Cucumber, Watermelon, Mint and Feta Salad

Labor Day
A Sketchbook Pro painting by me

Couldn’t find the words this week. The truth couldn’t come through. There was a moment when I thought I would rather not post than create paper-thin architecture of a few words to hold up a recipe. Instead, images came. Colors, shapes, and textures spoke to me. I grabbed my iPad and started painting with my SketchBook Pro app. I followed the muses. I kept the internal editor at bay.

Sometimes this is how creativity comes. Who am I to say no?

So this week, I give you a recipe in rosy pinks, creamy greens, and clotted white. I’ll let the simple flavors of summer speak for themselves. Make this salad. It’s simple but the textures and flavors are profound.
Ucumber Salad

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Cucumber, Watermelon, Mint, and Feta Salad

1 small watermelon, cubed

1 cucumber, cubed

4 branches of mint, trimmed of stems. Only leaves.

1/2 a block of feta, a little less than a cup

2 tablespoons of EVO

Sprinkle of S&P

Optional: Hot sauce

Try to keep all the cubes of the ingredients the same size. Mix the watermelon and the cucumber together and then add pieces of feta and mint. Mix. Drizzle with a little oil. This salad tastes best if all the ingredients are cold.  Enjoy.

 

A Love Letter for Jennifer Perillo

tomato avocado and pumpernickle sandwich recipe

“If a you drop a big enough rock into still waters, the ripples will spread out wide enough to rock a boat clear across the lake.”
–Pema Chodron

Jennifer Perillo’s life changed this Sunday when she lost her husband Mikey from a sudden heart attack.  Like a meteor striking the ocean, the magnitude of this food writer’s loss sent ripples of grief across the food community as friends shared their sadness for Jennifer and her family. People who knew Jennifer well–and even perfect strangers–felt those waves of heartache collide with their every-day serenity within minutes of receiving the news.

I’ve spent the past few days praying for Jennifer and her girls. I’ve written ten different letters to Jenny and erased most of them, worrying I’d mess it all up some how. I watched a beautiful video of Jennifer’s husband dancing with his little girl and surrendered to fat tears. I ate a Geo plum on the back stoop of my apartment and watched how the sunlight glistened on its blushy pulp. I enjoyed the sweet perfume of the morning breeze.  I cried, talked to friends, and reconnected with loved ones.I made two simple sandwiches of avocado and tomato and waited for my husband to come home. I thanked God for the chance to have another day.
Right now, ripples of sadness and hope emanate across the country from a single point in New York. Thousands of people connected by words and shared experiences, feel the impact of the waves of grief for Jennifer and her two little girls.  Today, however, in kitchens across the country, people are turning their grief into hope by baking up a version of Mikey’s favorite peanut butter pie in a show of support.

Regardless if you are a baker or not, or have time to bake up a pie, today is exactly the right day to think about giving a little extra love to the people you care about. Do something simple, honest, and true today for your beloved ones. Make a peanut butter pie. Make an open faced sandwich with tomatoes from your garden. Kiss a forehead. Hug a friend. Pat your dog. Savor every bite and each sweet breath.

My prayers are with Jennifer and her family. I pray for grace, love, and healing for everyone who feels these ripples of grief.

Heirloom Tomato and Avocado Sandwich recipe
Heirloom Tomato and Avocado Sandwich

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An Avocado and Heirloom Tomato Sandwich for Jennifer P.

Pumpernickle bread, sliced and toasted (or your favorite bread)
Avocado, all ripe and halved
Heirloom tomato, also ripe and sliced thick
Mayo, the best you’ve got
Crystal hot sauce (or anything with a kick)
Maldon sea salt
Fresh black pepper

Toast your bread. Slather it with mayonnaise. Spoon out half of an avocado for each large slice of bread. Sprinkle with hot sauce. Top with a tomato slice. Garnish with salt and pepper. Serve open faced. Eat slowly.

Enjoy the one you’re with.

 

Louisiana and Creole Tomato Salad On My Mind

Creole Tomato Salad from Covey Rise Farms

A great trip lingers with you long after you return home. A successful vacation is one where memories are unpacked long after the suitcase is emptied and the laundry is done. For me, the best journeys are the ones that get inside my heart and rearranging things.

It’s been more than a week since I came back from Louisiana and I’m starting to realize that my trip reorganized a few things in my life while I was away: I’ve got new beautiful friendships to foster and a whole new set of cravings to grapple with.

Since my return to LA, my imagination whirls over gems of stories of the Louisiana food world. My daily routine is peppered with flavored memories of diners, ice cream shops, a water-side bar where the locals cook up craw fish outside under a tent, and the all-night beignet restaurant littered with empty plates covered in powdered sugar.

Those memories have been just the reason why I’ve been spending so much time in my  Los Angeles kitchen (the other LA), trying to recreate some of my Louisiana culinary experiences. Continue reading “Louisiana and Creole Tomato Salad On My Mind”

Most Improved

chicken broth poached egg recipeIt was the summer between my junior and senior year and I was away at a summer youth music school. My parents were getting a divorce, my home life was a mess, and I was happy to spend almost two months with other kids my age focusing on the one thing I really loved: music.

I spent the summer working hard on my vocal performance. I auditioned for groups and tried out for the privilege of private lessons. I didn’t make the special chorus but I did qualify for one-on-one sessions with a vocal coach. I was excited. I was going to grow as a performer.

By the end of the summer I had learned more than I had ever bargained for. I even fell in love. On the last day of camp, hundreds of students and teachers gathered in an auditorium at the University of New Hampshire for a final ceremony.

I wore a loose tee shirt and a jean skirt as I sat in my seat feeling butterflies. I desperately hoped I’d be given an award. I wanted something to prove to the world around me that all of my hard work that summer was good. Really good.

Despite the fact I had rather low self-esteem, I did feel with some certainty that I would get an award. I just knew I had achieved something great. I had matured as a young woman, a student, and as a performer. But as the awards ceremony stretched out, I started to doubt my intuition. Hadn’t I proven my commitment and my passion for music?

Near the end of the awards ceremony, when it seemed as if all the awards had been handed out, the chairwoman of the vocal department stepped up to the podium. She cleared her throat before reading some handwritten words from a small note card.

“And lastly,” she said, “we have an award for this one very special person who worked hard, was committed to learning, and grew in leaps and bounds…The award for most improved singer of this year’s Summer Youth Music School is Brooke Burton.”

“The Most Improved” Award? I sat in my seat completely dumbfounded. I was struck by the thought that maybe the faculty had created the prize in a last minute show of pity. The self-loathing teenager I was–the person who told herself that her body was too square to be attractive and that the deep tone of my contralto voice was too manly–became undeniably uncomfortable in this long hoped for moment. I began to sweat through my tee.  I was terrified.

Someone elbowed me to go up and take the award. I could barely feel my feet underneath me as I walked up to the stage. That’s it, I thought to myself. Now everyone knew the cold, honest truth. I was a terrible singer, only made better by a lot of hard work.

I felt humiliated by the award. Because when you’re seventeen years old and full of self-doubt, humility and pride is a hard thing to come by. Humiliation is what shows up, trucked in by the dumpster.  “I guess I really sucked,” I said when I got back to my seat. I said it because I half believed it and also so that that person sitting next to me wouldn’t say it to me first.

Continue reading “Most Improved”

Magical Thinking, A Scone Recipe

easy cranberry scone recipeSome rather grandiose dreams spring to life from the enjoyment of a single morsel. At least, that’s how it works in this odd little brain of mine. One really good bite and an aspiring career is launched, imaginary restaurants are born, and desired franchises are launched.

Maybe you experience magical thinking, too?

It starts with a recipe and technique.  You’ve worked on perfecting a particular food item for a long while and then, after much effort, art and science come together and make magic on the plate.

You regard what you created. You feel satisfied and proud. (And maybe a little bit hungry.)  You take a bite. Your senses sparkle with excitement. Your mouth enlivens with activity. Neurons fire with glee.

Then, maybe a few moments later, someone across from you–a loved one or a cherished friend who joins you in this special meal–remarks “wow, this is really good.” Your beloved might continue and say something that stokes the fires of imagination even more with something inflammatory like the words “this is restaurant quality,” or “I’d pay good money for this.”

And then that’s it. Your pride rallies. Your over-active imagination kicks into high gear.

You picture the scenarios: you’ll start your own business, open a little bakery or a restaurant, begin a little catering company, quit your job, and do this thing you love so much for a living. You’ll cook, inspire, and change lives with a perfect scone, a great sandwich, a mouth watering steak, the perfect poached egg or an extraordinary dessert.

Continue reading “Magical Thinking, A Scone Recipe”

Greater Than, Less Than

philosophy of infinite
In the equation of life, I liked to put myself on the gaping side of the greater than symbol. To be greater than was the only option I could fathom. It was the strongest position to play. I was an army of one. I was the captain of my destiny. I was greater than any challenge. Should the test or dispute be too great for me, I ran from it. That’s why I avoided baking for so long. I walked away from the possibility of being less than a fallen cake, less than a dense loaf of bread, or less than a failed dessert.

easy pastry dough recipe with whole wheat flour

But then I decided to do things a little differently. I started to run towards my fear. When I got too scared, I began to say so and ask for help.  I might be strong, but I’m not bigger than the world around me. By admitting my weaknesses and owning up to my vulnerability rather than running away from it, I began to perceive the world in a new way. I started to see my life change. And not just in little ways. I stopped looking at fear as a closed door or a finite choice of NO, and began regarding fear as the gateway to the infinite possibility of YES.

It’s almost funny how I used to approach baking. I would reverse brag, and talk myself down about my inability to make a crust. I’d tell fictional tales based on fears about how I was constitutionally incapable of putting flour and butter together to create anything that resembled pastry. And yet, just the other day, I did just that.

All it took was a little whole wheat and unbleached all-purpose flours, sugar, salt, egg, milk, butter, fruit and a large dose of confidence. The result: a mixed wheat crust that’s earthy, light, and agrodolce (sweet and sour) from the balance of sweet berries and tart rhubarb. One slice to my friends and they rolled their eyes with delight because I proved myself wrong. I CAN bake. I do have the power to transfer love and comfort to their belly through something as beautiful as a Rhubarb and Mixed Berry Crostata.

I guess I shouldn’t be so surprised by the cascading changes that are happening. These little efforts are beginning to add up to something bigger. Ever since I commenced dealing with the core basics (flour, water, perspective, etc.), everything else has followed.

Facing my fear of baking (and everything else in between) is a pivot point that’s bringing about wide and sweeping transformation. With every crostata, each tea cake, and all the baked goods I pull from my oven I can feel my perspective shift from a finite point of view to one that’s much more infinite.

In a simple word I say “YES”, yes to the infinite possibility of it all.

whole wheat crostata with rhubarb and berries

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Rhubarb and Mixed Fruit Crostata

Based on a recipe published in Bon Appetit by Karen DeMasco, Locanda Verde
8-10 servings, depending on how you cut it

Crust

1 cup unbleached all-purpose flour

½ cup whole wheat flour

1 ½ tbsp sugar

½ tsp kosher salt

1 ½ sticks chilled, unsalted butter. Cubed.

1 large egg

1 tbsp whole milk

Filling

¼ cup cornstarch

3 cups ½” thick sliced rhubarb

1 small container of raspberries

1 cup sliced strawberries

2/3 cup sugar

1 large egg, beaten

Raw sugar or Turbinado sugar for finishing

For the crust:

Combine the flours, sugar, and salt in a processor. Blend for 6 seconds. Add butter and pulse until it is broken down into pea-sized pieces. Whisk egg and milk in a small bowl; add the mixture to the processor and pulse until moist clumps form. Gather the dough into a round ball and then flatten into a disk. Cover with plastic wrap and chill for at least 1 ½ hours. This dough can be made up to two days ahead.

For the filling:

In a small bowl, dissolve the cornstarch in 3 tbsp of water; set aside. Combine the fruit, rhubarb and sugar in a heavy saucepan. Cook over medium heat. Stir often while the sugar dissolves and the fruit juices are released, about 4 minutes. Stir in cornstarch liquid and bring to a boil (rhubarb will not be tender and will not be broken down). Transfer mixture to a bowl. Chill until cool, about 30 minutes.

Preheat oven to 400˚. Roll out dough onto floured parchment paper until it reaches a 12″ round. Brush the dough with beaten egg. Mound the filling in the center of the crust and gently spread it out, leaving enough of a border for you to fold back the edges to form a crust. Gently fold back the edges (about an inch or more) over filling; pleat as necessary. Side parchment with crostata onto a large rimmed baking sheet and bake until the crust is golden brown and the filling bubbly, about 45 minutes. Let crostata cool on a baking rack. Cut into wedges.

Serve as a breakfast snack or, for a fancy dessert, add whipped cream or vanilla ice cream.

 

 

Ascension and Getting over the Fear of Baking

getting over the fear of baking coffee cake
This is one of a series of essays dealing with my totally unrational fear of baking

Ever since Easter and Passover weekend I’ve been thinking a lot about the world ascension. The word has been looping dramatic arcs through my psyche ever since I took one of those deep, restorative, midday naps last weekend. For over an hour I took in the sleep of the dead. It was the kind of rest that soothes, calms, and heals the wounds of hard work.

When I awoke from my unconscious state, I found my refreshed mind chewing on a single word: Ascension. “Ascension,” my internal voice said to me. “Look it up.”

Though I was happy to go about my day and avoid the quiet nudge, the word wasn’t giving up on me. My mind looped: ascension, ascension, ascension. What was it about this word that needed so much attention? Ascension, ascension, ascension. The sound of the word grew louder and louder until I couldn’t resist its call any longer.

Finally, I surrendered. I gave over to a word.

Well, I mostly surrendered. Rather than commit to a full-fledged literary investigation that included the involvement of a certain large and weighted Webster’s Dictionary that lives on my bookshelf, I instead turned to my computer’s succinct internal dictionary. According to Encarta’s World English dictionary, ascension is not a word that’s included in the basic software. So, as an alternative, I turned to ascend for clues.

I was reminded that ascend means to climb up something, to succeed, and also means to rise up to a higher level.  A mountain, a career, a situation, the physical life, or anything else that offers a good challenge can be ascended. A man named Jesus is said to have ascended from death on Easter day. Perhaps this is why the word came to me with such a force. It was just Easter weekend, after all.

But ascension isn’t a word that’s limited to mountain climbers and people of faith. Ascension can be used by all sorts of English speaking people who may or may not believe in the existence of God.  So what does ascension have to do with me right now?

Continue reading “Ascension and Getting over the Fear of Baking”

Facing the Fear (of Baking)

Cranberry and orange scone

Lots of people have odd, irrational fears. I’ve seen good, strong people transform into a buzzing bundle of nerves once something like a cockroach, rat, spider, bee, or other insect came close to their person. I’ve witnessed friends go ghost white around certain kinds of people–like clowns, midgets, IRS representatives, nuns, and cops.

For me, it’s not the little bugs or people in costumes that make me nervous. What really sets my teeth on edge are electric mixers and ice cream makers. Whenever I see a recipe for a cake, cookie, bread, ice cream, or pastry I am held frozen in a moment of panic—because deep down I fear that the process of making the dessert will overload my brain and kill me.

Yes, that’s right. I have an irrational fear of baking*.

cranberry orange scone

Continue reading “Facing the Fear (of Baking)”