Late last year, Kasey at Turntable Kitchen approached me to create a couple of images to accompany a personal essay reflecting on music, food and dinner parties in the Turntable Kitchen household. It took me two seconds to say yes, and so it was that we found ourselves at their cozy apartment on a February evening breaking bread over a platter of cold cuts and cheese, before tucking into a fabulous Moroccan-inspired chickpea stew. All set against a backdrop of chilled out tunes curated by TTK’s resident DJ (hi Matt!). It was certainly one of the best ways to spend a stormy San Francisco evening. Here are my favorite images from the event and an excerpt of her piece a couple of photos down the page. Head over to their site for more words and Kasey’s full recipe – a delicious keeper for grey, chilly nights.

“There is no party or gathering in our home without a soundtrack. Carefully curated, and artfully executed. Early guests gravitate towards the red-lacquered turntable which plays the evening’s early tracks. A mood is created. An ambiance, of sorts.  As voices elevate and windows open to let in extra air into our second floor apartment, the music changes, too. We switch to digital and more bass. Music is never far from Matt’s mind, even when he is circling the room, I’ll see him pause and evaluate the status of his setup. He lights up when someone asks him what’s playing, or makes a request.

The convivial nature of our home, and what makes it a place where we create, share, feed and entertain our friends and family, is inherently tied to our two loves: food and music. And, to my surprise, cooking alone – without music – reiterates just how closely connected the two are for me, and how intertwined music is with cooking, and sharing, and creating a space where people want to connect and reflect.”

A few months ago, Spenser magazine approached me to photograph a story about the craft behind the tofu at Hodo Soy Beanery. Knowing nothing about the whole process, and always game for a new challenge, I jumped at the opportunity. Julie Wolfson and I spent a morning at the beanery before hopping across the bay to sample an array of tofu dishes at The Slanted Door. You can read the full story in the latest issue of the magazine (which also features work from fellow bloggers Rick and Asha) and, if you really really like it, purchase a printed copy for posterity!

After that visit, Minh invited me back for a stage at the beanery where I could really dig in and get a hands-on experience for the tofu and yuba (tofu skin)-making process. Despite being fully kitted out with state-of-the-art tofu-making equipment flown in from Taiwan, it is the human touch that does most of the work to create a slab of Hodo tofu. Machines steam the organic, non-GMO soybeans specially trucked in from the Midwest, crush it into a slurry to produce deliciously rich soymilk, some of which is bottled for consumption, and some reserved for yuba-making. The rest is transferred to another machine that adds filtered water and calcium sulfate (the coagulant), stirs it altogether and lets the mixture sit for a bit before piping it out into sturdy metal molds lined with cheesecloth. Now this is where it gets fun.

In order to get the right degree of firmness, you’ll need to drain the curds of most of its excess water before shaping it and sending it off to be pressed. Sounds easy enough, but for a novice like me, it was hard work (as it should be!). I got a good workout just an hour on the line lifting and draining those cheesecloths and prepping the molds to be set. I also discovered the true meaning of ‘artisan’, in that not every slab of tofu is going to be perfectly the same. My instructions for draining the curd, and for knowing when I was done, were all based on sight and touch, an expertise developed after many hours on the line, to know at a glance when a mold is ready to be pressed and when it still needs more hefting and draining.

Once ready, the molds are then pressed in the machine, which sets the tofu. The longer the press, the firmer the tofu will be, hence the importance of draining out as much liquid as possible before sending the curds to be pressed – excessively firm tofu is hardly any joy to eat, and while I’d also argue that firm tofu isn’t much of a joy either, I’ll save that story for another time.

The other highlight of the day was spending time in the zen corner of the beanery where fresh tofu skin is made. It’s a surreal landscape of soy protein, with laundry lines of supple, wrinkled soymilk skins hung out to dry in a field of steam. And it smells so good. I grew up with this aroma, where a glass of freshly made soymilk was a morning’s reward for accompanying my grandmother on her grocery trips to the market. It is an unforgettable fragrance, soft and mild yet silky rich, a tease for the senses heralding the pure bliss of having one whole mug of fresh soybean milk all for yourself. Gosh, I’ve just made myself homesick right there.

The yuba corner is another example of the artisan principle at work. Soymilk is kept warm at a constant temperature of about 145F (63C) and left to develop a ‘skin’ on its surface, ready to be harvested when it turns just the right shade of yellow and just the right distribution of wrinkles. Then, you work quickly and carefully with a paring knife to dislodge the skin from the edges, pinch a spot on either side of its longest edges and hang it over the rack to dry. Speed, balanced with skill is imperative here so that you harvest the skin in one piece and avoid burning your fingers in hot milk.

Minh sells these skins both fresh and prepared which you can toss into salads or stir-fries. Because it’s difficult to find fresh yuba skins (they’re very perishable), I love using them to recreate some favorites from home or from the dim sum table. They’re also good added to broths or pan-fried to a crisp for a healthy garnish.

At our first visit, Minh passionately shared his – and Hodo’s – mission in the world of tofu. “I want to educate the public about what good, really good, delicious tofu, tastes like. Tofu is more than just a health food. I want to show that it tastes good and that it’s versatile and you don’t need to be a vegetarian or a vegan to enjoy it.”

Spoken like a wise Tofu Master. And as a fan of tofu and its associated products, I couldn’t agree more. Tofu is more than just plant-based chunks of protein that you substitute for meat.

So. Are you itching to make your own tofu now?

You know you’re a foodie when you drive on a wet highway and all of a sudden you feel the car “microplaning”.

~Pim

I read this on Facebook last week while the Bay Area was soaked in much-needed rain, and it tickled me so much that I had to share it with M on our way to dinner. After politely letting me giggle it out, he looked at me pityingly and said, “Sorry honey, but that’s SO GEEKY.”

Ouch.

After recovering from the sting of the failed joke, I got to thinking about his remark and our attitudes towards geekiness in general. Why do we react sheepishly, even apologetically, when someone says that we’re a geek? Shouldn’t it be a compliment, a reflection of the work you’ve invested into something that you’re passionate about?

In the past few years I have slowly but surely entered the hallways of geekdom, as viewed through the lens of the 28-year-old self who arrived in California four Novembers ago. A look at my wishlist these days and you’d be convinced that it was curated by two different people – one, a photography and gadget junkie with a love for lens filters, toy cameras and RAID drives, and the other, a yoga-obsessed, Lululemon-wearing, Sanskrit-spouting, 32 year old. I’m in bed by 10, and wake at 6. I read long, “wordy” pieces in The New Yorker and The Rumpus and don’t have a television. I choose NPR over pop music when driving, and like nothing better than listening to Terry Gross or Ira Glass on long drives.

I have clearly become the convergence of geekiness as it relates to yoga, photography and writing, and I haven’t even talked about food yet. Waxing lyrical about kale, strawberries and cauliflower nowadays earns you a spot in the universe of other food-obsessed souls on Twitter, where one can rhapsodize about any and everything on one’s plate, 24/7.

With or without Twitter, you’d still catch me geeking out over fresh produce at the market every Sunday. And why not, when lush, bright red strawberries start appearing on market stands in March, alongside the most cherubic baby artichokes and asparagus stems at the pinnacle of flavor? Who wouldn’t feel the stirrings of excitement when the waves of spring green start flooding the market, a shock of the senses, after the subdued tones of winter? Now that Spring is well and truly upon us, I invite you to geek out with me, proudly, on all it has to offer, starting with this spread, bursting with the sweet essence of peas mingled with hints of mint. And tell me, what do you like to geek out about?

Pea Ricotta Spread

Serves 6-8 as an appetizer

Roasted garlic adds an earthy, aromatic kick to what would otherwise be a mild and sweet appetizer. You’ll need at least five cloves, so reserve the excess roasted cloves for other uses. If you’re a garlic-lover like me though, add the whole lot and enjoy. If you find that five cloves is still way too much, add more ricotta to mask the flavor. You can make this a day in advance and kept refigerated, allow to come to room temperature before serving.

Ingredients

• 1 medium head of garlic, about 2 ounces/ 50 grams
• 1 teaspoon olive oil
• 8 ounces/ 225 grams organic peas, fresh or frozen
• 5 cups water
• 2 tablespoons salt
• 4 ounces/ 100 grams fresh ricotta
• Juice of half a lemon
• 3 teaspoons olive oil, plus extra for drizzling
• 3-4 sprigs of fresh mint, leaves picked and torn

Directions

1. Preheat the oven to 425F/ 220C.
2. Drizzle the garlic with a teaspoon of olive oil, then wrap tightly in foil and roast for 30 minutes. When cool enough to handle, squeeze out the flesh of 5 to 6 cloves into the bowl of a food processor.
3. Prepare an ice bath. Combine the water and salt into a heavy pot and bring to a rolling boil, add the peas for 1 minute, remove, drain and immediately plunge the peas into the ice bath for about 5 minutes to stop the cooking process.
4. Measure out about 2 ounces (56 grams) of the peas into a separate bowl, then place the rest of the peas into the food processor, together with the cloves of roasted garlic.
5. Process the peas and garlic first, then add the ricotta, lemon juice and olive oil. Puree until you get a smooth paste of spreadable consistency. If your paste is too thick and clumpy, add more oil by the teaspoon until it’s smooth enough for your preference.
6. Taste and correct for salt and lemon juice, if needed. I find that a generous squeeze of lemon juice helps to really bring out the sweetness of the peas.
7. Before serving, stir in the rest of the peas, drizzle with olive oil and garnish with mint leaves. Serve at room temperature with a side of grilled bread.

Clockwise from top left: Dill seed biscuits, Curried Winter Squash soup, Roasted Cod with Orange and Fennel, Tomato-miso soup, Tuna Tabbouleh and Five-vegetable stiry-fry.

Goodness has it really been more than a month since my last post? Sorry about that, time really does fly when your schedule is packed with assignments, playdates and the joys (read: soul-sucking) tasks that come with running a business. Book-keeping anyone? I’m happy to pay you in cookies, donuts, or if you prefer, some Nutella?

That’s not to say that I haven’t been writing or photographing at all. On the contrary, many projects have been underway, lots of ideas are being shared, tested and executed, and I wanted to share some images from recent projects.

Food & Wine

Towards the end of last year, Food & Wine approached me (and a few other bloggers, as you will see), with a project to style and shoot a host of recipes for their site. It was a tremendous amount of fun, especially as this all had to be done before we left for our holidays. With a whole lot of food in store and only the two of us to finish them all, it was the perfect opportunity (and season!) to host a series of dinner parties with our friends to spread the love. In addition to the dishes listed above, we had some seriously delicious Turkey Burgers, comforting Roasted Vegetables with Fresh Herbs and light, sweet endings with Strawberry, Lemon and Vanilla Parfaits. The recipes were easy to make, 110 percent accurate and, most importantly, really really tasty.

Etsy

I don’t know if I’ve mentioned it before but I’m a regular contributor to the Etsy blog now, profiling local artisan and farmer stories for them twice a month. One of the more enjoyable profiles I did recently involved spending a morning at Berkeley’s The Local Butcher Shop where I had the immense privilege to chat with butcher Bill McCann. Unassuming, with an endless supply of “five minutes” to stop and chat, he’s been in the industry long enough to see it come full circle with the renaissance of butcher shops around the country. His biography is lengthier than most, peppered with his observations about the social and economic changes America underwent in the 60s and 70s, but absolutely worth a read.

This – along with a bunch of travel in late-2011 – partly explains the shortage of farmer stories you’re reading here; between Etsy and the hustle of freelance work, there isn’t much time left for scouting and blogging about lesser-known farmer stories, unfortunately. Still, this is something I plan to remedy in the coming months, particularly when blogging stories overlap with paid work.

Playdates

Ok, so this is hardly food-related, but who can resist including images of adorable little tykes?? A couple of friends organized a playdate between two sisters – LR (2.5 years old) and ZB (six months) – and A, a one-year-old visiting from Colorado, so I brought my camera along to see what I could capture of the afternoon. Apart from showing me how old I really am, I left with a renewed respect for those photographers who make a living out of family/child portraits. These kids have boundless energy, you’ve got to keep up and stay two steps ahead!

***

Be back soon with a Spring recipe – in the meantime, if you’re struggling with the switch to Daylight Saving (like I am), please share your tips and tricks for overcoming the nasty jolt to your circadian rhythms. It’s been three days and I still feel jet-lagged!

I thoroughly enjoyed Midnight In Paris. Apart from being set in Paris, of all places, I loved the script, the costumes and the plot, and how sentimentalism – a potentially heavy and tired subject – was treated in an entertaining way without being trivialized.

I thought I knew why I enjoyed it so, until a dinner at Magali et Martin in Lyon, when the staccato notes of gypsy jazz came piping through the speakers as I dug into what is possibly the best mashed potatoes I’ve ever had. Tapping my feet in time, M remarked, “That’s what Woody Allen used in the movie”.

The penny dropped. It dawned on me that the whimsical, syncopathic beats of this genre were the real reason why I count the film as one of my top favorites of 2011, for its ability, above all, to transport me to a different time and mood.

It didn’t take long before we became owners of this Django Reinhardt compilation, enjoying it on a quiet Christmas Eve with my in-laws, each of us bobbing our heads in time as we ate. It was a trip down memory lane for them, and thoroughly enjoyable for me in a chilled, low-key way.

In order to accurately stay with this month’s Let’s Lunch song-inspired theme, I suppose I should be sharing a recipe for mashed potatoes instead of this pear tart, but since I’m pretty sure that you’ve got your own arsenal of potato recipes to turn to, I thought I’d take things a step further and play on the “Frenchness” of Django’s pieces by sharing this tart recipe. Since returning home, I’ve found his short, melodic tunes are my best companion in the kitchen, inspiring me to dance while cooking, generating an optimism to face any challenge that the stove or the oven may have in store. After all, there’s no better guarantee of a delicious meal than a happy cook. Right?

Pear Frangipane Tart

Adapted from Kate Hill’s A Culinary Journey in Gascony and Tartine. Makes one 9-inch tart.

In place of pears you could use other firm fruit like apples or quince. The amounts listed here always give me slightly more than what’s needed for a 9-inch tart pan. I save the dough scraps and the remaining frangipane at the bottom of the mixing bowl to make a small (about 5-inch) rustic fruit galette later in the week. Perfect treat for one.

Tart Dough

• 7½ ounces/ 210 grams all-purpose flour
• ¼ teaspoon salt
• 4½ ounces/ 125 grams unsalted butter, cubed and chilled
• 1 large egg
• 6 tablespoons very cold water

Directions

1. In a medium bowl, stir together the flour and the salt.
2. Add the cubes of butter and work them into the flour, with your fingers or a pastry cutter. Break down the cubes until you get small lumps of butter (about the size of peas) scattered throughout the mixture.
3. Mix the egg with two tablespoons of water, then make a well in the middle of the butter-flour mixture and add the egg.
4. Using a fork, slowly mix to incorporate the wet and the dry ingredients, adding water a tablespoon at a time until the dough starts to gather into a ball.
5. Set aside as you prepare the filling, or keep it tightly wrapped in plastic and refrigerated until needed. I’ve kept this dough for up to a week and it’s turned out fine.

Filling

• 5 ounces/ 150 grams unsalted butter, at room temperature
• 5 ounces/ 150 grams granulated sugar
• 5 ounces/ 150 grams almond meal
• 2 large eggs
• 3 teaspoons white rum or poire william
• ½ pound/ 225 grams Bartlett or Bosc pears, skinned, cored and thinly sliced

Directions

1. In the bowl of a stand mixer, beat the butter on medium speed until light and creamy.
2. Add the sugar and mix to combine. Add the almond meal, mix, then add the rum and the eggs, one at a time. Increase the speed to high and mix until light and fluffy, about a minute. Set aside until ready to use.
3. When you’re ready to bake the tart, preheat the oven to 425F/220C.
4. On a lightly floured surface, roll out the tart dough, adding just enough flour to prevent the dough from sticking to the rolling pin or the surface.
5. Roll out the dough until it’s a couple of inches larger than your pan, then carefully transfer it to the tart mold, gently pressing it into the bottom of the mold and against the sides. Pass your rolling pin over the top of the pan to cut away any dough overhang. Reserve the scraps for a small galette or bake it alongside the tart.
6. Using an offset spatula or the back of a spoon, spread the frangipane in an even layer over the base of the tart. You’ll want to use about three-quarters of the frangipane for this – any more and you risk it bubbling over in the oven.
7. Assemble the prepared pear slices on top in a concentric circle, and bake the tart, on a lined baking sheet, for 30 to 40 minutes. The tart is ready when the top achieves a consistent brown – as everyone’s oven is different, I’d recommend keeping an eye on the tart from the 30 minute mark onwards to avoid getting it too dark for your liking.
8. Leave the tart to cool to room temperature before slicing and serving.

This recipe is part of this month’s Let’s Lunch theme of music-inspired dishes. Before you go, check out my fellow lunchers’ posts below. And if you’d like to join us, go to Twitter and post a message with the hashtag #Letslunch, or post a comment below.

Ellise’s Tiger Cakes at Cowgirl Chef

Pat’s Purple Rice Pudding at The Asian Grandmother’s Cookbook

Lisa’s Honey Mac Wafers with Coconut at Monday Morning Cooking Club

Felicia’s Tommy’s Chili at Burnt-out Baker

Rashda’s Banana Bread at Hot Curries and Cold Beer

Cathy’s Chicken and Dumplings at ShowFood Chef

Patrick’s Quiet munchies at Patrick G. Lee

Steff’s Coconut Cake at The Kitchen Trials

Linda’s Cuban Black Beans at Spicebox Travels

Linda’s Gluten-free Thin Mints at Free Range Cookies

Another side effect of E.W.S. this time around too, is a stronger inclination towards saying less and doing more. Part of that came from a compulsive motivation to sort through mounds of paperwork ahead of tax season (oh joy!), egged on by the prose of Stephen Pressfield’s books, a call to action so compelling it would rouse even a sloth from its perch.

But this desire for silence, I have come to realize, was a product of our vacation as well. Stepping out of the Silicon Valley bubble to a place where people don’t check their phones every two minutes starts to have an effect on you after a while. It was strange, at dinner, to leave my iPhone out of sight (quelle horreur!!) and resist the urge to scratch that “itch” of pressing the home button every five minutes. It was a powerful lesson in being present, of lingering over a meal and taking one’s time. We’ve brought that practice home, and, five and a half weeks into 2012, I’m happy to say that the majority of our meals have been iPhone-free. And we plan to keep it that way.

All this is a rather roundabout way of reconnecting on the blog and an excuse for me to share some of the photos from the trip. Thanks to the iPhone’s excellent camera and apps like Instagram, the Nikon got a lot less attention than it deserved. I’m thinking twice now, about lugging it around on our trips, because, as I hope these photos show, these smartphone cameras do the job pretty well. In tandem with photo-sharing apps like Instagram, I’ve found that the iPhone has actually helped me become a better photographer (Penny sums it up perfectly in this post).

Bref, I won’t keep you from the photos any longer. Enjoy them and I’ll be back soon enough with a recipe. Promise!

Snowfall Asymmetry, Gordes A cook's tools Power, en route to Aix en Provence 24, L'isle Sur la Sorgue, France Market day, Apt, France Paella, Apt, France Ancient window, Gordes After dinner, Le Carton Rouge, Aix en Provence Weathered, L'isle Sur la Sorgue, France Cassis, the Mediterranean Sea Artist at work, Avignon, France Winter's fingers, Rouffach, France Lyon Busy chef, Magali et Martin, Lyon Window, Habsheim, France Anywhere but here, Niolon, France

And so it begins. Planning gifts and holiday cards. Ending farewells with “See you next year!”. Emptying the fridge, freezing whatever can be frozen, giving away everything else that can’t. Shelving 2011′s planner, putting up the 2012 calendar. Closing bank accounts, paying bills, putting the mail on hold, sacrificing sleep to finish projects, whatever the cost. A hectic rush to the finish line where the (cramped) space of an airplane seat awaits, free of the shackles of the Internet.

We leave in four hours for our vacation in France, and while I’m really excited, the full prospect of the journey hasn’t had the time to sink in. That’s partly because I’m still sitting here, blogging, trying to delay the inevitable task of packing that awaits. Ah, packing. It’s a good thing that M’s a wonder packer. Can you imagine how horrifying trips would be if I had married someone who was as inept at packing a suitcase as I am?

I shudder at the thought.

So this salad. It’s easy and nutritious to boot. I started experimenting with different grains this year in an attempt to wean ourselves off an over-reliance on dried pasta for weeknight meals. Thanks to some excellent vegetarian cookbooks out there, it was easy to start incorporating a bit of quinoa, farro or cous cous in vegetable dishes for a delicious one-pan meal. Discovering these grains opened up a new universe of quick meals, and while we’re still reaching for the Barilla pack every so often, it’s a lot less frequent compared to our pre-quinoa period.

This salad is a derivation of the kale stuffing from last year’s Thanksgiving dinner. Apart from being a reliable accompaniment to beef or lamb, it’s also well-suited to be tossed with your favorite grain for a quick lunch. In this holiday season where it’s easy to forget why it is that we’re braving relentless crowds or baking up a storm for Christmas gifts, this salad will give you pause to breathe, recharge and empower you to go back out there and tackle the holidays head on.

Kale, Cranberry and Quinoa Salad

Inspired by Dorie Greenspan’s Chard Stuffing recipe/ Serves 2 generously

This recipe features kale, but you could easily substitute any leafy winter green, like swiss chard for instance. Add a fried egg to dress things up, or, for your holiday feasts, leave out the grains and serve the kale to accompany your roasts.

Ingredients

• 2 cups water
• 1 cup quinoa, rinsed and drained
• 2 ounces/ 56 grams pine nuts
• 1/2 pound/ 260 grams kale
• 2 tablespoons olive oil
• 1 medium shallot (about 2 ounces/50 grams) peeled and thinly sliced
• 3 ounces/ 85 grams dried cranberries
• 1 teaspoon chili flakes (optional)
• 1 teaspoon salt

Directions

1. Combine quinoa and water in a medium saucepan and cook over medium heat until all the water is absorbed, about 15 minutes. Stir the mixture about 10 minutes into cooking to prevent the quinoa from sticking to the bottom of the pot. Set aside.
2. In an oven heated to 300F/ 150C, toast the pine nuts until golden, about 5-7 minutes. Remove from the oven and let cool.
3. Remove the stems of the kale, then stack the leaves and thinly slice. Finely chop the stems as well.
4. Heat the olive oil in a large skillet over moderate heat. Add the onions and cook until translucent, about 2 minutes. Add the kale and the cranberries, stir, then leave to cook, covered, for about 5 minutes.
5. Add the pine nuts, chili flakes (if using) and salt, stir and leave to cook again, covered, for another 5 minutes. If the kale starts to stick to the pan, add some water, a tablespoon at a time. You want just enough moisture to create steam in the skillet, but not too much to give you a sauce.
6. Toss the kale mixture and quinoa in a medium bowl and serve immediately, or at room temperature.

Somewhere over New Mexico

Hello.

I hope you had a wonderful start to your holiday season

and,

I hope as well, that you don’t mind the gaping silence since the last post.

Morning light, Hyde Park, Austin

Truth is, the trip to Austin exceeded expectations in every way, and then some. Here I am, three weeks later, still decompressing and working through all the ideas, inspiration, anxieties, hopes, dreams and fears that came up during the week. It was intense, exhausting and powerful, and these words that I’m conjuring do little justice to express the depth of the experience.

As my silence showed, we didn’t have alot of time to post scenic “postcards from the road”. Every ounce of energy went into talking, doing, living and breathing all things photography, from ‘boring’ stuff like photo archiving and backup options to getting awestruck at a presentation of George Krause‘s work. The week was billed as a “spiritual and creative tune-up”, but oh, it was more than that. So much more. PhotoMuse was my coming out party – as a creative person. I came home realizing that I no longer wanted to be ‘theoretically creative’, to paraphrase Hal Fields in Beginners, that it’s time to stop living in my mental space of “If onlys” and start living in the world of “Whys, Hows and Why Nots”.

The "Penny Sandwich": Ed Zwadzki, Penny De Los Santos and Denise Woodward

When you spend an entire week within an ecosystem of creativity that pushes you beyond your limits, and in the process, understand yourself a little better, growth happens. Midway through the week, I realized that I had become more sensitive to the world around me. I started to slow down as I began to really *see* my environment, and to take my time with making pictures. I even started to say “make a photo” instead of “take a photo”. I finally understood, what it means when a photographer says “it’s about seeing”. Because what she really means, is that photography is about paying attention – to your subject, your environment, and to yourself, the photographer, to what disturbs and confronts you and piques your curiosity and fuels you. It takes training and constant, dedicated practice, but it’s a practice that’s not only about mastering the latest gear or software, it’s a practice that trains your eye and heart to be more sensitive, that trains you to open up and be more receptive to what the world has to offer, and to be patient while the process happens. It trains you to learn to tune in to yourself, to be comfortable when you’re uncomfortable, and to transcend that. Photography, is, ultimately, about the craft of getting in touch with yourself, your vision and what you have to say.

Sisters: Winifred Simon and Janet Sanders

No reflection on PhotoMuse would be complete without mentioning the talented group of people I had the fortune to meet. I realize that this starts to gild the lily of effusiveness in an already dramatic and gushing post, but believe me when I say that the words ‘talented’ and ‘generous’ barely touch the surface. In just five days, they showed me what a powerful photograph looks like, and what it means to be a part of a community, in a real and honest way. Considering my historical aversion to the ‘C’ word, its use in this context is no small thing. I saw it at work in Oregon, and I saw it at work here too, only this time I got to be a part of it, from beginning to end. And it continues, even today. The relationships forged over that week were seeds in fertile soil – for us as a group and as individuals – the best gift I received out of that week were the friends I made as well as the gift of seeing.

When Thanksgiving rolled around last week I thought about how far things have come in just one year, and how immensely grateful I am for all of it. Last year, I was celebrating the gift of being alive, and while its still relevant, I can’t deny that the biggest gift of 2011 has been the gift of community, whether it’s here, Etsy, Twitter, Instagram or on Facebook.

I’ll be back in the next couple of days with a light and easy recipe that will fuel you through the madness of holiday shopping and baking. Till then, have fun browsing through a slideshow of our work from the week, and a wider selection of images on my site. My project was to document the lives and stories of a local band, and photographing them in their sleep counts as the most outrageous thing I’ve ever done. So far.

Gathering, PhotoMuse 2011

After a rather calm and easy-going Summer, the last quarter of 2011 is turning out to be a rather hectic one, as I find myself hustling to wrap up the year before the holidays arrive. Fall has, so far, been full of trips, projects, new clients and challenges, all of which I love and thrive on, but which have also taken me away from blogging as frequently as I would have liked. I hope to make it up to you as best as I can in the coming weeks. I’m off to Austin on Sunday to spend a week immersed in photography with Penny, Scott and Lynn, and while there’s not likely to be many recipes coming out of that, I do plan on sharing a couple of snippets and images through the week, schedule-permitting. It’s going to be intense and fun, and my first time in Austin. I can’t wait.

Also, I’d like to take the chance to thank Saveur for featuring this blog as one of their “Sites We Love” profiles, as well as the UK’s Fork Magazine for including me in their blog round-up for their Christmas issue. If you’re here because of these recommendations, welcome, and I hope you stay a while!

The weather has turned, overnight, and it feels like we’re well and truly in winter. I’m sitting here with a fleece sweater, woollen socks and a warm cup of chai, resisting the temptation to turn the heater on. It’ll be fun to see how long that resolution lasts. I excitedly dusted off my leather boots for the first time last night, to welcome the first chilly rains of the season, and also in honor of our fourth wedding anniversary. Some folks may view the rain as dampener on festivities, but not for me. I’m excited about the changing seasons. As beautiful as Summer was, with her long, warm days, there’s something to be said for the comfort of Fall and Winter, with their earlier sunsets, woollen scarves, and the intimacy of gathering around the fireplace. In particular, I’m giddy with happiness that its brussels sprouts season again, and to be able to have the oven on without turning the whole apartment into a sauna. I’m relishing the introspection that shorter days bring, to reassess my priorities, and then hunker down and finish all the things that need to be done before sending off 2011. It’s a time for gathering around cosy dinner parties that stretch into the night, for sharing and reconnecting with those dear to us. It’s a time of comfort, and nothing says comfort better than a bowl of soup on a cold day. Doesn’t it?

Pumpkin Soup & Buttered Chanterelles

Serves 6, as an appetizer

This soup is the product of efforts to incorporate more pumpkin into our diet, as its a vegetable that’s still pretty foreign to me. Apart from roasting it and turning it into sweet desserts (which haven’t appealed to me…yet), soup’s the most accessible and convenient form factor for feeding (and comforting) us over a few meals. The Chanterelles were a flash of inspiration one evening, as I thought about potential toppings that weren’t nuts or croutons. We happened to have a host of them in our fridge, so I tossed them with some salted butter and sprigs of thyme in a pan, and the rest, as they say, is history. The chunks of Chanterelle add a soft, meaty texture to this creamy, luscious soup. I think it’s time for me to make another pot.

Ingredients

• 2 tablespoons olive oil
• 1 medium red onion (3 to 5 ounces), peeled and diced
• 1 large leek (14 ounces/ 400 grams), trimmed and roughly chopped
• A bunch of carrots (about 14 ounces/ 400 grams), trimmed and roughly chopped
• 1 medium pumpkin (about 2 pounds/1 kilogram), peeled, deseeded and chopped into cubes
• 4 cups vegetable stock
• 1 cup whipping cream
• 1 teaspoon chili flakes
• 3 tablespoons/ 43 grams salted butter, softened
• 6 ounces/ 170 grams fresh Chanterelle mushrooms, cleaned and cut into 1/2-inch chunks
• 4 sprigs of thyme, leaves picked

Directions

1. Over medium heat, combine the oil and onions in a deep pot and sweat, about 3 minutes.
2. Add carrots and leek and stir, until translucent, about 5-7 minutes. Turn the heat to medium high, add the pumpkin and stock. Bring the pot to a simmer, then turn the heat to low and slowly simmer with the pot partially covered until the vegetables are tender, about 30 minutes.
3. While the soup is simmering, prepare the Chanterelles. In a small saucepan, melt the butter over medium high heat. When it starts to foam, add the mushrooms and thyme leaves, stirring quickly to mix, for about 5 minutes, until fragrant and tender. Set aside and keep warm until ready to serve.
4. Bring the soup back to medium high heat. Add the cream and chili flakes and bring to a boil, about 3 minutes, then take the pot off the heat and blend the soup using a regular blender or an immersion blender, carefully protecting yourself from splatters. If the soup’s too thick for your liking, add a few tablespoons of hot water until you get your desired consistency.
5. Season to taste and portion into individual bowls topped with a scoop of Chanterelles. Serve with warm bread or your favorite green salad.

Halloween’s not really my thing. I don’t do the whole dress-up thing very well, partly because I get really self-conscious about it. But this year, I think I may have found an activity that really gets me in the mood for this not-quite-a-holiday annual event: PUMPKIN CARVING!

A few weekends ago we decided to check out a local pumpkin patch to see what it was all about, for a lark. We trundled home with a hefty and auspiciously orange fruit which we promptly transformed into Ernie. Unfortunately, he didn’t last very long before developing a white fluffy inside and had to be thrown out. So we got another one to carve, which we christened Harry (above). But we still had a bunch of images from our short time with Ernie, so I thought it’d be fun to do a visual essay of sorts. Presenting: From Pumpkin to Ernie, With Love.

Happy Halloween!