Regional recipes – Food Woolf

A Remembrance of Tomato Chutney

The Chutney Maker. Oil pastel by Brooke Burton

“If we don’t cook all of this down soon, it will go bad,” my mother says.

She points to the case of juicy summer tomatoes sweating in the heat on the kitchen counter. She drops a sack of onions on a thick wood cutting board. My mother pulls a chair up to the counter and hands me a heavy cleaver. I am to be my mother’s summer prep cook. I am nine.

My uniform for work is simple. I’m dressed in a one-piece bathing suit and wear swimming goggles pulled so tight over my face, the skin underneath puckers from the suction.

I am not skilled with a knife, but my will push my small hands to go faster. Beads of humidity, tears, and sweat pool at the bottom of my mask as I struggle to chop white rings of pungent onions into tiny slivers. We sing our favorite songs from Godspell.

I watch my mother chop onions into tall mounds. Her face is wet with tears and her long, wavy hair drips with sweat. I marvel at her strength. I feel the smallness of my hands on the big knife.

When we are done chopping, my mother stirs the piles of our hard work into a pot. She adds the liquid guts of the tomatoes, bags of brown sugar, cinnamon sticks, crushed cardamom, mustard seeds, and freshly chopped coriander.

The pot on the electric stove pushes rings of heat and spice into the air that are so heavy, my heart bangs against my chest like a bird trying to escape its cage.

We stand together, though, stirring our precious chutney with a long wooden spoon. The chutney is not yet chutney. It still has hours to go until it becomes the tawny stuff we heap on chicken. Fresh from the pot the reddish mash tastes of bright summer, the spice of fall, and something green and unfamiliar.

When the kitchen gets too hot, we charge outside for mouthfuls of fresh air. Exhausted, I crawl to the living room and fall asleep. Down low on the green shag rug, I dream of tomato chutney and the sweet juice soaking through light clouds of basmati rice.

*****

My mother recommends following the Tomato Chutney recipe from Recipes: The Cooking From India for this dish. This British cookbook was first published in 1969 and is full of easy to follow and delicious recipes and can be found used on many websites for under $5.

September 25

Jook, Love at First Bite (a Project Food Blog Entry)

Project Food Blog congee — Project Food Blog's Second Round Entry

When you move to Los Angeles from small town USA, the culture shock is great. The weather, the cultural diversity, the dominance of the entertainment industry, and the abundance of revealing clothes is all quite astonishing. What’s more, if you want to know anything about food and are curious by nature, every day in Los Angeles can be an opportunity to move outside of your culinary comfort zone.

For this week’s Project Food Blog Challenge (more about that in a bit), the contestants were asked to create a classic dish from outside their comfort zone. What better dish to make than Jook, a rice porridge comfort food from a culinary culture I know very little about.

I first learned about Jook from Jonathan Gold, one of our city’s most famous culinary journalists (and the only winner of the Pulitzer for food writing). Gold is what you’d call L.A.’s poster boy for strip-mall ethnic food. His craft for sculpting words and ability to describe uncommon meals in the most mundane locations has created something of a culinary fad where LA food lovers seek out the most unusual, ethnic eats across the city in our city’s trashiest of locations.

All this is to explain how it came to be that this white girl from Massachusetts has been craving a Korean comfort food I’ve never even tasted before.

congee bowl — The first bite is the greatest

Rice porridge, or Jook in Korea, Congee in China, Okayu in Japan, is a popular comfort food throughout all of Asia. Known for its restorative powers for both the sick and the hung-over, the slow-cooked rice dish is a savory oatmeal that’s eaten for breakfast, a late night snack, or during the lean times. Jook is a creamy porridge that’s both comfort food and a kind of blank canvas for all sorts of great flavors and textures. Slow simmering short grain rice for several hours in water or chicken stock results in a creamy pap that is the perfect food delivery device for the flavors and textures of sesame oil, fish sauce, crunchy pickles, spicy condiments, herbs, meat, seafood, and even a fried egg.

Eating a dish for the first time on a very empty stomach is often the best way to imprint a taste in your memory. I’ll never forget that crusty French bread slathered with rich butter that time I was a starving student in Paris. Nor will I ever forget the flavor of Congee after a day of shopping at the Korean market and rushing around to be ready in time for this Project Food Blog Challenge.

But oh! The jook! It was just beautiful the way the soft fried egg oozed onto the porridge. Or how the sesame oil pooled onto my spoon with a drop of salty fish sauce, creating a fishy vinaigrette. And the salty crunch of the bacon and pungent hit of chopped scallion gave every bite a satisfying texture. The soft porridge is the kind of comfort food that–regardless of your cultural heritage–you immediately want to adopt once you’ve tasted it.

Continue for the easiest Congee Recipe Ever! »

September 6

Caramel Pork Banh Mi

Certain foods elicit recollections of childhood, others conjure up the essence of loved ones. Rare though, is a flavor so particular and influential, the act of consuming it has the power to alter the course of the eater’s life. Turning point foods are those that not only evoke an eater to remember, it defines the eater. So it is for me with Banh Mi.

I never expected a spicy Vietnamese sandwich called Banh Mi, would have the power to delineate my life. And yet, the simple and ultimately complex sandwich—the result of a tumultuous relationship between the French and the native Viets—has lead me to a whole new culinary realm and brought me significant friendships I will cherish forever.

My first taste of Banh Mi was a wake up call from the fiery spirit of a Vietnamese muse. I was living in New York City during a sweltering summer and working as a General Manager and consultant for a soon-to-open restaurant under construction in the Lower East Side. Despite the fact that I was new to the vibrant city, and lived in the heart of a new food mecca (Katz’s Deli, Russ and Daughters, Stanton Social), I lost myself to 16-18 hour work days. Rather than cherishing the opportunity to experience a new city, I poured myself into every passing minute at the restaurant. I was missing everything.

That’s when Banh Mi stepped in to kick my ass.

Continue for the full Vietnamese Caramel Pork Banh Mi Recipe »

September 2

Nuoc Mau: Vietnamese Caramel Sauce

It takes a lot of faith and trust to let something—or someone—change before your eyes. It takes a lot to stand by and watch the process happen, even if you know the final outcome. You can observe, be ready to assist, and offer positive thoughts and well wishes, but ultimately the changing process is up to that person or thing. Some things are just out of your hands.

Take for example Vietnamese Caramel Sauce, or Nuoc Mau. This is a simple syrup made from sugar and water that requires a few seconds of stirring and then fifteen minutes of mindful watching.

What? No stirring? No touching? No manipulation of outcome? Gasp!

It took several failures to learn my lesson in resisting the urge to control the sauce. I had no idea how hard it would be for me to stare at a bubbling pot of hot sugar without manipulating it. I mean, one stir of a spoon and you can ruin the whole thing. An entire batch, ruined because of the need to control the cooking process of sugar and water?

Making Nuoc Mau opened my eyes to just how far my control issues go.

Continue for my Vietnamese Caramel Recipe »

August 16

Lamb Burger with Mint and Pistachio Salsa Verde

ground lamb burger — Lamb Burger with Mint and Pistachio Salsa Verde

Summertime is the season of burgers. Be it beef, bison, turkey, tuna, lamb, or tofu—I find myself craving a burger and its supremely satisfying proportions on a frequent basis. I love making new variations on the classic theme of burgers. Ground meat doesn’t take a lot of time to prepare or cook and, if done right, can be a real show stopper if the right ingredients are used.

My husband and I work in the restaurant industry which means our off duty time is during the daylight hours. So for us, many of our best meals together are during lunch. Because of this I’ve began perfecting elegant, open faced burgers that taste great, have enough protein to sustain us through a long night, and go easy on the bread.

Thanks to the good people at Jimenez Family Farm (based in Santa Ynez, they drive down to the Hollywood Farmers Market every Sunday), I discovered the beauty of a perfectly cooked lamb burger. Top the ground lamb shoulder patty with the complementary flavors of mint and sweet Santa Barbara Pistachios, and the results hit the flavor trifecta: simple, delicious, and true to the terroir. This lamb burger with a mint and pistachio salsa verde is so good, I’ve actually started daydreaming about owning my own restaurant and building the whole business around every juicy, burger-bite.

Continue to get the Lamb Burger with Mint and Pistachio Recipe »

June 24January 3

Happy Food Dance and Green Gazpacho

gazpacho wine — Green Gazpacho with a sparkling rose Txakoli Gurratxaga

I think we’ve all experienced The Happy Food Dance at least once in our lives. Food obsessives–and I consider myself one–might engage in food-inspired ballet at their dining room table on a weekly basis.

I’ve seen toddlers bounce up and down and pound their fists with glee when moms present an especially tasty morsel. I’ve witnessed teenagers in a rare moment of no self-awareness squirm and twist in knots as a bowl of ice cream is placed before them. Even aged men with walkers and life-worn ladies with canes do a jig when presented with their most favorite dish.

No matter what age, certain foods set us dancing in our seats.

As I mentioned before, I adore food. So you’re more likely to see me sashaying in my seat than hitting the dance room floor. I dance for a perfect piece of fruit, Nancy Silverton’s pizza, a great bowl of pasta, a well-made morsel I’ve crafted in my kitchen. The dance is different for everyone, but it usually begins like this: a plate with enticing food gets fingers squeezing, and toes tapping. Then a sly grin appears, the head bops back and forth, and a bounce of excitement pulses so strongly, the whole body begins to move in a sideways, chair specific dance. All of a sudden you’re wiggling with anticipation and expectant joy. Your mind sings “I’m gonna eat this! I’m gonna eat this!” and your hand goes flying for the nearest utensil and zip goes the food into your mouth. Ecstasy. Dance complete.

I’ve been in the thick of training for my new job, so I haven’t had a lot of happy food dance moments at home lately. But all that changed the other night when I made a bowl of gazpacho from a recipe I found in my much-oggled Lee Brothers’ Simple Fresh Southern cookbook. It’s the first recipe I’ve made from this most delicious looking and inspiring cookbook by the two brothers–based on the table-side boogie it inspired, this is just the beginning of my explorations.

Continue For a Refreshing Cucumber Gazpacho with Tomato Salsa Recipe »

May 18January 4

Fava Bean Puree and Spaghetti

Fava beans are a lot like life: it takes a lot of work to get to the really good parts.

First there’s a pod to deal with. Peel back the zipper-string that keeps the pod sealed tight, open up the green shell, and inside you’ll find the precious fava beans nestled inside. But the work doesn’t stop there. There’s still a heavy, protective skin to remove before you get to the precious kidney-shaped nuggets of delicious emerald green. What a luxury fava beans are; I marvel at their simple elegance every time.

Lately, I can’t help but admire the wonderful little things about my job at Mozza.

It took countless years of shedding through inconsequential restaurant positions to find a job studded with rewards. I pitched the notion of the power of a flashy title and began to celebrate the good, humble work of service. I zipped past months catering, peeled back the years of meaningless beer-tap pulling, and stored away my management jobs, to uncover the simple joy of waiting tables and making drinks at Osteria and Pizzeria Mozza.

Nancy Silverton, Mario Batali, and Joe Bastianich’s world-class restaurant is a place where there is no such thing as a meaningless job.

From the prep cook shelling fava beans, the dishwasher cleaning off plates, the receptionist taking calls, the pasta cook dropping fresh pasta into the boiling water, the waiter explaining the menu, to the chef in pristine whites calling out orders —we all make a difference to the experience of everyone that steps into the restaurant.

Continue for a delicious Fava Bean Puree and Pasta Recipe »

April 12November 14

Easy Late-Night Ramen Recipe

When you work in a restaurant you must be fast thinking, quick on your feet, a skilled multi-tasker, and able to ignore hunger for long periods of time. As a waiter, it’s your job to serve food, not eat it.

Unlike a traditional day job that allows for 30 or 60 minutes for lunch, most restaurant workers don’t get meal breaks. Though there may be a staff meal–a pile of something that’s cheap and easy to make–at the beginning or end of their shift, most restaurant workers are required to work without stop from late afternoon until midnight (or later). Stopping for a bite of bread in some restaurants is an offense worthy of termination.

So when I finish work and the grip of hunger is too strong to deny, I ignore my desire to indulge in delicious high-fat foods (a double double at In-N-Out or poutine at Animal) and head straight home for a satisfying cup of noodles.

Continue Reading for a Fast and Easy Ramen Noodle Recipe »

March 31August 12

A Luddite Gets Over Fear of Technology (and Baking)

I shouldn’t be so surprised by my fear of advanced food technology in my home kitchen. I come from a long line of starving artists that have—for generations—spent their money to pursue their art, rather than feather their home with modern gear. My people—the poet, the angry writer, the famous illustrator and writer, the sculptor, the painter, the silversmith—weren’t interested in a gourmet life. They were artists that ate what they could afford and stocked their kitchens with simple items like rolling pins and cast iron skillets, jelly jar glasses and chipped china

And so it is with me. I’ve built my life around writing and food, and yet my kitchen lacks any sign of modern gourmet trends. I don’t own a microwave or a food processor. I hand whip my whipped cream, muddle herbs with a mortar and pestle, and generally do things the old fashioned way.

It wasn’t until I decided to face two fears at once—baking and technology–that I was able to attempt to make Saveur Magazine‘s recipe for a traditional Finnish sweet bread, called Pulla, with my brand new (and untouched) KitchenAid. Even though I’ll be working at the restaurant this Easter/Passover weekend, I thought I should do some culinary celebrating before hand.

It’s fitting that it took a recipe reminiscent of my grandmother’s signature Finnish sweet bread to get me over my fear of the KitchenAid and pastry making. Like me, she was a hard working artist and Luddite. But rather than relishing in the joys of cooking savory, she loved creating Finnish pastry, flaky pies, and fruit cobblers–all from the belly of a four-footed kettle stove that ran on firewood.The promise of freshly ground cardamom and the scent of freshly baked bread was the thing I needed to motivate me to up my game, embrace the “on” switch, and start baking.

Continue for Finnish Pulla Bread Recipe »

March 5

Raw Fish Revolution: A Recipe

The Italians call raw fish crudo and the Japanese, sashimi; even the Spanish have a word for their citrus soaked raw fish preparation, ceviche. But what is the word for the dishes that American chefs create with uncooked fish? Naked fish? Raw appetizers?

Here in LA, a broad range of award-winning chefs serve raw fish on their menus every night. There’s a a raw fish trend spreading through fine dining American restaurants, Baltimore fish joints, Cal-Euro bistros, and even Cal-Mex-Spanish fusion eateries. What’s so appealing about eating a barely adorned piece of raw fish? Simple. The fresh flavors of the sea mixed with oil, citrus, herbs, or salt is a wonderful way to engage the palate and awaken the appetite.

Though one must be careful when consuming raw or undercooked fish, a thinly sliced piece of fresh-from-the-sea fish prepared with a handful of ingredients is—without a doubt—an understated show stopper. I’ve sampled Chef Quinn Hatfield’s of Hatfield’s Restaurant’s version of crudo: fresh fluke that’s marinated in beet juice and finished with sea salt, oil, and micro-greens. I’ve gorged on raw fish at Hungry Cat with Chef David Lentz’s raw snapper on a puree of edamame with blood orange supremes and shiso leaves. The flavors of raw fish mixed with citrus, flavored oil, and salt results in delicate, poetic starters that leave me hungry (and inspired) for more.

Continue For an Easy To Make Crudo Recipe »

January 23

A Recipe for Mexican Hot Chocolate with Rum

When you miss a place that’s far away, sometimes the easiest way to go back is to eat something that reminds you of that spot. But what if the taste you long for requires ingredients that are out of season or are impossible to locate in your hometown? A sensory craving that crescendo’s to the point of aching is all it takes to create a proxy recipe.

A proxy recipe—a term I’ve just made up to explain this odd phenomena–is one that recreates a sensory memory with disparate ingredients that have very little to do with the original moment that inspired it. Because when you’re desperate, substitutions are important. Ever since leaving Ixtapa Mexico, I’ve been craving grilled, handmade tortillas and fresh-from-the-tree guacamole drizzled with limes. Though avocados may be available here in Los Angeles, there’s a cold, hard rain that’s pounding our city and I don’t quite feel up to faking the warm weather of Mexico in this bone chilling weather. Those sun-kissed flavors just wouldn’t taste the same in the cold.

But as the rain-battered trees paw the panes of my windows, I consider other flavors that evoke sandy beaches and tropical markets. For me, that’s rum, chocolate, and sweet fruit. In a flash (of lightning, it turns out) inspiration strikes: my proxy recipe is born.

Continue for a Mexican Hot Chocolate with Rum Recipe »

December 21January 3

Delicata Squash with Browned Butter and Sage Recipe

One of the best things about being a gastronome and a restaurant professional at an award winning restaurant is that my work environment is a constant source of inspiration. Some of the dishes we serve at the Osteria are incredibly complicated and require hours to prepare. Other menu items are based on grandmother’s traditional recipes. The simple, classic dishes that haunt me the most. They compel me to tear off my waiter’s uniform, get into my home kitchen, and cook.

A new contorni (that’s Italian for side dish) went onto the menu last week. Ever since that first pre-shift bite of the buttery sweet squash with browned butter and sage, I’ve been obsessed with the need to figure out how to duplicate those warm, sweet flavors.

Lucky for me and my culinary obsessions, the Delicata squash contorni is a rather simple one to make, and requires only basic cooking techniques.

Continue Reading for a Delicious Delicata Squash with Browned Butter and Sage Recipe! »

December 14November 14

No Fail Potato Leek Soup Recipe

I’m not a chef, but I do spend a lot of time with professional cooks.

I work in a restaurant several nights a week and I like to show up early and take a few minutes of my off-the-clock time getting my bearings and observing the day’s activity in the kitchen. I pour myself a cup of coffee and watch the guys prep fish, squish hundreds of roasted potatoes, or pluck leaves of mint for what will become salsa verdes for the night’s service. It’s in these little moments of observing the pre-game prep, that I learn the big lessons about cooking.

Most servers don’t care for this sort of sideline observances. Maybe that’s why the chefs and prep cooks don’t mind as I watch them slice up chickens or brine pig’s heads. I have pretty good radar for annoyance, so I’m able to disappear the moment I see a flicker of irritation on a chef’s face.

In hanging around chefs, I’ve picked up lots of great tricks. But despite all the time I’ve spent with these men and women in chef’s whites, I haven’t been able to get over my irrational fear of unknown ingredients and certain culinary techniques. One challenge I had to recently overcome is my ridiculous fear of leeks.

While most people eagerly snatch up bundles of leeks, I would walk past and pretend I didn’t care for them. I even feigned ignorance of this vegetable’s power to inspire culinary hysteria across France. I was that scared. But thanks to my wonderful friend, Leah and her You-Can’t-Screw-This-One-Up Potato and Leek Soup Recipe, I finally had myself a leek epiphany.

Continue for a No Fail Recipe for Potato Leek Soup! »

December 10

No Drip Vietnamese Spring Rolls: Gourmet Airplane Food

It’s December, the month of holiday travel, and I’m here to tell you that before you step foot onto a plane (or car for a long road trip), you really ought to take a few minutes to plan what you’re going to eat while your traveling.

Because, bottom line, you love good food and the stuff they serve on airplanes is terrible. What’s worse, they make you pay a handful of dollars for food you would otherwise walk right past–had you not been stuck in your seat with no food options. Even if you took the time out to buy a snack from the airport terminal, the food is downright overpriced and unhealthy.

So why aren’t more people obsessing over packing their own meal for their trip? Maybe the new baggage requirements have something to do with why travelers aren’t packing their own airplane meal; but planning a simple meal for your flight doesn’t have to be difficult. As a matter of fact, packing a lunch for a trip can be downright fun.

Granted, menu planning at 3 a.m. before leaving to catch an early flight isn’t ideal. So I recommend putting together your snack the night before while you’re making dinner. That way you can get all of your prep and clean up done in advance of any bleary-eyed wake up call.

Continue for a Terrific, No-Drip Spring Roll Recipe! »

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.

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.

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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.

March 28November 14

A Beet Recipe for My Mother

I became mortal last week. One phone call and one letter took away that lingering innocence of youth and reminded me that no one, not even myself, can live forever. Here, in the center of my being, is the undeniable understanding that every moment we have is precious; every morsel of food is important; and nothing is to be overlooked.

The phone call was from my mother. She just got the news that she had been diagnosed with breast cancer. Then, in what felt like seconds later, I received a letter from my doctor. My blood tests came back abnormal. I have high cholesterol.

The news effected me in unexpected ways. When I spoke with my mother, I found zen-like calm, hope and positivity for my mother’s recovery. I felt oddly at peace, without fear and satisfied with the idea that we will find a treatment that will heal her. And then, in the privacy of my own home, I openly mourned the loss of bacon in my life.

Goodbye Guanciale

My off-the chart 250 cholesterol number on the doctor’s letter read like a foodie death sentence. The letter suggested in detail I “replace butter with olive and canola oil…Replace red meat with fish, poultry and tofu…Limit foods with high cholesterol.”

I started freaking out. No more fearless consumption of fennel sausage pizza at midnight? No more bacon draped hamburgers for lunch? No chicken liver bruschettas as a quick mid-day snack? What about those yolk-dripping bacon and egg sandwiches I love so much? No more gobbling up the frosting-heavy corner piece of birthday cake?

I paced my apartment. I was a vegetarian once. I could do it again, right? But now that I know what I know, how could I turn my fork away from all those great foods I’ve come to love and build my whole life around?

The cure for cancer

It’s been days since we received her first diagnosis. There’s still so much we need to find out. But in the meantime my mother and our collective family have been doing our share of internet research. My mother doesn’t care much for “traditional” medicine. She fears the mainstream medical line of thinking and clings to the old ways of healing.

My mother says she can cure herself of cancer with the power of raw food. She says that with lots of whole grains, flax seed oil and raw fruits and vegetables she can bring healing to her body without the use of chemo. There are other people—beautiful young and thriving people like Kris Carr of crazy sexy life–who say such things are possible.

The idea of clean living through a wholesome, locally sourced diet of fresh fruit and vegetables makes sense to me. I’ve seen the awesome power of food. The farmers’ market is my church. But what I don’t understand is HOW raw food can heal cancer. Is the cancer that my mother has responsive to such dietary changes? Will she need other helping factors to make the cancer go away? Will she need estrogen therapy? Chemo?

These are questions that will take time to answer. There’s still so much to learn. In the meantime, I offer this recipe for my mother. Because it’s her favorite dish from when she visited Pizzeria Mozza. And she asked for it.

Mom: I know this isn’t a raw dish. But I did find a way to incorporate some flax seed oil and the flavors of the beets make me feel so alive. I know it will do good things–for both of us.

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Beets in Horseradish
Inspired by a dish at Pizzeria Mozza
Makes 2 servings

1 small bunch of baby beets (golf ball sized)
1 tbsp flax seed oil
1 tbsp fresh horseradish
2 tsp white wine or champagne vinegar
1 tsp Dijon or whole grain mustard
Salt to taste

Preheat oven to 425º. Rinse beets well, dry. Place on a sheet pan and tent with tin foil. Roast in oven for 30-40 minutes, or until a knife easily slices through the beets’ center. Let beets cool.

When cool enough to touch, slip the skins off with your hands. Roughly chop the beats into small chunks. Should be about 1 ½ – 2 cups. Put beets in a mixing bowl and drizzle with the flax seed oil. Toss to lightly coat the beets. Using a wooden spoon, gently mix in horseradish, vinegar and mustard. The beets should have a slightly creamy look to them. Taste. Add salt, if needed. Adjust for taste.

Serve cold or room temperature. Perfect as a side dish (literally), since beets have a way of coloring everything they touch!

March 4March 14

Five-Spice Chicken Banh Mi Recipe

All it took was one bite of Vietnamese food to turn me into a hungry student of the cuisine. That first mouthful inspired me with its hot, sweet, and spicy. Rice paper was a revelation. Fish sauce was a pungent wake up call. The perfume of a fresh kaffir lime leaf and lemongrass enchanted me and filled me with a desire to learn.

My first encounter with the cuisine of Vietnam was in the kitchen of a rocket scientist who lived in the neighboring town of Cambridge, Massachusetts. My friend Mark was a smart guy who loved to travel the world for science and food. The aromas emanating from Mark’s kitchen were unfamiliar. The pot on the stove—the source of all that I smelled—was covered to hide its contents. There a book-marked copy of Mai Pham’s “The best of Vietnamese and Thai Cooking” perched on the nearby counter.

I was in my mid 20’s, living just a short drive from my small town, and knew almost nothing about Asian food cultures. My knowledge went as far as what to order at the local sushi restaurant and Chinese take out spot.

“Close your eyes,” Mark said. He spooned a bit of the soupy broth from the splattered stove top. “Taste.”

The high-note spices, the sweet aromatics, and the delicate textures left me speechless. What was that flavor? Pumpkin? Coconut? I was in the thick of a culinary awakening.

Soon after this experience, I got the news I was accepted into film school. I packed my bags for Los Angeles, but just before I left, Mark gave me my very own copy of Mai Pham’s cookbook. That cookbook became my passport to food exploration and, eventually, a bridge to cherished friends. My copy is colored with more than a decade’s worth of experimenting.

My Five-spice Chicken Banh Mi is truly is happiness on bread.

Continue for my Five-spice Chicken Banh Mi Recipe »

February 27

A Recipe for Becoming Guatemalan

Yo soy pura gringa. And yet, thanks to my husband, I am part of a beautiful Guatemalan/German family.

As a food lover and newly initiated family member, I thoroughly enjoy learning the histories of my husband’s family through food. Standing at the stove with my mother in-law, I discover the heritage dishes of the generations before and relish the bright, fresh flavors of comfort food from Guatemala.

In any culinary journey, the key to discovering the nuances of an unfamiliar territory is through comfort food. But eater beware. Once sampled, another culture’s comfort food has the power to beguile, distract and–most impressively–require further in depth exploration. One bite and suddenly you’re filled with a longing for that comforting flavor that can match the craving of the people that have been eating it all their lives. Tasting Mixtas for the first time, I suddenly wanted to hop a plane to Guatemala.

Mixtas, known as Guatemalan street food, is more than just a hot dog on a tortilla. Made with fresh and inexpensive ingredients, the mixtas is a hot dog rolled up with a refreshing lime-dressed cole slaw, delicate guacamole, green chiles and spicy hot sauce. A perfect mid day snack or late night bite on the cheap, a mixtas makes you wonder why you’ve never had a hot dog soft taco before.

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Mixtas, or the Guatemalan Hot Dog Taco
From a Family recipe

1 package of fresh tortillas (corn), heated in microwave in a towel or warmed over gas flame of stove
1 package of hot dogs (beef or pork), cooked in boiling water
Guatemalan slaw (recipe below)
Guatemalan guacamole (recipe below)
Hot sauce (Tapatio or Sriracha)
1 can of green chili

Guatemalan Slaw
1 bag of shredded cabbage “angel hair” style (or thinly slice half of one cabbage)
Juice of one lime
2 tbs chopped cilantro
1 Red onion, minced
4 tbs Olive oil
Salt and pepper, to taste

Toss shredded cabbage with the juice of one lime, chopped cilantro and minced red onion. Drizzle with olive oil, enough to just coat the mixture. Season with salt and pepper.

Guacamole de Antigua

2 ripe Haas avocados
¼ red onion, minced
½ small lime, juiced
1 teaspoon of dried oregano
pinch of salt
1 can of green chiles (optional)

Remove meat of the avocado and mash with a fork in a bowl (or on a plate!). Mix in the red onion. Squeeze the juice of half a lime over the mixture–the citrus not only flavors the mixture it keeps the avocado from turning brown. Rub the teaspoon of oregano in your hand to release the herb’s oils and then add to avocado mixture. Add salt to taste.

To make mixtas:

Boil hot dogs in hot water. When done serve on warm tortillas (double up the tortillas if you prefer) with slaw, guacamole, hot sauce and green chilies.

Enjoy!

January 29

Eggs al Forno Revisited

Open most refrigerators in America and you’re likely to find an egg.

As food groups go, the egg is one of our most versatile ingredients. Prepare it simply, dress it up with common or elegant ingredients, manipulate it with good technique; the versatile egg has the ability change into something completely unlike itself.

An egg can be a snack, a meal, a condiment or a building block for something grand. In the home, an egg is a culinary hero. In professional kitchens, a poorly prepared egg can be a career killer. In my case, the egg marks my relationship with cooking.

Early in my days of cooking, I mangled even the simplest preparation. Later, I simply advocated my egg-cooking duties to boyfriends and feigned ignorance. A handful of years ago I gathered my courage and began cooking eggs with an experimental attitude. Now, after a year of serious cooking and culinary studies, I see a dozen eggs as an opportunity to step up to the stove and prove what I’ve learned. Sometimes, my eggs turn out to be really, really good.

This Eggs al Forno dish (Italian for baked eggs) is a recipe I developed after tasting a baked egg on toast that my friend Bryant Ng (former Chef of Pizzeria Mozza) pulled from a pizza oven. Though simple, the dish has all the bells and whistles: creamy soft eggs, crunchy fresh bread, the smoothness of a great olive oil and zing that only a well-made cheese can offer. Eggs al Forno is an effortless show stopper that requires great ingredients and a chef’s confidence.

I submitted this recipe to La Brea Bakery* and recently learned that they decided to feature it on their website recipe page. I include the recipe here with these suggestions: Hand select your ingredients: a great bread (wedge from an artisan bread like a sourdough, pullman or herb are good choices), a flavorful melting cheese (preferably Fontina or medium bodied sheeps milk cheese), a good finishing olive oil and maldon sea salt. Throw some prosciutto or bacon on top for some extra bacon love.

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Eggs al Forno (Baked Eggs) For Two

2 miniature casserole dishes (6×4 inches)
4 eggs
1 tablespoon butter, softened
¼ of a La Brea Bakery Demi Baguette or regular sized Baguette (any variety), cut into 4 1-inch thick slices
¾ cup Fontina or mild cheddar cheese, grated
2 tablespoons grated Parmesan
¼ cup olive oil
Salt and pepper

Preheat the oven 500°F. Meanwhile, rub the inside of each mini-casserole dish with a portion of softened butter. This will prevent the ingredients from sticking to the dish. For each individual serving, place one or two slices of bread (in a single layer) on the bottom of the butter-lined casserole—making sure the bread fits snuggly—adding or trimming if necessary. Drizzle the bread with one tablespoon of olive oil. Then, add a sprinkling of half the grated Fontina cheese. Gently crack two eggs, adding them to the layer of grated cheese. Drizzle with one more tablespoon of oil. Repeat process for the other dish.

Place the two casserole dishes in the oven (you may place a cookie sheet underneath to protect your oven from bubbling ingredients) on the middle rack. Bake until eggs are set, about 10 minutes. Carefully remove the casseroles from the oven. Top each serving with one tablespoon of Parmesan and a pinch of salt and pepper.

Using oven mitts, carefully place each casserole onto a dinner plate topped with a folded cloth napkin (this will ensure a more stable surface for the hot dish to rest on). Serve immediately, making sure to warn your loved one of the dishes’ hot temperature!

Full disclosure: I do freelance copy writing for La Brea Bakery’s marketing department.