memorable morsels

omelette

noreply@blogger.com (Memorable Morsels) — Sun, 07 Sep 2014 23:44:00 +0000

There's a story in Iran about a poor man who claimed he had eaten squab and someone asked him if that's why he had the squab's white poop in his beard. The poor man had been too proud to admit he could only afford to eat yogurt for dinner instead.

While most Iranians eat heavy dinners, I suspect we were in the minority when I was growing up with health-conscious parents. Late lunches were our big meal of the day with a fancy meat stew my mother would start cooking following breakfast until we got home from school. Dinner on the other hand was a poor-man's meal: either bread and feta cheese with tomatoes, cucumbers, and walnuts, or we would dip bread in a yogurt, cucumber, and dried mint mix. On nights that we were on the hungrier side, we had an "omelette". Except the omelette was not prepared like the traditional ones we know in the States.

There were two methods for preparing the omelette stovetop: either with the eggs whole or scrambled. What both methods had in common was the same simple ingredients: tomatoes, eggs, salt, pepper, and oil. After heating oil in the pan, you would saute the diced tomatoes with salt and pepper on medium heat. When the tomatoes were heated and had released their juices, you would add the eggs one at a time into the tomato juices in the pan. If you chose the scrambled method, as we did in our family, at this point you would loosely break up the eggs and stir with the tomatoes. Or leave the eggs whole and let them cook until the desired consistency. Serve with a side of flatbread that can be used to wipe all the delicious last bits off the plate.

When I was 8 years old and had a sleepover at my cousin's house, omelette with whole eggs was served for dinner on a tablecloth spread out on the floor over a Persian carpet. It was a dry hot summer night and the noise of cars on the street from the open windows in their apartment particularly stood out in contrast to our quiet uptown neighborhood. I had always seen my uncle's family eat heartier dinners than us so when I returned home the next day, my mother had to explain that perhaps they couldn't afford meat unless they had formal company. My casual visit let them treat me like their own family. Her explanation of the simple meal made sense to me since we ate at a dining table and slept on beds in our individual rooms at home but my uncle's family of four slept on the floor in the only bedroom of their small apartment. They did not have any furniture in their place.

It was then that I started noticing not everyone can afford everything they need or want. We lived modest middle-class lives but I now remember stories from my parents about how much they do not like the Persian lentil-rice dish I so loved. The first few years of their marriage, when my Dad was starting out as a high school teacher and my Mom who had dropped out of school at 16 to get married to a stranger and within three years give birth to my older siblings by 12 and 10 years respectively, they could not afford meat either. The way they fed their young family of four was through affordable and protein-rich dishes like lentil-rice. But these were stories I would hear later in my life. My parents had worked hard and by the time I was 8, my father retired from teaching to follow his passion in exporting Persian carpets. By that time we could afford meat on a regular basis in our family.

I left Iran when I was 16 and with it, I left behind everyone but my immediate family. What I took with me were wonderful memories of time with my relatives. My cousin who was one of my close friends growing up died at a young age in a tragic accident with her husband and toddler son I never met. Years later my uncle passed away peacefully in his sleep. To this day, whether I have meat to cook to not, I still make a hearty tomato omelette on a regular basis and remember that hot summer night in Tehran with all its noise and richness of love I felt from my relatives. The taste brings back a memory I can never afford to lose and warms my heart as I think back to that night I spent with them.

Normally I would provide a recipe but given the dish's simplicity, I recommend you try your hand at it. There is no right or wrong proportion to any of the ingredients since you can make it to taste. Come up with your own personal recipe and create a memory to go with it. Bon appetit or as we say in Iran, "noosh-e-jan" which literally means "may your soul be nourished"!

parisian pleasures

noreply@blogger.com (Memorable Morsels) — Sun, 14 Oct 2012 20:40:00 +0000

As I'm sitting on the train in Paris behind a poet who is writing about a love lost, I can't help but peek between the seats in front of me. His words remind me of one of my favorite dark poems by Verlaine, a 19^th century symbolist poet.

During our recent trip, I spent Sunday like most Parisians do, at the Jardin du Luxembourg, putting my feet up in the sun and people watching. My favorite corner away from the senate building and the marble statues of former queens, is on the quiet side by the statue of Verlaine. He struggled to get to know himself, much like I did and speaks beautifully of that exploratory journey of self-realization, including its darkest melancholic moments in this poem:

“Il pleure dans mon coeur

Comme il pleut sur la ville;

Quelle est cette langueur

Qui pénètre mon coeur ?

Ô bruit doux de la pluie

Par terre et sur les toits !

Pour un coeur qui s'ennuie,

Ô le chant de la pluie !

Il pleure sans raison

Dans ce coeur qui s'écoeure.

Quoi ! nulle trahison ?...

Ce deuil est sans raison.

C'est bien la pire peine

De ne savoir pourquoi

Sans amour et sans haine

Mon coeur a tant de peine!”

It weeps in my heart

like it rains on the town.

What is this languor

that penetrates my heart?

Oh the soft sound of the rain

on the ground and on the roofs!

For a heart in pain

oh the song of the rain!

It weeps without reason

in this disheartened heart.

What! No betrayal?

This grief has no cause.

And nothing is worse pain

than not knowing why,

without love or hatred,

my heart has so much pain.

Our visit to the jardin last Sunday was neither painful nor rainy. The sun inspired us to stop at the marché bio (organic farmer's market) on blvd. Raspail and pick up some cheese and fruit to head to the park. Sadly we had forgotten to get wine and the shops were not open. Quelle horreur! So we made the most of it and gleefully spread out the baguette, artisanal foie gras, Brie de Meaux, Crottin d'affiné, Tomme de Brebis, and Roquefort cheeses next to the gorgeous sweet small fraises (strawberries) and fragrant myrtilles (blueberries). The charentais melon looked beautiful but would have to wait until after the impomptu picnic when we would have a knife. It didn't take long before we were greeted by the park police with “la pelouse est interdite”.

I have to admit while I had not forgotten the incident with the same message years ago when my sister and nephews sat on the lawn with me, I feigned innocence and quickly apologized before taking to our chairs near the Verlaine statue for the rest of the picnic. In the southern most corner of the park, there is permission to use one long patch of lawn. The rest, including the large circle around Verlaine’s statue, is forbidden. I might have to make the same “mistake” again next time I visit the park but won't forget the wine to go with the picnic!

My weekend in Paris always has a juxtaposition of simple pleasures one day followed by decadently rich culinary meals the next. Steps away from our rented apartment on rue du Dragon in Saint-Germain-de-Prés, opposite the direction of touristy hot spots of Café Floré and Aux Deux Magots, where the literary greats and poets used to hang out and drink the infamous green halucinatory absinthe, is my favorite last stop in Paris. In a little square with no corners called La Place Recamier, Chef Gerard Idoux makes the most decadent fluffy soufflés at La Cigale Recamier. Some favorite savory (salés) and sweet (sucrés) dishes include:

- Soufflé farine de blé noir et champignons des bois (buckwheat with wild mushrooms)
- Soufflé foie gras figues (foie gras with figs)
- Soufflé chèvre au thym (goat cheese and thyme)
- Soufflé fromage (cheese)
- Soufflé aux figues fraiches (fresh figues)
- Soufflé caramel à la fleur de sel (caramel with salt)
- Soufflé Grand Marnier [Note: A bottle of Grand Marnier is served alongside this delicate flavored soufflé sucré. Don't try to take the cork out of the bottle... the cork has holes like a fine salt shaker for drizzling just the right amount without flooding the dessert.]

Suffice it to say the salade verte served with the soufflé is obligatory. On many other occasions I've had the caviar d'aubergine with the dorade or agneau dishes and you can tell that the soufflés are only one of the specialties that draw older local regulars such as politicians to the restaurant. Order from the regular menu or the daily specials on the blackboard presented tableside and you can’t go wrong with any of your choices. Recamier has a chef who knows how to prepare great food without pretense.

Suddenly as I take a spoonful of the delicate soufflé on this rainy final eve in Paris, I find myself forgetting Verlaine's heartfelt pain and hear songs of joy inside my head with every melting bite. The only weeping in my heart is from the thought that I need to wait until my next trip to savor these flavors again.

an ode to foie

noreply@blogger.com (Memorable Morsels) — Mon, 07 May 2012 02:21:00 +0000

Foie gras has yet to be banned in California. That means as of today it's not. And it also means chefs are preparing more dishes with it to make a statement. Many chefs are willing to stand up for what they believe. And so are the people supporting them.

Yesterday I woke up to a facebook post by my favorite ice cream shop about their fresh batch of foie gras ice cream sandwiches. I had a busy day and by the time I got around to thinking about going, a new post about chocolate covered ice cream pies came out, leading me to think they had ran out. When I called the phone rang and rang and no-one answered but that only made me think they were swamped by foie-hungry customers. I made a mad dash to the store, all along thinking most likely I could come home empty handed. The two girls in line in front of me took their time tasting practically every flavor before buying one scoop to share. I was trying to be patient so I kept on a smile but could tell my weight was shifting from leg to leg which meant the guy behind the counter could see my shoulders shift. Smile, I told myself. Worse comes to worse just buy a pint of another favorite flavor, like chocolate sea salt. But that wasn't consoling enough. No other flavor would have the same meaning.

Before he had finished serving the two girls, the guy nods at me with a "How are you doing?" comment. Perhaps it was his way of saying that he's been watching my shoulder shifting and I should be more patient. I smiled again and said, "Do you have any of those sandwiches you posted on FB about?" I had to be careful what I say for several reasons. Fearing the girls could overhear me and buy the last ice cream sandwich before I could get to it would make me feel stupid to let them in on the secret. Saying the word foie gras could raise many ears. I felt safe about the people behind me. After all, it was my turn after the girls would leave and I had first dibs in whatever I could buy. But those words that bring so much instant pleasure to my mind are to be used carefully in public these days.

When I hear the word foie gras there are so many memories imprinted in my taste buds that come up. There's the foie gras soufflés I eat in Paris every time, melting in my mouth. Then I think of the salade gourmandise with a huge piece of foie gras on top of the haricots verts. How about the Tournedos Rossini we made a few years ago with the perfectly seared filet mignon placed on top of a grilled buttery brioche, topped with truffles, foie gras, and bordelaise sauce? Many trips to Paris farmers markets and even stops in Pays Landais at a corner butcher store to pick up jars of the delectable creamy mad tasting liver, cross my mind as I go through my memories. Yes, the rich creamy delicate flavor of pure delicious goose liver, drives me mad. The one preparation that stands out the most is the perfectly seared piece served at a tapas bar in San Sebastian where they simply refer to foie gras as "foie".

But I'm not in Spain nor France right now and I've read about protests outside places in California serving foie gras. Last month a special multi-course foie gras dinner I attended was only announced to regular customers through Facebook and the door read "restaurant closed for private event tonight." So I say the words "those sandwiches" as a code between me and the guy at the ice cream shop to let him know that I am in the know about the proper protocol. His busy face changed to one with a mischievous wide grin of kinship and he matched my smile, "Yes, we do." Finally, I could truly be patient. The anxiety of not knowing whether I would return home empty handed was over. When the girls were done he asked how many I wanted and his face quickly shifted to a frown when I said "Six." Oh no, I thought! I was too greedy. I should have only asked for two. He's thinking I should be fair to all the people calling in and asking him to put some aside for them which he can't. I should just take what I need. How do I tell him about my need to have as much foie gras ice cream sandwiches as possible? Do I start by telling him about how my love affair with foie started one gras at a time? Do I beg? Do I demand? Or do I just take what he gives me and learn to be content, although just like my lack of patience, I knew contentment was another virtue I lacked.

I should have been patient because the frown followed with "Let me check the freezer. We might not have that many left." He quickly came back with "I only have five" to which I said, "I'll take them please." Phew! One short of the six sandwiches I needed but I now held what I had been craving. It was a bittersweet victory as I drove home all along feeling guilty that I deprived another person in my shoes from tasting any. But it was more sweet that anything else when I took my first bite of the ice cream nestled in its gingery cookie. I could taste all my previous memorable experiences in one bite.

Bravo to foie gras ice cream. Hopefully this will not be the dernière fois that chefs and artisans make their best foie.

my meyer

noreply@blogger.com (Memorable Morsels) — Sat, 11 Dec 2010 20:44:00 +0000

When we moved into our house a couple of years ago, all the trees and hedges in the backyard were trimmed to a perfect round shape. One small round tree with dark shiny leaves caught my eye. Weeding the flower bed underneath, I saw perfectly ripe lemons hanging down on the inside of the dome shape. It was a secret tree with my favorite fruit: meyer lemons. This was in fact the quintessential California house, complete with the meyer lemon tree.

I have always been fascinated by the tangy acidic flavor of limes and lemons. Some dishes outright call for limes and for that I use the small Mexican limes. They resemble most in flavor the limes I grew up with in Iran called Limoo Amani. One notable difference is that in Iran we consume those limes dry. A big ditch is created around the base of the tree and soon after the lime takes the right shape and color, the ditch is filled with water. The plant is not watered again until all the limes on the tree are dried out, or so legend has it. The resulting flavor is concentrated earthy musky sour with a hint of sweetness. The dried limes, crushed or whole pierced with a knife, are put in hearty lamb stews so the acidity can balance out the richness of the dish and help tenderize the meat.

Compared to the tiny green limes, lemons taste somewhat sweet to me. I can eat a lemon just like an orange although the funny faces I make are notably different. Make it a meyer lemon and the floral sweetness is further enhanced. My first taste of a meyer lemon was in the 90's at Chez Panisse Cafe. Lucky me for having tasted it first at such an institution that believes in letting the fresh natural flavor of ingredients shine. The little gem salad with the light fresh crispy leaves was served with a meyer lemon vinaigrette.

Almost three years after moving to our house, the yard has a more organic look and the trees and hedges look more natural. We still trim the Camellia tree to somewhat of an oval shape but the lemon tree boasts the fruit they're bearing proudly in whatever direction the branches want to go. The fruit is plentiful and my meyer lemons are as ripe as can be. I'll pick a bunch of them to make preserved lemons that I can use in a tagine. And the limoncello is always on hand in the freezer. The rest I've been using regularly in my salads. Adding the meyer lemon zest to a salad after tossing it with a vinaigrette gives it a flavor which reminds me of what I experienced at Chez Panisse over a decade ago.

Little Gem Salad with Meyer Lemon Vinaigrette

ingredients:

Sweet batard bread loaf

2 Tablespoons olive oil for croutons

Little Gem lettuces

One meyer lemon, preferably from your own backyard

1 teaspoon Dijon mustard

1/4 cup extra virgin olive oil for dressing

Parmesan cheese (whole piece)

Black pepper

method:

Cut bread into even-sized small crouton pieces, spread on baking sheet, lightly drizzle with olive oil, and bake at 400 degrees for 10-15 minutes until crunchy. Watch it carefully as crouton sizes and oven temperatures can vary.

In a bowl, juice the meyer lemon using a lemon juicer and mix with the dijon. Slowly drizzle in the olive oil while whisking. Whisk until the dressing has emulsified.

Gently toss the little gem lettuces and plate them. Top with croutons.

Using a microplane zester top the salad with meyer lemon zest and parmesan cheese. Lightly grind pepper on top.

Note: Store the leftover croutons in an airtight container and the dressing in a jar for future salads.

suggestions:

The secret to making a good vinaigrette in one word is to "emulsify". Adding Dijon mustard to the lemon then whisking in the oil results in a creamy texture as the oil emulsifies the dressing. In France, a simple green salad (la salade verte) is tossed with the dressing and is always served after dinner. Tossing a salad is called "fatiguer la salade" as in fat-ea-geh, which literally translates to tiring the salad. But such tossing should be done lightly so as not to bruise the leaves. You may never get tired of this simple refreshing salad.

birthdays and anniversaries

noreply@blogger.com (Memorable Morsels) — Thu, 01 Jul 2010 05:41:00 +0000

Today is memorable morsels’ first birthday. It’s the anniversary of my first blog post. It’s a one year milestone of my decision to share my stories, adventures, and food memories.

We tend to like extremes and superlatives: the most, the longest, the best. I do too. Yet at times what is important to me are the small things that appear insignificant to others. A smile from a stranger on a sad day, a thank you from a child, the sound of silence in nature, or the taste and texture of a fresh ripe piece of fruit at its peak. I savor a bite, letting the myriad of flavors hit all the right spots in my mouth and create a memory in my cells. These delightful morsels are memorable and the experiences that go with them make them even more so.

A couple of years ago Hayes Valley’s Absinthe Restaurant celebrated its 10th anniversary by putting back 1998 prices on their menu for a while. It was such a treat and a great way to remember how it felt to go back in time. The restaurant wanted to celebrate its success and reward its patrons and I still remember how good that steak and hamburger with 1998 prices tasted.

I spent last weekend with my “American Parents” who have been a huge part of my life since I met them when I was ten years old. We went to Bethlehem, PA for a visit and were treated to plenty of great food from fluffy omelettes of breakfast sausage and green apples to the most traditional “Philly” cheesesteaks. Artisanal mango vodka on the rocks and homemade hamburgers coupled with the love of family sitting around the table sharing stories have never tasted so good. I remembered sitting at the very same table at their daughter's house many years ago for Thanksgiving, playing games with their grandchildren who had nicknamed me “Mary-Mom”. I felt part of the family then as I do now.

On our last morning we went to Pipersville Inn for a birthday lunch. Driving through country roads we passed Springtown, PA where I spent my first year in the US. The general store and dairy where I paid a quarter for a cone of fresh creamy ice cream were gone but the small little post office and old gas station were still there. I still remember how unique my first coca cola out of a can tasted there. Growing up we drank soda that was sold in glass bottles. I had never seen a coke can, let alone a coin-operated vending machine at a gas station. It was at this gas station in Springtown that we pulled over and cracked open an ice cold can on a super hot summer day. Ahhh!

On Sunday, the country roads led us from one small quaint town to another. In the old days these inns with restaurants popped at every major town entrance to provide lodging and food for the passengers traveling by coach. Our fancy Betsy from the 21st century with air conditioning was a much more comfortable ride for the lunchtime road trip on this hot day. Last year Pipersville Inn had brought back their 75-cent martinis on the menu to celebrate their anniversary, much like the Absinthe anniversary back home. The promotion was so successful that the drink special was still on the menu. We toasted with our 75-cent martinis to celebrate a family birthday and get together, and drove back home down a winding country road along the Delaware River. Needless to say, this was the most memorable martini I've ever tasted.

I had the most amazing and precious weekend. Every little detail was significant to me. Having the love of such a wonderful family who has embraced and welcomed me into their hearts and homes for the last 30 years is the biggest most special gift ever. There aren’t enough superlatives for me to express my gratitude and love for the wonderful memories we have shared over the years.

that salty cheese and sweet wine

noreply@blogger.com (Memorable Morsels) — Sun, 14 Mar 2010 23:47:00 +0000

Convincing my Dutch husband who grew up next to Holland's famous Alkmaar Kaasmarkt (cheese market) to go to a cheese school with me was like having to twist my arm to take a wine tasting class. We found the perfect marriage in the Cheese & Wine Pairing class at the Cheese School of San Francisco. Eight delicious cheeses were paired with five wines in an interactive class led by a cheese expert. We went there early and sipped champagne before class to break down our cheesy inhibitions. Hands down my favorite cheese from the class was La Tur, a pasteurized cow/goat/sheep creamy cheese from Alta Lagna, Piedmont, Italy. Yet, the freshest and most pure tasting of all the cheeses we tasted was a goat's milk cheese from Harley Farms in Pescadero, California. Since goat cheese does not go with red wine, we paired it with a fruity glass of bubbly.

After a beautiful coastal drive down Highway 1 from San Francisco past Half Moon Bay, on a summer Sunday we had brunch at Duarte's Tavern (which sells delicious strawberry rhubarb and ollaliberry jams) and then headed down the street to find Harley Farms. The wooden sign of a girl and goat on the corner of Stage & North Roads was re-assuring to know which turn to make. Not far down the road past the sunflower fields, we found the farm with a llama, a couple of what seemed like Scottish Highlanders, and a herd of Alpine goats all fighting to get on top of the highest point on the little structure on the field.

It was hard to stop tasting the cheeses in the shop. We bought some fresh goat ricotta, chèvre in oil, fromage blanc, apricot pistachio torte, and the most beautiful Monet torte. The chevre in oil comes in a glass jar filled with plain mini buttons of cheese marinated in extra virgin olive oil & lemon juice, with sundried tomato, rosemary & peppercorns.

Shopping for artisanal cheeses in gourmet markets you might recognize the Monet Torte. It is a round of goat cheese with herbes de provences layered in the center, and the recognizable purple and orange edible flower decoration. Monet would be proud to know this soft fresh goat cheese which leaves your tongue tingling with herbacious notes, was named after him. With that work of art and a fresh baguette who needs dinner?

Afterwards try a Carles Roquefort raw sheep blue cheese from Midi-Pyrenées, France which pairs beautifully with a sweet gewürtzramier. With that salty cheese and sweet wine who needs dessert?

where to find:

The Cheese School of San Francisco

address: 2155 Powell Street, San Francisco, CA 94133

phone: (415) 346-7530

www.cheeseschoolsf.com

Harley Farms

address: 205 North Street, Pescadero, CA 94060

phone: (650) 879-0480

www.harleyfarms.com

Duarte's Tavern

address: 202 Stage Road, Pescadero, CA 94060

phone: (650) 879-0460

www.duartestavern.com

coming to america

noreply@blogger.com (Memorable Morsels) — Mon, 25 Jan 2010 05:51:00 +0000

I came to America via Austria & Germany many years ago. Somehow everyone’s major move in life is a memory they hold dear perhaps due to nostalgia over the home they lost or excitement over the new life to be explored. My experience was different in that I was equally excited about our intermediary stops in the two countries as well as a permanent move to the US. I was pysched to leave a war-torn country!

Equipped with our luggage (one of which was stolen on day one in Vienna’s train station) and my knowledge of English, my parents, brother and I left home. My very crazy cool uncle who never finished high school, never moved out of his parents’ house, and was the most amazing person I knew at the time due to his knowledge of all things related to Bruce Lee, UFOs, and card games, had once spent a summer in Germany as a teenager. With his help, I learned how to count to 20 and order half a rotisserie chicken in German. “Eine halbes henschen, bitte” (a half a chicken, please) was all I could order which is what we mostly ate there. My parents' English was very weak back then and their German non-existent. We survived on my language skills for a while. And while most Austrians and Germans speak English, they are also proud of their heritage, telling me in response to “Excuse me, do you speak English?”, “I do, but I don’t.” So I stopped asking.

In Vienna we went to the famous Schloss Schönbrunn, visited Mozart’s statue at the Burggarten park, rode the city trams and got our US visas. I quickly learned how warm and friendly Austrians were when the owner of the B&B where we were staying would take my brother and I to her room every morning after breakfast and give us a Toblerone bar. Next was Frankfurt where we stayed with friends, I ate turkey for the second time in my life, and was amazed at how green and un-desert-like Germany was. Little did I know that my next home in the little tiny town of Springtown with only a general store, fire station, dairy farm, post office, gas station, and real estate office (what more could a person want in a town with a population of 150 people?) outside of Bethlehem, PA was surrounded by acres and acres of green corn fields with deer in our own backyard.

We were all relieved to land at JFK and go straight to McDonalds for my first meal in America back in the 80’s. While as a novelty the Big Macs were tasty, nothing came close to the lovely rotisserie flavor of the chicken we had been eating. Over the last two decades, every German-speaking person I have met has heard me count to 20 after I explained why I just ordered half a chicken from them, followed by the above story. Its an obsession of mine because it reminds me of the exciting moment of coming to America.

Twenty three years later, all grown up and now married, my husband and I went to other side of the world to Australia to explore and experience yet another group of warm friendly people. In search of unique and traditional Australian cuisine, we were delighted to find out that our trip dates coincided with the Sydney International Food Festival. The food festival hosted Night Noodle Market in Hyde Park with a variety of vendors selling Asian street food. We also tried many pricey “award-winning” restaurants only to find out back in San Francisco we have higher criteria for giving awards. Meat pies at Harry’s Café de Wheels were consistently good and a nice treat but are meat pies uniquely Australian or British? And if kangaroo or crocodile was on the menu, we avoided the restaurant all together as those dishes are prepared for tourists only. One day we ran across a TV program hosted by Huey who showed us how to cook his mother’s Cock-a-Leekie (chicken, leeks and prunes soup) recipe. Was that a traditional Australian dish or Scottish? I gave up. We left Sydney for Cairns where by day we snorkeled the Great Barrier Reef and by night ate the most delicious fresh seafood: bay bugs (Australian lobster), barramundi (Australian seabass), and Tasmanian salmon.

On the last leg of our trip we toured the Hunter Valley wine region outside Sydney known for their Semillon whites and softer styled Shiraz (unlike the heavy Shiraz styles from the Barossa Valley we are familiar with). Besides the kangaroo families residing on the grounds of Tidaki Lodge, the highlight of the stay were our B&B hosts, a lovely couple from Germany & Austria respectively. Manfred & Suzie (short for Siglund) greeted us with glee and joy in a way I don’t believe other guests at their home have seen. Manfred loved having a Dutchman, my husband, as a guest. And Suzie would stare at me in joy, telling me how beautiful I was, treating me as I imagined like her own daughter. Instead of wine tasting, we spent the afternoons talking to them about Persian carpets and roofing materials, my father's and Manfred’s specialties, respectively. We felt warm and cared for in their home and to us that was more precious than anything else. For breakfast Suzie made us fresh fruit salad and served it along with bacon, scrambled eggs, and an Austrian recipe of roasted tomato with fresh parsley from her garden. In the morning, while we swam in their salt water pool, Suzie watered the garden while Manfred had received his one-day license to burn wood on the property and was busy managing the fire. After a fun filled relaxing day of wine tasting, tired of eating out at restaurants in Sydney, and longing for a homey meal, we ran across the Smelly Cheese Shop and picked up a rotisserie chicken to have with our bottle of Semillon at the B&B on the patio that night. Of all the meals during the trip, this eines halbe henschen was the most memorable dish we had in Australia. Was it a uniquely Australian dish? Who cares! It was a lovely roasted chicken universal to all cuisines and as tasty as the ones I had on my way to America as a teenager. I was once again on my way back to America leaving not Germany and Austria but a German and an Austrian in Australia.

Back home we unpacked our bottle of Peterson Semillon and served it with our San Francisco local version of eines halbe henschen, a half rotisserie chicken from RoliRoti as we toasted and counted our way from 1 to 20 in German: “Ein, zwei, drei. vier, fünf,…. zwanzig”.

where to buy:

RoliRoti can be found at various farmers markets in the SF Bay Area. Click on shop for more information on where to find the rotisserie chicken trucks.

nothing fishy about vichyssoise

noreply@blogger.com (Memorable Morsels) — Tue, 06 Oct 2009 06:06:00 +0000

Nothing except for its name of course. Pronounced vishy(as in fishy)-sue-az, this soup is named after its creator's hometown, Vichy, a town in the central French Auvergne region. Vichy was invaded by the Germans in 1942 and occupied by the Nazis until 1944. Today it is a spa and resort town and locals are referred to as Vichyssois, much like the soup. The town's claim to fame is their thermal baths with healing properties, not the Vichyssoise soup which actually originated in New York's Ritz Carlton in the early 1900's.

We are always in search of healing. From the cure to cancer, AIDS, and MS to simpler ailments such as the common daily aches of an aging body, and trauma from psychological events, we look for comfort and freedom from pain in one form or another. In addition to traditional medicine, I use yoga, accupuncture, homeopathic treatments, and physical therapy for my pains. A more integrated healing approach can help the source of the problem and expedite healing. We also often use food as medicine to help with healing.

Aloe vera can help hydrate burnt skin, mint and ginger calm upset tummies, lemon has a cleansing effect on the kidneys, and the list goes on and on. We eat chicken soup when we're sick and there is great debate on whether it has physical healing properties to help with the common cold. But at a minimum we know it warms the soul, brings comfort with memories of our Moms feeding it to us when we were sick, and fills us with something more nutritious when our bodies need rejuventation. In Chinese medicine and coincidentally in my Persian family, foods are known to have hot and cold healing properties, similar to India's ayurvedic medicine. We use foods to stay in balance from both a physical and mental perspective. Overconsuming either type of food will bring digestive discomfort and lack of clarity in thoughts, perhaps even disease.

After years of listening to my body and personal trial and errors, I felt this recent change in season called for eating soup. But the sun is still strong and while the days are ever so gradually getting shorter, the seasons are only in transition. The idea of a cold soup came to mind. Vichyssoise, a puréed soup of leeks and potatoes (leeks are "warm" and potatoes are "cool", resulting in a balanced neutral meal), is traditionally served cold which is the perfect hybrid solution to having soup on a warm fall day. In my imagination, perhaps a cold puréed soup was what the aristocrats traveling to the Vichy thermal baths needed. Instead of puréed, I chose to eat my soup chunky, adding extra zucchini to the soup for its cooling effects ... a perfect complement to an early October sunny day.

Until I can plan a trip to Auvergne to use the Vichy thermal baths and steal a few bites of Bleu d'Auvergne cheese, I will savor tastes of my cold October soup. For dessert, I have fresh black mission figs poached in port that I serve on a piece of baguette with a Point Reyes Original Blue Cheese. I can almost feel the steam from the thermal baths. I think I'm healed.

ingredients:

2 leeks, white and green parts sliced thin

5 small zucchinis, sliced in rounds

3 medium new potatoes, peeled and cut in rough 1/2-inch squares

1 Tablespoon salt

1/2 Tablespoon cracked pepper

1 Tablespoon butter

1 Tablespoon olive oil

4 cups vegetable broth (I use one 32 oz. box of Trader Joe's Organic Hearty Vegetable Broth)

dollop of crème fraîche

basil florettes

method:

Sautée the leek, zucchini, and potatoes in the butter and olive oil for five minutes. Add salt & pepper, stir, and cover with lid over the heat for another five minutes until the leeks have caramelized. Add the vegetable broth and simmer the vegetables covered until the potatoes are tender but still have their shape, about 30 minutes. Serve cold with a dollop of creme fraiche and basil florettes.

suggestion:

As in the traditional recipe, you can purée the soup in a food processor and add 2 tablespoons cream to the cold soup prior to serving. Or serve the soup hot. Whichever is more healing to you.

where to buy:

For more information on Point Reyes Blue Cheese and to buy it online, visit www.pointreyescheese.com

zaza Zazu

noreply@blogger.com (Memorable Morsels) — Mon, 28 Sep 2009 01:16:00 +0000

Gimme a "Z"! Gimme a vowel! Gimme another "Z"! Gimme another vowel! What does it spell? Is it Zazu, Zazi, or Zuzu?

All interesting names for a restaurant if you ask me. But which one is owned by the brother of this guy at one of the wineries I would frequent? I used to walk in and go the member's desk and time after time, say, "Hi Bob, how are you?" And Dan would smile, pour me as much wine as I wanted to taste, and never let me know that I had his name wrong. This went on repeatedly for several years until one day I realized I had him mixed up with someone else at the winery. One day Bob, I mean Dan, told me about his brother's tapas restaurant in Napa. I meant to stop in during one of my visits to the wine country.

A couple of years ago, we made reservations to stay in Sonoma for Winter Wineland, bought our wine tasting glasses, and headed to the Russian River, Dry Creek, and Alexander Valleys for the weekend. I was thrilled to see Zazu was not far from our wine tasting event and reserved a table for dinner. I couldn't wait to go back to my favorite winery and tell Dan all about it. We drove on Guernville Road until we ran into a locally sourced roadside restaurant with a garden out back. It was winter and the menu was pig opulent. While the menu changes nightly all specials are printed but I overheard a server tell the regulars at the table next to us that a duck confit with braised cabbage was one of their limited quantity specials not on the menu. Somehow I managed to order the last leg and devoured every lovely bite.

The next day on the way back to San Francisco, we stopped at my favorite winery and I bragged to Dan that we had finally visited his brother's restaurant, only to find out we had dined at the wrong one, or so I thought. If I got Dan and Bob mixed up, no wonder Zuzu and Zazu were the same to me, especially since originally Zazu had been named Zuzu but had to change their name. Zazu got its name based on advice given to the owners from Mario Batali that a restaurant's name should not be more than two syllables. And its even more confusing that Zazu's cuisine reminds me of my other favorite restaurant with two syllables, Zuni.

Since our first meal there, Zazu left something so memorable in my mind we go back every chance we get. Zazu supports local, diverse, and sustainable agriculture. The chef's garden behind the barn and the menu filled with local ingredients is evident of their practice. Every meal there is fresh, distinguished, comforting, with balanced flavors, and masterful creations that are bursting with flavor. We always start with one of their housemade black pig salumis. In addition to the red wine copa, last night we also had the eggplant caponata with cocoa nibs, currants, and pinenuts. As if the caponata needed any help, it was served with the most delicious grilled bread with olive oil, salt, and the smoky flavors of a well seasoned grill. That's just it.... every bite has layer after layer of earthy flavors. None of the "starts" or "mains" on the menu has ever disappointed. Last night my choice was to start with the backyard tomato + farmer wendy's melon salad with backyard shiso and prosciutto di parma. The shiso leaf added an unusually pleasant cinnamon-basil flavor that allowed the melon-prosciutto blend to work with the tomatoes. We followed the salad with petit poussin al mattone with grilled bread panzanella, chicories, sultanas, and pine nuts. I saved half of the little chicken to be able to savor the flavors again the next day on a salad. Tough to do but I had to leave room for another of their signatures: the housemade gelato. When the peanut butter scare was going on, I didn't hesitate to order the peanut butter gelato with a scoop of the Scharffenberger chocolate. And we still go back each time hoping to steal another taste of the savory oilve oil gelato followed by the Flying Goat espresso.

Surrounded by farms, in a little red converted farmhouse on the side of the road, Zazu with all its rustic charm is a culinary experience not to be missed!

suggestions:

Zazu means it when they say, "Bring Home the Bacon!" For $10 you can take back a 12 oz package of their heritage pork antibiotic and hormone free bacon from the owners' Black Pig Meat Company. You can also order the bacon online.

Scharffen Berger Cocoa Nib Caponata (Recipe from Zazu's website):

ingredients:

2 eggplant, diced 1 inch

2 cloves garlic, peeled and minced

28 ounce can peeled tomatoes, roughly chopped

1 1/2 ounces, semisweet chocolate, chopped small

1/3 cup balsamic vinegar

5 stalks celery, diced

1/4 cup raisins, plumped in boiling water

1/4 cup toasted pinenuts

1/4 cup capers

1 tablespoon cocoa nibs

1 bunch flat leaf parsley, chopped

olive oil, kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper

method:

In a large saute pan on medium high heat, saute the eggplant in single layer batches until golden and soft, about 7 minutes. Set aside. In the same pan, open up the garlic in a little oil until fragrant, about a minute. Add the tomatoes and chocolate and stir until chocolate is melted. In a mixing bowl, combine eggplant, garlic, tomatoes, balsamic, celery, raisins, pinenuts, capers, cocoa nibs, and parsley. Season to taste with salt and pepper.

where to find:

Zazu Restaurant & Farm

address: 3535 Guerneville Road, Santa Rosa, CA 95401

phone: (707) 523-4814

www.zazurestaurant.com

summer of rosés

noreply@blogger.com (Memorable Morsels) — Sun, 20 Sep 2009 19:49:00 +0000

I used to think I'd enjoy being a winemaker until I started observing some at wineries. It was always easy for me to spot the winemaker based on their rosy cheeks. I'm guessing despite all the proper spitting if you're a winemaker, you like wine which means you like drinking wine. Eventually you'll build a deposit strong enough to make your cheeks stand out. Bad, bad made-up theory of mine. Probably goes hand in hand with the myth my Mom told me growing up that if I crossed my eyes for fun they would stay that way. It didn't scare me to hear it but the assistant at the barbershop where I got my haircuts had crossed eyes. Seeing this man wearing a striped apron sweeping all the hair off the floor with his head down was one sad sight but every time he looked up and I saw him, I freaked out thinking I was going to grow up to look like him.

Giving up on the momentary whim to study winemaking I decided to continue pursuing wine tasting which is unnecessarily a very intimidating science. I try to follow an easy formula for wine tasting: its a matter of your personal preference. Which means you can know all the rules of what constitutes a good wine but if a wine doesn't meet those criteria is your favorite, say white zinfandel, then that is a good wine. That's a bit of a stretch. I am too much of a purist to consider white zin a wine but I will go as far as saying that its look-alike cousin, the rosé is a great wine.

On my first trip to France, July turned to August and Paris became deserted. I found myself following the French and headed south. The beautiful beaches with the topless women was one sight but stepping on the huge rocks at the beach was another reality I was not used to. The big pieces of rock in no way resembled the fine sand beaches we have in the States. So I hung up my bathing suit and sat at at cozy table at "La Pizza" in Cannes, the seaside French Riviera town famed for its celebrity-filled film festival, ordering a Domaine Tempier Bandol Rosé with my Aubergines pizza. I kid you not, I can still taste the combination of the eggplant pizza and rosé wine. Across the water from Italy in the French Riviera they know how to make an amazing pizza. August is too hot to drink red wine during the day and white wouldn't pair with a tomato sauce. A tangy rosé with a slight hint of tannins was the right choice.

Needless to say when it comes to rosés Bandol is king. And in France that summer I drank plenty of this lovely wine from Provence. A Domaine Tempier Bandol made with mourvèdre, cinsault, grenache, and carignan with flavors of woodsy berries, spice, herbs, and olives costs close to $37 here in the US. There are less expensive Bandol rosés in the $25 range. But if you're going to skip the king, skip all royalty and settle for the people's wine. On a recent trip to K&L Wines in San Francisco I set out to identify the best priced people's rosé wine that had a chance at making up for not being a Bandol . I came home with four bottles: 2008 Cave de Tavel "Lauzeraies" Tavel ($13.99), 2008 Domaine Begude Pinot Noir Vin de Pays d'Oc Rosé ($12.99), 2008 Château Viranel "Tradition" Saint Chinian Rosé ($12.99), and 2008 Les Vignerons de Fontès "Prieuré Saint-Hippolyte" Languedoc Rosé ($10.99). One by one I tried them after chilling to perfection between 45-50 degrees farenheit.

The four wines tasted were in the $11-$14 range with colors ranging from rosy pink to flush peach. The Tavel was the most complex while the Pinot the least. The sweeter wines didn't work and reminded me of California rosés while I wanted to recreate a scene from that summer in France. In the end, of the two remaining Languedoc wines my favorite was the 2008 Château Viranel "Tradition" Saint Chinian Rosé made with 40% syrah, 40% grenache and 20% cinsault priced at $12.99. On the way to K&L Wines to pick up a case of my favorite, on a whim I stopped at The Wine Club and asked for their best afforable rosé and came home with a 2008 Domaine de la Fouquette Rosé d'Aurore from Côtes de Provence. The Fouquette with the lighter salmon color was indicative of older vines with less flavor but to me this blend of 65% Grenache, 30% Cinsault, and 5% Rolle was as close to a Bandol rosé I could get my lips on. On the palate it was instant strawberries for fruit, citrus for crisp acidity, and a hint of minerality. Perfect for a hot summer day.

The Domaine de la Fouquette takes me back to that summer in the French Riviera years ago. I paired it with a home-made eggplant parmesan to remind me of the aubergines pizza and the wine's acidity cut through the cheesy tomato sauce dish. For a faint salmon-colored wine to stand up to such strong food, my summer wine has been identified. Good thing summers in San Francisco start in September. Salut!

where to buy:

Click on shop for more information on where to find The Wine Club or K & L Wine Merchants.

La Pizza Cannes (Pizza Cresci)

3, Quai St. Pierre

06400 Cannes, France

tradition! la tradition!

noreply@blogger.com (Memorable Morsels) — Mon, 24 Aug 2009 02:09:00 +0000

As a certain milestone birthday approached last year, I reflected on the fact that I had promised myself I would move to Paris by then if I were to remain single. I had been tired of dealing with the ups and downs of dating and this move would have been my consolation prize. Four years ago I had perfected my "rrrrr's" and had my beret and luggage tags that read "Paris" ready. As luck would have it, it was then that I met my love, got married and we put the move on hold until our retirement. This means that until that day arrives, I will miss Paris, most of all the baguettes.

To me a baguette is not just a piece of bread. It is a symbol of tradition. Living in a society that went from buying Wonder Bread to Organic Spelt and Flaxseed bread from fancy bakeries, I admire the simplicity and continuity of buying the day's baguette fresh from the boulangerie each day on the way home for dinner. In Paris, I witnessed the sight of business men and women in their suits after the day's hard work followed by a cocktail and cigarette at a café heading home with two things in hand: a briefcase and a baguette. You rarely see this in the metro because the baguette is bought from your local boulanger right near home. And its always bare with just a 2-inch square piece of paper wrapped around its middle.

It is this very simple square piece of paper that got my husband in trouble during our honeymoon in Paris. We love riding the metro and getting around the city. The gypsies hop on the train with their accordian and sing a song, collect some change, and hop off at the next stop to catch the next car or train. It is so romantic to watch the Parisians kiss without oblivion. To stamp this trip to Paris as our "honeymoon" and make it stand out from the rest, we made it a point to find an amourous couple in the metro and each time kiss like them. At times to maintain stability this required holding the handrails. Afterwards we'd run back to our little apartment on rue du Dragon to wash our dirty hands. Our apartment was directly across from Boulangerie La Boule Miche and every day we asked for our "une baguette tradition, s'il vous plait!" A "baguette tradition" differs from the typical white French bread ("baguette ordinaire") we think of simply as a baguette. It is made by hand using a higher quality wheat flour with yeast and salt, sans additives, just like in the old days.

One particular afternoon, we stepped out of the metro stop and the sight of delicate pastries called us into a different patisserie/boulangerie. In addition to some lovely treats, I had a baguette in hand as we walked out. Hot from the oven, it was ready for a bite. I held out the baguette to my husband in a "you go first" gesture, waiting for his mouth to encircle the bread for his taste. Instead in painstaikingly slow motion I saw his hands, the ones that had touched what seemed like all the handrails in the metro, envelope the bare naked baguette above and below mine which was over the square piece of paper. He was looking for a firmer grip before his bite. Arrrghhh... he had ruined my hot fresh baguette with metro germs!!! In not so slow motion, my hand which never parted the baguette fiercely yanked it out his and I started to hit him over and over again on the shoulder with it yelling obscenities in French about his filthy metro hands. This passionate moment of baguette-beating rage was not a typical Parisian scene and luckily did not ruin our honeymoon although we re-enact it on every subsequent trip to Paris just for laughs. Who knew a new tradition could be born out of the "baguette tradition"?

suggestion:

Don't beat your husband with a baguette. Instead buy two and eat one fresh and hot on the way home.

where to find:

For the best baguette tradition, no doubt go to Paris and try a different boulangerie until you arrive at your personal favorite. In the Bay Area, the closest I've gotten to a baguette that reminds me in flavor of my Parisian favorite is from Brickmaiden Breads made with Sel de Guérande from France. A baguette costs $4.00. Brickmaiden does not have a retail location but can be found at the Sunday Marin Farmer's Market. The Marin Farmers Market takes place in the parking lot behind the Marin Civic Center on Sunday mornings 8 a.m. - 1 p.m. year round.

the moon, your eye, a pizza pie

noreply@blogger.com (Memorable Morsels) — Tue, 11 Aug 2009 15:19:00 +0000

When I think of the film "Moonstruck" I remember Cher all dressed up to go the opera, Nicolas Cage holding out his hand and yelling, "I lost my hand, I lost my bride", and the sound of sugar cubes dropping in spumante glasses to celebrate their engagement. What stands out most is the sound of "when the moon hits your eyes like a big pizza pie, that's amore!" in my head. Moonstruck always reminds me of the song as sung by Dean Martin. Actually so does the sight of a full moon.

Monday was pizza and movie night. "Moonstruck" was traded for "A Secret" but "That's Amore" was still in my head as I opened up the three Gialina take-out boxes: one Margherita, one Squash Blossoms w/ squash, white corn, young Pecorino & chives, and one Potato w/ applewood smoked bacon, red onions, rosemary & gorgonzola pie. It was amore at first sight. Was it the full moon or the scent of the pizzas that drove me crazy? That's my secret.

Glen Park is home to Gialina Pizzeria which specializies in delicious thin-crust Neapolitan-style pizzas. They do not take reservations and there is typically a line outside for a table but its always well worth the wait, albeit at times long. The menu is updated daily with seasonal ingredients but you can usually find regular hits like the potato w/ applewood smoked bacon pizza. There is a nice selection of Italian wines but the sparkling is not served with sugar cubes. Try slipping one in your glass and after eating your pizza pie, you just might see visions of Dean echoing from the alley next door..."when the world seems to shine like you've had too much wine, that's amore!......Scuzza me, but you see, back in old Napoli, that's amore! That's Amore!"

suggestions:

Before dinner, go for a little stroll nearby at Glen Canyon Park just a few blocks up the hill from downtown Glen Park. You'll be sure to build a good appetite for the pizza pie.

where to find:

Gialina Pizzeria

address: 2842 Diamond Street, San Francisco, CA 94131

phone: (415) 239-8500

www.gialina.com

my first, spruce's second

noreply@blogger.com (Memorable Morsels) — Wed, 05 Aug 2009 06:00:00 +0000

I was fortunate enough to have our name on the guest list for Spruce's 2nd Anniversary dinner on August 2nd. Fortunate, considering I wasn't a concierge from Yountville or a Presidio Heights socialite who has hosted parties at the restaurant, or a food business partner. Of course the pleasure was mine to make my first dining experience at Spruce occur following a cocktail reception with champagne and hors d'oeuvres hobnobbing with the hostess and the new general manager who had just returned from Park City where Spruce is opening its second location. Too many two's for one night. To top it off, the special menu had each course served two ways.

The two magnums of Henriot Blanc Souverain champagne were overflowing in our glasses and paired beautifully with the charcuterie and cheese platters. Not such a hit with the overpowering duck fat french fries. We said hello to Deborah who lives three blocks away and was waiting inside for her husband, the original owner of the 1972 Rolls Royce who prefers to park his own car rather than valet. Somehow I had a feeling we weren't the first strangers Deborah had apologized to for not using the restaurant's valet service. Next was Nina who couldn't stop talking about the theme of her last spring open house party at Spruce and the opulence she hosted. Until of course someone more opulent that us arrived and our conversation ended abruptly. We enjoyed most chatting with Mary who was down to earth, had most likely parked her own car without shame like us, and talked about real life values and being true to who you are. Something rare in that room's guest list. Happily it was something omnipresent with Spruce's team.

We were delighted with our meal. Our server greeted us with yet another glass of champagne this time as dining room guests to celebrate the anniversary. Salut! To be fair, considering it was my first meal at Spruce, I opted for regular menu items rather than the tempting special menu of Dirty Girl Heirloom Tomatoes Two Ways, Grimaud Farms Natural Guinea Hen Two Ways, and Hamada Farms Two Stone Fruits Crostata. We can never resist an appetizer of foie gras and Spruce's is served two ways: seared with a poached pluot and a piece au torchon with a fruit gelee. It tasted as lovely as it sounds. Their burger that is written up as one of the best in SF was delightful. And the grilled bavette steak with sauce bordelaise was made to perfection.

Our meal was outstanding and the cocktail reception an added bonus, yet what Spruce makes most memorable is their people. Everyone we encountered was warm, friendly, and genuinely attentive to our needs. And it looked like from socialite regulars to one-time guests from other neighborhoods, the staff had respect in mind and a pleasurable dining experience making sure you return for yet another wonderful meal with them even if the best they can offer is a seat at the bar.

suggestions:

Try the dining room for their lunch or dinner menu. Alternatively sit at the bar and enjoy cheese, charcuterie, and burgers. No matter what your choice Spruce will delight.

where to find:

Spruce

address: 3640 Sacramento Street, San Francisco, CA 94118

phone: (415) 931-5100

www.sprucesf.com

hello, my name is chandler

noreply@blogger.com (Memorable Morsels) — Sun, 02 Aug 2009 06:13:00 +0000

I have to admit that my favorite activity at the Marin Farmers Market is tasting strawberries. There are no two alike. I go from stand to stand trying them all and there is always one that no doubt stands out in flavor for that week. The following week its another. My mind goes crazy thinking about the abundant selection of quality farm fresh fruits and vegetables but my taste buds always remember strawberries when going to the farmers market. Funny thing is the best one I ever tasted is at the Noe Valley Farmers Market, not in Marin. I asked the lady at the stand in Noe one week why theirs was so perfect and she responded that they pick the berries only when they are ripe the day before the market. Looking at their perfect shape, I couldn't tell how ripe they were but the red morsel melted in my mouth instantly with unparalleled balanced sweetness.

As often as I visit farmers markets it wasn't until last month that I stopped to ask "what kind of strawberry is this? do you have any Chandlers?" A friend had mentioned the Chandler varietal as the best at the Marin market so I kept on searching for them. And one by one the farmers would either tell me that they don't grow it or they are out. I'd take a sample and move on to the next stand. I put Chandlers out of mind with a sigh thinking I'll be on the lookout for them early next summer. For now, Seascapes would come home with me.

At the Noe market this Saturday, I went to the only strawberry stand and stood in line. Why was I standing in line for berries when I have so many choices at the Marin market? Because I didn't need to taste this strawberry again to remember it had been love at first bite the last time I bought a basket. Not to mention it was the only stand at the market with strawberries. Takes the fun out of the game for me if I don't have to try all the choices. But oh well, we were here and so was my basket of berries from Swanton Berry Farm. Instead of paying $3.50 for one pint, I opted to take one strawberry and two beautifully ripe blackberry pints for $8.

As an afterthought while I was walking away, I turned around and asked, "Oh, by the way, what kind of strawberry is this?" to hear with a smile "We only grow Chandlers". Wow, so these were the darling beauties for which I would trek to Marin every Sunday and miss. It was right here in my neighborhood in front of me and I never stopped to ask its name. You can't expect a strawberry to stop you and say, "hello, my name is Chandler" but from now on, I will stop to ask the farmer stands their name.

suggestions:

Serve sliced berries on toast with goat cheese.

where to find:

The Noe Valley Farmers Market takes place in the parking lot on 24th Street between Sanchez & Vicksburg Streets every Saturday morning 8 a.m. - 1 p.m. For details go to: Noe Valley Farmers Market. Swanton Berry Farm also has a regular stand at the Marin Farmers Market on Sundays.

crazy for cupcakes

noreply@blogger.com (Memorable Morsels) — Thu, 30 Jul 2009 05:26:00 +0000

I read today on "Between Meals" from SF Chronicle's Michael Bauer that there is a meatball craze going on. Maybe one day I'll jump on that bandwagon but for now I'm trying to catch up with the cupcake craze. When I was planning my wedding three years ago, cupcakes were hot so you'd think they would be passé by now. But judging by all the cupcake specialty shops and items in the shape of cupcakes (such as this silly cupcake hot spot), they might still have some useful life left in their stardom.

I've heard moans and groans about Sprinkles and Sibby's. For my birthday last year we opted for Sweet Things, another great bakery. But now I have a new favorite: Kara's Cupcakes. Truth be told, I had a roommate in college and a coworker named Kara both of whom were not my best friends. Something else besides the name would have to draw me in.

Last Friday we scored an amazing parking spot on Chestnut Street. Who would have thought that for such a happening spot in the daytime that Friday night was dead. Having parked right away, we had time to kill and a little tri-fold sign with bubble gum pink and brown lettering which looked like the sign for a yarn store caught my eyes. At closer inspection, the sign read "Kara's Cupcakes". Yes, now I recalled that I had heard moans and groans about them too so we had to stop in and pick up cupcakes before our wine tasting event. We planned on eating them the next day with coffee.

For a quiet night on Chestnut & Scott Streets, Kara's was crowded. Little kids smudging the window display hoping to finger away at the cupcakes through the glass, while adults could not decide whether to cave in to their intellectual side while reading the menus above or let their inner child come out and grovel the displays. Coconut and Fleur de Sel respectively caught our eyes. Shortly, a white cupcake adorned with coconut sprinkles was packaged carefully next to a deep dark chocolate cupcake filled with fleur de sel caramel and topped with chocolate ganache. The box even had a spot for the cupcakes to rest their tush. If my cupcake could go home and have its own seat, then I was willing to pay $3.25 for one.

Wine tasting that night was delightful but we had barely stepped into the car that I suggested we forgo tomorrow's coffee and indulge in the rich cupcakes for dessert the same night. Sadly the ride home was bumpy and the coconut had turned to mush in its cupcake holder but the fleur de sel caramel still looked almost like it did in the display, except I can swear it had a moist sheen on top. It must have been at the perfect right temperature. Perfect is right because this is how chocolate cupcakes must be made... rich with chocolate ganache, not overly sweet, creamy topping, and moist bites revealing a gooey caramel filling, balanced with the salty flavor of the sprinkles on top. Dark, decadent and divine!

Now I truly understand why this craze is still alive.

where to find:

Click on shop for more information on where to find Kara's Cupcakes. Happy Shopping!

poor man’s caviar

noreply@blogger.com (Memorable Morsels) — Fri, 24 Jul 2009 19:25:00 +0000

Lentils are my top choice for legumes. Found primarily in Mediterranean, Middle-Eastern, Indian, and French cuisine, they cook faster than most other kinds of beans, are packed with complex earthy flavors and are high in iron and protein in nutritional value. My favorite kind are the lentils du puys -- pronounced like "pwee" -- (or “lentilles du puys” in French) which are small with a dark blue-ish and green hue. They can stand up to stronger flavors for pairing and keep their shape when cooked.

As a kid I didn’t like to eat too much meat and loved it when my Mom made lentil-rice. While my parents ate it with a side of braised lamb cooked in allspice, mine was always served with a spoonful of sugar on top sans the lamb. A kid’s delight! Unfortunately we didn’t eat it often because lentils reminded my parents of hard times when meat prices were higher than their budget in their early years of marriage and they had eaten lentils way too often as they are known to be poor man’s caviar. It was no longer special to them. Since we ate it seldom as I grew up, lentils are a treat I savor with very special memories of my childhood when I want to feel rich.

ingredients:
4 cups lentils du puys soaked several hours in cold water
1 small onion, chopped
1 cup chopped fresh tomatoes
1 tablespoon olive oil
½ teaspoon turmeric
1 tablespoon ground cumin
1 tablespoon ground coriander
salt and pepper to taste

method:
Sautee onions in olive oil until golden brown. Add turmeric and stir one minute. Rinse soaked lentils and add to the onion mixture. Turn the heat to high and sautee while stirring often for 3-5 minutes. Reduce heat to medium and add enough water to cover 1 inch over the top of the lentils. Add salt and pepper to taste and cook covered until lentils are semi-soft, about 10-15 mintues. Add tomatoes, cumin, coriander and water as necessary and cook covered on medium-low for another 10-15 minutes until all the water has evaporated and the lentils are done.

suggestions:
Either serve the lentils with rice for vegans or let it become a flavorful bed for serving roasted salmon. Alternatively pair lentils with duck or lamb cooked using either French herbs or Moroccan spices respectively.

where to find:
Lentils du puys (also known as French lentils) can be found in bulk for $1.88/lb. at Rainbow Grocery.

summer fog and arctic rose

noreply@blogger.com (Memorable Morsels) — Wed, 22 Jul 2009 05:42:00 +0000

Escaping SF's July fog is easy. Head to the Marin Farmers Market and you are guaranteed lots of sun. The chill in your bones from the fog disappears instantly and you're left with nothing but the heat of the summer's abundance. This week at the farmer's market, the sun was shining through in unbelievably sweet nectarines. I tried nectarines from every stand that was willing to share a taste but none stood out like the Arctic Rose.

The word "arctic" implies cold and tasteless which is farthest from the truth. Imagine a rose resilient enough to grow in a bitter cold environment and out of spite want to produce the sweetest tasting fruit imaginable. That's what this nectarine varietal tastes like. Super sweet with a white flesh, the skin cherry red in color with yellow spots scattered everywhere. A tasty beauty indeed. If at first the imperfect look and small size doesn't appeal to you, indulge in a taste before completing your judgment. After savoring its honey floral sweetness on your palate, the freckled flesh makes you rethink how you used to define beauty. Reminiscent of a red-headed lover bursting with passion, this nectarine is surely not to be passed by.

They're both at their peak in July and you get to choose: San Francisco fog or Arctic Rose nectarines.

suggestions:

Serve sweet nectarine slices with basil slivers and a dash of apricot brandy.

where to find:

The Marin Farmers Market takes place in the parking lot behind the Marin Civic Center on Sunday mornings 8 a.m. - 1 p.m. year round. For details go to: Marin Farmers Market . Look for Arctic Rose nectarines from Kashiwase Farms.

you say potato, I say patata

noreply@blogger.com (Memorable Morsels) — Fri, 17 Jul 2009 05:21:00 +0000

Since our trip to Madrid in the spring, I have become a fan of small bites. We had a delicious paella dinner one night which is an experience all its own, but why not instead enjoy the fun of hopping from one bar to another in search of the best tapas. Order one drink and one tapa from each bar to sample the best they have to offer. Everything we tried was amazing but I'd like to say we are still searching for the best tapas just so I have to an excuse to return to Madrid. Not to mention Bardemcilla, sexy sultry Javier Bardem's bar was closed on the night we went to the Chueca so that's my second excuse.

Tapas is Spanish and seeing signs such as "Japanese Tapas" makes me cringe. Middle Easterners call it "mezze" and some midwesterners might call it "appeteasers" but the distinction between all forms of small bite appetizers and tapas is that the latter is authentic Spanish cuisine. When in Madrid, jamón ibérico and tortilla espanola are not to be missed.

In my quest to recreate the Madrid nights we set out to Picaro, an authentic Spanish tapas bar in the Mission. For years, their tortilla de patata has been my favorite but it wasn't until the trip that I realized how authentic it was albeit the name change from tortilla espanola and the addition of a dollop of aioli on top. Layers of potatoes and onions are cooked in oil and covered with eggs to form a savory potato-egg omelette. Picaro's tortilla tastes authentic and delightful and for a moment takes me back to the bars in Madrid. Too bad the amplified traveling mariachi band in no way resembled a Flamenco show to make it as memorable.

suggestions:

As in Madrid, serve tortilla espanola with a glass of rioja for tapas. Alternate use is as a side with your breakfast. When in Madrid do as the Madrileños do and go out to eat around 10 p.m. at tapas bars. Try O Cacho do Jose in Plaza de Santa Ana.

where to find:

Picaro Tapas Restaurant

address: 3120 16th Street, San Francisco, CA 94103

phone: (415) 431-4089

www.picarotapasrestaurant.com

paulette macarons

noreply@blogger.com (Memorable Morsels) — Tue, 14 Jul 2009 23:00:00 +0000

Anyone who’s been to Paris has surely paid well over 5,00 € for a macaroon from the famed Ladurée shops on avenue des Champs Elysées or rue Royale. Theirs is the most delightful Parisian almond-based treat made to perfection.

Last time I checked airfares to Paris had dropped but adding up the airfare and macaroon price would make this one very pricey treat. In comes Paulette to the rescue. Located in Hayes Valley, Paulette Macarons is one of the latest additions to the row of shops, cafés, and restaurants in this trendy hip San Francisco neighborhood. While there is one less “o” in the name than one would expect, it is made up by the “oh” one exclaims with the first bite of macaron… moist, fresh, delicate, and balanced. My absolute favorite is carribean chocolate but with flavors like rose, salted caramel, lemon, Sicilian pistachio, violet cassis, Madagascar vanilla, and several others you can’t go wrong.

The atmosphere is modern with limited seating in the shop. The macaroon counter is sleek and sparse. Check out the steel large pieces in the shop which are actual airplane parts that have been turned into objects of art. My box of 12 macarons for $19 also looked like a piece of art. And a bargain compared to Ladurée.

A note from their website:
“After purchase we recommend keeping Paulette macarons in the refrigerator; let them come to room temperature before serving—about 10 minutes. For best degustation, our macarons should be consumed within 3 days.”

suggestions:

If you opt to hop on that plane over to Paris, stop in at Ladurée for lunch and do not skip the dessert. To find the shop locations, visit their website and don't forget to bring some back for me.

where to find:
Click on shop for information on where to find Paulette Macarons. Happy Shopping!

truffle salt & scrambled eggs

noreply@blogger.com (Memorable Morsels) — Sun, 12 Jul 2009 00:45:00 +0000

A foodie friend mentioned truffle salt. This led to my obsessive quest one morning to the Ferry Building Marketplace, earlier than the shop would open. Home to the San Francisco Farmers Market, the building boasts many exquisite shops... a foodie's delight. Some vendors open early to feed coffee and sweets to the ferry commuters. While fungi is not on an average commuter’s morning list of foods to consume, I was on my way to a meeting downtown and the delightful little morsels of truffle were clearly on my mind. It was worth risking a parking ticket to pull over at a white zone and run in. I must have looked like a dog trying to chase its tail as I paced back and forth in front of the shop’s closed gates, staring at the shop owner, wincing and almost howling, hoping to get my treat. Eventually the stares worked and I scored my very first jar of Truffle & Salt. The legitimate exchange of credit card for the delicacy occurred through practically closed gates, making it feel somewhat like a forbidden deal. With truffle salt in hand, I could hardly wait to go home and pop open the jar for a whiff of the black specks among the white sea salt sand dunes. I whipped up some soft and moist scrambled eggs to top with sprinkles of truffle salt and I was in heaven. It was my passion and the journey to find this tasty delicacy along with its memory imprinted on my taste buds that inspired this blog to be born.

ingredients:
3 eggs
¼ cup non-fat cream
½ tablespoon unsalted butter
salt (used very sparingly to taste)
truffle salt (to taste)

method:
Whip eggs with cream. Add a tiny amount of salt and half of the butter. Leave the butter as a chunk in the mixture. Melt the remaining butter in a hot non-stick pan. Add the egg mixture and using a wooden flat spoon stir gently until almost done and eggs still look moist and fluffy. Plate scrambled eggs and sprinkle truffle salt on top to taste.

suggestions:

Serve with plain multi-grain toast and darjeeling tea. Wishing you a memorable morsel and bon appétit!

where to find:
Click on shop for information on where to find truffle salt. Happy Shopping!

shop

noreply@blogger.com (Memorable Morsels) — Tue, 30 Jun 2009 15:28:00 +0000

In this section you will find an alphabetical list of ingredients and tools mentioned in the memorable morsels posts. Prices listed are estimates based on the information researched at the time of the post. Please check directly with the vendor and feel free to send me a comment with any updates. Happy Shopping!

Kara's Cupcakes
For a full list of flavors check out their website.
Individual cupcakes are $3.25. A dozen cupcakes and a dozen mini cupcakes are listed for $36 and $24 respectively.
address: 3249 Scott Street (at Chestnut), San Francisco, CA 94123
phone: (415) 563-CAKE
www.karascupcakes.com

Paulette Macarons
For a full list of flavors check out their website.
Individual macarons are $1.60. Giftboxes of 12 and 24 macarons are listed for $19 and $36 respectively.
address: 437 Gough Street, San Francisco, CA 94102
phone: (415) 864-2400
www.paulettemacarons.com

RoliRoti
For a current schedule of the mobile rotisserie locations check out the RoliRoti website.

truffle salt
Buy online from Amazon using this link: Casina Rossa Truffle and Salt by Nicola de Laurentiis - 3.5 oz. for $22.90 plus shipping

or
A 3.5 oz. jar of Truffle & Salt at Far West Fungi in the SF Ferry Building is listed for $24.00
www.farwestfungi.com

wine
K & L Wine Merchant
address: 638 4th Street, San Francisco, CA 94107
phone: (415) 896-1734
www.klwines.com

The Wine Club
address: 953 Harrison Street, San Francisco, CA 94107
phone: (415) 512-9086
www.thewineclub.com

about memorable morsels

noreply@blogger.com (Memorable Morsels) — Tue, 30 Jun 2009 15:08:00 +0000

Most people have at least one form of talent. Of those with talent, some have a passion for theirs. I can't sing or dance or draw but I can taste and cook and create recipes. That's my talent for which I have passion. The right food combinations can send tingling messages through all my senses.

Cooking for my husband who thinks everything I make is delicious brings me joy. He's my audience, taster, and muse. Together we explore and taste our way through our fun city and the world. From exquisite chef tasting menus to cafes, wine bars, and food carts, there is no limit. The only requirement is to taste a single bite that imprints a unique pleasant memory in our senses.

We are urbanites in search of ........ memorable morsels.

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A little about this site:
All writing and photos are Copyright Maryam Malek © 2009-2012 under a Creative Commons License, unless indicated otherwise. Please reference www.memorablemorsels.com if you link any work from this site.