Lobster mushroom, sweet corn and watercress risotto

This is the best time of year. The weather is up to its typical late summer bipolar antics, and while I still have sweet Silver Queen corn down here in the Valley (thanks to sunny days), the mountains are cooling off enough in the evenings that lobster mushrooms have made their way into my neighborhood fancy grocery store.

Scott had a bee in his bonnet for some lemony chicken and risotto, and even though those are a springtime jones, such is his wantlessness that I tend to cater to his every (infrequent) craving. And despite the fact that our garden is a cornucopian money-shot of nightshades (six tomato varieties for a dozen plants total, four chile varieties and an eggplant), this third trimester heartburn started kicking in today, and I just didn't feel like one more helping of spaghetti Margherita (with a masochistic craving for extra chile flake).

I melted some butter in the pan while I thawed some homemade chicken stock (frozen in June), and sweated a quarter of a tiny red onion with two minced garlic cloves. I added a drib of olive oil to prevent the butter from browning and added one fist-sized lobster mushroom, sliced and broken into bite-sized pieces. I tossed in a couple handfuls of arborio rice and stirred it around, doing the "making risotto" thing until time to add a glass of chardonnay (now that I'm getting late in the pregnancy, I'm not afraid to taste the wine that goes into my cooking). I added splashes of the rich chicken stock, stirring lovingly, and then added an ear's worth of corn cut fresh from the cob.

A few fat pinches of lemon zest went in at the end, along with some fresh thyme and a few handfuls of chopped watercress. The peppery, nasturtium verdure of the watercress slapped the sleepy, smalltown white carbs right in the kisser, the mineral parsley gave it some backbone, and a sprinkling of crumbly fat and salt Parmigiano Reggiano gave it cheeks.

Enjoy with a crispy pear cider, or I suppose a nice Gewürztraminer, if you had one laying around.

Pork tenderloin and warm succotash with heirloom tomatoes and bacon

Damn, I'm rusty. I've almost completely forgotten how to use my camera. I should probably just restore it to its factory settings and start over. Stupid blurry corn. Sigh.

Hey, I cooked! The week of 105 degree temperatures followed by the week of 90+ degree temperatures has been chased by the pleasant partly-cloudy and low 80s that I can really get with. My garden is exploding with corn the size of my forearm and state fair tomatoes, my scarlet runner beans are hanging heavy on their vines and the peppers are nearly ready. I feel reinvigorated (being thoroughly sick of Vietnamese takeout gave me a much-needed kick in the ass, too).

A perfectly-cooked pork tenderloin surprised me after not having cooked meat in what feels like forever. I brined it quickly in Kumquat Dry Soda with a tablespoon of salt and a pinch sugar. I seared it on all sides and finished it in the oven, pulled it at medium (to the touch test), rested for five minutes and was delighted to find it rosy and juicy when sliced into thick medallions.

"Mmm...Heather cooking," Scott approved as he dove into the succulent pork bedded down on a bowl of summer warmth: corn cut from the cob and sauteed with red cipolline onions, bacon and sliced scarlet runners (pods and all). When the beans were al dente*, I added some lemon zest and a fat knob of butter, some chopped thyme and summer savory, and a couple of handfuls of chopped black brandywines (the garden's first!) and sliced cherry tomatoes. They brought a nice twang of acid to the fatty, creamy succotash.

Enjoy with a crunchy Reed's ginger beer. Here's to hoping that a new-found nesting instinct includes getting my sealegs in the kitchen again.

*These scarlet runners were probably a week older than what would be ideal for eating with the pods - the waxy cuticle needed to be removed from the pod and the skins on the beans could've benefited from a longer cooking time. I'll look forward to letting the rest of them completely ripen and shell them for cassoulet or feijoada. Never eat scarlet runners raw - they are high in phytohemagglutinins and can cause stomach problems like nausea, vomiting and diarrhea.

Orecchiette with pancetta, asparagus, peas and lemon balm

It's so good to be back in my kitchen, I can't even tell you. After the nettle dinner (those 24 things are so much work!) I was in the dry, dusty field for a week (botanical surveys in the western Central Valley, California), and spent the weekend alternately recovering on the couch with my feet up and the remote control ruthlessly cutting commercials from Tivo'ed programs, or playing Rune Factory Frontier, or turning and seeding my warming vegetable beds. Even though it was inspirationally gorgeous out, I didn't really feel like cooking. Not one whit.

The funny thing about being pregnant is that every two hours you are starving. Your blood sugar drops so fast that you simultaneously want to puke and faint. But as famished as I feel, when I finally get around to getting some food in front of me, I can only muster a few bites before I am completely stuffed. Baffled then, am I, that I am gaining weight so quickly. I've been putting on almost a pound a week since I found out. It's going straight to my belly, upper arms and tits, which are rapidly transforming into jugs (I can't stop staring at them, which is probably why I can see them growing before my very eyes).

But holy shit, this is so not about me. This is about the simple flavors of springtime, about the vernal Holy Trinity (peas, asparagus and ham), about meals that are free of fetter and hamper. In the time it takes to boil water and cook pasta you can have, in your very mouth, a perfect balance of crunchy, sweet, virid, salty, fatty, bright and creamy. Yes, all in one bite.

While you're waiting for water to boil, string about a half pound of peas and peel the stems of a small bunch of asparagus. Slice these coarsely on the bias into bite-sized chunks. Mince a shallot and three cloves of garlic finely. Chop about a quarter pound of pancetta. Your water is nigh at a boil, so add a fat pinch of kosher salt and dump in nearly an entire pound of orecchiette (leave about a cup in the bag for another time, this'll still be enough for leftovers).

While the pasta is cooking, render the pancetta in a drizzle of olive oil, and add the shallot and garlic. When the pancetta starts to go crisp and the shallots begin to turn golden, add the peas and asparagus and cook over medium or so, lazily stirring things about with a wooden spoon because it feels so good to hold that spoon (the one with burn marks up the handle from setting it against a hot pan too long, too many times). Salt and pepper things a bit for good measure, and while you're at it, go ahead and scrape in some lemon zest. Have a bright idea to go pick some lemon balm, since the sunny weather has started it aflush near the little pond out back. Chiffonade that lemon balm and pick some thyme off the tender stems.

Drain the pasta and dump the vegetables and pancetta in, swabbing out the bacon grease with a spoonful of pasta. Since it still could use a little something, why not stir in a knob of good cultured butter and maybe a scant tablespoon of crème fraîche. Stir in the sliced lemon balm and picked thyme, and grate in some grainy Parmesan.

Be so happy that you can eat more than a few bites because this is exactly, exactly what you wanted.

Misoyaki Maki

We'd been invited to a champagne-tasting party, to which we were instructed to bring an appie or somesuch. Easy, right? Except that I totally procrastinated, and it started snowing. Hard. I didn't want to press my luck and brave a drive to the store for flour (I really wanted to make little empanadas, but couldn't make dough - who the fuck runs out of flour? Pioneers?), so I had to really wrack my brain. What in the hell could I scrape together? I didn't even have something fake to cook and sauce up. Like that one time when all I had was some quince jelly in the freezer and a thawed-out boneless leg of lamb, and hastily threw together "ooh, how 'bout some Moroccan-spiced lamb kebab with cardamom-quince glaze" that were doled out onto a platter with toothpicks and greedily devoured. Turns out a lot of people did their part, thought ahead and brought hummus to that party. A lot of different hummus, and my one platter of spicy, last-minute meat.

I am, if nothing else, the Queen of Pulling One Out of Her Ass. I looked through the cupboards. Nothing. Some fucking cans of fish and tomatoes, a can of lychee and coconut milk, and a can of mock abalone. Gross. Look again, see the jars of starch lined up all soldierlike: cous cous, bulgur wheat, barley, lentils, some aged jau mein (that's ay-jed, not to be confused with the savory patina of proper storage), arborio rice and calrose rice. Sigh. Look again. Grab cans of smoked black cod and sturgeon (from local waters), jar of calrose, then shuffle across the kitchen to the "Asienne" cabinet and grab the teriyaki-flavored nori sheets, the black sesame seeds, tamari and sesame oil, some sake and mirin and gochujang. To the fridge for shiro miso, some scallion and young ginger.

I was going to make mini onigiri, it turned out. With misoyaki filling. I forgot about the jar of umeboshi in the fridge, evidently. I cooked the rice on the stovetop, and then pulled it off to cool in the snow. I chopped together the drained fish, and blobs or glugs of everything else until it was perfectly seasoned and gingery. I sprinkled in some togarashi to give that proper umami, and then we mashed up little fish-filled rice balls until the rice was all gone, wrapping a little fingertip sheet of nori over each. Half the fish was still left. The party loved it, and the hostess even proclaimed it better than the onigiri in Tokyo. It worked well with the champagne, which cut through the rich, salty smoke of the misoyaki, the effervescence pushing past the huge starch molecules on its way into the tickly cilia of the olfactory system.

The next day, while Scott nursed a wicked champagne hangover (I never knew those even existed), I twisted up a fatty nori maki from the last remaining regular sheet of nori in our cupboard, with freshly cooked sushi rice (stirred and fanned with a pinch of sugar and salt, and a splash of rice vinegar). It was a tasty and quiet lunch, and a great way to pat myself on the back for thinking on my feet. It's good to be Queen.

Broccoli rabe, potato and ham frittata

I am losing my fucking mind in all this snow. We were able to drive through it on Saturday night, when it was just a few inches, but yesterday chains officially became required on all roads and the highways are closed. I don't have chains, and I can't go get any, either. We're trapped in our 2-foot drifts, with only our cupboards and fridge to sustain us, and there's nothing we can do about. Well, I guess I could shuffle through all that snow to the grocery store (a half mile away), but come on. Shuffling through snow is for suckers.

Anyway, I was frantically tearing through the fridge to find something to make for breakfast, and I found some eggs, broccoli rabe, ham, and a squidge of buffalo mozz. I sauteed a diced potato and some minced shallot, then dumped in the chopped ham and broccoli rabe (perfectly green-bitter, with lovely, cruciferous horseradish notes on the upper palate). I let it cook for a second to brighten up the greens, and then dumped in 4 (salted and peppered) beaten eggs and topped it with torn-up blobs of mozz. Into the oven for about 15 minutes. With good grainy wheat toast, it's a perfect breakfast. With a salad, it'd be a nice lunch or light supper.

Thanks to this lovely frittata, we're out of eggs now. We're out of a lot of things, come to think of it. No eggs. No milk. No flour. I can't make biscuits, or cornbread, or cookies, or anything of any value to a snowed-in person. Shit, I might end up walking a mile in the snow today.

Roasted pattypan and garlic risotto

I really love my new camera, by the way.

It's almost that time of year where all of my vegetables start cracking and splitting under the spank of too much hard rain, and I've been frantically harvesting all of the last of my pattypans and tomatoes before they become food for the gastropods. The tomatoes are now coming off the vine green, especially since I discovered that they, like baby okra, are fucking delicious pickled with garlic and chilis in a fiery curry brine (don't worry, Cookie, I'll show you soon). The squash, though, require a little more creativity.

Tonight I diced and roasted five or six of the baby pâtisson with some minced garlic in a hot oven until browned. Saute some minced onion (I had an Italian red torpedo that is shallot-like in appearance and flavor) and a handful of arborio rice in a nice big spoonful of duck fat. Proceed with normal risotto-making procedure until about 3 minutes to the end, when you add some slivered green beans (the hangers-on from a late bloom) and the roasted squash.

Finish by stirring in a few spoonfuls of leftover arugula-pumpkin seed pesto, and then swab another spoonful on top. Hit it with some Parm Redge and maybe a chiffonade of squash blossom if you're feeling flirtatious. Enjoy with an acidic white - we have a Verdicchio dei Castelli di Jesi (Raphael 2007) that I'm really liking. Grassy, sprightly, with kefir lime and a little bee sting in the kisser.

Chanterelle pizza with arugula-pumpkin seed pesto and chevre

...or, Wherein I Learn to Use My New Camera

So my camera bit the dust. My trusty Nikon Coolpix, which has served me well for the past two years, finally bid adieu to this cruel world. Our waitress at Jules Casual French Bistro accidentally bumped the table, sending the camera tumbling to the floor, and it just didn't work after that. It was a very awkward situation, actually. She felt appropriately terrible. I was bummed, but didn't really expect her to pay for it or anything. I mean, it wasn't a new camera or anything.

The resolution came when she comped us our meal (complete with a nice bottle of wine) and I promised I would still give the restaurant a good review. Which I will, when I get to reviewing it. In the meanwhile, if you find yourself wandering around Gastown and stop in, give that poor girl an extra good tip. In the uncomfortable exchange, Scott and I slipped out and forgot to tip her. We realized on the way back to the hotel, but didn't have any cash.

But that's neither here nor there. I made the pizza for you. The Pizza That Will Send Me To Europe. Even though I technically don't believe in recipes, here it is (copied directly from the Bolla website).

Chanterelle pizza with arugula-pumpkin seed pesto and chevre
Serves four

Pizza Dough
•1 1/2 tsp active dry yeast
•3/4 cup warm water (105-115°F)
•2 cups unbleached all-purpose flour, plus additional for kneading and dredging
•1 tsp. salt
•3 tbsp. olive oil

Pesto
•4 cups (about 6 oz.) arugula leaves, packed
•1/4 cup pumpkin seeds (or pine nuts), toasted
•1 clove garlic
•1/4 cup freshly grated Parmesan or Romano cheese, packed
•1/4 cup olive oil

Topping
•2 tbsp. olive oil
•1/4 cup shallots, thinly sliced
•2 cloves garlic, minced
•12 oz. chanterelles (or other wild mushrooms), thinly sliced
•1/4 cup golden raisins (or dried apricots), chopped
•1/4 cup Bolla Soave
•2 tbsp. balsamic vinegar (preferably aged)
•1 tbsp. fresh thyme, minced
•8 oz. chevre (goat cheese)

To prepare dough: Stir together yeast and water in a small cup until the yeast is dissolved. In a large, bowl mix flour and salt. Add yeast mixture and stir until dough forms. Turn out onto a floured surface and knead until dough is smooth and elastic (about ten minutes). Note: this can be done with the dough hook attachment of your kitchen mixer, which gives you time to sit back with a magazine and enjoy a glass of wine. Transfer dough to a large, oiled bowl, and roll dough around to coat. Cover loosely with plastic wrap or a kitchen towel and set aside in a warm place for 1.5 hours to rise. You may now return to your glass of wine and magazine.

Turn dough out onto a floured surfaced and flatten with your hands. Cut dough in half and form two balls. Dust the balls lightly with flour and cover with a kitchen towel or inverted bowl (large enough to allow further dough expansion), and leave for an hour until the dough has doubled in size. While dough is rising, prepare pesto and topping. If using a pizza stone, begin preheating oven to highest setting.


To prepare pesto: In a blender or food processor, blend arugula, pumpkin seeds, garlic and cheese to a thick paste. With the machine running, drizzle in the olive oil to loosen the pesto to a spreadable consistency.

To prepare topping: In a large pan, heat the olive oil over medium-high heat. Sauté the shallots and garlic for one minute, then add the chanterelles and raisins. After about five minutes, when the mushrooms release their liquid, increase the heat to high and cook, stirring often, until the liquid evaporates (one or two minutes). Add Bolla Soave and balsamic vinegar to deglaze the pan, and cook another minute until the wine completely evaporates. Turn off heat and stir in thyme.

To assemble pizza: Preheat oven to highest setting. Using a your fingers, flatten each dough ball into 9" rounds, lifting and turning the dough several times. Dust with flour as necessary to prevent the dough from sticking. Carefully slide dough onto a lightly floured baker’s peel or rimless cookie sheet. Give it a quick shake to make sure it’s not sticking (toss a little flour under the dough if is sticking). With the back of a ladle, smear half the pesto onto each dough round,
working in a circular motion, to an inch from the dough’s edge. Top each dough round with half the mushroom mixture (scoop with a slotted spoon or tongs to prevent adding liquid to the pizza) and dot with pinched-off bits of chevre. To transfer the pizzas to the heated pizza stone, line up far edge of peel (or cookie sheet) with the far edge of pizza stone and gently jerk peel (or cookie sheet), pulling back carefully as the pizzas are laid onto the stone. Once the pizzas are on the stone, do not move them until they’re ready to be removed. Bake for 6 to 8 minutes, or until the
dough is browned and crisped. Move the pizzas from the oven onto a cutting board and slice into wedges or squares.

(Note: if using a baking sheet instead of a stone, bake at 425°F for 15 minutes.)


I also added a little bacon this time, just for shits and gigs. In a week or two I will be going out picking for the first time this fall, and will have chanterelles coming out of my ass.

Oh, the new camera? A Nikon D40 DSLR. It's what Peter uses, and I think his photos are the cat's pajamas. Now if I could only get his huge windows and open daytime schedule...

Onigiri is filled with Mother Love

I love onigiri. They're like Japanese arancini. The first time I had it, I was at my friend Kayoko's house. She was my first exposure to real Japanese culture (hentai notwithstanding), and she would frequently host informal dinner parties for her friends and Portland International School co-workers. I was one of the few, fortunate gaijin invited to these events. Sometimes, when the fillings for nori-maki would run out, she and her Japanese friends would just use up the remaining sushi rice with spoonfuls of miso, or umeboshi from the jar in her fridge to slap together some onigiri, which would get passed around on a large plate like some kind of umami brownie.

When Scott and I visited Tokyo a year ago, we struggled to adjust to the time change. We'd wake up at around 4:30am Tokyo time, starving and needing caffeine (the hotel didn't start serving "koh-hee" until like 7:00 or 8:00). Unfortunately, the only thing open that early was the 7-11, which was where we obtained our breakfast every morning. An ice-cold can of Boss cafè au lait and a couple of onigiri triangles from the cold deli case, pull up a curb and eat your breakfast. If it weren't strange enough to be shorts and flip flops-clad, tattooed white people, add 1) being bright-eyed and bushy-tailed at a bird's hour and 2) eating whilst seated at a curb, which is never done (eating outdoors or while walking is somewhat unusual in Tokyo). Fortunately, the only people up early enough to gawk were the taxi drivers and convenience store clerks, and I'm sure they've seen worse.

But those 100 円 (~$1) onigiri were the best! Since I'm illiterate in katakana, it was always a surprise what flavor I was going to get. Sometimes it'd be salmon, sometimes miso, sometimes egg. I loved nibbling through the nori and rice into the interior, and trying to figure out what it was. I tried to make mental notes of what I was tasting, for when we got home.

I make misoyaki quite often - it's such a simple way to enjoy fish, if you keep a tub of miso in your fridge (and a few other common Japanese ingredients in your cupboard). We always have a little leftover, and once in awhile, I end up with enough to warrant re-use. Usually, I'll just nuke it and eat it straight from the tupperware, but this time, I used the leftover shiro maguro (albacore) and the genmai (Japanese brown rice) to pat a few onigiri into a meal.

Just flake the fish with a fork and sprinkle with sesame seeds and a pinch of salt. Then take a ball of rice (cold or warm) into wet hands, flatten slightly with your fingertips, and place a spoonful of filling in the center. Put another pinch of rice on top and form into a ball (covering the filling with the rice). Pat it into a slightly flattened triangle (the usual shape, but you can make any shape you want, really). Then wrap a piece of nori around the outside so that the onigiri may be taken from a plate without the rice sticking to your fingers.

I keep a tub of these teriyaki-flavored nori strips in my pantry. I bought them on a whim, but they're not substantial enough for just snacking. Sometimes I cut them into very thin strips with scissors to sprinkle on rice, but I've decided that their true calling is wrapping onigiri. Instead of making triangles, I formed rounded squares and made a criss-cross with the nori strips. These were neat little packages of umami, ready for a light dinner or a bento lunch.

Next time you have some leftover fish (or any other salty food) and rice, why not try your hand at onigiri? Heck, it's worth cooking rice and fish just to make them. Ittadakimasu!

Grilled squid and kohlrabi salad with lemon-garlic vinaigrette

Man, it's just been too nice out! How could anyone sit in front of the computer when there's a vegetable garden to water, or a praying mantis egg sac to check for hatchlings, or white wine hangovers to nurse? Can't beat Portland in the summer.

Scott had to attend a work-dinner thing with the uppity-up-mucky-muck of his company this evening (business cazh in 90+ heat, poor guy), so I had my sweet friend from small times, Jason, over for dinner. Jason and I used to cook and eat together once in awhile a looooong time (when I was still vegetarian), when I was really into perfecting tuna casseroles and tweaking a pack of ramen. I've come some ways since then, and so has he.

I had some squids thawed in the fridge and was craving sunshiny Mediterranean flavors. I really needed to eat some of the kohlrabi in the garden, had some lemons and a bag of mixed greens. I'd been tossing ideas around all day (I also have an ungodly amount of Nero di Toscano kale and collards, both of which are the size of a 3rd-grader), but settled on a nice salad at the last minute. The "last minute" was determined by coming home to the chagrin of open windows on a really hot day.

I rinsed the squids (pre-cleaned, thank goodness) and dressed them in lots of chopped garlic, the juice and zest of one lemon, a coupla tbsp chopped fresh marjoram, an ample drizzle of good olive oil and some S&P. I cut a kohlrabi into matchsticks and added them to the marinade, which was by now turning my squid into ceviche. A little sliced red onion was the last touch.

Hot grill pan to get some marks on the vedge, then remove to a separate bowl and hit the squid to the heat. It was too wet (and already cooked in the acid of the marinade) to get any char, but it only took a second to heat it through. I added the cooked squids to the grilled kohlrabi-onion and reduced the dressing with a hit of leftover cheap chardonnay (thanks for the hangover, Bear's Lair!) to soften the garlic.

Cool for a minute or so to tepid, then top a plate of mixed baby greens with warm handfuls of the squid-kohlrabi-onion mixture, top with a drizzle of the warm vinaigrette. Serve with sliced baguette (copiously buttered with good Dutch butter) and my ubiquitous heirloom tomato salad. After we devoured our squid salads, we lazily pecked at open-faced sandwiches made from the salt-and-peppered tomato and cultured butter on that wonderful, soft sourdough (still bakery-cozy). Commence eye-roll and toe-curl.

Salmon burgers with sauce gribiche

...or, Perfect Summer Dinner v. 1.0

I have a feeling there will be more of these "perfect summer dinner" posts, what with it only being the first week of it or so, so I thought I'd just preemptively number this and wish it well.

So I don't know if I told you this (I have some of you in comments and such), but I've switched teams for awhile. No, I'm not a lesbian (ha! you wish) I'm just not eating meat for awhile. Since I had all the pork leftover from the roast (not to mention the whole loin I bought), still have the lamb, and still have the half a beeve, I've been literally forcing meat into every meal and my kidneys need a break. Oh, I'm sure I'll crack soon - I have only had tofu or seafood since last Saturday. But before I switch back, ever so fickle, I made some wonderful salmon burgers, served al fresco. The burgers are actually store-bought salmon patties (whaddyagonnado) dressed up with a seasoned panko coating.

To really do this right, serve them with heirloom tomato salad (dressed simply with balsamic, walnut oil, fines herbes, a crack of pepper and a crunch of Maldon.

The warm spell demanded corn on the cob cooked the way my grandma always did: boiled with a spoonful of salt and sugar.

The only work I really had to do was in constructing the condiments. For the burger, I combined minced dill, tarragon, parsley flowers and a wee bit of chopped quickle with lemon zest, crème fraîche, a squidge of store-bought mayo, a bit of Dijon mustard and a drib of white wine vinegar. Salt to taste. (Yes, this is poser's sauce gribiche because it has crème fraîche and doesn't have boiled egg, but some of you are still adding cream to your buerre blanc so don't even front.)

A compound butter for the corn: minced thyme, oregano, and marjoram with some grated parm redge, garlic and S&P smashed into some good cultured butter.

This meal paired perfectly with Wandering Aengus heirloom blend cider. A match made in heaven!

Top the burger with a schmear of the sauce gribiche, a little thinly-sliced quickle and some butter lettuce (onion optional - I can't go without, but Scott's delicate palate is easily burned out by things like raw onion, horseradish, sharp mustard, etc.). Note the lovely pilsner glass in the background. It's monogrammed! A birthday gift to Scott from his lovely mother Linda (he loves them, Linda!).

Hot fun in the summer sun!

Crab soba with maitake and pea shoots

This is from last Monday's dinner, but I wanted to go ahead and share it since I feel another wave of good cooking juju coming on and I don't want it to get buried. This was the last of the pea shoots, the last Persian cucumber, some nice buckwheat soba, a half pound of lump Dungeness crab meat and a maitake mushroom the size of my head. This recipe serves four generously.

Prepare the sauce by combining a splash of shoyu (soy sauce), sake or rice wine, and rice vinegar; a dribble of sesame oil and a glug of mirin; 2 or 3 tbsp of grated ginger and a minced clove of garlic, a couple sprinkles of black sesame seeds and shichimi (nanami togarashi). I didn't have any left, or I'da added a tsp of yuzu marmalade.

This time I stripped the leaves off the pea shoots and chopped the stems. Blanch in the boiling water with a whole package (8 oz) soba. Slice the cucumber and a scallion thinly and add to the sauce. Break up the maitake into bite-sized pieces and saute until softened in a little light oil (or sesame). Add to the sauce, and ad the crab. Stir very gently (don't break up that crab). When the soba and pea shoots are cooked (after ~5 minutes), drain and rinse in cold water until they are lukewarm-cool. Strain and toss with sauce/crab/veg mixture. Top with a sprinkle of your favorite furikake (rice seasoning) and shichimi. If you have it, a little grated daikon and wasabi root would be excellent.

Enjoy on a hot day with a cold glass of Kirin or other crisp lager. Ittadakimasu!

Chrysanthemum salad with poached egg and warm bacon vinaigrette

In the spirit of gilding the (voodoo)lily, I thought I'd take the classic Salade Lyonnaise and take it in a different direction. Instead of the traditional frisée, I used crysanthemum leaves, which are slightly less bitter and impart a green, herbal note to balance the rich egg and dressing. They're sold in Asian markets as tong hao.

Yes, Antonia made a similar salad on this week's Top Chef, but I think mine is better. And you'll just hafta believe me, I really had been thinking of doing this before I saw the show, since I already had the giant bag of chrysanthemum leaves (see last week's Fubonn spree, wherein I also picked up those pea shoots).

Besides, it's not like Antonia invented Salade Lyonnaise. And she sure as hell didn't serve hers on a shady patio in perfect 80 degree weather. Cue birds chirping and the sounds of children's laughter.

Chrysanthemum salad with poached egg and warm bacon vinaigrette
Serves 2 for brunch or a light supper. Don't use an aluminum pan for this or else the vinegar you'll add will react with the pan and make everything taste tinny and "off".

~6 cups chrysanthemum leaves (this was a full typical produce-sized bag, after cleaning)
2 eggs
4 slices of bacon, minced
2 tbsp minced shallot
1 tsp lemon zest
1/4 c white wine vinegar
2 tbsp lemon juice
1 tbsp Dijon or spicy brown mustard
1/2 tsp minced thyme
S&P

Stem and scrupulously wash the greens, pinch off the large stems and shake the leaves out to dry (since I don't have a salad spinner, I invented a technique where I soak them in a sink of cold water, shaking them a bit to knock out the dirt, then strain and rinse again, then place a large bowl over the strainer and shake off the water).

Poach the eggs - simmer in hot water with a splash of vinegar until the whites set up. You don't want the water boiling or you'll end up with wispy whites like egg drop soup. I crack the eggs into a small bowl and then gently dip the bowl into the water and slide them out. Note that the photos clearly show that I overcooked mine ever-so-slightly. You want runny yolks. Mine were more like custard. Hey, nobody's perfect.

Render the bacon bits for a minute over medium-low heat, then add the shallot and lemon zest. Cook, stirring occasionally, until the bacon and shallot are browned and crispy. Remove from heat, add the lemon zest and juice, vinegar, mustard and thyme and whisk until emulsified. Salt and pepper (and more lemon or vinegar) to taste. Yes, you have just made salad dressing with bacon fat. You can thin this with a little olive oil if you want to make it healthier, but if you're eating salad with bacon and eggs on it, I'd say you've already given up.

Plate the leaves and top with poached egg, then dribble the bacon vinaigrette over the top. Add a crack of black pepper to finish. Serve with a crusty bread (we had poppyseed bialy) and prosecco (or leftover Domaine Labbé).

Wumpy stared at us and pawed pitifully at the screen door the entire time we ate.

Linguine with broccoli rabe and pancetta

Hey, time-strapped and uninspired: how 'bout we find another way to tell Rachael Ray to go fuck herself? Fry some chopped pancetta with garlic and shallot until crispy, add chopped broccoli rabe (and what the hell - some swiss chard from the garden) and a few good hard cracks of pepper, toss with linguine and a dollop of crème fraîche to wet the noodles. Top with Parm Redge. Dinner is served.


Enjoy with a Côtes du Rhône Grenache blanc (we had a $10 bottle that was very drinkable). Yes, I've been drinking a lot of white lately. Red wine still feels like a phase I went through when I was sleeping with guys who watch Brothers Quay films and listen to Laurie Anderson records. I'll grow out of it, I promise.

Orzo with octopus, garbanzos and chayote, with meyer lemon vinaigrette

I bought some chayote. I had always been kinda curious about these weird little fuckers, and finally bit the bullet and just brought some home. I sometimes just buy strange produce and then figure out how to use it after I get it home.

I'm embarrassed to admit that I had to wiki chayotes to find out what the fuck they even are. Turns out they're a cucurbit (like squash, cukes and melons), so that set my thinking in one direction. Chayote, as luck would have it, has the crisp texture and mild, clean flavor of kohlrabi (which tastes like a mild radish).



So it turns out that they're traditionally used in the Americas, Asia and in Oceania. An unencumbered Cuban recipe called for them in a 10-minute salad with octopus and garbanzos, green bell pepper and onion, and a simple oil and vinegar dressing. But I felt that the tinned octopus I picked up begged for Spanish flavors, so I twisted it a bit.


Orzo with octopus, garbanzos and chayote and meyer lemon vinaigrette
Serves 2 or 3 for a light supper or a salad

Combine in a salad bowl: 2 tins octopus (drained); a coupla handfuls of cooked garbanzos; a julienne of chayote (the seed can be avoided or ignored as you see fit) and 1/2 red bell pepper; minced garlic, shallot and 5 anchovy fillets; 1/2 tsp of smoked paprika, pinch of chili flake, 1 tbsp chopped oregano and 3 or 4 tbsp chopped Italian parsely, a coupla fat pinches of good salt and lots of black pepper; then the juice and zest of a meyer lemon, a splash of Sherry vinegar (I actually used a Korean lemon vinegar that rocks) and some extra virgin olive oil. Toss to combine. Add more seasoning and/or acid as necessary.

Meanwhile cook some orzo to al dente. Strain and toss with the salad. Let this sit for at least 10 minutes to let the flavors meld. Half an hour would be better.

Enjoy as is or as a side. We thought this would be good with a piece of fish or maybe on some lettuces, as an afterthought. Gah, I can't remember which it was, but we had some crisp Italian white. Kinda fruity. I can't even remember what grape it is, let alone the label. Honestly, I've grown to trust the wine guy at New Seasons so much that any more, I just tell him what I'm cooking and buy what he hands me.

Lemongrass pork lettuce wraps with grilled pineapple

This is a recipe from a few weeks ago, but I wanted to share it today since I haven't been cooking much on this stupid finger (contrary to last week's productivity, the finger really doesn't like to move and bump shit).

My wraps are "fresh!"

I usually avoid any fruit that's not local or in season, but the tropical fruit section of the grocery store was emitting a heady fragrance, and tempted, I bought a pineapple. I cut it open and slurped up a piece: juicy, sweet, with a perfect bromeliaceous acid balance. It wasn't as good as fresh-from-the-plantation in Fiji, but it was pretty fucking good. No elderly upside-down cake would do this beauty justice - fuck a Better Homes and Gardens. I really wanted to eat it with meat.

I took stock of what we had in the fridge, and decided Vietnamese would be the best course of action: we had some pork, sweet/hot Chinese sausage, bún tàu (bean threads), Đồ Chua (pickled, julienned carrots and daikon), a head of greenleaf and some cilantro. Lettuce wraps are easy and healthy, which would be a nice change of pace from two-day planning and hours-long prep. This was a weeknight, for fuck's sake.

I marinated the pork (thinly sliced), sausage (cut on the bias) and pineapple (cut into "fingers" haha, get it? cuz my finger's all fucked up?) in a mixture of pineapple juice, smooshed lemongrass and grated ginger, fish sauce, chili paste (sweet and garlic), a splash of rice vinegar and a splash of rice wine, and a goodge of hoisin sauce. Hot grill pan for a split-second sear and you're good to go. I deglazed the meaty fond off the grill pan with the marinade for a tasty dipping sauce.

You could wrap these in rice papers or just enjoy it on a bed of rice vermicelli (instead of the bean threads), but this is a fun way to eat.