homing in » modern inspiration for a happy home

alfajores de uruguay

2011-12-09T19:17:00.007-05:00

This is it, folks. A real live heirloom recipe, passed through Richy's Uruguayan family. But the recipe didn't start there. It was originally an Arabic cookie, passed to Spain during the Moorish occupation. At that time, it was a cylindrical confection of ground almonds, honey, spices, and bread crumbs. When the Spanish conquered the New World, they brought the cookie with them, but many of the ingredients were unavailable, and so it finally morphed into the form that Richy and I have come to enjoy: two soft, crumbly shortbread cookies sandwiched with dulce de leche and covered in coconut.

It was with this very cookie that Richy tried to win me over. He started with walnut chocolate chip cookies, but to seal the deal he broke out the big guns. Surely, he knew that to bring me alfajores on his first visit would make a certain statement. These are big, passionate cookies. It would have been a bold fist move, so he decided to begin more subtly. But when the time was right, he brought me a batch of alfajores in all their saucy glory. And I guess you could say it worked.

But I digress; let's get back to the cookies themselves. It's very important to use a good dulce de leche, so get thee to a bodega for the good stuff (and not the Nestle kind, ¡Dios mío!). We used a brand called Los Nietitos, from Uruguay, but you can also make your own. You also have to be careful not to let the cookies brown in the oven, or they won't have the right texture. They should be soft rather than crispy. I think this texture stems largely from the generous use of cornstarch. You might be shocked by the amount of cornstarch you use in this recipe, but it works! You also might be struck by the whitness of the ingredients--white sugar, white flour, cornstarch, baking powder, coconut flakes--but at this point I have accepted that baked goods are essentially homemade processed food. But don't let that get in the way of your enjoyment. Break out the cornstarch and make these cookies.

Alfajores de Uruguay
100 grams of butter (8 tablespoons)
150 grams of sugar (3/4 cup)
1 egg
1 egg yolk
zest of one lemon
160 grams of cornstarch (1-1/4 cups)*
60 grams of flour (1/2 cup)
1 teaspoon baking powder
dulce de leche
shredded coconut

Preheat oven to 350 degrees and line a baking sheet with parchment paper. With an electric mixer, beat the butter and sugar until creamy. Stir in the egg and egg yolk and beat well. Then, add the lemon zest. In a separate bowl, sift together the cornstarch, flour, and baking powder. Add the dry ingrediants to the butter mixture and mix until dough forms. Let the dough rest for 15 minutes. After the dough has rested, add cornstarch until the dough no longer sticks to the counter or your rolling pin. Be careful not to add too much cornstarch or else the dough will become crumbly and not hold together. (I ended up using an additional 50g for this batch, but this amount will vary. Do not be afraid to use as much as necessary.) On a floured surface, roll dough to 1/8-inch thickness and cut into desired shapes. Arrange cookies on baking sheet and bake for 8 minutes, or just before the cookies begin to brown.

Allow cookies to cool completely on the baking sheet before handling. Spread a generous amount of dulce de leche between two cookies. Then, coat the sides of the cookies with a thin layer of dulce de leche. Be sure to get a little on the top and bottom edges as well.

Fill a baking sheet with an even layer of shredded coconut. Roll alfajores in the shredded coconut to coat. Press both sides of the alfajor into the shredded coconut to coat the top and bottom edges.

* You will likely need to use more cornstarch than indicated because the dough will be too sticky to handle.

banishing the mini blinds, or building a copper curtain rod

2011-11-27T22:03:00.009-05:00

When we moved in back in August, I told Richy that I could no longer have mini blinds in my life. This became something of a refrain over the next few months. For example, in the curtain section of IKEA I'm pretty sure I said "I CAN'T HAVE MINI BLINDS IN MY LIFE." I probably also said it in Home Depot, and at night, as I was settling into bed, it would become a lament. But finally, after months of hemming and hawing and procrastinating and planning, we have replaced the last mini blinds in the house.

Can I just say that these things were hideous?:

They were so gray, dusty, and depressing. In the morning, the light that filtered through them was dull and dreary. But the task of replacing them seemed daunting. The nature of the space made it too cramped for three separate curtain rods, and I have a constitutional distaste for finials. I suppose it's possible that someone out there manufactures tasteful curtain rods and finials, but after searching for several months, we were stumped. We also investigated curtain rod elbows so we could use one continuous curtain rod for the entire area, but those were kind of expensive, and we weren't sure how we could possibly mount such a contraption. Of course, it was a moot point because we couldn't find curtain rods we liked, anyway. Meanwhile, our IKEA Ritva curtains were languishing in the closet. We had picked them up back in September during the aforementioned episode in which I said I couldn't take the tyranny of mini blinds any longer. But then I had a thought. Would copper pipes work? A quick internet search showed that it had indeed been done before.

After cajoling Richy a bit, we rushed to Home Depot. Even in the aisles he remained skeptical. The pipe looked too shiny. He hated the curtain rod holders. I may have asked him if he has ever seen a curtain rod holder that he's liked. He worried the pipe would bow in the middle. And so on and so forth until we were finally able to assemble our mise en place. Richy seemed to think that the entire project was under-planned, but at this point, we really just had to get stuff on the wall and experiment with trial-and-error.

15 feet of 1/2-inch diameter copper pipe
A laser leveler and stud finder
3 curtain rod brackets
A pipe cutter
2 elbow fittings
2 caps
A ruler

All together, it cost less than $40, which I consider a triumph of thrift and economy (thankfully we already had the leveler!). Our first step was to mount the brackets. We hoped we could get away with three of them, but after we put the pipe in place, we found that that we needed four: one on each end and two on the long back wall. With just one bracket in the middle, the corners got all cattywompus and begged for more support. (At that point, Richy nearly lost all hope).

After that, we did a lot of measuring and cut the pipe, which was strangely rewarding. Something about turning the little pipe cutter around and around and then finally hearing a snap was very satisfying.

And then the moment of truth: will the pipe fit? Will it not fit? Honestly, we had to do some adjusting, but FINALLY we were rewarded with curtain rods. Curtain rods that are not tacky with nary a finial in sight. We're also excited about the way that the copper will change with time, eventually oxidizing and developing a patina. By using the elbow joints, we're able to curve the curtains around the corner a bit, which makes the curtain feel less disjointed, almost cocoon-like. We have one panel on each short wall and two panels on the long wall, with the center panels wrapped around each corner.

Our bedroom now feels so much more like home. The light in the morning is a warm glow. It's almost enough to get us out of bed. Of course, now the windows in our living room are beginning to feel a little bare. Do we have the energy for another window treatment project?

plenty by yotam ottolenghi

2011-10-19T22:56:00.004-04:00

Plenty has probably been the most talked-about vegetarian cookbook in years. For those of you who haven't heard of it, Yotam Ottolenghi owns a collection of prepared-food shops in London where he sells a selection of highly-regarded vegetable dishes (but also meats). The Guardian asked him to write a series of recipes in a column called "The New Vegetarian," which he was reluctant to do, as he is not, in fact, a vegetarian. But he did it anyway. A few people complained that meat-eating barbarians were invading the sacred turf of vegetarian culture, but mostly people were impressed by the recipes, which were collected in Plenty.

The general theme of the book seems to be herbs and spices and lots of them. They're everywhere! It's not atypical for a recipe to call for more than three different fresh herbs and a few spices as well. Obviously, this can make meals costly if you don't have an herb garden. (A lack of soil has prevented us from planting one, but if we had a yard, I assure you it would be overflowing with basil, parsley, thyme, and the like). I've managed to reduce the financial impact by making a whole slew of recipes that involve the same herbs, or by substituting them like crazy. Often, I can't even find the right herbs at Whole Foods, anyway. (Chervil? I know I've seen it somewhere before, but when?).

Nonetheless, I've been immensely happy with several of the dishes, particularly his shakshuka and green bean salad, which I happened to serve at the same dinner party. Generally, shakshuka, or "eggs in purgatory," is an Israeli dish of eggs poached in spicy tomato sauce. But Plenty instructs you to add fresh parsley, thyme, cilantro, bay leaves, and saffron. Instead of hot peppers, you use red and yellow bell peppers with a bit of sugar, making the whole thing a bit more sweet than spicy. Regardless, the final product is delicious, though I've made a few tweaks.

Shakshuka
3/4 tsp whole cumin seeds
1/2 cup light olive oil
2 large onions, sliced
2 red bell peppers, cut into 3/4 inch strips
2 yellow bell peppers, cut the same
4 tsp sugar (the book asks for muscovado, but white sugar will do)
2 bay leaves
8 thyme springs, leaves picked and chopped
2 tbsp chopped parsley
2 tbsp chopped cilantro, plus extra to garnish
1 28-oz can san marzano tomatoes, drained and chopped
1/2 tsp saffron threads (optional)
1/4 tsp cayenne
salt, pepper
up to 1 1/8 cup water
8 eggs

1. In a very large saute pan, roast the cumin seeds in a dry pan over medium-high heat until they begin to become fragrant, about 2 minutes.

2. Add the oil. When shimmering, add the onions and saute for 5 minutes, or until softened but not yet browned. (From what I can tell, traditional shakshuka would have you add garlic at this point, and I was tempted to do so, but the flavor is actually more delicate and nuanced without it).

3. Add the peppers, sugar, thyme, parsley, bay leaves, and cilantro, and continue to cook on high heat for 5 to 10 minutes until you get a bit of browning.

4. Add the tomatoes, saffron, cayenne, salt and pepper. Reduce heat to low and cook for 15 minutes. Watch closely, adding water as necessary to keep a pasta-sauce consistency. Taste to adjust seasoning. The sauce can be set aside at this point. Since the recipe makes a large batch, you could freeze half of it and save the rest for later. I found that the flavors improved greatly overnight.

5. Remove bay leaves and reduce heat to medium. Make wells in the sauce, making room for the eggs, which should be dropped directly into the pan with care, so as not to break the yolk. Sprinkle each egg with salt, cover, and cook on very gentle heat for 8-10 minutes, or until the eggs are just set. I prefer it with the yolks on the runny side. Sprinkle with cilantro and serve with crusty bread.

This is great at dinner or brunch. In fact, it kind of blew me away. I promise to follow up with the green bean salad recipe soon!

reupholstering a vintage lounge chair

2011-10-03T12:50:00.005-04:00

If you read Apartment Therapy, you’ve probably seen their scavenger posts. You know, the section where they showcase cool stuff from craigslist? Except that the stuff for sale in Boston is usually terrible. Really awful. Maybe an old dinged filing cabinet or lacquered 80s furniture. It's not Apartment Therapy's fault. Boston craigslist is just really depressing, as if most of the furniture came from an Allston frat house. Sometimes, however, you find a gem.

Right after we moved, we were checking craiglist obsessively with a fervor that nearly matched our apartment search mania. And then we saw it. Well, Chris saw it first, but Richy claims to have seen it earlier without remarking upon it. We may never know exactly how it slipped into our consciousness, but we’re glad that it did. We had been thinking about splurging for a Selig Z-chair, but we had very little hope that we would ever find an affordable one.

We feel like the chair we found has a similar, but more organic aesthetic. We haven’t been able to find any information on it; there is no identifying information anywhere to be found. We think it’s made of teak, and the seller thinks it was Danish, though no one can say for certain. We’ve come to love the gently curved armrest and low profile of the chair. It’s also extremely comfortable but can be difficult to climb out of as it’s so low to the ground. The only problem was the original fabric, which was cheap, synthetic, and rapidly decaying.

Thankfully, Richy has several yards of high-end upholstery fabric tucked into his little craft closet from the days he worked in the textile industry. Richy wanted to add a bit of warmth, and so we chose a beautiful fabric from Place Textiles which combines a finely spun linen yarn with a soft cotton chenille.

The fabric gets its name from the Sonoma Valley landscape that it resembles. Richy re-covered the whole chair, piping and all. (And sewing piping for the first time was quite a challenge!). Previously when reupholstering furniture, Richy tended to rip open the old upholstery to use it as a pattern for the new one. But he was hesitant to destroy a decent, though not entirely stylish, original cover. Since the pattern contained only five separate pieces (all of which were simple squares or rectangles), he decided to try his hand at creating the cover from scratch.

Richy carefully measured each piece from the old cover, added seam allowance, and cut those pieces in the new fabric. Construction was going swimmingly until he realized he would need to get all the stripes to line up together at the seams.

Finally, Richy settled on hand basting the entire thing, and he is so glad he did. Richy loves sewing on his vintage Singer 201-2; he especially appreciates the quiet hum of the machine as it gracefully sews through yards and yards of fabric. But he was surprised at out how peaceful he felt hand sewing. It brought him back to when he was too young to use a machine and his grandpa taught him by hand. And the end result was definitely worth the effort.

We really love the inviting feel that the new cushions add to the piece. The fabric itself is quite soft, and the raised stripes that were difficult to sew were actually perfect for adding subtle visual interest. But what we love most about our chair is the story behind it. In an age when most of us head to Ikea for furniture, it's nice to have something more personal. And while we both love Ikea, the furniture always feels temporary; it's the furniture you buy while you're waiting until you can afford what you really want. We're really proud of ourselves for putting this look together for less than the cost of an Ikea KARLSTAD. We hope this successful tale of thrift and craft inspires you and demonstrates that you don't have to be wealthy to have your real furniture, the kind you will own for the rest of your life and tell stories about for years.

apple and squash risotto

2011-09-25T16:27:00.006-04:00

At last, decorative gourd season is upon us. Our farm share is now overflowing with squash, apples, and good, honest root vegetables like carrots. I love squash as much as the next guy, but man, it's a lot of work. The peeling, the chopping, the long cooking times; it's not a vegetable for 30 minute meals. It's more of a weekend project than an after-work dalliance. But squash deserves more than your brief attention, anyway.

I've tried squash in many different risotti over the years, but I think this one is the best. In the past, I haven't roasted it before adding it to the rice, and it hasn't developed as much flavor as it should. But squash rewards time and effort. Unlike the tomato, which is hardly ever improved by cooking, squash will thank you for your ministrations.

In other risotto news, I may have changed my mind on risotto rice yet again. At first, I used arborio, because it was the most available. Then I switched my allegiance to carnaroli, but it seems like Whole Foods may have stopped carrying it. This time, when I stopped at Shaw's to pick up arborio, they wanted $8 for two pounds, which may be the most expensive rice I have ever seen. I couldn't make myself do it, so I went to Whole Foods, where arborio is about $3/lb. However, someone in the rice section suggested I try calrose, at a mere $1.50/lb. I decided to give it a try, and the results aren't awful. It's not quite as good as carnaroli, but it may be a slight improvement over arborio. I may be heretical to say this, but sometimes arborio can be too starchy, and the grains lose all of their definition. While the calrose wasn't quite as creamy as I would like, I think it's a great substitute if you can't find the other varieties. I'm not giving up on carnaroli, however. I just need a new source. (I'm considering ordering 12 pounds of it on Amazon, but that seems like a lot of rice to store in a small kitchen).

Apple and Squash Risotto
1 large tart apple, cubed
1 (3-lb) butternut squash
1 onion, chopped
4 tablespoons olive oil (divided)
2 tablespoons butter (divided)
1/2 cup freshly grated parmigiano reggiano
1 teaspoon fresh rosemary or thyme, finely chopped
salt, pepper
1 cup white wine
1.5 cups rice (arborio, carnaroli, or calrose)
6 cups vegetable stock

1. Preheat the oven to 400 degrees. Peel the squash, remove the seeds, and slice it about 1/2" thick. Lay the slices on a cookie sheet, and use your hands to coat the slices with about two tablespoons of olive oil and a few pinches of salt. Spread the slices in a single layer and place bits of butter (about a tablespoon in total) between the squash pieces. Roast for about 30 minutes, flipping half way through, until browned on both sides. Once it has cooled, cube the squash and set aside.

(A note about this photo: it turns out the environmentally-friendly CFL bulbs we used are HORRIBLE for food photography. We've since reverted to standard bulbs and have been happier with the results).

2. Bring 6 cups of vegetable stock to a slow simmer in a saucepan. In a large, heavy bottomed pot, saute the onion and rosemary over medium heat in a tablespoon of butter and 2 tablespoons of olive oil. Once softened, add the apples and rice. Stir to coat with oil.

3. Add a cup of white wine and simmer until reduced by half. Add vegetable broth, a ladle at a time, stirring occasionally to keep rice from sticking to the bottom of the pan. Once you've used most of your broth (it should take about 20 minutes), start tasting the rice for doneness. It should be soft on the outside, but retain a bit of a bite in the center. I always prefer my risotto to be a bit soupy, so it oozes deliciously across the plate, so keep that in mind as well. When nearly done, add the cubed squash.

4. Remove risotto from the heat. Stir in about 1/4 cup of cheese and add salt and a tablespoon or two of butter if necessary. Once plated, add more grated cheese.

it's just a little hocus pocus in salem, ma

2011-09-16T22:21:00.002-04:00

A few weeks ago, we took a day trip to Salem in order to escape the city, which had begun to feel oppressive in the August heat. Of course, when you think of Salem, you think of two things: the 1993 film Hocus Pocus, starring Bette Midler, and Nathaniel Hawthorne. I suppose other people think of the witch trials, but most wealthy Salem residents in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries apparently made their fortunes in the sea trade, and it was they who built the Salem we see today. You can thank sea captains for the gorgeous houses above and below, which are both located on Chestnut Street, a wide, leafy avenue lined with many of Salem's grandest homes.

But I'm not joking about Hocus Pocus. Before we took our trip, we reviewed a list of the filming locations so we could be sure to include some in our itinerary. The movie has turned into a running gag for us, because when Richy was taking his first trip to Boston from New Jersey, he decided to watch Hocus Pocus on the bus, as it was the film that most evoked Massachusetts for him. Why didn't he choose Mystic River, The Departed, or another great Boston film? It remains a mystery. But his strange choice lent us a great theme for our trip. I'm not sure we would have visited the Ropes mansion (below), otherwise. The Ropes mansion was built by a local merchant in 1727, and also served as Alison's house in the movie. It's surrounded by a garden that's open to the public for a leisurely stroll.

After our arduous walk, we were quite famished, so food was in order. Thankfully, we decided to try A&J King Bakery.

Richy had a sandwich with roasted red peppers and fresh mozzarella, while I had a Vietnamese-inspired pork sandwich.

Both were excellent, on good bread with high-quality ingredients. The sandwiches were served with pickles, but they weren't just any pickles. At some point, lemon juice had clearly been added to the pickling liquid, and they were delightfully refreshing. We will be making them eventually, if we ever find mason jars.

We finished with a buttery peach tart which was the equal of anything I've had in Boston.

Refreshed, we embarked on the Hawthornian leg of our journey. Below, you'll see the customs house where he worked for a while, and which inspired the introduction to The Scarlet Letter. It is seated in a commanding position on the harbor, surrounded by historic homes and brick sidewalks. We also visited the nearby House of Seven Gables, which inspired Hawthorne's novel of the same name.

(Wandering about afterward, we thought this sign was too humorous to pass by without comment. Is this pig happy to be eaten? Possibly.)

Desirous of more rural surroundings, we took a scenic drive along the coast through Beverly and Manchester-by-the-Sea (try saying that 5 times fast, or as Richy said, "Imagine writing that on your Christmas cards every year), where we discovered the Coolidge reservation.

The reservation was smaller than we originally thought, and a hike quickly brought us to a hilltop with views of the sea below.

But one of our favorite spots was this path, below, a long arcade roofed with tree branches, that led to a small lake.

Finally, we arrived at "Ocean Lawn," a grassy expanse sloping toward the ocean, the former site of a marble mansion, with views of dramatic cliffs and wildflowers.

The Coolidge Reservation was a fortuitous discovery, and a fitting way to end our day. We felt very fortunate to stumble upon it. Each stage of the reservation: the woods, the pond, the lawn, and the beach felt like a different set piece created for our own enjoyment. That each area was in such close proximity to the other felt almost absurd, and like an answer to the craving we each felt for a bit of nature. Even if the modern world kept creeping in, at both Salem and the Reservation, it was easy enough to imagine yourself in another time.

spalted maple coffee table

2011-09-11T15:32:00.004-04:00

A long time ago, in a faraway land called New Jersey, Richy decided to build a dining table for his first apartment in Boston. It was a small studio, so he decided to stick with something on the small side. He searched high and low for a nice piece of wood and fell in love with a slab of spalted maple from Boards and Beams in Fairfield, New Jersey. Unfortunately, Fairfield is located in a space-time vortex where everything appears bigger than it actually is, so when Richy carried his prize inside, he realized it was way too small for a dining table. And so it languished in a basement, unused and unwanted, until we started thinking about the coffee table we would need in our new place.

We arranged a highly-choreographed rescue expedition. Tear gas was involved. We made it out mostly unscathed, but at some point a scratch appeared on the surface of our precious cargo. We decided to investigate refinishing methods, which turned into a months-long process. We wanted something that would enhance the spalting, but also provide long-lasting durability. (Mini science lesson: spalting is the pigmentation left behind by a fungus that colonized the tree!)

Thanks to a thorough vetting process, we discovered the magic of Waterlox. If we sound excited about this, we can assure you, we're not as excited as this man, whose boundless enthusiasm inspired us to try it out for ourselves. Waterlox is a tung oil-based finishing product that brings out the natural patina of wood but, unlike Danish oil, also adds a layer of protection, making it water and chemical-resistant.

The first step, though, was to prep the tabletop. We started with 80 grit sandpaper to remove the old finish, and then moved on to 100, and finally 120 to buff out all of the minor imperfections. Next, we cleaned the surface with mineral spirits to remove any dust created by the sanding process. (Tip: applying the mineral spirits will darken the wood and give you a good idea of what your piece will look like after finishing with Waterlox.) We were finally ready to apply our first coat.

Luckily, Waterlox is very forgiving and takes well to all sorts of application methods. We used a foam brush, although you can also make an applicator by stuffing a rag inside nylon stockings. You can see in the photo above how the character of the wood comes alive even after the first coat.

After applying each coat, we let it dry for 24 hours. We found that our piece of maple was very thirsty, and it took several coats before the finish was completely even. The wood continued to darken slightly with each coat and began to develop a glossy sheen. If a glossy look isn't your thing, you can apply a layer of Waterlox's Satin Finish over your last coat of the Original Finish. (Tip: the Original Finish is needed first, though, to ensure water resistance.) The gloss level on the Original will diminish slightly after a few months. Although our original plan was to dull the gloss with the Satin, we are kind of digging how the table is developing over time.

We liked the idea of mixing raw steel with the rustic look of the wood slab and decided on 14" hairpin legs to complete our project.

Raw steel needs to be treated immediately to prevent rust from developing. We generously applied Johnson's Paste Wax to each leg, waited 20 minutes, removed the excess wax with a rag, and buffed the entire surface. (Mini science lesson: the paste wax fills the crevices in the steel and prevents oxidation from occurring.)

We offset each leg base plate (which are L-shaped) about 1" from the corners of the wood slab. Using the base plate as a guide, we marked each screw location with a pencil, removed the base, and drilled a pilot hole for each screw with a 9/64 drill bit. Next, using 1.25" 10# pan head screws (use the longest screw possible) we attached each leg.

After all our hard work, our table is proudly situated in the center of the living room, patiently waiting for its pal, the sofa. And thus, Richy's lapse in spacial judgment has turned into a conversation piece with an interesting story.

it's official...

2011-09-09T12:53:00.003-04:00

www.homing-in.com

on re-creating restaurant dishes

2011-09-06T19:19:00.005-04:00

Months ago, when it still felt novel to walk to a restaurant sans-jacket on a warm evening, we ate at Bondir, which was around the corner from my old apartment in Cambridge. Dinner was lovely and subtle, from handmade buckwheat noodles with grilled squid, poached lobster, and shaved vegetables, to black bass roasted in duck fat with seared sugar snap peas, scallions, and marjoram froth.

The whole meal really inspired me to think about using fresh herbs and shaved vegetables to add flavor and texture. Most of the herbs were left whole, lending different essences to every bite, while the thinly sliced vegetables added crunch. If you go to Bondir, don't expect big flavors, rather, impeccably sourced ingredients which delicately play off one another. I also loved how these aspects made every bite taste different, keeping each forkful interesting.

With all this in mind, months after I first tried the dish, I set out to re-create "Hand Rolled Tagliatelle with English Peas, Cousa Squash, Radish Leaf Pesto, Fresh Ricotta." At the restaurant, the noodles arrived carefully twirled in the center of the plate, with the accompaniments artfully arranged around it. It looked great, but this made it difficult to eat. And while practical for a small course as part of a larger meal, it's not really feasible for an entree-sized portion. And so I settled on this:

Hand Rolled Tagliatelle with English Peas, Cousa Squash, Radish Leaf Pesto, Fresh Ricotta
For the ricotta
1 pint half-and-half
2 cups whole milk
1 tablespoon white vinegar
1/2 teaspoon salt

For the radish leaf pesto
2 handfuls radish leaves, washed, dried, and stemmed
1 clove garlic, chopped
2 tablespoons olive oil
1 tablespoon grapeseed oil (or another neutral oil), plus more as needed
1/4 cup chopped almonds
Pinch of salt

For the pasta
1 lb. linguine
2 radishes, thinly sliced
1 small cousa squash (or zucchini)
1 clove garlic
1/2 tsp. red pepper flakes
1/2 lb. shelled peas (I used thawed frozen peas!)
About 40 fresh mint leaves
Freshly grated Pecorino Romano

1. Make the ricotta: Combine the half-and-half, milk, vinegar, and salt in a saucepan over medium-high heat and stir briefly. When it begins to bubble, turn the heat down and watch for the curds to separate. It will be done when you see the curds with clear liquid bubbling around them. Pour the contents of the pot into a fine-mesh strainer (or cheese cloth over a colander) and let drain until you're ready to use the cheese (you should be left with about a cup).

2. Make the pesto: Combine the pesto ingredients in a food processor and process until smooth, adding more grapeseed oil to achieve the desired consistency.

3. Bring salted water to a boil and cook the linguine. Reserve about 1/2 cup of pasta cooking water before straining.

4. Quarter and slice the zucchini. Heat a tablespoon of olive oil in a small frying pan and add a crushed clove of garlic. Remove when it begins to brown. Add the red pepper flakes and zucchini and cook until lightly browned. Sprinkle with a pinch of salt and set aside.

5. Return the pasta to the pot and mix it with the pasta cooking water and a drizzle of olive oil. Add the pesto, peas, zucchini, and grated Pecorino Romano until all is thoroughly mixed.

6. Portion the pasta onto dinner plates and garnish with the shaved radish, mint leaves, and ricotta cheese.

It was quite a bit different than the restaurant version. I can't remember exactly what they did with the cousa squash, but I have a feeling that it may have been raw. I thought I could bring a bit more flavor to the dish by cooking it, but it didn't add much to the finished pasta. I might omit this next time. When making the radish leaf pesto, I decided to minimize the amount of olive oil because I wanted to allow as much of the radish flavor to come through as possible. A neutral oil was really key to this, and it came out tasting very fresh and clean. Next time I might actually add more mint and radish, but I was quite happy with the number of peas and the amount of ricotta. We washed this down with cucumber water, which I highly recommend. Simply combine sliced cucumber and water in a pitcher, put it in the fridge, and drink it an hour later. It's incredibly refreshing and a great alternative to plain old water.

there's no place like...

2011-09-03T17:31:00.005-04:00

After some tense negotiations with the previous tenants, we finally got the keys to our new home, and we moved in last weekend with Irene on the horizon. Though it was vacant for two months (a rarity in Boston's September 1st-driven rental season), our dream apartment wasn't in quite the condition that we hoped...

The paint was peeling off the wall in the kitchen, and when Richy pulled at it, he cleared a few square feet of wall space. ("Uh, Chris? Is this supposed to happen?")

Project #1: Fear not. It's nothing that a scraper, spackle, and a power sander can't handle.

Whoever painted the walls last time (in 1996?) didn't seem to mind that it also got all over the ceiling. They also didn't seem to bat an eyelash at the overhead dust, dirt, and grime.

Project #2: First-time ceiling painters Richy and Chris valiantly attack the ceiling with rollers on sticks, brushes, and ladders. What they don't realize is that no drop cloth in the world is big enough to prevent a rainstorm of paint from showering on the hardwoods (and on them!).

Project #3: Scrape all of the ceiling paint off the floor.

If you ever decide to turn off your refrigerator, you may want to leave the door open. If not, you may cause an infestation of black mold, which, I can assure you, is not a visitor you want at your housewarming.

Project #4: Bleach. All of the bleach.

After enduring a rainstorm of paint, one may decide to take a shower. But wait. Will this shower make me dirtier than I was before? Is this mold? Mildew? Both?

Project #5: Bleach bleach bleach. So much bleach Chris burned a hole in his finger when the rubber gloves kept breaking. (Fun fact: commercial bleach products contain lye, which can eat through your skin. Who knew?)

And then the water stains. These were persistent water stains. We slapped on a coat of paint, then another. And another. Chris's mom told us about a primer called Kilz that you're supposed to use to cover stains, but it seemed like the sixth coat would cover it.

Project #6: Seven coats of paint on the water stains. Lesson: Don't underestimate the Kilz.

This photo gives you a good idea of how dirty the walls were. The kitchen was splattered with food and oil, there were black marks everywhere. Double sided tape. The walls were kind of like a post-apocalyptic landscape in Benjamin Moore Linen.

Project #7: Ben has another color that suits us a bit Moore. Simply White in matte for the walls and Simply White in pearl for all of the trim.

And all of our hard work paid off! The big reveal...

We really think Simply White is the perfect shade of white. It looks so much cleaner and, because it is a crisp white, it doesn't turn too yellow under the recessed lighting.

But as you can see in the bedroom, Simply White is still warm enough when bathed in natural light that it doesn't feel too stark or cold.

When we started this project, I don't think we had any idea how many hours it would take to paint the apartment. It took over our lives for a week, but we're really happy with the results. Every once in a while, we still pause to remark upon how much better it looks. Most of our friends have asked why we didn't just ask the landlord to fix the place, but we wanted everything ready so we could move on to bigger and better things, like the super-cool vintage armchair we just bought and the DIY coffee table that we will tell you about soon!

tutorial: collar stays

2011-08-24T18:05:00.004-04:00

I am just about finished with my new black and white gingham shirt! I have been searching for the right stiffness of interfacing for the collar and stand and I found something I was happy with at Steinlauf and Stoller. This very stiff interfacing, combined with collar stays, creates the perfect crisp collar.

I have put together a little tutorial for creating slots for collar stays on an under collar.

First, you need to create the under collar pattern. In the picture above, the under collar pattern piece is above the top collar to show the amount I have cut away . The collar I use is a wide-spread collar so the pattern may look upside down since the collar points are pointing in the opposite direction a traditional collar points. To clarify, you want to trim the side of the collar that attaches to the stand. I use a 5/8" seam allowance for that edge but 1/4" throughout the rest of the collar (disregard the pencil line - that is NOT the edge that gets folded).

Press the 5/8" allowance to the WS of fabric.

Using your top collar pattern, cut two extensions for the under collar.

Match the under collar with the extensions and baste top, bottom, and side edges. Do not baste pocket opening.

If you usually trim the under collar to make it slightly smaller than the upper collar, do that now.

With a water-soluble marker, mark the seam allowance (in my case 1/4") where the pocket edge meets the bottom edge. Align the edge of your ruler with this mark and offset the ruler 1/4" at the top point (I use a clear ruler for this). Mark line, then mark another line 1/2" from the line you just drew.

First, stitch the longer line right on top of your marking line. Then, stitch shorter line and stop at pocket edge with needle down. Pivot, then edgestitch the pocket edge closed.

Done!

When both sides are complete, insert collar stay to ensure they fit (but remember to remove). Continue as usual for the remaining construction of the collar.

the gibassier at clear flour

2011-08-16T15:29:00.011-04:00

I couldn't remember what it was called. I knew it was an orange-scented brioche from Provence, but a Google search yielded only pompe à l'huile, and I knew that wasn't right. Finally I had to call Clear Flour to find out exactly what I've been enjoying these past few weekends. What you see before you is a pillowy loaf of brioche made with olive oil (likely in addition to butter), studded with anise seeds and candied orange peel, flavored with orange water and dusted with sugar. Apparently gibassiers are not often available stateside, so we're very lucky to have these in Boston. I fear it may be a temporary offering, so I'm going to keep eating them as often as I can. Perhaps I can get a group of people to create a movement around these pastries, because I would hate to see them go. We could call our nascent posse the "Gibassiennes" and style ourselves after the sans-culottes. But then, can such a subtle pastry inspire a revolution? Because the true joy of the gibassier is its delicate flavor and texture. It's not an American-style, larger than life sticky bun, the consumption of which might cause a person to feel that he has just eaten a brick. The gibassier is an altogether more pleasant way to start a summer morning.

Which is not to say that the morning bun from Clear Flour is that kind of sticky bun. These buns are made from the bakery's exceptional croissant dough, and are therefore flaky and light. After a few bites however, I found myself wishing I had gotten another gibassier instead. So I will continue to stand in line behind groups of people who, without fail, will order bags and bags of baked goods. And when I at last reach the front of the line, I will place my order for two gibassiers, step outside, and resist the urge to eat them on the way home.

scenes from the cambridgeport farmer's market

2011-08-11T10:57:00.003-04:00

I'm going to miss Cambridge when I move across the river into Boston. I know it's not far and I can always visit, but I have a feeling I won't be back as often as I think. After I left Davis Square, I always thought I'd visit frequently (it's only 3 stops away!), but I never find myself there anymore. One of the areas I will miss is Cambridgeport, with its Shell sign looming over the Charles, and leafy, tree-lined streets.

I used to go to the Union Square farmer's market on Saturday mornings, but you will notice something special about the Cambridgeport market in the photo here. It's empty. At some point over the past three years, everyone in Camberville decided to frequent the Union Square farmer's market. Usually I arrive late enough that all the good things are gone. I was never able to find asparagus or strawberries this year because they were always sold out. So if you're looking for a more relaxing experience, check out the Camrbidgeport market. Sometimes I miss the live music and the lively atmosphere of Union Square, but usually I just want my vegetables. And on that note, I leave you with some gratuitous photos of local produce. (Aren't those the prettiest onions you've ever seen? I don't think of onions as particularly comely, and yet these seem to be calling my name.)

tomatoes à la provençale

2011-08-06T17:58:00.030-04:00

When you say "tomatoes à la Provençale," you have to channel Julia Child, or your dish will fail. Because these tomatoes are fussy, it helps to describe what you're doing in your best approximation of her famous warble.

Although people tend to associate tomatoes with Italy, the French know a thing or two about them as well. A reliable source, an actual book (I'm not joking around with Wikipedia here), says that France grows more tomatoes than any other vegetable, even potatoes. And tomatoes à la Provençale is a perfectly summery way to prepare these beautiful nightshades. Richy and I ate them with a salad and some pasta for a delicious dinner. (He ate some even though he professes to dislike tomatoes!)

To start you will need a relatively firm tomato for each person you plan to serve. You don't want anything overripe here. You'll also want to make your own breadcrumbs from a good loaf of bread. I started by drying the bread in the oven at 350 degrees and then pulling it apart into chunks, which I turned to crumbs in the food processor. Meanwhile, slice the tomatoes exactly in half from top to bottom and flick out the seeds with a small, sharp knife. Salt them and place them face down on a plate until you're ready to use them.

Once your crumbs are ready, mince a clove of garlic and a few tablespoons of fresh parsley to complete your mise en place. Then, heat a few tablespoons of olive oil in a frying pan over medium-high heat and place the tomatoes face down in the pan. When the edges start to curl, flip them over with a wooden spoon (so as not to pierce them) and brown the other side.

Set the tomatoes aside in a baking dish, then add the garlic and bread crumbs to the frying pan. I usually add a pinch of dried herbes de provence and crushed red pepper, as well. Once the breadcrumbs have browned, add the chopped parsley and spoon the mixture over the tomatoes. Place the dish in the oven for a few minutes until the tomatoes are hot all the way through and serve.

finding the perch

2011-08-05T10:00:00.006-04:00

Realtor photo, May, 2011

It took us a long time to find an apartment. We started looking in January and checked Craigslist obsessively through mid-May. We looked at apartments in Back Bay, Beacon Hill, Cambridge, and the North End, but we were hoping all along to settle in the South End.

Most of the apartments we saw were tiny or expensive or dumpy or in noisy student buildings. The listings often had lovely pictures, but when we arrived for a showing we would find out that the photos had been of a completely different building. Most of the apartments in Beacon Hill felt like dungeons with low ceilings, small windows, and kitchens that hadn't been updated since 1958. And they cost $1,800 per month. We almost settled on one, however. It was a studio across the street from the Boston Common and filled with original details-- paneling and molding galore, a fireplace--but the thought of living in a studio felt a little too claustrophobic, and the kitchen was awful. It was the most difficult decision of our apartment search, but we decided not to take it.

Often, the prices didn't seem to correspond to the apartments at all. Some pricey units were absolute dumps, while cheaper ones were often halfway decent. I will never understand the laws of supply and demand in the Boston apartment market. Some units will languish on Craigslist for months at a time, the landlord clearly holding out for the person who, in a moment of desperation, will settle for a $1,750 per month basement studio. The reasonably-priced units will usually be posted for a few hours before they're snatched up.

That was certainly the case with our apartment. We found it in the morning: a reasonably clean, fairly spacious apartment on the second floor of a townhouse on the dividing line between the Back Bay and the South End, it seemed too good to be true. So Richy went to see it. Afterwards, he called to tell me it was the real deal, so I raced down to the South End after work. We made it just in time. Another couple walked into the apartment right on our heels, but we were already putting in the application.

Our apartment isn't without its compromises. There is no laundry in the building, the kitchen is the size of a postage stamp, and all of the original details have been removed. In fact it's pretty much a blank slate, but at least the floors and walls are in good shape.

Realtor photo, May, 2011

On the bright side, we have bow-front windows. We're really tempted to put some molding around them to spruce the place up a bit, but I'm not sure what our landlord would have to say about that. And did I mention that the kitchen is tiny?

You can't tell in this photo, but someone decided to make it even smaller by placing a coat closet in the middle of the room. I repeat: a coat closet in the middle of the room. If I were buying this place, the first thing I would do is knock down that closet. I feel guilty saying that, almost, considering the state of closets in most Boston apartments. My current bedroom in Cambridge doesn't even have a closet. Richy's place in Brighton has a closet that's about 3 feet wide and 2 feet deep. But I really want to get rid of this coat closet. I prefer counter space to closets.

Realtor photo, May, 2011

But our first order of business will be to paint the walls. As you can see from these photos, the paint color ain't doin' this place no favors. It looks like it had white walls before they became dirty. We're still choosing our paint colors, but we're thinking it will be mostly white with a dark gray accent wall. We also need to get rid of those mini blinds. Neither of us wants cheap mini blinds in our lives anymore, and I'm hoping that nice window treatments and some paint will cover up the fact that this apartment was insensitively renovated in the late mid eighties.

Today, one of my friends told me that an acquaintance of hers is planning to move to Boston. She's hoping to find a place by mid-August, but is willing to hold out until September 1st. I started laughing maniacally for a moment. September rentals in Boston are a contact sport, after all. But then I remembered my own move here for grad school. I was moving from South Carolina, and it was impossible to look for a place from 1,000 miles away. But I found an agent who was willing to work with me from afar and I was able to finalize the lease when I flew up for orientation a week prior to my move-in. Thankfully, I've come a long way from that Medford apartment. This was the first time I got a head start on my apartment search, and I think I'll finally live in a place I'm happy with.

hi. and then you'd say... "hi. how was your day?"

2011-08-04T09:00:00.024-04:00

It's that time. Yup, that's right. You heard correctly. It's that time. You know, that one big step. No, not that one big step. A slightly smaller big step. Got it? No? Well, since we've just met I suppose I'll let you in on the secret: I'm fleeing the Jersey nest and building my own in Boston's quaint South End neighborhood!

Luckily, I am not alone. Hailing from Wethersfield, CT by way of Greenville, SC, I will be joined by my incredibly charming (and patient) boyfriend, Chris. Chris is my anchor. When I begin to obsess over the benefits of Simply White over Cloud White or when I think I need just one last trip to IKEA, Chris is there to focus me and remind me that happiness is the most important element in a home.

My pop-pop and my grandma

There may be trials and tribulations along the way, but I've come prepared. As a direct decedent of one of Jersey's greatest craftsmen and latch hook devotees, I've developed a reputation as a do-it-yourselfer who can fashion a dining table out of wood scraps, decorate an apartment with neat thrift store finds, design and stitch his sister's wedding dress, and blog about it too.

And I'm delighted you're here because I want to share every moment along the way.

So come in, sit a spell with me, and enjoy Homing In.