog. Perhaps people steal content out of pure ignorance, but maybe people know better and convince themselves otherwise, with their own set of little white lies.
I like to think of myself as a somewhat intelligent person. But sometimes, I think my brain is as thick as a brick. Things that are obvious to some people take me a while to figure out. Which is why, when I started blogging, I decided to spend a lot of time reading up on what other bloggers did and how they thought things should be done.

I was uncertain on the rules of what was proper and what was not. If a story inspired me to write a post I wasn’t sure if I needed to link back in order to acknowledge how they motivated me. Maybe I didn’t use their words, but their ideas inspired me. Isn’t that a kind of borrowing? There were recipes I tried out and modified, but I wasn’t sure how to proceed. I wasn’t sure how much of the recipe was theirs and how much of it was mine. I searched the internet for information that would educate me on what was fair and reasonable, and what was considered downright wrong.

Thick as a brick

Over time I began to understand the basics. I learned:

—Don’t use any photographs that aren’t yours (unless the photographer says it’s okay).
—Attribute recipes to the original source, even if the recipe is modified.
—Link back to stories and sources that are referenced within the text.

Okay, so those are some pretty obvious rules, right? But then why did Saveur Magazine use (steal) one of my photos without asking for my permission? Why did they fail to give me proper attribution? I look forward to getting the answer from their online editor (to be continued, I hope), but I can only guess the writer that contributed the story told himself a little white lie that putting the name of my blog and offering no link was attribution enough. Should I be mad? Yes. Have I learned something? Yes. We all make mistakes.

I recently stepped into a bit of an ethical mud pie when I started work on a freelance article. I didn’t see it at the time, but the story was too close to my personal life to write about it. It took a serious nudge for me to realize–light dawns on marble head!—that I had written a biased piece. Once I saw how flawed my choice was, I was embarrassed. I told myself a little white lie about how my proximity had nothing to do with the story and I believed it. I was ashamed at my own lack of judgment and my ability to see the truth. I felt like I had kicked myself in the chest.

It took me a while to dust myself off and get my thick as a brick head on straight, but I think I have a much better understanding of what I need to do. There are easy to understand rules of etiquette of online writing, and there are slippery slope ethical issues that blur and bend the more you look at them. Freebies, bias, and lack of transparency are all issues that require thoughtful consideration, daily. I can’t allow myself to get caught up in the rush to tell stories without contemplating all the potential pitfalls.

As someone that has publicly stated a desire to uphold a higher standard in on line writing, I should know better. The thing is, I am flawed. I am like every other human out there, I make mistakes.

In the world of what’s right and what’s wrong in writing—both online and on the page—there are a whole lot of in between areas and spots that come in and out of focus. The topic of ethics in social media, self-publishing (blogging) and journalism is a constantly morphing. Maintaining a code of ethics requires time, thought, and lots of soul searching.

It’s easy to have high ideals. But actively upholding all of those ideals is something much more difficult. We are flawed individuals. Mistakes will be made. Whether or not we learn from those mistakes is our choice.

“May he without any fault cast the first stone,” a famous religious figure once said. I say, take more than a moment to consider if you’ve told yourself a little white lie before you hit publish.

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Thick as a brick chicken (AKA Chicken al Mattone)
Inspired by a recipe from Sfoglia Restaurant as published in this month’s Bon Appetit

1 3-pound chicken
1-2 tbs of kosher salt
2 lemons, juiced
3 tbs olive oil
4 tbs chopped parsley
2 garlic cloves, chopped
fresh rosemary
black pepper

special equipment
a tinfoil wrapped brick

Using a sharp pair of kitchen scissors, cut as close to the back bone–from the butt end of the bird to the neck—as possible. Repeat the process on the other side to remove the back bone. Reserve the back bone and neck for stock. Rinse the bird and dry thoroughly with paper towels.

Using a sheet tray, open the chicken up like a book–making sure to put the cavity of the bird down onto the tray. Drizzle the bird with half the juice of the lemon, the sliced garlic, rosemary (2 sprigs worth, removed from the twig) 2 tbs of olive oil and 2 tbs of parsley. Cover and refrigerate over night.

When ready preheat the oven to 400º. Sprinkle the chicken with a tsp. of kosher salt and black pepper. Heat the remaining olive oil in a skillet over medium high heat. When the oil shimmers (and isn’t smoking) add the chicken, skin side down (this will take a little adjusting of the legs of the chicken). Cook until golden brown or approximately 6-7 minutes. Place the tinfoil wrapped brick onto the chicken and place in the oven in the middle rack. Roast for thirty minutes. Remove brick and chicken from the oven. Flip the bird over and replace the brick on the chicken. Cook for another 15 minutes or so—or to the point that an internal thermometer reads 165º. Remove the chicken and its brick from the oven. Place the chicken on a platter. Drizzle chicken with the remaining lemon juice and remaining rosemary. For an extra kick sprinkle with hot chili flakes.

August 11

Julie and Julia: one food blogger’s review

Image courtesy of Sony Pictures

“Don’t get too excited. It only leads to disappointment.”

That’s what a weary Bostonian told me one night when I expressed giddy enthusiasm before tasting her food. Her warning hasn’t stopped me from being eager about a lot of things, but her words have definitely stuck with me.

Julie & Julia is a much hyped movie I’m glad I maintained my cool about. I did my best to keep my excitement to a minimum and enter the theater with a general sense of calm. As a food blogger and child raised on Julia Child (our local, public television station was WGBH), I really wanted the film to be great. But the more reviews I read—one critic suggested that Meryl Streep’s Julia Child was reason enough to see the film but the food blogging story line was so boring it required a penlight and reading materials–the more I began to worry. Perhaps the narcissism of Julie Powell and the sickly sweet impulses of Nora Ephron would ruin the film. Would Julie & Julia be another hokey romantic comedy that would make me shiver with revulsion every time I passed by its movie poster?

In the hands of other actors, Julie & Julia could have been a disaster. But the honest and impressive artistry of the cast make this a savory film, rather than sickly sweet. The casting of Meryl Streep, Amy Adams and Stanley Tucci is compelling enough to propel this movie into Oscar territory. Streep and Tucci as Julia Child and her husband, Paul, spark with chemistry. The simple moments—Streep’s darting eyes when she slices open an envelope holding potentially important news, Tucci’s physical comedy when he is forced to confront a mound of sliced onions, and Adam’s commitment to feel the frustrations of a sleep deprived woman cooking through the night—make watching the film a real pleasure. Despite real life Julie Powell’s flaws (she is nagging, bratty, selfish, narcissistic and oddly food-phobic), Adams manages to make her true-life character (somewhat) appealing. It is with lesser actors—Adam’s boss and best friends—that the weakness of Ephron’s scripting and direction become more obvious.

In Hollywood, Ephron is the go-to writer for stories of bitchy women that come to their senses after a run around the romantic comedy wheel. Julie & Julia requires from Ephron the use of an entirely different writing muscle. Since the two books she adapted for this film both have story lines with pre-existing husbands, Ephron is unable to fabricate her usual cute-meet scenarios. Ephron the screenwriter is bounced from her comfort zone and is forced to create something new. What results is a romantic movie that celebrates the existence of love, the art of cooking and the delicate dance required for a successful marriage.

What’s even more impressive to me—as someone that struggles with mastering the art of screenwriting—is how Ephron easily captures the art of writing on film. In what could be sappy diary writing, Ephron is very careful in how she shows Powell at the keys. Writing as a story point, isn’t very exciting, especially when the writing is blogging–a field relatively new to many. But thanks to Ephron’s script and direction, the moments when Powell (Adams) sits at the computer to write, does double duty for the story—making the audience feel like they are part witness and part blog reader. Creating a compelling writing scene for a writer on her laptop is not an easy task–just watch the pilot episode of Sex In The City and you’ll see exactly what I’m talking about.

Julie & Julia may not be a perfect movie, but it is a keeper and a must have film for any food blogger’s DVD collection. So if you haven’t seen Julie & Julia yet, be sure to see check it out. But don’t go in expecting too much.

August 5

Expert advice on essential pantry herbs

Every home cook has basic items they always stock in their kitchen’s pantry. Requirements slide up and down a varying scale of basic essentials to gourmet necessities. While some gourmands require jars of caviar, blocks of chocolate and imported espresso beans, I like to keep things simple in my little kitchen. My cabinets stocked with cans of tuna, sardines, plum tomatoes, chicken stock and bags of pasta, granola, cereal and nuts. Nothing too complicated.

As for spices, I avoid the dried stuff in jars. As New York Times’ food writer Mark Bittman suggests my spice shelf should be dedicated to items that don’t go bad quickly. I stock dried red peppers, whole nutmeg, large sticks of Vietnamese Cinnamon (thanks White on Rice!), dried oregano from Italy, cardamom pods and a tube of harissa.

I have to admit that when it comes to buying fresh herbs, however, I am utterly uncertain what should be considered essential. Unless I have a specific recipe in mind, I’m often left wondering what I should or shouldn’t be buying at the farmers market herb stand. And sometimes, the thought of tossing another bunch of wilted (and yes, I admit it, moldy) basil into the garbage keeps me from buying anything at all.

But now, thanks to Lily Baltazar—the daughter of an herb grower and the person in charge of overseeing the family’s herb stands at farmers markets across southern California—I think I have a much better understanding of what an essential herb really is.

I recently had the pleasure of interviewing Lily for my weekly column in the LA Weekly’s food blog, Squid Ink. Lily thrives on educating customers and teaching them how use herbs. After learning tons of great ideas on how to use leftover herbs (read the full story here), I decided to ask Lily what herbs she couldn’t live without. Here is what she had to say:

If you could only have a handful of herbs in your pantry, what would they be?

I would certainly pick Italian parsley, basil, thyme, arugula and cilantro. I like to think that we are all “home chefs” and although our flavor palates are different, these herbs provide an array of flavors.

I love Italian Parsley too! I think that may be the once thing I always buy at your herb stand with confidence. I chop it up and throw it in sauces, toss with bread crumbs and add to salads (especially my radish and sardine salad). Why is Italian Parsley one of your essential herbs?

It sparks up any meal, whether you are making tabouli, putting a soup stock together, or adding it to a carton of store bought soup, it will enhance the look of the dish, as well as the flavor.

And Basil?

Basil is another herb that works well with any dish. I want to get customers to think past Italian pesto. This beautiful herb can be used for so much more. Just add extra leaves to a sandwich, to top a pizza and add to salads. Chop up basil and add last minute to soups, use it in spring rolls. Or just add it in the place of cilantro.

Suzanne Goin likes to use muddle basil stems to flavor her vinaigrettes. That’s an ingenious use of leftovers, I have to say. And speaking of Suzanne, thyme seems to be the number one herb used in most of her dishes at Tavern. Why is thyme so important to you?

Thyme is the versatile herb that can be used in just about anything. Use it for marinades and meat rubs for grilling. Chop and use for mushroom dishes. Thyme is a must for salad dressing. This beautiful herb is now being used to flavor and garnish for drinks.

And what about arugula? Is it really an herb?

The nutty spicy green is gaining in popularity. Its nutty, peppery leaves go well with fish, sushi, spring rolls, chicken, beef. I like to use this green in combination with sweets. Try an arugula salad with fresh dates from the farmers market or fresh, ripe fruit like apples, pears, candied nuts…The list goes on. For extra flavor, add cheese to an arugula salad.

Sometimes when I run out of spinach I like to use any arugula I have and sauté it. I recently used it in an egg white omelet and loved how it gave the simple egg preparation such a nice peppery note…Why is cilantro on your list of essential herbs?

I like to chop it up and sprinkle it on just about anything. I like it for salsa, chutney, salads, sandwiches, burritos, quesadillas.

How do you suggest storing fresh herbs? Is there a way to prolong their freshness?

Keep pantry herbs all together in a plastic bag or in a plastic tub. I like to bring out all of my herbs together, to inspire experimentation and new uses. The only exception to this is basil. Basil is special and does not like cold temps. Wrap your basil in a dry paper towel and place in a separate bag. Put the bag in the cheese bin or the warmest part of your fridge. All my pantry herbs (except for basil) will last about a week in the fridge.

Lily Baltazar’s family business, ABC Rhubarb is based in Fillmore, California. I visit her every week at the Hollywood Farmers Market.

July 29

An improvised recipe for Maryland Crab soup

(Photo credit: from Diane at White on Rice)

There’s something really beautiful about having the confidence and skill to improvise. Musicians do it when they see beyond the black notes on a chart and close their eyes to jam. It’s the same with creating something impromptu in the kitchen; it comes when the cook understands more than just the basic chemistry of cooking and ratios and starts to feel their way into a never-before-created dish.

Like a musician that can hear a tune unwind in their head, a chef must be able to cook and taste a dish before ever slicing into product or turning on the stove. The day I cooked crab soup from beginning to end without ever boiling a pot of water, was the day I realized I had started to think like a chef.

Take me to the bridge!

I have my friend Chef Brian—sous chef of Hatfield’s restaurant–to thank for my recent transformation. Over the past year he’s taken me under his wing, described the way he creates dishes and has talked me through the way prepares every ingredient. Thanks to his willingness to share culinary secrets, he’s given me information that can only learned by spending thousands of hours in the kitchen.

I recently invited a handful of my very best culinary friends to our Los Angeles apartment for a night of eating. I couldn’t think of a better way to celebrate our love of food than with a casual dinner that celebrated the bounty of California’s farmers’ market featuring freshly caught Santa Barbara crab. With the Hungry Cat Crab Fest–one of my favorite LA dining events–as inspiration, I began to put together my menu.

Standing in the Hollywood Farmer’s Market I saw it all so clearly. I would serve a multi course dinner, starting with a cucumber and lime cocktail. I’d begin with a savory fruit salad (Suzanne Goin style), follow it with a Maryland-style crab soup and corn bread, and finale with a huge Santa Barbara rock crab, mallets and plenty of corn on the cob. I felt confident about the salad and the simple boiling of the crab and ears of corn–but the soup was a different matter completely.

I didn’t have a recipe, nor any hope of finding one. I asked my boss (Suzanne Goin herself) if she had a copy of her husband—Chef David Lentz‘s—soup recipe but she didn’t. Oddly confident I thought, I can figure this out.

I began to doubt my abilities the moment after I had navigated through the crowded Hollywood Farmers Market with bags stuffed full of fresh produce and angry Santa Barbara crabs. Suddenly my mind was flooded with an imagined future of disappointed food bloggers politely eating a watery crab soup.

Just as I was at my lowest low, the culinary gods smiled upon me as I stumbled across the path of smiling Chef Brian—a Maryland native and crab expert.

“My god,” I gasped. “Can you tell me how to make crab soup?”

With my hands occupied with heavy sacks, he ran down the basic procedures of preparing a Maryland crab soup. Unable to take notes, I visualized the cooking of the crab, the messy job of pulling out the crustacean’s sweet meat, the sautéing of the shells and cooking the bodies down with mirepoix to create a rich stock. I saw it all as I repeated the steps all over again at the stove. Thanks to Brian’s advice and my newfound confidence, the soup was a huge success.

Like a family recipe that is shared through generations, this soup is created by feel and instinct. I offer you the recipe here, as it was described to me at the Hollywood Farmer’s market.

[print_link]
An Improvised Maryland Crab Soup
As shared by Brian Best, Hatfield’s Restaurant

4 large Santa Barbara Crabs
1 large bunch of carrots, peeled and chopped
1 large bunch of celery, chopped
3 large onions, chopped
6 ears of corn
fingerling potatoes (1-2 pounds), peeled and chopped into small pieces
2 small cans of tomato paste
2 dried ancho chili
2-3 tbl Harissa from a tube
Vegetable oil for cooking
Olive oil for cooking
enough water to cover the crabs
left over vegetable scraps or herbs

Crabs should be alive before you cook them. Leave crabs in the coolest section of the refrigerator until you are ready to cook them. Putting them in the freezer for 10 minutes before you cook them will make the cooking process less difficult for the crabs (and you).

Fill a large pot with water. Bring the water to a boil. Add the crab one at a time to make sure they are fully submerged in the water. Cook separately if necessary. Depending on the size of the crab, cook for 12-15 minutes but no more. Remove the crab from the water, let cool. Reserve the cooking liquid if possible.

Cover your worktable with newspapers. This is going to be messy. Using a mallet, hammer, or crackers, break the claws to reveal meat. Using chopsticks or picks, remove the meat. Put crab meat in one bowl and the shells in another. Rinse crab’s top shell of the dark internal liquid, as this juice will make the soup bitter. Break down the top shell with a hammer.

Using the same large pot, heat pot over high heat with a little vegetable oil. Add an acho chili or two, the crab shells and pieces. Stir crab shells frequently, making sure to heat all the shells evenly. The crab shells should start to smell of the sea, about 10-15 minutes.

In a separate pan, add half of chopped onion, carrot and celery to a hot pan with olive oil. Sautee down until the mirepoix ingredients begin to soften. Add to the sautéing crab shells. Add herbs and any vegetable scraps you may have. Add cooking liquid or water to the crab shells, being careful to add just enough to cover the shells. Simmer on stove for an hour. Taste. Drain the crab stock with the finest sieve you have. Cook down the stock for 30 minutes to an hour.

In your sautee pan, cook down the remaining mirepoix ingredients until soft. Add softened mirepoix and potatoes to stock. Remove the corn from the cob and add to stock. Add tomato paste, stir to dissolve. Add crab meat. Cook down for 30-60 minutes. Taste for seasoning. Add Harrissa if you desire more spice. Serve immediately or freeze.

Serve with cornbread.

July 23March 28

Chef Suzanne Goin’s Savory Fruit Salad Recipe

I love eating salads, don’t get me wrong. But when it comes to eating out, I skip the leafy greens for the instant gratification of ordering a complex entrée that takes just minutes to come to the table, rather than hours of preparation at home. When I go out I want to have fun. When I’m home I want to keep it simple.

Once outside of the restaurant–be it the one I’m working for or dining at as a customer–I find myself craving simple dishes. I long for perfectly composed salads and uncomplicated appetizers that I see service after service as I wait tables at Tavern.

Thanks to my job as a server for Nancy Silverton, I craved Italian antipasti for years. But now that I work at a new restaurant, I find my cravings are colored by the seasonal whims of my new boss, Chef Suzanne Goin. Her food is rustic, Provencal and thoroughly inspired by the market. Go to the market and it becomes clear why a warmed heirloom tomato, a crisp plum, the lingering flavors of a basil stem could inspire entire dishes on Suzanne’s menu. Her dishes reflect California’s bounty and an unabated passion for great ingredients.

A recent culinary revelation was recently delivered to me via a white plate at pre-service (a daily meeting before dinner service begins). Suzanne described the dish as a fruit salad. More savory than sweet, one perfectly balanced bite made it was clear this was no ordinary fruit salad. Suzanne’s greens were lightly tossed with vinaigrette—ingeniously made with left over basil stems and not-so-perfect plum pieces—and studded with just ripe stone fruits and Marcona almonds.

I’ve been craving it every since. This is my interpretation of her recipe, as prepared for my friends on a recent hot summer’s day. I omitted the nuts, but you can add those back in.

[print_link]Suzanne’s Fruit Salad

1 large bag of mixed greens
1 head of radicchio
1 head of frisee
3 large plums, dark purple and heavy with juice
2 large peaches
2 large nectarines
2 small Geo plums (or a tart, crisp varietal)
1 small bunch of grapes
4 branches of thyme
2 branches of basil
3 oz. red wine vinegar
1/3 cup extra virgin olive oil
1 small tangerine, juiced
salt and pepper

To prepare the plum vinaigrette:

Staying close to the seed, slice the stone fruit so that you have two perfect rounds per fruit. Slice the fruit “cheeks” into consistent sized slices. Set aside.

Cut the remaining fruit off the seed of each fruit, being careful to save the uneven pieces for the vinaigrette. Place the random pieces into mortar and crush, being careful to extract as much fruit juice as possible. Put the pulpy juice into a small bowl and add the olive oil, vinegar and tangerine juice. Remove the basil and thyme leaves from the stem. Muddle the herbs’ leaves and the basil stem in a mortar and pestle. Add to the vinaigrette, stir and taste. Add salt and pepper. Taste for balance. Add more acidity (in the form of more red wine vinegar or lemon juice) or seasoning if needed. Put in a jar and let sit for a few minutes. When ready to toss the salad, remove the basil stems.

To prepare the salad:

Chop the radicchio into small slices. Chop the bottom off the frisee and pull apart into individual pieces. Toss the radicchio and frisee into the greens. Toss the fruit with some of the plum vinaigrette in a separate bowl. When ready to serve, toss the greens with the plum vinaigrette, using the least amount necessary.

To compose the salad, place a heaping tablespoon of dressed fruit on a chilled plate, then top with greens. Add pieces of the fruit on top, being sure to drizzle some of the juice over the top of the final salad.

July 23March 14

Getting to know you at LA’s Blogger Prom

Last night I stepped back through time and found myself on the roof-top deck of the Riot Hyatt (now the Andaz Hotel), dressed as a 1980’s prom attendee. Luckily, I wasn’t alone in my time travels. Thanks to the incredible party planners of The Blogger Prom, I was surrounded by other garishly clad, time warping guests.

The Blogger Prom was masterminded by a handful of incredibly insightful LA bloggers that recognized the fact behind every .blogspot, .wordpress, .typepad and moveable press web address are men and women that are unabashed food geeks and culture dorks.

Picnik collage — @SamKimSamKim and DianaTakesaBite.com

Between the Michael Jackson and Duran Duran tracks, pink cocktails with lollipop garnishes, Aqua-netted hair and a brief cameo by Pauly Shore there were wonderful first time meetings and lovely connections to be made.

Out from behind our computers and in full 80’s attire, the night began as most proms do: awkward. But as the room filled and the sun set (and the alcohol started to kick in) attendees fearlessly introduce themselves. Bloggers that had only known each other through blog posts and Twitter avatars, embraced when they caught sight of each other’s blog name scrawled on their name tag.

Lindsay William-Ross aka @ SquashBlossom #Blogger Prom — Lindsay William-Ross aka @ SquashBlossom

It was a wonderful night that was filled with great stories, wonderful outfits and incredible connections. Thanks to the Blogger Prom, LA’s blogging scene just got a whole lot closer.

Food Woolf prior to #Blogger Prom — The 80’s Prom photo re-dux in ’09

July 16November 14

Third and Fairfax Farmer's Market Celebrates 75 Years

Ten years ago, in the greatest uprooting of my life, I moved to Los Angeles after a lifetime of small town living in Massachusetts. Like most new arrivals to this town, I was a small town girl with big dreams…and a very bad sense of direction. For me, the Original Farmers Market at Third and Fairfax became my north star: it was a culinary landmark that told me just how lost I was in the sprawling city of Los Angeles.

Though I knew very little about the history of the Third and Fairfax Market, the hand painted signs and elderly patrons that staked out tables were visual proofs that despite its size, LA could maintain some simple village ideals. The stalls of the Farmers’ Market reminded me of New England tourist stops with penny candies and plastic key chains and the produce vendors’ tables piled high with fruit, brought to mind road-side apple stands and pumpkin farms.

Looking back now, it is no wonder that I chose to live near the Original Farmers’ Market. The neighborhood is my own little village where I can walk to shops, enjoy the park and eat out at my favorite restaurants. I am a regular, a local, and now–after ten years of visiting–I am a fixture at the market.

After many years of feeling lost, I have finally found a home in this big city, thanks in part to the Original Farmers Market.

Happy 75th Anniversary, 3rd and Fairfax Farmers Market!

July 14

Italian Fast Food

24 hours days aren’t what they used to be. Hours spin in a blur of color, sound and flavor. Life as I know it—thanks to the opportunities this blog continues to offer me—is morphing into something wonderfully different.

With my new job as a columnist for the LA Weekly’s on-line food section called Squid Ink (home to the nation’s only Pulitzer Prize winning food journalist, Jonathan Gold!), waiting tables a few nights a week and multiple freelance writing gigs, there’s a lot to accomplish in one day. Consequently, sleep has become a luxury. Coffee is a non-negotiable necessity. And lately—here’s the shocker—I’ve gotten so busy I barely have enough time to eat.

Fast food for foodies

Granted, lots of food lovers have secret fast food indulgences. In-n-Out is definitely one of mine. But in terms of being good to my body and the world around me, pulling up to a drive thru window on a regular basis just isn’t an option. Protein bars are good in a pinch, but the act of devouring a meal replacement bar may quiet my stomach but it tends to put me in a bit of a sour mood.

In truth, my idea of great fast food is a slice of great bread with a small bowl of oil-soaked sardines sprinkled with red wine vinegar and radishes. But after several weeks of eating my way through many cans of sardines, I knew it was time to expand my fast food repertoire.

Dinon Alimentare

I recently discovered Dinon Alimentare’s line of marinated seafood salads at the seafood department at my local Whole Foods. Beautiful white anchovy filets and golden jewels of marinated mussels from Italy’s coast had me intrigued. The less than $9 price tag got me buying.

I love toasting bread and dropping a couple tender anchovy fillets over the top. I like to toss the marinated mussels* in with some greens and heirloom tomatoes. The calamari salad travels well in its sealed container and is a perfect addition to an outdoor picnic.

With a couple of Dinon seafood containers in the fridge and a beautiful loaf of bread on my counter, I’ve got ready to go meals in just seconds.

The quality of the ingredients and care that the people at Italian based-Dinon Alimentare take to prepare their marinated seafood salads has me thinking that the Italians really do know how to make food–even fast, prepared food–sexy. I may not like the words “prepared packaged foods” but I certainly do love saying the company’s motto: “Freschezza pronta in tavola.”Freshness brought to the table fast? Who doesn’t like that?

*sometimes the Dinon mussels need a little more de-bearding. I take the extra few seconds to trim that off. Otherwise, they’re just perfect.

July 8November 14

A Dash for Bragging Rights at Hungry Cat

It took weeks of verbal sparring to get Matt Jeronimo and John Curtis—two bartenders at the Hungry Cat—to the point where they needed to step outside to settle their argument. But on Monday, dressed only in their lightest gym outfits, the pair met up on Selma Avenue—a quiet block just outside of Hungry Cat—to finish the argument for good.

It all started as a casual conversation that was inspired by a friendly regular at the bar. He had asked about their past glory days, but soon after, the two co-workers were soon disagreeing. This was not a political or philosophical dispute. It was a different kind of argument that could not be settled by words. What was needed was physical proof.

The issue was, quite simply, who was the faster runner.

Both men were sprinters for their high school track teams. After comparing past race times and current exercise programs, Curtis didn’t hesitate to tell Jeronimo who was the faster runner. But Jeronimo refused to accept Curtis’ claim that he was the faster runner. Jeronimo wanted proof. “I threw down the white glove,” he explained just minutes before the race. “I suggested we do something like a 100 meter sprint.”

Curtis—a man unafraid of physical trials (he competed on the reality show “Wipe Out“)–was slow to agree to the foot race. After weeks of Jeronimo’s unabashed call to action, however, Curtis finally consented.

But by Monday at 2:45, some 15 minutes after the proposed start time of the race, it appeared that Curtis wasn’t going to show. Was Jeronimo concerned? Jeronimo pushed back his hair with one hand. “We work together behind the bar tonight. What are you going to do?”

Jeronimo insisted he wasn’t interested in winning bragging rights from a forfeit. “I still want to know who’s faster,” the brown haired bartender said as he waited for his competitor at the Hungry Cat’s bar and nursed a glass of iced orange juice.

At three o’clock, Curtis arrived, dressed for a foot race. Jeronimo’s face lit up as he eyed his sneaker-clad foe. “I gotta tell you, I broke a couple of ribs on the Fourth,” Jeronimo admitted as he lifted his sleeveless running shirt to expose a dark purple bruise under his right nipple.

Curtis stopped mid-stride and asked with true concern, “Sure you still want to do this?” Jeronimo nodded, solemnly. “I’m just gonna have to run through it. Nothing you can do.”

A camera toting blogger (yours truly) and a restaurant regular (my husband) marked the beginning and end points of the race. With nothing more than a friendly “on your mark, get set, go!” the race began.

A black-vested parking attendant and several curious passersby watched from the sidewalk as the two men sprinted down the center of Selma Avenue. Curtis’ lean form and tight running gait quickly gave him a measurable lead. His pained competitor grimaced as he struggled to keep up.

Within seconds, the race was over.

Curtis wasn’t a boastful winner. He smiled and offered a friendly set of knuckles to his co-worker for a fist bump. For the first time in what may have been weeks, the two co-workers smiled at each other with relief. The argument was over. The fastest man won.

As the two runners caught their breath as they retraced their route down the short distance of Selma, Jeronimo sighed with frustration. “Man, I just couldn’t find that other gear.” Then, without a moment of hesitation, Jeronimo added “Best two out of three?”

Curtis laughed, but it was clear there wouldn’t be another race any time soon.