all kinds of yum

Way Past the Last Minute Gift in a Jar

2012-12-30T11:45:00.000-08:00

Shall we do bullet points again?

I am late for everything always, and am a bit lackadaisical when it comes to holiday obligations. (I mean, there's something unfit about that phrase, 'holiday obligations', in the first place, don't you think?)
Hipsters love jam jars. (A friend once said to me, without irony, "I kind of have a jar fetish." Judge me if you want, but I kind of do, too.)
Everyone loves booze. (Unless you don't. If so, sorry to exclude you.)
Hey, remember that gift in a jar thing we used to do around here in the early days?

With that, let's talk about Kentucky Egg Nog Spike.

This year, I was actually not at all lackadaisical about holiday gifts (just about sharing them here). In fact, despite not having religious ties to the season, I felt the urge to seriously Christmas it up. I put up the most adorable felt mistletoe, lit a tiny spruce-scented candle, and set off to buy a carton of egg nog. Reading labels at the store, everything from Broguiere's with its hipster-magnet oldy-timey glass bottle, to the organic stuff, had weird ingredients. Artificial flavors in one, unpronounceable mysteries in another. Bummer. This didn't stop me from picking up a carton anyway, but when I got home, I started researching recipes.

What I learned: I will never make egg nog. Doing so would put me eye-to-eye with the frightening mass of egg yolks, heavy cream, sugar, and other incredibly unhealthy things that go into this sugary omelet-disguised-as-beverage, and I just don't have the courage for that.

However, amidst the nog search, I came across a recipe for something called Egg Nog Spike. A combination of spirits infused with delicious warm spices, designed to add a little liquory life your groggy nog. Mix together some brandy, bourbon, and dark rum, then throw in some vanilla beans, cloves, cinnamon sticks, and cracked nutmeg. Jar it up and let it sit for at least a week, up to months. I put this together with a little arts and crafts project (the labels came together from an old brown bag, a black sharpie, and a pencil for drawing circles and lines), and thus came to be my very pretty 2012 holiday gifts.

I know Hanukkah and Christmas are past, but this would be a lovely thing for a New Year's Eve host. And it doesn't have to be relegated to nog: I think it'd be great on the rocks with a little milk or cream white Russian style, or pour some in your coffee for a little bit of spiced Christmas magic to last into the new year. (And for you vegans, I imagine it'd be really yummy with almond or coconut milk, too. I salute you for shunning animal products, but not alcohol.)

You can find the recipe here on Epicurious. I made 4 batches, to fill 8 16-ounce jars. And if you pour a tiny bit extra of each liquor, you'll have some left over at the bottom of the bowl to save for yourself, which I absolutely did do.

I hope you all are having a cozy, warm holiday season, and I wish you guys a spirited and lovely 2013!

correspondence and cauliflower

2012-12-19T08:52:00.000-08:00

Back before technology took over our lives, if you wanted to convey a message, you had only a few choices: You could either talk to a person on the phone, handwrite a letter, or actually converse face-to-face. And that was pretty much it. But, the options we have when it comes to communication have exploded in the last couple decades. And though I'm sometimes at odds with the fast-paced correspondence of today, I recognize that each of these options has a distinct value.

First came email. I still live for long, meaty emails where I can unload paragraph after verbose, emotive paragraph -- ahh, sweet indulgence. I love IM for covering the essentials of the day, cracking up in real time with far-away friends, sharing a quick link or dishing the latest gossip. And then there's text, which I'll never fully embrace. The world seems to enjoy its choppy shorthand, but for me, it's a little too impersonal, and often leaves me feeling estranged. So, obviously Twitter is of little use to me either. And there are all the new options that come from Facebook: you can announce to the world that you're now In A Relationship, present your political stance, or share your favorite falling penguin video. And let's not forget the fine art of the Facebook comment: keep it light, get your point across quickly, and above all, be clever -- the world is reading! (Not to mention its old offshoot, the Evite comment: same deal, but for some reason, with added pressure.) Across online media, there's the simple gesture of the 'like': quickly give your acknowledgement, without committing so much as a single word -- it's like the digital equivalent of a nonchalant chin-nod.

Not that you need words to communicate anymore: you can post a photo to show how cool you are (or how adorable your kids are, or how amazing your morning smoothie looks). Then apply a filter to make your yellow fluorescent-lit living room look retro-sexy, and add some blur to fuzz out those embarrassing magazines on the counter. You can combine five photos together to pack even more information into a single image. And then there's the amazing world of animated gifs. Seems like hardly a coincidence that it sounds so much like 'gift', when it grants us gems like this:

My medium of choice? Bullet points. I employ them at work, whenever I'm faced with the delicious task of technical communication*, and they're so effective there that of course they bleed into my regular life.

So, on with it. Let's discuss last night's dinner. It was too good not to share. This recipe was inspired by:

This amazing-looking recipe for cauliflower and feta fritters. I always feel an affinity for Smitten Kitchen's vegetably main course recipes (not that the margarita cookies are anything to scoff at). Boiling, then mashing, then adding then egg, then frying seemed like way too many steps for me, but the combination of cauliflower and feta sounded awesome.
The insanely delicious fried cauliflower at Sunnin Lebanese restaurant in Westwood. We used to go here in college back when it was a tiny and brightly lit hole-in-the-wall. Now they've got a big fancy dining room. Not the same, but the cauliflower, deep fried until it's totally browned on the outside and served with tahini, is a revelation. Who knew you could crave cauliflower?
The fact that I had a half a cauliflower in my fridge that was nearing its last days. (the start of most recipes in my kitchen...just living the Everlasting Meal dream...)
The miracle of modern technology that is the 10-minute farro at Trader Joe's. Have you had farro? It's awesome. It's a slightly sweet, flavorful grain with a bit of satisfying chewiness to it. It makes great grain-based salads, both hot and cold. Sadly, it takes about 45 minutes to cook, but the other day I discovered small bags of par-boiled farro at Trader Joe's that cook up in 10 minutes. Tremendous.

So, I put all these inspirations together, added in some other scroungy things from my kitchen -- fresh chives, dried mint that was once fresh, and some toasted slivered almonds from the freezer, and came up with a warm, filling, and balanced dinner salad. As always with these saladbook guys, variations driven by what is in your kitchen and what is your flavor preference, are wildly encouraged. Please share your findings!

* My friend Jon had a t-shirt that said "I know I'm efficient, tell me I'm beautiful." In nerdy moments like these, that sentiment resonates like no other.

Warm Farro Salad with Cauliflower and Feta

This would be just as good cold (though I'd add an extra squeeze of lemon juice right before serving).

1/2 cup 10-minute farro
Olive oil
1/2 a head of cauliflower, split into florets (smaller florets are better, because you get more browny bits and it cooks faster, but whatev)
Cumin
2 Tbs slivered almonds
Dried mint (or fresh)
2 Tbs crumbled feta
Chives, chopped
Lemon juice

Make the farro according to the package's 'simmer' instructions. While it's simmering, heat a large pan over medium-high heat. Add cauliflower and a tablespoon or two of olive oil. Sautee for about 10 minutes, turning pieces occasionally so all sides have a chance to brown. In the last minute or so, add the cumin, slivered almonds, and mint, and toss to combine. (Note: if your slivered almonds are raw or blanched, throw them in a couple minutes early so they have a chance to toast.) Turn off heat under cauliflower. Add farro, leaving any liquid in the pot. Add feta, chives, and lemon juice, and toss to combine thoroughly. Season to taste with salt and pepper.

Variations I want to try:

something sweet: pomegranate, dried cranberries, raisins?
maybe broccoli instead of cauliflower, maybe roasted instead of fried (we like roasted broccoli around here.)
tahini in the dressing (that's what the amazing fried business at Sunnin is served with)
honey in the dressing
sunflower seeds or pine nuts instead of the almonds

fresh green garbanzo beans

2012-09-07T08:38:00.000-07:00

Just because I'm not here doesn't mean I'm not thinking of you, neglected reader. I'm filled with intent to write: about lofty ideas like the intersection of simple offerings and true hospitality, about my strong (and might I add, correct) opinions regarding the kind of restaurant that Los Feliz really needs, about the amazing book An Everlasting Meal by Tamar Adler and how it's changed my life. I've wanted to write about summer, about newly teetering work-life balance and the mix of pride and ambivalence I feel about that, about an impromptu recipe for stuffed and fried squash blossoms that was at once crisp, vegetal, and meltingly creamy, about the three beautiful farmers markets that my neighborhood offers, about the perfection that is Proof Bakery, about how I've managed to distill down what I love in a restaurant, about how my apartment requires throughput in the form of dinner guests.

The ideas pile up, and they get a little oppressive. Who can write under all that pressure?

But this post pretty much wrote itself. Drew itself, really. Fresh, green garbanzo beans impelled me to take their picture at every stage. When you see an old, familiar ingredient in such a bizarre and otherworldly new light, you can't be flip about it.

A friend was out of town last weekend, and generously had me pick up her farmshare and use as much of it as I wanted. Among a bounty of yellow zucchini, giant jalapeños, Swiss chard, strawberries, and more, I also got a massive bunch of fresh garbanzos. And by bunch, I mean an unruly jumble of oversized, nappy branches, sprinkling tiny leaves wherever they passed. And on each one was an abundance of adorable, fuzzy little pods.

It turns out that garbanzos are a slow food through and through. Some might see it as a burden, but for me, sitting at my kitchen table, first snipping probably a hundred little pods off the branches, then splitting (some of) them open one by one, sent me right back to childhood. My mom would always give me the task of pulling fava beans from their long fuzzy pods, or picking bitter seeds out of sticky dried lemons, and these manual tasks are as satisfying and soothing now as they were then.


2 chickpeas in a pod

As I said, I did harvest some of them from their tiny pods, to boil and add to a salad of kale, tomatoes, and fresh basil. But I had another idea for the rest. In keeping with the patience their preparation required, I wanted eating them to be slow, too. I roasted them in a grill pan until their pods were slightly charred, to be peeled at the table: a sort of cross between edamame and grilled shishito peppers.

It worked! Though all of the seasoning goes on the chickpea's inedible skin, bits of salt and smoky char invariably end up on your fingers, and from there find their way into your mouth. Totally satisfying.

the aftermath

Pan-grilled Green Garbanzo Beans

Obviously this won't work on a real grill, as the little guys will fall through! But if you don't have a grill pan, I think any pan would work here.

Green garbanzo beans, still in the pod
Olive oil
Salt

Heat a grill pan over high heat. Drizzle garbanzos with olive oil, toss to coat all of them. Add to grill pan, and after a couple minutes, stir. Try to allow both sides of each pod a chance to brown. Once you've got some char, but before beans burn completely, remove from pan to a bowl. Toss with salt, then cover with a plate to allow them to soften further from their own steam for a few minutes before serving.

Panacea: Ricotta Cheese

2012-04-17T09:17:00.000-07:00

I was reminded recently that I never delivered on the promised Part II to this post. Better late than never?

So, we made ricotta. Though, as I read about ricotta, I get the sense that our ricotta is not really ricotta. Ricotta is Italian for 'recooked'. Because, evidently, it's traditionally made by reheating the whey left over from making some other cheese, adding in some acid to pull out the last remaining bits of protein and make them into something edible. We are not the goddesses of efficiency that the ancient peasants of the Italian countryside were. We buy our acid from Surfas. We make our cheese from milk.

Regardless, though, making cheese at home is not hard at all, pretty inexpensive, and really satisfying. In broad strokes, you heat up salted milk, add an acid (we used ascorbic acid in powder form, you can also use powdered citric acid or lemon juice (though I hear that the latter doesn't set up quite as well as the other two)), and watch as it curdles. It's fascinating -- just like Little Miss Muffet, you end up with a pot of completely separate curds and whey. Then, you scoop out the curds and drain them over some cheesecloth, and in the case of our recipe, mix in a bit of half and half to beef it up. That's it. Easy peasy, ricotta cheesy.

The end result was creamy, slightly spreadable, with a mild flavor that would go great with sweet or savory. But then, wee took it one step further: we used some of the resulting cheese for a next-level cheese experience -- ricotta salata. You take ricotta, add more salt, and press it in a cheese mold: in our case, a large clean tomato can with both ends removed. After a couple days in the fridge, weighed down with a heavy jar, you get a more strongly flavored semi-hard cheese that you can grate or slice.

I tend to fly fast and loose with dairy, and make substitutions based on texture. Aside from classic uses like lasagne, cannoli, or just spreading on bread with whatever (I would choose honey), I could see sneaking ricotta into artichoke dip as a lower-fat alternative to sour cream or mayo. And how good would it be mixed with some brown sugar and vanilla for a dip with fruit! (I want that now.) And the ricotta salata is great on a cheese plate or grated into a salad.

Two kinds of cheese and house-cured salmon, all in an afternoon. Maybe we are goddesses of efficiency after all.

Our recipe came from Jam It, Pickle It, Cure It. Smitten Kitchen has a more decadent take on ricotta.

Back to Whack: Miso Kale Stirfry

2012-04-02T08:01:00.000-07:00

We all know that it's good to eat balanced meals, but here's the thing about balance: when you've been eating in a balanced way, it makes sense to continue with the balance. But when everything is out of balance, you kind of need to eat something unbalanced in the other direction, in order to restore the balance? That's totally clear, right?

In other words, when everything's out of whack, and you're trying to get yourself back to whack, you need kale. The last couple days have been a bit of a gorgefest: amazing homemade pasta at Osteria Mamma (get the pappardelle al fumo: it's insane) last night, leftover pappardelle for breakfast (don't judge), leftover gondi kashi from my parents' house for lunch yesterday. And then today, at the lovely Lyric Cafe, they gave me a piece of banana walnut cake with Nutella and whipped cream, for free. I had to eat it! I had to eat all those things, actually -- none of these are things you say no to.

So the idea of the saladbook recipes -- a quick, but balanced meal of vegetable, lean protein, and whole grain or legumes -- gets thrown out the window. I'm not even hungry for all those things, I just need a little bit of vegetables. And what kind of LA cliche would I be if the vegetable I turn to isn't kale?

You could easily balance this out by adding some diced tofu after the kale has steamed, and serving it over some brown rice. But for tonight, a totally unbalanced bowl of kale is all I need.

Miso Kale Stirfry

White miso (it's actually more beige than white) comes in big tubs, and adds saltiness, a little nuttiness, and in general tons of savory flavor to everything you add it to. (And if you are looking for some literary miso inspiration, check out the incredibly thorough treatment it receives in the second issue of Lucky Peach.) Note that for this recipe, you will wash the kale after you've cut it.

2 cups unwashed raw kale, thicker stalks removed, leaves cut into 1-inch wide strips
1 tsp flavorless vegetable oil (canola, corn, peanut, grapeseed, etc.)
1 clove garlic, chopped
2 tsp white miso
1 inch piece of ginger, peeled and grated
1 tsp mirin
tiny dribble of toasted sesame oil
red chili flakes (optional, I opt against)
toasted sesame seeds to garnish

Rinse the cut kale, then place it in a colander to drain. You want some water to stay on the kale -- you'll use this to quickly steam it before stir-frying.

Add oil and garlic off to one side of a pan over medium heat. When the oil just begins to bubble, lower heat. Add kale to pan, but do not stir in oil and garlic just yet. Cover, and cook over medium-low heat until kale looks bright green and barely cooked through, about 2 minutes.

Meanwhile, combine miso, ginger, mirin, sesame oil and chili in a small bowl.

Remove cover from pan, and increase heat to medium-high. Toss kale to coat with oil and incorporate garlic. After about 2 minutes, add miso sauce to kale and toss to distribute. Cook another minute or so, until sauce is heated through. Serve topped with sesame seeds.

Makes 1 main course serving on its own, or 2 servings as a side or part of a larger meal.

A Train Runs Through It: Atwater Crossing Kitchen

2012-03-22T13:45:00.000-07:00

What I miss the most from my old neighborhood is the Farmer's Market. It offered this amazing space where you could be around people as you had a meal, but were also totally anonymous. There was no table service, there was plenty of seating, you were in an airy environment that kind of even felt outdoor. Once you got your food, you were pretty much on your own -- bring a couple magazines or a crossword puzzle and hang out all day if you wanted to. I lived half a block away, and I miss it bad.

I'm surrounded by restaurants in Los Feliz (and the nearby neighborhoods), but sometimes nothing hits that sweet spot of casual, easy, anonymous, delicious. Enter Atwater Crossing Kitchen. Order your food at the counter, then hang out undisturbed in their summery courtyard dining area.

Atwater Crossing is a strange and wonderful place -- 2 blocks of industrial buildings house creative offices, artisanal manufacturing facilities, locations for photography and film shoots, and theaters, and the events there are eclectic and funky. The area surrounding the Kitchen portion includes a small screening/performance room, a wine and beer bar, and that courtyard dining area with a couple communal tables, as well as a bunch of single-party ones.


no train...

Oh! And said dining area is situated right next to a railroad track. So, every once in a while, a train chugs by right next to you! It's the coolest thing ever.

...train!

The food isn't bad, but it still needs some tweaks. They capitalize on a wood-burning oven for flatbread pizzas that often have a Middle Eastern bent. I had a sujuk pizza that had tons of flavor, but it was greasy and soggy in the middle, and the fresh arugula on top should have been picked through for yellow leaves. The menu's a little weird, too: on weekends they serve breakfast until 3, which is awesome, but you can't get anything off the lunch/dinner menu (say for example, a salad) other than pizza until after 3. It's kind of a bummer to sit in the sunny courtyard, and not be able to enjoy a fresh, light lunch. (UPDATE: The kind folks at Atwater Crossing itself commented below to note that lunch is in fact served before 3 now. Awesome!)

yes, that's my finger. hi.

Overall, though, I'm totally stoked that this place exists. The courtyard is perfect for lunch on a sunny day, but now that the days are getting longer, I can't wait to go there for an evening glass of wine. I know I started off singing the praises of the place's anonymity, but I just changed my mind. Atwater Crossing Kitchen is actually totally awesome and neighborhoody; of course I want to be its friend!

--
Atwater Crossing Kitchen is at 3245 Casitas Ave.

How I Saved Little Dom's Deli from Imminent Destruction

2012-03-09T10:23:00.001-08:00

You guys, I basically saved the universe the other night. I mean, I generally don't think of myself as a hero, but sometimes the shoe just fits. I know, to most people, I just look like your average little brown girl who can't stop picking at any bowl of anything that is placed in front of her, but friends, I am here to tell you that were it not for me, there would be a giant pile of ashes where Little Dom's Deli once stood.

A couple Saturdays ago, I had some early evening downtime, and I was hongry. I needed a sandwich. Fortunately, I live a block from Hillhurst Avenue, which may as well be called Sandwichhurst*. I decided on the Deli at Little Dom's, a thimble of a place perfectly designed to make you feel like you're in the Norman Rockwell version of a New York Italian deli. I managed (somehow, inexplicably) to resist the tiny jam jars of vanilla panna cotta, stared down the pistachio shortbread (I mean, those two words: Pistachio. Shortbread. Hello?), and in the end, gathered myself and ordered a sandwich. "How's the tuna melt?" I asked. "Amazing," he said. The guy behind the counter described their Sicilian tuna melt to me with a smile: a salad of poached tuna from Little Dom's proper next door, capers, and herbs, no mayo; Fontina cheese; all grilled panini-style on whole grain bread. Sold.

I sat down and waited for him to do his panini magic. I was the only one in the little shop, and I could see that they were using some of the deli space to hold the prep stuff for dinner service at the restaurant. A narrow shelf against one wall held table linens, a bunch of lit tealights, and a grey plastic tub filled with silverware. I looked up from iPhone futzing and noticed that one of the tealights actually had fire on the outside of it. Um.

The tealight had melted the corner of the plastic tub, and a little puddle of hot plastic had caught fire. Fire! I yelled out to my tuna melt friend, he doused the fire with a cup of ice water, thanked me profusely. Disaster averted, he saw me out with my sandwich in a white paper bag and tons more thank-yous.

When I got home, tucked into the bag with my incredible tuna melt, I found a pistachio shortbread and a sweet blueberry and pear focaccia. I'm here to tell you this: it pays to be a superhero.

* I've recently been thinking of doing a sandwich crawl down Hillhurst Ave, though technically, it being a downhill slope, it'd be a Sandwich Roll (see what I did there?). Between Little Dom's Deli, Community (the restaurant that used to be Papa's Place), Mustard Seed, Alcove, Gelato Bar, Home, and Gastronomico, oh, the sandwich fun we'd have!

--
The Deli at Little Dom's is at 2128 Hillhurst Ave., just north of Avocado Ave.

links links links!

2012-03-04T10:56:00.001-08:00

Sometimes (and by 'sometimes', I mean every single day), there is so much amazingness on the internet that I'm overwhelmed with the task of keeping up. Here are some awesome things I've found recently.

A Cross-stitched Skillet: Would you like some embroidered toast with that? (Note: Colossal is one of the best blogs ever. Art and design, excellently curated, always awesome.)

Anissa in Iran: We talked a bit about Anissa Helou's videos of breadbakers in Iran. She's posted quite a few more gems from her time there. So much good stuff. (Also, her Saveur spread is incredible: beautiful photos, lots of stories, and a book's worth of recipes.)

this LA Times article: I suppose an article about the trials and tribulations of being Bill Chait, a top LA restaurant entrepreneur, is interesting to some folks, but the real nugget in this article (to me) is hidden in the middle of page 2: There are plans to replace the Louise's on Hillhurst with something called Mess Hall: "higher energy, simpler food, with a modern twist." 2 blocks from my apartment in Los Feliz! Woop woop!

Bon Iver's 'Towers' video: The music of Bon Iver has had my heart for a couple years now. I couldn't tell you what his lyrics are about, but the perfectly blended harmonies and twangy acoustic guitar make for a sound evocative of cold places, quiet rivers, sturdy old cabins, grizzled faces, wary smiles. The video for 'Towers', from his newest, eponymous album captures all of that. (PS: Think of this video when Pixar's Brave comes out and you see the gorgeous short, La Luna, that opens for it: to me, anyway, there are strange little parallels.)

Vermont introduces monumental GMO labeling legislation: Hell yeah, Vermont! Rest of US, please take note. This is huge.

Banksy on advertising: What he says is absolutely right, and really important to remember.

The LowLine: Were it to exist, the Lowline would sort of be the upside down cousin to Chelsea, New York's awesome High Line park. An indoor, underground park, built in an old trolley terminal on the Lower East Side, using solar technology to to generate enough light to grow trees. This makes me love the world. (Watch the video!)

Little red cake: Apollinas makes cakes that are inspired by dresses (and sometimes shoes!), and they are amazing. Here is a Valentino little red dress in cake form.

The Hollywood Reservoir

2012-02-28T10:57:00.000-08:00

Would you believe this is Los Angeles?

This isn't about food. But, it's so beautiful I had to share. Did you know that up in the hills above the most cloyingly Hollywoodish part of Hollywood, right in the shadow of the Hollywood sign, there is a huge and beautiful reservoir? You drive up from Gower, then let yourself get totally turned around as you wind through tiny residential streets (lined with an amazingly eclectic set of houses). The city slowly fades away, and you end up in this lush green oasis with very little foot traffic (and an odd tendency towards Europeans among the small crowd who was there). The Hollywood Reservoir is beautiful.

There's a dam with weird little bear's heads sticking out below its walkway. There's a wide path, perfect for walking or biking, and the air smells cleanly of evergreens. The path doesn't go all the way around: it ends where it meets residential Tahoe Street. You could keep going on Tahoe at this point; you'd end up near Universal City (yes, the reservoir is that big).

Here's a Google Map of the reservoir. We drove to Weidlake Drive, and parked where it meets Montlake Drive and Lake Hollywood. You enter the premises there, and are met first with the dam. You should go; it's lovely.

Panacea: Gravlax

2012-02-27T07:28:00.002-08:00

On a perfectly crisp day during winter break, I was at a fancy craft fair in a backyard in Angelino Heights, a block away from Carroll Avenue (one of those amazing secret treasures of Los Angeles that you really ought to see), with my friends Rachel and Jodi. Rachel turned to us and said one of those things that, in normal circles, would be totally weird, but among us is perfectly normal. Par for the course, actually. All excited, she said, "You guys! We should start a club where we cure things! Like, make sausages, and gravlax, and stuff like that! Wouldn't that be awesome?!" And supportive friends that we are, we totally agreed. Of course it would be awesome.

As we browsed the crafts, we fleshed this idea out, and eventually I even came up with a name for our club: Panacea. Because, you see, we cure all. And on new year's eve day, our planacea became reality.

Our first project was gravlax: a Swedish dish of salmon cured with a sugar and salt mixture and aromatic herbs. After a few days wrapped tightly in the fridge, you wipe all that stuff off the fish's surface, and end up with a salty-sweet, flavorful product, ready to be sliced thin and eaten on dark bread (or whatever you want).

Guided by a great book called Jam It, Pickle It, Cure It, the three of us took a few slow-foodish hours, and in the end, were on our way to having created something that felt really substantial. Using recipes in the book, we made two varieties of gravlax: one classic, packed with lots of fresh dill, and the other, with fresh fennel and orange zest.

I come from a long line of women who crowd into kitchens together, and have had a good share of girly dinner parties with my own friends, too. There's an efficient, perfect rhythm to women cooking together. The three of us worked so well with each other: sharing tasks, cleaning as we went along. We shared the same space gracefully, all the while gabbing, catching up, laughing a lot.

Things went so well that we even DIY'ed a batch of ricotta cheese once the gravlax were prepped. But that's a story for another day. For now, gravlax. And Murray.

oh, hello, Murray

PS It's Rachel's birthday today! Happy, happy birthday, Rachel!

LudoBites 8.0

2012-02-21T07:31:00.000-08:00

It may seem counter to my bloggerly being, but until this latest round, I'd never attended LudoBites. Something about all the frenzy that surrounds it makes me want to run in the other direction. Between the phone-in hoops you have to jump through to get a reservation, and the gaggle of female bloggers who, under the 'Ludobitches' moniker, have branded themselves as groupies of happily married chef Ludo Lefebvre, it all just sounded like a scene I'd rather not deal with. It's like my reaction to Downton Abbey -- when everyone is freaking out about something, I decide I'm too cool. But then, one night in late January, a friend's plus-one bailed and I was invited to sit in. And I couldn't deny my giddiness. I got in to LudoBites! With zero effort! And as will no doubt be the case when I finally break down and watch Downton Abbey, I totally ate my words and thought it was amazing.

LudoBites is a really fun concept: at his whim, Chef Lefebvre takes over the kitchen at some restaurant for a very limited time, and creates a full menu of shareable items, all with his signature mix of the best ingredients combined in unexpected ways. When I got there, the air seemed charged with the collective excitement of all the diners who made it into the fleeting pop-up. The T-shirt-clad waitstaff provided excellent service, and affordable carafes of tasty house wine (in addition to a list of wines and beers) made you feel that, despite the high caliber of the food being served, this wasn't an ostentatious meal. Our group of six ordered everything on the menu, and were treated to a string of strange and wonderful tastes and textures.

The meal started off with pure indulgence: chicken tandoori crackling, followed by brioche with yuzu seaweed butter. The former, the creamiest chicken liver mousse dolloped on a square of crisp chicken skin. Salty, fatty, mineraly goodness; tastebuds piqued, big-time. The latter, a fluffy, buttery brick of brioche so comforting that a child would swoon over it, but spread generously with a decidedly grown-up compound butter with the bright Asian notes of yuzu and salty seaweed. I seriously spent the rest of the meal contemplating getting an order (or nine) of the brioche to go.

One of the most elegant dishes of the night was simply called 'Scallop, Leek, Potato, Black truffles' (first photo), a combination of soft, mellow flavors, punctuated with dots of an herb sauce and pops of briny roe. One of the most challenging was Uni Crème Brûlée, a bizarre combination of sea urchin, sweet custard, a hint of coffee, and salty salmon roe. Once you got past the initial shock of completely uncharted culinary territory, it was actually quite delicious.

Raw beef has surely never looked as beautiful as it did in a dish of Raw Beef, Radish, Beets, Eel. Thin slices of radish and tart green apple, and a blood-red beet puree offset the richness of the meat.

Opulence came in the form of soup. Based on its looks, I expected the dish of Foie Gras, Tamarin, Turnips, Daikon to be a ramen-like broth, characterized by fattiness and salt. So, I was totally shaken by the first spoonful, with its intense tamarind sourness. I was also taken aback by the amount of foie gras in the dish: I don't know, it was just...a lot. Not my favorite, but others at the table loved it.

OK, that's enough. I realized when I wrote two epic posts on the Istanbul Eats walking tour that I don't particularly like writing posts that are endless lists of every bite. I get bored, so I suspect you guys do, too (correct me if I'm wrong?). Sure, there were more outstanding dishes -- an excellent red wine braised duck, perfectly cooked John Dory, and a kooky take on lemon meringue pie that tasted as delicious as it looked whimsical were just a few. So, I offer you a link to the rest of the photos from the night, artfully shot by my date, Erin Ramos. And instead of the itemized list, I leave you with this.

The best part of the night for me (aside from the part where in my head I decide that Chef Ludo himself designed the night's awesome 90s-hip-hop playlist) was my vantage point. Overall, I wasn't thrilled with the space: Lemon Moon is a cafeteria in an office complex, and the ambiance of its bright, spacious dining room just didn't match the excitement of the night. But it has an open kitchen, and from my seat, I could watch as one chef prepped plate after plate, using an empty glass display case as his work station. He was meticulous about every detail, and I watched as Chef Ludo peered intently over his shoulder, hanging on every drop of sauce, making sure each dish was just perfect. In that moment, all the LudoBites fanfare made sense: every item I was served was at the highest level. Chef Ludo and his team took great pains to achieve harmony from a wild array of complex flavors, to make every plate beautiful. A world of mindful effort is behind every bite. He's pulling out all the stops, putting all he has out there. In that moment, I totally got the LudoBitches. There is most definitely something hot about a man who works so hard to ensure that I, that all of us there, feel taken care of (and seriously, the French accent doesn't hurt, either). This meal made me feel taken care of -- how can I dare act too cool for that?

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LudoBites' last night is tomorrow night! Get there!

Baking Bread In Iran

2012-02-17T13:22:00.000-08:00

UPDATE: In the last 8 hours (1-9am Los Angeles time), this tiny blog has gotten over 800 hits. Unheard of for the blog, thrilling for the blogger. Save a few exceptions, they are all coming from Facebook, and from all over the world. I'm unable to see who it was that posted the link on Facebook (clearly someone with a lot of friends!), and am dying to know! Can someone post a comment or email me and let me know?! So, so curious!!!

UPDATE 2: A kind anonymous commenter clued me in. David Lebovitz, who writes beautifully and hilariously about his delicious life as an ex-pat in Paris, linked to this post on his Facebook page. Clearly Mr. Lebovitz is an influental man around these circles. I am incredibly stoked. Thanks for the post, and best of luck on the kitchen remodel!

And to those of you who are stopping by for the first time, welcome! Wish I could pour each of you a cup of tea!
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When I talk to adults who grew up in Iran, the memory of warm bread, fresh from the noonva, or baker, always comes up. It's one of those little luxuries that supermarket culture has thrown to the wayside here in the states, but in Iran, bread is still taken quite seriously. There are just certain ways with Persian bread -- tearing off pieces of the thin lavash that's laid underneath skewers of kabob right off the grill, yellow with saffron and saturated with the rich, seasoned juices from the meat; or splitting open a piece of warm, sesame-specked barbari, spreading it with sarshir, Persian clotted cream, and a spoonful of homemade strawberry preserves -- that you simply aren't going to achieve with your old Wonder bread. There's also rich and slightly sweet shirmal, taftoon, lightly spiced with saffron, and sangak, with its yummy bits of char and sprinkling of nigella seeds.
Anissa Helou, a food writer I was first introduced to via her beautiful Mediterranean Street Food cookbook years ago, has a great blog that exposes little bits of the world of Middle Eastern food that we'd probably never be privy to without her. (She also features a Belly Dancer of the Month, so obviously, she has my heart.) Today's post tells us about a story she's written for the March issue of Saveur on Iranian food (you can bet I'll be picking this up), and she included a couple videos of Iranian bakers in action. It's worth checking out: I love how fluidly and rhythmically the three men in the top clip move through each other's space, just like interconnected cogs in a machine.

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Thanks to mohammadali and kamshots for the photos.

A New Look!

2012-02-14T13:12:00.000-08:00

I'm really excited about the little housecleaning tear that went on here. I loved the look that lovely Heather at CheekyDesign had done a few years back, but minimalist urges came creeping in, and I wanted a clean, white space where I could post larger photos. The header image is of my own kitchen. I have a lot of love for that particular spot as it's where, over the past couple years, I've come to discover that I can pretty much create anything I want. Grab a jar from the shelf up top, pull a bowl from the hook, and turn a bunch of ingredients into something that brings smiles and nourishment, and keeps my apartment feeling like a home (Beloved tea and coffee also start here). On the best days, it feels like my studio, and I try to share that here. So, please, make yourself at home!

I trust Thom Yorke when it comes to matters of the heart. He tells us that true love waits, and if you're reading this after my 3-month disappearance from this place, I appreciate that you're still here! On this Valentine's Day, thanks for waiting; thanks for true loving me. I totally true love you back.

Dinner, Local: Harvest Spoon

2012-02-12T23:49:00.000-08:00

Nights like tonight are pretty magical (what, you thought I had disappeared?).

It's weird that we haven't talked about Meg here, because actually, she's spectacular. Meg Taylor is the woman behind Large Marge Sustainables, and when she's not feeding the crew of Jamie Oliver's Food Revolution, or crafting her catering company's newsletters, each of which closes with poetry, she's finding ways to feed anyone she can find, every bite laden with love and magnanimity.

Meg's foods resonate with her beliefs: community building, protecting the environment, including everyone, and eating well. She works with school gardens, contributes to bake sales (her insane lemon rosemary shortbread has been gracing our No Cookie Left Behind bake sale since its first year), creates neighborhood picnics and dinners, and more, always serving satisfying, delicious food on real, non-disposable dishes, regardless of venue.

Tonight was the start of the latest expression of Meg's heart, Harvest Spoon / Cosecha Cuchara. In her words, the concept was "to create an opportunity for communities to connect, form deeper bonds, and intersect with other communities in public spaces over local-garden-sourced dinner, discussion and performance," and this dinner in the park delivered exactly that.

local lemons

The food wasn't merely local, but actually community sourced: greens and citrus came from the gardens of attendees, and Meg whipped up a totally satisfying vegan and gluten-free meal (after all, everyone was included) with warming soups, hearty mains, and bourbon-spiked dessert.

jam jars for soup

Conversation ranged from greywater recycling and soil additives to providing food for Occupy LA, and the same guy who was helping us carry giant pots of cauliflower soup from truck to table at the beginning of the night was later going wild on a Spanish guitar as we all huddled together in blankets to keep warm. It was that kind of night.

I feel strongly about using food as a vehicle to build community (this is not news). I love the fact that I'm not the only one.

Blowing Your Mind with Broccoli

2011-10-17T08:28:00.000-07:00

Guys, it's a saladbook recipe. Are you excited? Well, you should be. I mean, there is no salad, there is no book. But there is broccoli.

And as it's touted by the blog post where I first discovered it, it's truly the best broccoli of your life. (Incidentally, said blog -- the Amateur Gourmet, which was a pretty lovable blog to begin with, just got better: its writer, Adam, has just moved to Los Angeles from New York, and it's pretty fascinating seeing to see the city I know and love through the wide, hungry eyes of a newcomer. Imagine discovering Thai Town, Zankou Chicken, or beloved Gjelina, for the first time all over again! And this sweet soul hasn't even tried the Golden State burger yet! Ah, so much to look forward to!)

Anyway, roasting broccoli with bits of garlic in the oven until its little tendrily 'leaves' become crisp and browned and totally heightened in savory flavor is the absolute most delicious way to eat broccoli ever. Super easy to make, too -- major return on investment. Tonight, I tossed the broccoli with some whole-grain fettucine to turn it into a meal.

The spirit of the saladbook is simple homey meals that don't sacrifice taste, but still maintain a good balance of vegetables, whole grains, and good protein. I hit the first two, but to get some protein in there, I added some parmesan cheese (yeah cheese is kind of fatty, but good parmesan adds huge flavor with a small portion), and some chopped pecans. I think pine nuts would actually be better, but I dealt with evil car dealership issues so horrendous today that I had to resort to a salted caramel mocha frappuccino. With whipped cream. And that insane starbucks caramel sauce. Heaven. All of which is to say is that going to the store after work was no-way-no-how going to happen. Thus, chopped pecans from the freezer. This recipe also happens to be vegetarian (vegan if you omit the parmesan). Of course, you could change that. Remember our old friend Adam from paragraph one? Sometimes he throws some shrimp into the oven with his broccoli. Might be even tastier than salted caramel mocha frappuccino.

Pasta with Roasted Broccoli

My sister swears by the browned bits of garlic in this recipe ("They're like candy", she says), and she may have converted me. So, by all means, feel free to use more. And on the topic of proportions, I won't tell you what to eat and what not to eat (oh wait), but consider what lovely Mark Bittman has to say about flipping the pasta-to-topping ratio. He makes a good point.

1 1/2 c broccoli florets, rinsed and fully dried
1 clove garlic, chopped
extra virgin olive oil (use a tasty one; it's a simple recipe)
1 sensible portion whole-grain pasta (I used fettucine)
1/4 cup pine nuts or chopped pecans
1/2 lemon
parmesan cheese

Bring a pot of water to a boil; preheat oven or toaster oven to 425F. Line a baking pan with foil and add broccoli. Drizzle with olive oil; toss to coat. Sprinkle with salt, pepper, and garlic, and toss again to combine. Roast broccoli for about 15-20 minutes.

In the meantime, cook pasta according to package directions, then drain, reserving some of the cooking water.

Start checking on the broccoli at about 15 minutes. When it's bright green, cooked through but still crisp, and just beginning to brown, add in the nuts, give the pan a toss, and cook for another 3 minutes.

Toss pasta with broccoli mixture (you can use the same pot you used to cook the pasta). Add some more olive oil, salt, and pepper. If it's dry, add a spoonful or two of the reserved pasta water. Squeeze on some lemon juice. Top, on the plate, with grated or shaved parmesan cheese.

Cold Weather Saladbook: Indianish Red Lentils

2011-10-13T08:24:00.000-07:00

For a minute there, it was fall.

Like, pouring rain and sweaters, bona fide fall. Of course, this being October in Los Angeles, it lasted all of two days, and was followed closely by a heat wave (It's gonna be 98 today. wtf, mate?). As much as I obsess over the glory that is summer, and as amazing as this particular summer was, it also involved a lot of constant sweatiness and insect bites, so I was glad to feel some cooler air.

I embraced it by cooking one of my favorite cozytimes recipes, red lentils simmered until creamy with warm spices, lots of vegetables, and a dollop of rich yogurt on top. It's a good fridge-cleaner-outer, it's vegetarian (vegan if you omit the yogurt, though that'd be a little sad), and if you're smart about the spices, is an incredibly cheap meal. I'm not authority on Indian cuisine, so I can't vouch for authenticity here, but with curry powder, cumin, turmeric, and fresh ginger spicing this one up, I can safely say it's Indianish. It's great in a bowl as is, but you could certainly serve it over brown rice (which makes it a lot less Indianish, but white rice would make it very un-saladbookish, so there you go).

Indianish Red Lentils

You can adjust the spices based on your tastes and what you have on hand. Curry powder is a blend in itself, but I like to beef it up with extra cumin (a favorite), and turmeric because it's good for you. Oh, and don't skip this recipe just because you don't have fresh ginger on hand. Just skip the ginger (and maybe use dried instead?). As far as vegetables, I used cauliflower, spinach, and halved grape tomatoes this time, but it varies every time.

olive oil for the pan (about a teaspoon)
1/2 onion, chopped
1-2 cloves garlic
2 tsp fresh grated ginger (optional)
2 tsp curry powder
2 tsp cumin
1 tsp turmeric
chili, if you're into it (i'm not)
1 bay leaf

Vegetables (use a lot; vegetables are good for you):
broccoli or cauliflower, small florets
carrots, small dice
spinach -- fresh or frozen, chard, or kale, roughly chopped
tomatoes, diced
peas, fresh or frozen

3 cups broth (I am partial to vegetarian "no-chicken" broths)
1 cup red lentils
lowfat or nonfat Greek or other thick yogurt, about 1 tbs per person

Makes about 3 servings, more if served with brown rice.

Heat olive oil in a medium-sized pot, over medium heat. Add onions, stir to coat, and cook until translucent. Stir in garlic, ginger, and spices, cook for another couple minutes (your kitchen will smell amazing at this point). At this point, add in cauliflower and/or carrots, as well as lentils and broth. Bring to a boil, then lower heat and simmer for about 15 minutes, stirring occasionally, until lentils are soft and creamy, and most of the liquid has been absorbed. If the mixture gets too dry before the lentils are fully cooked, just stir in a bit more broth (or water). Stir in remaining vegetables, continue to simmer until they are just cooked through (this time can vary from just a couple minutes for spinach to longer for broccoli or kale). Ladle into individual bowls, and top each with a spoonful of yogurt.

Istanbul Eats Culinary Walks: Part 2

2011-10-11T11:24:00.000-07:00

Guys! I left it on that silly punch post and weepy Regina Spektor and not much else, because I'm surrounded by business right now. A few weekends ago, I was so lucky to be a part of a truly beautiful wedding that took over the sweet old mining town of Bisbee, Arizona, then I baked two crazy awesome spiced honey bundts for Rosh Hashana that I'll want to share with you, and then Yom Kippur happened, which is kind of antithetical to food blogging by nature, no? And, yet there's still so much from Turkey! Aaahh! Someone needs to come up with some cutesy portmanteau to describe the constant state of blog-overhwelmedness in which I live.

In the meantime, maybe you remember Part 1 of this story of our dreamland day with Angelis and our Istanbul Eats team; here's the rest, finally! When last we left off, we were stuffing our faces with baklava. Naturally, next was Turkish coffee, and a sad lesson about today's Istanbul.

We went to Mandabatmaz, a thimble of a shop that has been serving nothing but Turkish coffee for decades. This stop highlighted something very troubling going on in Istanbul. Step out on any evening, and you'll notice that the city is alive with sidewalk culture -- every cafe, every restaurant spills out into sidewalk tables, and in centers like Taksim Square, there's hardly room to walk between people sitting at long tables outside, eating, smoking, peoplewatching, catching up with friends. It's beautiful and fundemental to the character of Istanbul. However, while we were there, the government had begun cracking down on sidewalk seating. Something about permits and licenses, but Istanbulites are all pretty convinced that it's just another step towards a conservative Turkey. It's hard to watch it happen: I was immediately impressed by this Muslim country that has seemed to strike the perfect balance between maintaining its religious essense and leaving room for a more liberal lifestyle. Side streets tightly packed with people breaking bread, laughing, drinking wine or coffee, were now barren. At Mandabatmaz, the proprietor had brought in all but a fraction of their outdoor seating, and all five of us nearly had to squeeze into the tiny shop itself. We took a chance and sat outside, and over tiny cups of strong and richly fragrant coffee, Angelis shared with us the worry that we would keep hearing from Istanbulites: "Istanbul is a living city... and they are killing it."

Next up was Ficcin, one of three restaurants from the same owner that take up a block off Istiklal Caddesi -- the main boulevard of Istanbul's cosmopolitan center. Once again, we sat inside, while a couple waiters kicked a ball up and down a street that used to be crowded with tables and chairs. Ficcin's specialty is Circassian food -- the cuisine of the Caucasus Mountains. Here we sampled a tasty Circassian chicken spread, a strangely named but delicious sea vegetable called common glasswort, and the celebrated manti -- hand-filled ravioli-like dumplings served with a yogurt sauce, and sprinkled with powdered sumac berries and dried herbs. Yum.

Lunch number two: Sahin Lokantasi. The hero of Istanbul Eats is the lokantasi, humble places serving a constantly changing menu of homey Turkish favorites to the working class, and this cramped, bustling spot was a prime example. Here we got a spread of stews, vegetables, various delicious eggplant/meat combos, and more, all totally satisfying.

Our third lunch and final stop was at Akdenis Kokorec, which Angelis had warned us about. Kokorec is a street treat made from lamb intestines and their surrounding fat. It's slow-roasted on a rotisserie, then a portion is carved off and chopped up. Chopped tomatoes and peppers are added along with spices, the whole mess is grilled again, and then scooped into a sandwich roll. If you can get past the nature of what you're eating, it's got the texture and strong savory, salty flavor of a hash, Despite my being a little wigged out by what I was eating, I could see how this would hit the spot late at night.

And that was our last stop. Painfully full, but still in great spirits, we ended our day of marathon eating as all good ones should: with hugs, heartfelt goodbyes, and lamb intestines.

Personal revelation digression: Lately, I've been thinking a lot about a certain type of person. It's the type who has gotten past 'shoulds' that they've learned second-hand, who's explored their world for themselves, drawn their own conclusions, and ended up at an openness that allows them to get past the things they might judge -- be it a person's religion, or who a person chooses to love (as if it's a choice) -- and to instead see people with pure eyes. They live their life honestly and with integrity, and build their path based on no one's rules but their own. I feel myself more and more becoming one of these people, and every time an old 'should' is challenged and defeated, I have a moment of glowy happiness that sometimes brings me to tears. Something similar happens when I realize I've met someone else like this. A few moments after our tour ended, hugs, kisses, and email addresses exchanged, Ashley and I were walking down Istiklal Caddesi -- the main artery of cosmopolitan Istanbul. Standing in the middle of the wide, carless boulevard, I remembered something Angelis had said when we asked him about coming to the United States. He acknowledged a nagging 'should'. "I may not be in the Land of Opportunity," he said, "but here in Istanbul, my soul is filled." I beamed a little.

samson

2011-10-01T11:44:00.000-07:00

I've listened to this song a million times -- Pandora plays it a lot for me --, but yesterday decided I love it, and it sucked me into a wormhole of wikipedia and songmeanings dot net, and I know it's not cool to like Regina Spektor these days, but I still hold a candle for old Tori Amos, too, so I guess any illusion of that kind of coolness is out the window anyway.

So I buy it and download it today before an upheaval house-cleaning, because it's one of those songs I want badly to sing along to. And then what happens is, as I clean the bathroom sink, I remember what I read yesterday -- that Samson is about a lover of hers who had cancer -- so when the verse comes around, lyrics I've heard a million times, recall -- "Samson went back to bed, Not much hair left on his head, He ate a slice of wonder bread and went right back to bed" -- I look into the bathroom mirror to see eyes shiny with tears and that ugly, strained look on my face. Go on cleaning, but soon, singing along is not even a possibility as I'm gasping back all-out tears as I sweep the bathroom floor (take the song off freaking repeat, Tannaz!).

And I guess the lesson, or the question, here is, would I have been better off just listening along with blind ears and not knowing what I was humming about? Maybe I would. I mean, is it really worth our energy to cry over the stories of strangers? Seriously, maybe not. I know, not the most uplifting message. So, let's just say this is a story of the powerful forces of music, and leave it at that.

Here's the song if you want; it's beautiful.

Punch Day!

2011-09-20T15:39:00.000-07:00

Leave it to me to take something totally insignificant, and turn it into something totally nerdy. Hard-hitting reporting, that's what we do here..

Anyway, as everyone who's anyone probably already knows, today is National Punch Day. But what you may not have known (excited yet?) is the origin of the word punch! As we learn from punchbowl.com, the word punch comes from the Hindi panch, which means five. This was in reference to the original five ingredients in this exotic drink that traders with the British East India Company brought to England from the east: spirits, water, lemon juice, sugar, and spice -- which actually sounds pretty delicious. Who knew?!

(Note: Punchbowl.com informs us that this week is also National Singles Week. It could be my excitement over stuff like this that keeps me celebrating that holiday as well....Sigh...)

thanks to Old Shoe Woman for the photo!

Istanbul Eats Culinary Walks: Part 1

2011-09-14T11:27:00.000-07:00

Ahhh, where do I begin talking about our Istanbul Eats culinary walk?! I could dutifully list each stop, exhaustively index every item we ate -- our two breakfasts, three lunches, and every stop in between. But like so many of our experiences in Turkey, this excellent tour -- one of the very best days we spent in Istanbul -- packed in so many moments that they began to pile up, and was just as much about the food (and believe me, the food was exemplary), as it was about the people.

(But, we will itemize the food, fear not. And there's so much that I'm splitting into two posts. Seriously, it could be like eight. Anyway.)

Ashley and I were wary of guided tours: we'd planned every leg of our trip ourselves, and did not want to experience Turkey with a bunch of foreigners through the windows of a giant bus. Fortunately, this walk was entirely different. Before we even met our guide, we knew this was going to be good. We were to meet him in a part of the city called Cihangir, and we couldn't be happier to get lost in the stairways and hilly streets of this amazing neighborhood. Cihangir is eminently hip: stately art-deco apartment buildings (with amazing front doors), chic Euro cafes, tiny vintage stores, and funky record stores line the cobblestone streets, and awesome street art is everywhere. A few minutes in, it became very clear: if I were to ever live in Istanbul, Cihangir is where I would call home.

Our team consisted of Ashley and me, Jason and Ned -- an affable couple from Washington DC, and our fearless leader Angelis. For a full day, we were just five people exploring Istanbul in my favorite way: walking and eating. And Angelis' ebullient personality set the tone for the day. A skinny gay hipster expat from Greece, he was knowledgeable, hospitable, and hilarious. True to the style of Istanbul Eats, he led us through cosmopolitan Istanbul as a local would see it -- winding our path through small shopping centers where teenagers might buy the latest disposable trends and making sure our tour included several examples of the esnaf lokantasi, highly local eateries serving a rotating menu of comforting, homey dishes to Turkey's working class.

For our first stop, Turkish breakfast, including beloved kaymak and sucuk, plus menemen, eggs scrambled with stewed peppers. This meal was prepared expressly for us at Özkonak, a stalwart lokantasi that predates Cihangir's gentrification by decades and is known for an unusual specialty: a dessert pudding made with shredded chicken breast. I love the stove-to-table pans; their handles make them look like a little boy who hasn't yet grown into his ears.

Breakfast number 2: Borek! Filo pastry in various shaped filled with various delicious things. Fresh and flaky, eaten on the sidewalk, with a cool and perfectly not-too-sweet citrus ade. Good times.

This unassuming shop might be the original home of the profiterole. They were drenched in chocolate, with a sweet custard inside. Way too rich to have more than a couple bites, but hey, we tasted history.

Our next stop was one of my favorites of the day: fried sardines. Perfectly fresh, lightly battered, deep fried, super crisp. With ingredients that good, all you need is a little lemon. I could have eaten these forever.

A restaurant whose specialty is tripe soup. (Not in the mood? There's also brain salad.) Not that awesome, and it was kind of a depressing place, but aren't those tile floors fabulous!? (And that charcuterie shop behind Angelis sure looked enticing from our sidewalk vantage point as we ate stomach.)

Baklava! A million variations, so much to taste, so delicious. (Admitted baklava bias: Persian baklava has saffron and rosewater, so any other doesn't come close as far as I'm concerned. Nevertheless, trying to be balanced here.) We also tried a special Ramadan treat called güllaç, a comforting milky pudding with leaves of pastry soaked inside, decorated beautifully with pomegranate seeds and bright green ground pistachios.

Let's end Round 1 here, on a sweet note. It looks like an exhausting amount of food, but it was really well-paced. Go have some tea, and stay tuned for three lunches, Turkish coffee, controversial local politics, and more innards!

I Heart NY, I Heart LA

2011-09-11T23:54:00.000-07:00

Friday night I went to a barbecue; sat on a couch in a backyard in Glassell Park, surrounded by melon and corn growing in raised beds and people drinking beer, and had a moment to stare at the sky. Last night, it was Culver City, where the streets were overflowing with amazing people(watching), all out to see what the area's rapidly expanding gallery scene had to offer. We went out to support Taylor De Cordoba Gallery and the boys from Austin's Okay Mountain collective at Mark Moore Gallery. Tonight, my only visit to the Hollywood Bowl this summer. Summer's not over, people. And I love my Los Angeles.

This morning, I couldn't tear myself away from my laptop, listening to the names of victims being read, getting choked up, eventually recovering. Then they show a man folding down to kiss his wife's name etched into the new memorial at the site of the World Trade Center, and the crying starts all over again. After that, it was Paul Simon singing "The Sounds of Silence". More tears -- Simon and Garfunkel are New York, and the lyrics of this song that has felt haunting to me since I was a kid were eerily appropriate to the situation. The kid who was in his mom's belly when Dad died, the Puerto Rican accents, the firefighters, the guy in the yarmulke mourning his brother: "May God wipe all the tears from all our faces," he said, first in Hebrew, then in English. I love New York, too. I really do.

I'm working on a post about our day-long Istanbul Eats walking tour, but it's growing into an epic, and requires a couple more days' work. In the meantime, read both of these:

- a love letter to LA by a man who grew up in Atwater Village, "that strip of land in between Intelligentsia and Armenia." It's so correct.

- a beautiful piece from the NY Times highlighting the "hour of human decency." It's sad and important.

One For the Salad Book

2011-09-07T09:03:00.000-07:00

This dinner is a classic salad book meal. The rules apply big time. It came together around an ingredient recently introduced to me by lovely Rachel. (Seriously people, click through. Her blog is a dream.) Trader Joe's has adorable sardine-tin-style cans of smoked trout fillet. Some bits have that chewy browned texture you sometimes see in smoked fish that almost feels like smokey candy. (I know that sounds weird. It's something I love, though.) And to me, smoked trout vaguely falls at the intersection of Scandinavian cuisine and Ashkenazi Jewish appetizing (and might actually be the only thing at that deserted intersection). The latter cuisine includes one of my favorite flavors, horseradish, so I wanted to try including it in the dressing for a smoked trout salad. I happened to have good green beans on hand from the farmer's market, and a couple Persian cucumbers that had to be used up. I knew whatever greens I'd use would have to contend with the strong flavors of the horseradish and smoked fish, so I picked up some peppery arugula.

For the whole grain contribution, I veered Scandanavian. My good friend Jon has spent much time in Sweden, and years ago introduced me to the the wonderful world of Wasa crackers. Miraculously, the chronically disappointing Los Feliz Albertson's actually carries them, and the light rye variety fit the bill just right. Dark rye toast would have also been nice.

I used parsley in the dressing and basil in the salad, mostly because they grow on my balcony. Basil's an odd choice, but it needed to be pruned, and it turned out pretty good. Dill would be great here.

Fresh, light, smokey, tangy, and with a little horseradishy heat. Totally satisfying summer dinner. Definitely one for the salad book.

Smoked Trout and Green Bean Salad with Horseradish Dressing

Dressing
1 tsp olive oil (Go for a mild one. I used a strongly-flavored kalamata olive oil that I usually love, but it overpowered the dressing.)
2 tsp yogurt (I used Greek-style 2% yogurt)
Minced parsley
1 baby kosher dill, minced
Salt and lots of fresh-ground pepper
1 tsp horseradish (or to taste)
Pickle juice (Fresh lemon juice would be nice here too, but lemons suck right now.)

Salad
Arugula
1 Persian cucumber, sliced
1 handful green beans -- stems removed, 1 inch slices
1 canned smoked trout filet from TJ's, oil drained off and broken into bite-sized pieces

Wasa crackers or dark rye toast

In your salad bowl, whisk together dressing ingredients until combined. Add salad ingredients; toss to combine and coat in dressing. Serve with Wasa crackers or toast.

Do you know your cooking style?

2011-09-06T09:15:00.000-07:00

Do you find your cooking settling into a personal style? Over time, I've noticed that in response to my personal taste, food experience, and general lifestyle details, I've come into a very specific style. I guess everyone's particular life details predicate their own.

arugula and chickpeas in mustard vinaigrette

Paltry cubicle lunches may require a big dinner, a work-at-homer might be able to grocery shop daily; a lactard spouse may mean no cheese for you, and cooking for kids changes the whole game. I'm a nine-to-sixer with the unusual (and amazing) office perk of an incredibly well-stocked commissary that feeds me free breakfast and lunch every day. As such, I'm tired and lazy when I come home (not to mention hungry and impatient), I don't go through a lot of produce at home, and, since lunch is by far my largest meal, I'm never in the mood for anything big or particularly meaty.

eggs over basil-stewed tomatoes

All this is coupled with a cooking sensibility that is part California sunshine, salads, and ethnic hodgepodge, part Middle Eastern emphasis on real foods and bold flavors, and a big part just tannaz-style minimalist deconstructionism. On top of that, a few sessions with our company's nutritionist (yes, I actually do work at the best place ever (well, top ten anyway)) taught me some things about balancing vegetables, protein, and whole grains in every meal, and I strive to fit that formula whenever I prepare food at home.

Greek-salad-style lentils

This has led to a million simple off-the-cuff dinners based on whatever was on hand, and you know, a lot of it comes out pretty good. My thought process as I taste these creations always takes the same path: first I think to myself, hey, this isn't half-bad. Maybe it should go on the blog! Then it's like, this is hardly a recipe; it's just a bunch of things I've thrown together. Besides, those cucumbers are looking a little haggard -- there is no way I'm posting a picture of that. Yet, I take a picture or two just in case, promptly forget the details of the recipe, and move on with my life as myriad orphaned dinner photos pile up on my laptop.

deconstructed puttanesca with artichoke hearts

But, for some reason, the same phrase always pops into my head: well, this is one for the salad book. There is no book, and often it's not even a salad I'm eating, maybe bread and cheese and some fruit, a simple soup, or a noodle or brown rice dish. But all these things feel kind of salady, and for whatever reason, that name has stuck.

tofu and yu choi over brown rice

I'm going to try to be better about posting these recipes, and the posts will always be labeled with 'saladbook'. I think it's worthwhile: for one, I think we're all trying to find quick ways to feed ourselves delicious, balanced meals made from real food. For another, I don't want to forget these recipes! And finally, I just like the fact that I have my own style, that my cooking, as simple as it is, says something about me. So, here are my cooking rules, some hazy guidelines that have developed organically in my kitchen:

red quinoa salad

- Measurements are approximate, and substitutions are welcome. This is about using what is in your kitchen (hopefully from your local area), and preparing it to your taste. I'm no authority on your kitchen, nor are you on mine. Exacting devotion to a recipe is eschewed, but recipes as inspiration and starting points are very much welcomed.

- Most dishes are vegetarian, or have small amounts of easy meat or seafood. I'm lazy about buying, thawing, cooking meat, and don't really need it.

- Whole grains and legumes are king. These things cover you for fiber and often, plant-based protein -- both pretty key. Quinoa cooks fast and has lots of protein. Lentils, soba and whole grain pastas are also awesome. Explore bulgur and whole wheat couscous. Nuts, in reasonable portions, are good for you in a million ways.

- The pantry is your friend. (Think capers, olives, spices, dried herbs.) So is the freezer (for chopped spinach, nuts, artichoke hearts, and tons more).

- Fresh herbs are both awesome and annoying. They are expensive, and for me, I use a small fraction of a bunch, and the rest turns to mud. Growing fresh herbs is the best idea ever. It will enhance your life in ways you can't imagine (e.g., chicks will dig you. It's true).

- Variety is not a priority. I can't have a bajillion different fruits and vegetables on hand. So, I buy a couple things, and combine them in creative ways over the course of a week.

- Be stingy about equipment. My apartment has a dishwasher, and her name is Tannaz. She's kinda lazy. I see no reason to make a dressing in one bowl, then toss it into a salad in a separate bowl. Mise-en-place in cute little ramekins? Will never happen.

- Bread is minimal, again, because it doesn't last. I mostly stick with whole-wheat pita, and whatever whole-grain crackery product I have on hand.

- Olive oil, lemon juice, salt, pepper: your best friends. Often that's all it takes. (Try it on roasted broccoli. Insane.)

- Balance deliciousness and health. You gotta enjoy it. Figure out what you are willing to give up or substitute (for one, I always choose Greek yogurt over sour cream), what you can sneak in (but, I will never choose weird lowfat cheese over the real thing -- I'll just use tinier portions of better-quality cheeses with stronger flavors). Not that it's a choice: Good in-season produce and lots of the other ingredients mentioned above, thoughtfully prepared and well seasoned, can be absolutely delicious and should be eaten with no guilt.

nothing like succotash: fresh corn, edamame, tomatoes and hearts of palm

So, those are my rules. That's weeknight cooking, Tannaz-style. I'll follow this up tomorrow with a recipe for Friday night's dinner: smoked trout and green bean salad with horseradish dressing. Sounds fancy, but it was easy, healthy, and totally satisfying. And I'm curious: what dictates your kitchen style? What cooking rules do you find yourself following?

Italian, by way of Iran, in Westwood: Cafe Glacé Persian Pizza

2011-08-30T00:19:00.000-07:00

Even though I've lived among Iranians all my life here in Los Angeles, my trip to Turkey made me think about my relationship to my culture in a whole host of new ways. Neighboring Iran, it's the closest I've ever been to my native country since I was a baby, and there were so many things that felt familiar, so many experiences that pulled me back to tiny moments from my childhood, which for the first time had context. Meanwhile, being around plenty of Iranians who were actually there from Iran, who didn't have have 'hyphen American' tacked on to their nationality, gave me a taste of how out-of-touch I am with Iran today. Then, two amazing conversations I had there in Persian, one with an Afghan who left his country for Turkey as a child, and one with a young Iranian guy who'd only been in Turkey a few months, had such a strong effect on me that I'm still trying to process exactly why, especially considering my own relationship with Iranian-Americans here at home has always been a little tenuous. All the while though, I wasn't in Iran, I was in Turkey, and as comfortable and familiar as it felt, there was the constant reminder that I was very much a foreigner in this land: Turkish is a language with which I'm completely unfamiliar.

Amid all this ruminating and cultural confusion, a trip to a restaurant in Westwood's 'Tehrangeles' quarter called Cafe Glacé -- a phrase that fills me with nostalgia -- that serves something called Persian pizza -- a concept I didn't know existed -- fits right in. I've waxed sentimental about Persian cuisine (all over this blog, for one thing) for ages. But what I know of it is what came with us to the United States over 30 years ago: the food cooked at home, the traditional dishes of rice, heady spices, tangy fruits, and grilled meats passed down from mother to daughter in humble family kitchens.

Friends, there is a major gap in my knowledge of Iranian cuisine. I'm behind the times. How could I possibly know about modern Iranian street food? Evidently, pizza places are a common occurence in cities like Tehran and especially Shiraz. And, like in the United States, pizza in Iran has taken on an identity of its own, a far cry from its Italian roots. (Side note: why does everyone appropriate -- and bastardize -- Italian food? I had "spaghetti" in Tokyo that was dressed with corn, octopus, cream sauce, and seaweed. All in one dish. Wha? Side note to side note: The fork-twirling skills of the clientele at said Tokyo spaghetti joint, accustomed to eating with chopsticks, put me to serious shame.)

The pizza I tried tonight had no sauce. It was personal-sized, on a thin but soft and substantial crust. The toppings, pretty much chosen for me, included chopped green peppers and tomatoes, thin slices of mushroom, and meat in the form of chopped kalbas and discs of saucise (baloney and hot dog, respectively), and were packed in to the very edges of the crust. All of this was topped with a layer of cheese, then browned fast and at high temperature, resulting in vegetables that stayed bright and just barely cooked under a puffy layer of crisp browned cheese. Evidently the Tehran cool kids squirt these guys generously with ketchup and ranch dressing -- bizarre to me, but I must admit, it works. Persian pizza is not the high cuisine of the shahs, but you know what? It's really satisfying.

What else are the cool kids in Iran eating these days? Well, if the menu at Cafe Glacé is any indication, they enjoy chips o paneer, potato chips topped with melted mozzarella cheese (and more ketchup and ranch, obvs); and carrot juice floats, two scoops of vanilla ice cream in a tall glass with carrot juice poured over. Freshly squeezed juices, along with a handful of French-bread sandwiches -- hot dog, salad olivieh (a mayonnaise-laden salad of chicken, potatoes, and pickles), and kotlet (fried patties of ground meat and potatoes) -- round out the list, along with the namesake dessert: a float of ice cream in a tall glass of milky iced coffee, walking the line between milkshake and affogato.

I really wanted to try the bizarro carrot juice and ice cream combo, but the heavy entrees left room only for tea and a shared zoulbia. We sipped and took in the scene all around us: tables of young Iranians -- some with veils, some with dreads -- collectively burning their tongues on sizzling-hot cheese and commenting cattily on the cosmetic surgery choices of every hot new JLo-esque Persian pop starlet crooning in highly produced music videos on the flatscreen behind the counter. As soon as I got into my car, I put on my favorite Persian pop, too. Shahram Shabpareh's Diyar, Persian pop circa 1980.

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Cafe Glacé is at 1441 Westwood Blvd., about 5 blocks south of Wilshire.
The Los Angeles Times writes about Cafe Glacé

Summer Vacation: Ceviche Tostada at Mariscos Sinaloa

2011-08-29T08:03:00.000-07:00

When I came back from Turkey, I still had a few glorious days of vacation to do whatever I want: namely, drive around and enjoy sunny Los Angeles, unfettered by the restrictions of a nine-to-five, getting home in time to fall into intense death-like slumber at weird hours of the day. One morning, I had an errand to run in Highland Park (OK, said errand was to take advantage of this vacation time to finally go to Galco's Soda Pop Stop, a fascinating little shop with a million different bottles of soda from around the world. I went to get this limited edition reissue (can a soda be reissued?) of an old Highland Park cream soda. It was good.), and quickly realized I needed lunch.

Yelp iPhone app to the rescue, I discovered amazing Mariscos Sinaloa. A reminder of how easy it is to find excellent, cheap Mexican food in this city if you just step out of the hipster vortex a little (and bring your Yelp app). Their shrimp ceviche tostada, at about $3.50, was so fresh and bright: a pretty giant mound of tangy shrimp, tomatoes, chopped onions and cilantro (I know. I used to hate it, too. It actually grew on me) piled on a crisp tostada. Perfect lunch on a sunny LA summer vacation day.

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Mariscos Sinaloa is at 5633 York Blvd. in Highland Park
Galco's is at 5702 York Blvd.