Hey everyone. It’s my birthday!

I’m getting old. Not that old, but old still. Old for me. When did you start feeling old?

It’s an awkward birthday too. On a Tuesday, and for the first time in years I won’t be at work. Not really sure what to do with myself all day. People keep saying, “do something fun” or “treat yourself.” But treat myself to what? I’m at a loss. Blank. No idea what activity would be deemed special enough to mark my 31 years. Can a birthday really be a big deal without a party, or a meal with family, or getting dragged to drinks by co-workers? I think it can, especially a birthday when Alejandro cooks for me.

And wait, I shouldn’t say “all day,” because Erin and I are checking out potential spaces for Little Mac in Old Oakland tomorrow. And that’s exciting. It’s so hard to move forward with plans before a lease is signed. Although we did have fun choosing wines in Sonoma–something we can for sure take care of beforehand.

My birthday actually came a bit early this year, with a gift from my new friend Scott, owner of the Sausage Debauchery. Scott knows me well, and sent me Sicilian salted anchovies, Marinella capers and mullet bottarga. Ah, bottarga!  It’s cured and dried fish roe that you grate over pasta, eggs, crostini–almost anywhere you would use parmigiano-reggiano. Not as earthy as anchovies, but it has the heady brininess that you only find in preserved sea life. I’ve been waiting to try this stuff for years, but it’s always been out of my price range–one small block can go for $80. Scott has both tuna and mullet bottarga for much cheaper. Check out his ebay store for bottarga and lots of Italian goodies you can’t find elsewhere.

I dished up a bread salad to serve as the backdrop for the salty fish roe. A crunchy sweet batard torn, toasted and tossed with olive oil, pan-roasted butter beans, thinly sliced celery and spicy arugula, all topped with a caper vinaigrette and dusted with bottarga. Freshly filleted anchovies sat off to the side, waiting to be covered in extra dressing.

It was good. It was really really good. Ask Erin, she had some too. And she’ll be writing my next post, so please, ask her if you don’t believe me.

Oh hey, I have a limoncello update. It’s mixed with the sugar, and getting nice and mellow before heading into the freezer. Check out my facebook page later in the week for the recipe.

Bottarga Bread Salad with Butter Beans and Caper Vinaigrette
Serves 2

1 can Italian butter beans (use dried if you have them, soaked and cooked)
1 cup very thinly sliced celery (a mandoline works nicely)
Handful arugula, washed and torn into bite-sized pieces
1/2 freshly baked sweet batard
2 tablespoons salted capers, washed
1 tablespoon fresh lemon juice
2 tablespoons Italian parsley, chopped
Extra-virgin olive oil
2 tablespoons champagne vinegar
Freshly ground black pepper
Sea salt

Caper Vinaigrette
Put the capers in a deep bowl, add a sprinkle of salt, and mash using a pestle. Add lemon juice, parsley and champagne vinegar. Stir to combine. Slowly whisk in 6 tablespoons of olive oil.

Preheat your oven to 400F. Cut the bread into one inch pieces, and arrange in a single layer on a baking sheet. Bake for about ten minutes.

Meanwhile, drain the beans and rinse well. Heat up a large saute pan on medium-high heat and add 2 tablespoons of olive oil. When hot, add the beans. Let cook without stirring for five minutes. Add a sprinkle of salt and pepper and toss. Cook for an additional 5 minutes or until golden brown.

Remove the beans and add 2 more tablespoons of oil to the pan. Add the toasted bread and cook until golden.

Combine the bread and the beans in a large bowl. Add the sliced celery and arugula and slowly drizzle on the caper vinaigrette. Top with about 2 tablespoons of bottarga right before serving.

Where I Shopped:
Bottarga, Capers: The Sausage Debauchery
I didn’t make it to the farmer’s market this weekend, so I shopped at Star Grocery in Berkeley. They stock organic, California-grown produce and Acme bread.

This is big.

This is so big.

I’ve been gone for a while. I’m sure you noticed. No posts, tweets, facebook updates. But I have a good reason. A very good reason.

You see, for the last few months, I’ve been hiding a very big secret.

I’m opening a restaurant.

Me! Can you believe it? WE, actually. My friend/partner Erin and I, along with our husbands, Uri and Alejandro. I didn’t mean to keep this from you, but I had to wait until I quit my job – and last week, that’s just what I did. I walked up to my boss at my cushy desk job and said, “I quit. I’m opening a restaurant.” It wasn’t quite that dramatic, but it was scary as hell.

After hours, days, months and countless emails to friends, we named our restaurant Little Mac. Cute, huh? Mac for macaroni and cheese, because that’s what we’ll have. All kinds of mac and cheese, using local cheeses and farm-fresh produce. Of course that won’t be all. We’ll also have salads, craft beers, California wines and nostalgic desserts like homemade Oreo cookies. We don’t have a final location just yet, but we hope to set up shop in downtown or uptown Oakland, and if we’re really lucky we’ll open our doors by mid-summer.

Another reason for keeping this secret was that it didn’t quite seem real yet. I’ve been talking about it for years. How one day, when the time is right, I will open a restaurant. And now, at 30 years-old, I’ve been married, and divorced, and married again. I’ve gone back to school for a Masters. And I quit a few credits shy of a degree to move across the country– to a place I’ve never been to before. And once again, I’m changing everything. Putting everything we have into a dream.

It hasn’t been easy. This past week in particular was extraordinarily disheartening. But we’re ready for it. Ready for the ups, the downs, the disappointments, the excitement. And wait until you meet Erin. She’s awesome. Besides being a chef and a lawyer, she’s the kind of friend everyone wishes they had. But you’ll see. In the coming weeks you’ll hear much more about Erin, and maybe I can even convince her to write a post of her own.

So are you ready? Will you follow us for the ride? I’ll keep you posted on landlords, brokers, lawyers, distributors, architects, contractors, city officials and everyone else who will make or break us along the way. And I promise to post more often. My last day of full-time work is Thursday (holy crap!), and then me and my fellow Pisces girls, Claudia and Erin, are celebrating our birthdays barrel-tasting in Sonoma. But after that, I swear, no more disappearing, and I’ll be back to posting at least twice a week. For those who want recipes and who don’t really care about the restaurant, you’ll get that too. Like this deconstructed frittata using the season’s first asparagus. Asparagus, finally! That might be even bigger news than Little Mac!

Actually, no. Little Mac is definitely bigger than asparagus.

If you enjoyed this post, give me a Stumble!

Deconstructed Asparagus Frittata
2 servings

2 fresh, organic eggs
4 small creamer potatoes, sliced very thin.
6 asparagus spears
Extra-virgin olive oil
Sea salt
Freshly ground black pepper
Chili Marash (awesome spicy chili powder that Erin introduced me to)

Snap the ends off of asparagus, and slice horizontally through the center of each spear, creating two thin slices. Slice again vertically to create pieces about 2 inches long. Blanch spears in boiling water for 30 seconds.

Heat up a cast iron skillet and add 2 tablespoons of olive oil. When oil is hot, arrange potatoes in a single layer in the skillet. Let cook for 3 minutes, then flip. Add salt and black pepper and cook for 2 more minutes, until brown. Be careful not to burn potatoes. Drain on a paper towel.

Arrange crispy potato slices on a plate. Top with asparagus.

Crack an egg into the same skillet and cook for one minute, or until the egg white is set. Slide the egg on top of your plate. Add a sprinkle of salt, marash chili and a drizzle of olive oil. Repeat with the remaining egg, adding a touch more olive oil to the skillet if needed.

Where I Shopped:
Local eggs, asparagus, creamer potatoes: Berkeley Farmers’ Market
Marash chili: The Pasta Shop, Oakland

Oh Dad.

You said it could never be done. You said the unfathomable combination of chocolates is just too much for the home cook to bear. A recipe so exact, so mystifying, that it’s downright impossible for anyone but the expertly trained chefs that make hundreds of them daily.

Oh Dad. I think you were wrong. And I know what you’re going to say. “It’s not the same! Just look at it –those aren’t thin chocolate shavings, they’re globs, sitting on your not-as-fluffy whipped cream. And you can’t serve frozen hot chocolate in a jar! Everyone knows it comes in a big, wide-mouthed goblet.”

Okay, you have a point. It doesn’t look exactly the same, but it tastes pretty darn close.

Just what is this magical concoction? It’s Serendipity’s famous frozen hot chocolate. It’s why people wait in line for hours and hours. It’s why we endure the pretentiousness, the snarls, the discriminating stares from holier-than-thou employees. It’s cold, icy comfort with everything but a cherry on top.

I was convinced I could replicate this at home. Probably because my father told me I couldn’t. The trickiest part about frozen hot chocolate is differentiating it from your typical chocolate milkshake–because really, they’re not that different. Chocolate, milk, ice, blend and serve. I knew the distinction would come from the quality of the chocolate and the addition of hot chocolate mix. I could have made my own, but I found a cute little jar of all-natural hot chocolate from Silly Cow Farms, and I’m a sucker for cute lil’ jars.

For the chocolate, I chose a combination of dark and milk chocolate from Dagoba. I love Dagoba. It’s pretty much the only chocolate I use for eating or baking. I melted down sharp pieces of it into a rich, thick pool of goodness and mixed it with a sprinkle of sugar and cream-on-top milk from Straus Creamery, which is also where I bought the heavy cream for the homemade whipped cream.

It’s true. Again and again and again. The quality of the ingredients make all the difference.

So Dad. There you have it. A frozen hot chocolate without the wait, without the attitude and without the trek to 60^th and 2^nd. I guess for you it would mean a much longer trek to Berkeley, California. But come on, don’t you want to come out and visit anyway?

Serendipity’s Frozen Hot Chocolate
Adapted from Frrrozen Hot Chocolate -  two servings

2 ounces Dagoba Milk Chocolate
4 ounces Dagoba Dark Chocolate (I used their lavender chocolate, but feel free to use whatever flavor you like.)
1 ½ cups whole organic milk
2 tablespoons hot cocoa mix
2 tablespoons organic cane sugar
2 cups heavy whipping cream
2-3 cups of ice

Cut the chocolate into one inch pieces. Set up a double-boiler to melt the chocolate. If you don’t have a double-boiler, place a metal bowl on top of a small saucepan that has about an inch of water in it. Add the chocolate to the bowl and slowly melt, stirring occasionally. When melted, take off heat and add hot cocoa mix, ½ cup of milk and 1 tablespoon of sugar. Stir until fully combined. Let cool to room temperature.

Add ice, 1 cup of milk and melted chocolate to a blender (I had to use my food processor because I don’t have a blender – I don’t recommend it!). Blend until smooth.

Add whipping cream and 1 tablespoon of sugar to the bowl of your stand mixer. Using the wire whip attachment, mix on medium-high until in turns into whipped cream, about 5 minutes.

Pour the frozen hot chocolate into a glass of your choice and top with whipped cream. Using a spatula, sprinkle any melted chocolate that’s leftover in your bowl on top.

Naked is fun. Freeing. Liberating.

Not naked as in changing at the gym in front of sweaty strangers, or drearily stripping off pjs before your morning shower. I mean naked as in pure, clean, unadulterated.

Think of confidently leaving your home without make-up, or sliding into a hot tub on a weekend getaway. The feel of sand when walking barefoot on the beach. The touch of a soft blanket on a chilly night. And of course, the euphoria of nakedness with the person you love.

Food is just as beautiful as we are when its naked. A fiery red tomato plucked from the vine or the first slice from an aged wheel of cheese. How often do we stop to appreciate our food before flavoring it with herbs, quickly sautéing it, or roasting it in a hot oven?

Fresh pasta especially doesn’t get the attention it deserves before going for a dunk in a pool of sauce. I’m not sure why, when the subtleties of homemade pasta made with organic flour and local eggs is as comforting and soothing as a hot candlelit bubble bath. Add things like roasted peppers, tomatoes or squid ink to the dough and you’ll need little more than olive oil and sea salt to create a beautiful meal.

These noodles have juice from Meyer lemons and spicy chili flakes ground from heirloom Rancho Gordo chilies. Instead of straining, I gently lifted them with tongs from boiling water so they would hold some residue moisture, and then tossed them with local oil and flaky fleur de sel. That’s it. As I slid the noodles into my mouth, the mild zest from the lemons was followed by a peppery burn at the back of my throat – but it was swiftly quelled by the softness from fresh olive oil. No cheese, no meat, not even a vegetable could possibly make this dish more enjoyable.

I’m sure you noticed I used Meyer lemon juice for the pasta, and maybe you’re wondering if it’s the same juice leftover from my local limoncello. It’s not. Claudia actually took all the leftover lemons and made pitchers full of fresh lemonade – a very worthy use for all of those naked lemons. I did get some fantastic suggestions from readers as to what to do with our lemon bounty, and I hope to make some of these before citrus season comes to an end:

Maria from Two Peas and their Pod submitted these beautiful Lemon Drop cookies.

Nanette from Gourmet Worrier has this incredible chocolate-lined lemon tart that I cannot wait to try.

Jenny from Nourished Kitchen, Ursula from Jane Spice and Winnie from Healthy Green Kitchen mentioned preserving the lemons, and I am definitely a sucker for chicken or fish cooked with the intensity of preserved citrus.

Leah from Wine Imbiber gave me a few great ideas – one in particular is for crema di limoncello, where you take the peels from the lemons after the limoncello is finished, boil them with milk and sugar, and mix it back in with the vodka. Find the full recipe here.

Only a few more weeks until the limoncello is ready to drink. In the meantime, free yourself with the smooth, silky feel of homemade naked pasta.

Limoncello at week 3

Meyer Lemon and Chili Pappardelle
Serves 2-3

1 cup organic flour
2 organic egg yolks
Juice from two Meyer lemons
1 tablespoon freshly ground red chili flakes (if you like spicy, add about ½ tablespoon more)
Drizzle of fresh extra virgin olive oil
Fleur de sel

In a small bowl, gently whisk together egg yolks, lemon juice and red pepper flakes.

Add flour to a large bowl and form it into a mountain. Make a well in the middle of the mound. Pour the egg mixture into the well, and slowly incorporate it into the flour with your hands. When it forms a mass, remove it from the bowl and onto a lightly floured surface. Knead the dough for 10 full minutes. If it’s too dry, and a little more lemon juice.

Divide the dough into four equal pieces. Using a pasta machine, put the first piece through on the widest setting. Fold it into thirds, like an envelope, and put it through again on the same setting. If your dough starts to fall apart, add more lemon juice or water. If your dough sticks to your pasta machine, add a tad more flour.

Decrease the width on the machine by one and put the dough through again. Repeat through the second-to-last notch. Roll out each piece of dough the same way.

You should now have four long, thin pieces of dough. To make papperdalle, use a dough scraper to cut the noodles into strips that are one inch wide. They don’t have to be perfect – that’s the joy of cutting your own pasta.

Cook the noodles in salted boiling water for about 1 minute. Remove with tongs, and toss with olive oil and fleur de ser.

Where I shopped:
Meyer lemons: Lemon trees in my neighborhood
Rancho Gordo chilies: Ferry Building Farmers’ Market, San Francisco
Olive Oil: Pedroncelli Winery, Sonoma