Sopa del mezcolanza

...or, "hodgepodge soup".

Yeah, I've already failed at meeting my once-a-week blogging quota. And I don't fucking care! God, it's so liberating to just admit that instead of apologizing and making excuses. I have been cooking here and there, but nothing new or interesting. I can't be a genius all the time.

I made a vat of jambalaya with arborio rice on Monday (not even with any interesting meats, just chicken, andouille and shrimp). Oh, last night I fried some salmon croquettes and made some arancini with leftover jambalaya. That was pretty good. I did have a few failure piles that you would've enjoyed laughing at, but I really just didn't want to go through the rigmarole of the whole food blogging-it thing. One was frozen homemade chili on a pile of boxed mac and chee (hurried together after amateurishly burning the original dinner: linguine with what would've been a carbonara with caramelized onions and collard greens). The other was, in retrospect, eerily similar to Oswalt's original failure pile (served aptly in a sadness bowl): a blob of mashed potatoes topped with a slurry of gravy, shredded chicken and mixed vegetables (the canon Flav-R-Pac mélange of corn, pea, carrot, and lima bean niblets). That the chicken was not in "popcorn" format and lacked a cloak of grated cheese was the only detail that separated this dinner from that KFC abortion.


This is, for all intents and purposes, minestrone. But I wanted to tweak things a little by going Spanish with the flavors instead of the classic (read: run-of-the-mill) Italian minestrone. I used my canned homegrown heirloom tomatoes (supplemented with a bit of leftover arrabiata sauce), so it's even got a little hoity to go with my as-of-late, lackluster toity. I rendered some linguiça (yeah, yeah, but I didn't have any chorizo) in a little olive oil with diced carrots and a sofrito of garlic and onions, my aforementioned tomatoes and some piquillos that were on the brink of growing a beard in the fridge. I dusted the whole lot with some pimentón and some thyme. In went a handful of Trader Joe's Harvest Blend (a melange of Israeli couscous, baby garbanzos, orzo and red quinoa) to soak up some of the flavorful orange grease. A glug of budget tempranillo supplemented the chicken stock, salt and pepper to taste, and away we go.

Serve with a tempranillo and some appropriate toasty, cheesy bread product (ours was a cheesy breadstick, similarly procured from Trader Joe's).

Buffalo Chicken Sandwich with Celery-Roquefort Slaw

Since it was the Super Bowl recently, I've been jonesing for wings something fierce. There's something about fatty chicken wings coated in sticky, spicy hot sauce, chased with the cool, mineral crunch of celery and the cave-y funk of blue cheese. But do any of those flavors - so perfect together - actually require a chicken wing, as delivery system or matchmaker? I think not.

Instead, I put these flavors together in a sandwich. I tossed together some buffalo sauce by melting a few tablespoons of butter with a good 1/4 cup of Frank's Red Hot, a couple cloves of minced garlic, and about 2 tbsp of sriracha. I poached about a pound of skinless, boneless chicken thighs in the hot sauce until shreddy-tender (this makes enough for four sandwiches), then pulled them out and reduced the sauce to a sticky goo. I shredded the meat and tossed them back in the sauce to soak it up.

Meanwhile, I slivered a few stalks of celery on a mandoline and mixed a dressing of a few tablespoons of mayonnaise and sour cream, a splash of sherry vinegar and a handful crumbled Roquefort, and a little salt and pepper. Tossed together, this is a delicious, cooling slaw for any spicy meat, I'd hazard. But for these intents and purposes, blob it on a pile of the shredded chicken, rock this mess on a lightly toasted brioche bun, and you're laughin'.

Serve with your preferred fried potato product (we fancied our taters in the tot variety) and a Rogue Morimoto Soba Ale.

Feijoadas grandes

Last summer I was totally knocked up and not good for much. Thank god I still had the presence of mind to a) grow a vegetable garden that included scarlet runner beans and b) utilize some of October's nesting instinct to harvest all of the beans and dry them instead of squandering all that precious energy on retarded shit like vacuuming all of the lampshades.

Scarlet runners (Phaseolus coccineus) are one of my favorite garden plants. I've been growing them for awhile, both for their beauty and their flavor. Hummingbirds love them (in flower), and they make a tasty alternative to flagiolets for cassoulet. They resemble a butter bean or a cranberry bean in flavor, but for this application - in fact, Brazil's answer to cassoulet - I was shooting for a more fashionable alternative to a black bean.

Feijoada is the national dish of Brazil, but variations exist in Portugal as well. Brought to the country by slaves, it traditionally uses black beans and less-popular cuts of pork such as snouts, ears, and trotters. As is typical of peasant fare, the dish has evolved over the years to include a wider variety of meats (depending on the cook and the country in which she lives), though still primarily features pork products cooked with black beans. Mine uses smoky piggy meats such as linguiça sausage and smoked ham shank, a Mexican langoniza (like chorizo, but with beef and pork), bacon and corned beef brisket (looked for carne seca, but was unsuccessful).

Since mine had only been dried for a few months, they didn't need much soak. I let them sit long enough for the skins to wrinkle, though I could've left them overnight. I didn't see the need, though, since I was planning on using a pressure cooker for at least part of the cooking. I think I probably had about 2 or 3 cups of dried beans all together (they filled a pickle jar 3/4 of the way).

I heated my large crockpot over medium-high heat and added 1/4 lb of bacon, one whole linguiça sausage, 1/2 lb of langoniza (left whole) and a 1/2 lb corned beef brisket (without the corning spices) placed fat side down to render out that tasty fat. Meanwhile, I chopped a large onion and minced 4 cloves of garlic and added them to the pot to brown in the rendered fat. I tossed in 4 bay leaves and a dried red chile and then the beans, the ham shank and about 3 or 4 cups of water (I didn't think to measure). You really don't need to add any salt because the meats contribute plenty, but besides that, salt toughens the beans and stalls cooking. You can always season at the end if your arteries really need a stiffy.

I cooked the whole lot at between 10 and 15 psi for about 30-45 minutes, until the beans were tender and the ham shredded off the bone. The beef should be tender enough to yield to the slight pressure of a knife; slice it and the sausages into thick slices and luxuriantly drape the meats over the beans.

Serve with rice, collard greens, orange slices and caipirinhas (a cocktail of cachaça, sugar and limes).

Cornmeal-crusted trout with mashed root vegetables and crispy leeks

So I was wandering around New Seasons, as is my wont these days, wondering what to make for dinner. It's citrus season again, so I grabbed some blood oranges. Even though they're not particularly sweet, I'm always suckered into buying them for their novelty. It's an orange! That isn't orange! Here, take my money.

I was sort of hankering for seafood, but after a recent flirtation with food poisoning (waited a day to cook fresh mussels, ate one or two, and realized they smelled like ammonia - luckily, came away unscathed) I wanted to play it safe with a nice salmonid. Salmon, steelhead and trout are so ubiquitous in these parts that kids growing up here get a shot at catching their very own at least once. My grandpa used to take me and my brother fishing at Rooster Rock State Park in the Columbia River Gorge when we were little. We'd always giggle at the fact that there was a nude beach at this park, and never caught anything but brown bullhead catfish. My grandpa usually ended up swinging us by the rainbow trout farm at the end of the day so we wouldn't come home empty-handed.

My mom would dutifully dredge the cleaned trout in some cornmeal and fry them up in a cast iron skillet. I think this was the only way I ate fish (or in fish stick form) until I was a teenager. Some wheels need no reinvention, and this is one. That said, I did want to doll up the cornmeal a bit, and so to it, added blood orange zest and fresh thyme.

I got about a half inch of grapeseed oil hot, then tossed in some sliced leeks to get nice and crispy. This is an idea I totally stole from Peter, and it's a good way to use a leek that languishing in the crisper. Also on the verge of going to waste was a bag of parsnips and a few carrots. Feeling the sweet root veg vibe, I simmered these in milk and mashed them with lots of butter. I fried the fillets of Idaho trout in the leek-flavored oil and in only a minute or two, dinner was ready. It was totally worth the mess.

Serve with a Pinot Prosecco and wedges of tart blood orange.

Moroccan Chickpea and Carrot Stew

...or, Back in the Saddle Again

Zephyr is now 8 weeks old, and I'm starting to get the hang of having him around. That said, cooking still takes me a bit of planning (unless I opt for yet another "pasta night" or "takeout night"). This is why I've decided to start doing what busy moms and dads have been doing for generations: the one-pot meal. Yes, I feel like a failure admitting it, but the one-pot meal is kind of a Thing.

Not just for cowboy camping anymore, a humble pot of beans (chickpeas, in this case) can be elevated to something you actually want to eat with the simple addition of a few choice ingredients. Carrots, shallots, garlic, homegrown heirloom tomatoes (that I canned during my nesting frenzy last fall), ginger, cumin and cardamom all combine easily with garbanzos to make a hearty, warming stew fit for a dark January Thursday.

I started mine early in the day and let it simmer over a low flame to thoroughly soften the dried chickpeas. The softly spicy scent of ginger, cumin and cardamom floated through the house all day, stimulating my postpartum appetite and filling me with a sense of Having Done Something.

Enjoy with warm, buttered flatbread and a chewy, raisiny garnacha.

*****

Unless you take it to its hallucinatory extreme, sleep deprivation is not great for creativity. Preparing meaningful food, presenting it artfully and writing about it thoughtfully require both a rested mind and free time, for which new mothers are seldom known. Zephyr occasionally grants us a 4-hour chunk or two, but my evenings are generally broken up into 2-3 hour naps, interspersed with dozy, twighlit nursing. Being a good blogger means getting a good night's sleep, and this rarely happens these days. At this point, it's either slowly getting better or I'm slowly getting used to it.

As days lengthen, though, I'm finding myself more interested in thinking about things like combining ingredients instead of just filling my time with such enthralling activities as staring at the baby or waiting for Scott to get home from work. I am setting a goal for myself to update both of my blogs once a week - let's see how I do.

Back in a minute, hon

Quick chit - I had the baby, and you can read about it at my new blog, The Legend of Zephyr. I am back in the kitchen periodically, but this time of year is still hard on photographers who rely on natural light, so I haven't started shooting my food yet. However! I plan on coming back again at around the start of the new year.

Happy holidays! See you next year!

Living off the fat of the land

I guess it's fairly obvious that I've got a lot on my plate these days, so to speak, and my writing has taken a back seat to more important ventures. I do still cook, once in awhile (last week produced a kabocha and eggplant mulligatawny of sorts, spicy with curry and cardamom, with coconut milk for body), and this time of year I still think about treks to spongy woods, even in my compromised mobility and subsequent preference for the sloth of a warm couch and chenille throw.

Thank goodness, then, for store-bought chanterelles and Langdon Cook. Some of you might know his blog, Fat of the Land (I've had him linked on my sidebar for some time now). His new book of the same name has recently been published and is now available for sale on Amazon.

Cook is a modern, urban male indigenous to an opposite coast where clams are fried, not dug. Relocated to the Pacific Northwest for graduate school, he met a fascinating young poet with an ear to the wind and an eye to the ground, and by her beauty, found himself rapt. In a comically-told recollection of her contempt at his efforts at a woo with a reconstructed fast food breakfast sandwich (""I don't do McDonald's", she said dryly"), his now wife and twice-babymama opened the door to a world that would clearly become a new passion for Cook.

Langdon Cook is no latter-day Euell Gibbons, and Fat of the Land - Adventures of a 21st Century Forager is no Stalking the Wild Asparagus. More than simply a field guide to modern locavory, FotL is a series of witty vignettes that are really about the people and places that have informed his passion - they all just happen to involve the hunt for "foods that don't run away." These are forthright tales of character-building trial and error (smashed shells of many razor clams before hitting limit), of humility at the smallness of men in an unforgiving landscape (and fast tides that fill slow boots with icy water), and thankfully, of hard-won triumphs (even if those triumphs are later rudely stolen in the middle of the night by greedy raccoons and must be re-won the following day). And more than a gatherer of popular and less-loved wild foods alike, Cook is clearly a writer.

Each story is about one ingredient and ends with a recipe for that ingredient. This afternoon, as I finished reading Fat of the Land, I was stricken with the coincidence that tonight's dinner, for which I had shopped only an hour earlier, was only one or two ingredients away from the last recipe of the book: creamy chanterelle pasta. Instead of peas to add color, though, I added pea shoots, my pasta was a gnocchi and I added toasted pumpkin seeds for added protein and seasonal crunch (Lang uses bacon and bowtie pasta in his rendition, and while this year I happily coughed up $8/lb for my chanterelles, I doubt he ever pays for a mushroom).

Gnocchi with Chanterelle-Pea Shoot Cream

Saute a minced shallot and a clove of garlic in a bit of butter and olive oil. Add a handful of clean chanterelles, torn into bite-sized pieces. When mushrooms have released their liquor and start softening, add cream, a few tbsp of fresh thyme, a few good scratches of nutmeg, salt and pepper to taste. Simmer for a minute, then add a handful of pea shoots and an 10oz package of gnocchi (cooked), and toss together until pea shoots are wilted. Top with toasted pumpkin seeds and copious amounts of Parmigiano Reggiano.

Buy Fat of the Land.

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.

Millions of Peaches

The little white peach sapling that I planted last fall shot up about 6 feet this spring, splashing out a crown of wavy, crescent-shaped leaves and slutty, hot pink blossoms like too much rouge on a little girl that got into her mother's makeup. When, in June, the spindly branches began to bow and creak under the weight of all that fruit, I naturally assumed I would be inundated with mealy, hard, sour peaches (I couldn't possibly luck into so much of a good thing). Over the past two weeks or so, though, this little tree proved her spot in my crowded garden was warranted.

These are small peaches, slightly smaller than a tennis ball, with ample red blush and pearly white flesh that is as sweet as the last days of summer. I am hogging them all to myself, freezing and canning, or just slopping them directly into my mouth over the sink. The ants and greedy neighbor ladies have taken notice, and I have been relegated to just picking all of them before they can steal my Precious (judiciously trimming away nibbles from birds and insects as needed). This morning I'll have succulent slices over thick, whole-milk yogurt with a sprinkle of granola and daydream about the myriad other ways to enjoy them.

Three parts love and seven parts forgiveness

Who says a wedding cake has to cost hundreds (or thousands) of dollars? For under $25, some friends of ours got a beautiful, whimsical and delicious wedding cake that they'll never forget. Leonard and Caireen recently got married, and being an intimate affair (only six guests, plus the bride and groom) I was happy to provide the photography as well as the cake. The night before the wedding I told Caireen about our having a croquembouche at our wedding after she joked that having doughnuts would be a laugh. I demanded that she let me build her a tower of pink doughnuts for her wedding cake. She was tickled.

The morning of the wedding I called Acme Doughnuts, located a few blocks from my house (their website has obviously just been thrown up from a template and is not useful yet), and was delighted that they needed no more than a couple hours to hook up two dozen doughnuts. They even made pink icing from scratch, when it's not normally one of their toppings (the nice gal whipped some up by mixing berry juice with white icing). Due to my no-notice call, they could only do a dozen of the raised doughnuts, so the order was supplemented with a dozen cake doughnuts. A few hours later Scott was able to pick them up and paid only $18. I also sent him to our neighborhood fancy grocery store for pink roses ("the tiny kind, if they have them"). The flower lady looked at him funny when he asked for baby pink roses, but that's her problem. For $5, a regular plate of doughnuts was transformed into something rather special.



Never be afraid to think outside the box. Or inside it, if it's a box of doughnuts.

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.

A Letter to Anonymous

"ew..i hope this happens to your unborn child as well" - Anonymous

This was a comment left by one "Anonymous" regarding my recent Pig Roast 2009 post. I let that one marinate for awhile, wondering whether or not I should ignore it, delete it or if/how I should respond to it. I was actually surprised that it was the first time a militant (if a bit chromosomally-affluent) vegetarian has left a comment for me. A few of you have either emailed me about it or replied to it in the comments section. Thanks for the support and kind words, but I've decided to go ahead and respond.

Dear Anonymous (if that's even your real name),

Nice chickenshit comment. Did it take you all day to think of that? You are a true wordsmith. I also love your cummingsian refusal to capitalize any letters in your sentence. Nice touch. Artsy.

Okay, first of all (this really gets my goat), it's not an unborn child, it's called a fetus. Say it: fee-tuss. A child cannot, by definition, be unborn. That's your biology and semantics lesson of the day. Besides, my fetus doesn't even have enough meat on him to fill a baguette, and would be a complete waste of fuel to try to barbecue. That fuel comes from trees and produces smoke which is bad for air quality. Try to think about the environment, m'kay?

Something like 95% of the world's population eats meat (probably more). In much of the developing world, meat consumption is only limited by economics (i.e., more people in the world would eat meat if they could afford to). Vegetarianism is a fine dietary choice for many reasons, but it's extremely ignorant and narrow-minded of you to suggest that every culture in the world that ingests animal protein is ethically wrong. Seriously, who the fuck are you? It reminds me a lot of how Christian missionaries coerced indigenous people into abandoning their culture and history by using fear and violence. You're no better than those people. Here's a tip, though: learning to accept that the world is a big, crazy place full of different types of people that you can't and shouldn't even want to change is the first step to growing as a human.

Actually, it's interesting to me that you've targeted my blog, of all blogs. Ever hear of Tony Bourdain, dumbshit? Is it easier for you to see meat when it's in a square or patty form? Is that a little easier for your delicate constitution to take? My blog is not the only omnivorous food blog out there, but it's pretty clear to me that you've never read it before. If you had, you'd know a few things about me, such as:

• This is not the first pig roast I've had. Last year, we roasted a 100lb sow that we named Laura Palmer. She fed 50+ people, plus leftovers. She was, like this year's pigs, raised sustainably, slaughtered as humanely as possible and treated with the utmost respect in death by being prepared with love and great care. True, buying and preparing meat en carcasse is not for the faint of heart - it forces you to come to terms with the fact that you're eating an animal, not a tidily-packaged piece of protein. I'm fairly certain that if everyone had to buy meat this way, there'd be a lot more vegetarians in the world, at least in developed nations. Of course, there are plenty of vegetarians who, in something of a contradiction with their ethical choices, eat bizarre animal-like meat-substitute vegetable proteins (Tofurkey, Boca Burgers and "Chik Nuggets" come to mind) that are more processed than Velveeta and contain as many ingredients. At least I'm not in denial about what I eat.


• Your whole life is a phase I went through in high school. I became an animal rights activist when I was 15 (card carrying ALF and PETA member), and I was a vegetarian for ten years (though I craved meat the entire time). But instead of tossing lame comments from behind a shroud of internet anonymity, I actually did real animal rights shit like superglue and mace the doorknob of a local taxidermist and protest the circus by handing pamphlets that showed tortured elephants to children. Your technique is perhaps a bit more subtle, granted, but I'm still pretty sure I was a better animal rights activist than you'll ever be.
  


• I don't take bullshit from pussy internet fucktards like yourself, not even when I'm awash in the nurturing glow of maternity. This one is so obvious to everyone (I mean everyone) who knows me (on the internet and in real life) that it's almost cute that you didn't know.
  

To close, a quote from Patton Oswalt: "I enjoy steak too much because I hate hippies so much."

Enjoy life at the bottom of the food chain, you fucking shitweasel.

Love, Heather

Pig Roast 2009

After two weekends in a row hosting parties at our house (and all the fretting and prepping and feverish house-cleaning that it entails), I needed a few days' recovery to revel in inactivity. This quickly descends into crippling laziness, as is its wont, until I just sit my ass down and at least download the photos off my camera. First hurdle cleared.

This year was different. First off, I'm pregnant, and that makes me heavy, slow and quick to tire. Also, we wanted to do two smaller pigs this year instead of a 100lb sow, for ease and timeliness of cooking - we ended up with two 40lb roasters. The main factor, though, was definitely the pregnancy and its function of shifting my priorities quickly. Do I really need to get ham and cheese and make extra pickles in case someone wants a Cubano, requiring yet another run to the store and a reshuffling of the contents of the fridge? Ehhhh.

After we picked up the pigs, Scott's bro and I needed to figure out where to keep them for awhile. The chest freezer that we used last year was pretty much shot (sitting in a driveway throughout a Portland winter will do that to an electric appliance) and had been carted off by the 1-800-Got-Junk guys along with an old door a few months back. So we just placed them in the bathtub for an hour or so (they were still partially frozen) until I could send Scott to the hardware store for a couple of plastic garbage cans, which we filled with ice.

Last year, I made a sticky-sweet-hot gochujang barbecue sauce to rub into the cavity of the pig, and slashed the skin on the hams to apply some dry rub. This year, I made a huge jar of the dry rub (homemade Berbere spice with salt, mustard powder, paprika and ancho chile powder) and smeared it into the interior, then sprinkled some parsley flowers and fresh coriander berries (the seeds that were still juicy and green). I used the branches of parsley and coriander to hold the pigs' mouths open - I don't know what function it serves, but it seemed like the thing to do.



Joe and Shin hoisted the piggies onto the warm grill and we covered them with foil to keep the heat in and the flies off. This year, we had much better control of the heat (and didn't use three bags of mesquite right off the bat). I tossed some green quince branches onto the coals for some sweet smoke and got to work in the kitchen.

I did end up overdoing it again somewhat, and that's another change I'll make next year - people don't really care about having banh mi or tacos when they have the option of eating hot pork sliced directly from the beast. However, the roasted corn-mango salsa was delicious in its own right and was heartily devoured with tortilla chips. The pasta salad is a cookout stand-by, as are the plate of crudites (not pictured) and baked beans (not pictured; Norm provided these and they were moist and delicious). Tammy brought a yummy sesame-y Asian noodle salad, and Susan brought platter upon platter of desserts, including some wonderful cherry petit fours and a plate of Buckeyes (a chocolate-covered peanut butter confection that Ohioans eat).

Since it was raining most of the day, I was afraid to use my camera outdoors where photography really sings. Indoors, the photos were harder to come by because of the crowded conditions and poor lighting. Regardless, I took one of one of the cocktails that I made: strawberry lemonade with rhubarb Dry Soda. Dry Soda is a discovery I made when I first learned I was pregnant and needed a replacement for cocktails and wine. It's not too sweet (only 50 calories per bottle but not artificially sweetened) and it comes in fancy flavors like juniper berry, vanilla and lavender. They're also based in Seattle so I can support a NW-based small business. I used the rhubarb, lemongrass and kumquat sodas to craft some family-friendly cocktails: sweet tea with kumquat, limeade with lemongrass and coconut milk and the aforementioned rhubarb-strawberry lemonade. Dry Soda people, if you're reading, you can totally steal these ideas.

Speaking of Seattle, Brooke and Brittany came all the way down from Seattle to say hi. Tragedy struck when they had to turn around and drive home before the pigs were ready - they had a father's day engagement the following day that was to begin traumatically early for a Sunday morning (8:00am - gasp!). It was so nice to see them, though - they're so pretty and hilarious. Brittany totally isn't dead, btw, she is just finding herself in a similar "I'm too busy for this shit and none of you sons of bitches gonna guilt me into it" situation in which I've been finding myself lately.

It was great to see so many old friends and catch up, even if it meant I had to flit from friend to friend like some socially-retarded hummingbird and perform half-assed hostessing. Scott drank about 30 beers over the course of the day, and spent his first (unofficial) father's day sick in bed until 5:00pm. Next year, we'll stick with one little 60lb fella, we won't do any of the extra banh mi/Carnitas/Cubanos fixins, I'll have my prep done days in advance (making about half the volume of sides that I usually make), and I will be able to have a drink.

Poutine Galvaude

...Now, with more confit!

Awhile ago, I made poutine with sweet potatoes and veal demi glace gravy. Oh, man, was it ever a delight. A bit more recently, my good buddy Marc at the stellar (yet erroneously-named) No Recipes made it also, but one-upped me by photographing it like a genius (seriously, steam shot and everything). When I noticed the linkback in my Sitemeter readings, I took a look at my old post from last November and remembered that I'd threatened to make this with turkey leg confit leftover from Thanksgiving. Of course, I totally forgot to do that, and hi. Here we are.

Technically, this probably can't be called "galvaude" because I used duck instead of turkey or chicken, and I omitted the peas (some asshole is also probably gonna swing his/her peen around about this not really being poutine, either, since I used sweet potatoes instead of regular potatoes), but honestly, who gives a shit? It's French fries with gravy and cheese curds. It has duck confit on top. SUCK IT. And after I confited the duck, I oven-roasted the fries in the hot duck fat. I used sweet potato again because they really are just more nutritious and tasty, but I have to admit that they have a hard time holding their shape after they've been essentially poached in duck fat. Next time I'll fry them on the stove top to get the proper crispness. Beef demi gravy and local white cheddar curds, and we're laughing.

********

If anyone has noticed or cares, I've been lagging on the blogging in a big way. I just can't pretend to care that much right now, but it's not you, I swear. I just am such a dipshit these days. It's strange what hormones do to the female brain, but each time I do cook, I forget to shoot it. For fuck's sake, I made mac and cheese with brie last weekend and forgot to photograph it. I have a couple things lined up, but who knows when I'll get around to it. I'll try to at least be present when I can, but I just have a lot of other shit going on right now, and ice cream makes a fine dinner.

Sweet Black Sesame Butter

Smear this on a toasted (and buttered) English muffin with strawberry preserves or marmalade. Imagine sweet tahini, but black. It's like Taiwanese Nutella, or a non-grainy adzuki paste. I bet it'd be great rolled up in some strudel dough with pears and a little cinnamon.

A F&%@#ing Salad

Yes, this is what I have to show for my weeks of absence. It's all I can muster. I don't know why I feel like I have some 'splaining to do every time I take off for awhile, but I guess that's just how committed I am. Ha!

I really haven't been cooking much at all. I'm just too fucking lazy! All I want to do is sit on the couch with my feet up, eat ice cream and watch Jon and Kate careen nose-first into complete loathing and contempt. I have eaten Cinnamon Life cereal for dinner twice in the last week (I amended it with an apple and some peanut butter), and have only set foot in the kitchen about twice. I did make some delicious risotto with morels and garlic scapes last week, but I've been so off my game that I actually forgot to photograph it. I think what it really boils down to is that when I'm hungry, I'm hungry and I don't want to pussyfoot around with prettiness and creativity. I need food in my gob and I need it now.

This salad was decent. At least it was nutritious. It reminded me a little of a classic chopped salad, for all of the veggies I draped over the top of the lettuce, or of bibimbap in salad form. I realized after I'd done it that I chopped the cukes into stupid little bites instead of elegant spears like the rest of the vegetables, so I ended up doing the same to the beautiful heirloom tomato. French breakfast radishes, red bell pepper, cherokee purple tomato, plain ol' cukes and some shredded chicken breast on Romaine lettuce, dribbled with store-bought salad dressing and sprinkled with torn basil leaves and cilantro flowers.

In a few weeks is the pig roast, so at least there'll be that to look forward to.

Pulled chicken sandwich with apple slaw and sweet corn

Sometimes good barbecue doesn't reinvent the wheel. Sometimes it doesn't even require you to go outside. I shredded some leftover roasted chicken (it had been marinated in a garlicky gochujang barbecue sauce) and warmed it in some basic hickory barbecue sauce with a little apple juice and a splash of sweet balsamic vinegar and served it on a soft wheat bun with a slice of good ol' Tillamook cheddar and some sautéed onions. So simple and unassuming.

Okay, the slaw isn't literally made of apples, it just contains some apples. This is the way my mom always made it (she added raisins, too), and it's the way I like a basic cabbage slaw. A nice, creamy mayo-vinegar-sugar dressing, shredded cabbage and chopped apples. Yum.

Corn is totally not in season yet, not here anyway. But I can't get enough of the fresh ears showing up in the store. And lord knows I love a good compound butter, but sometimes a girl only needs a little butter, crunchy salt and pepper on her corn.


Serve with an ice-cold strawberry lemonade (mix fresh strawberry puree with Newman's Own virgin lemonade).

Grilled eggplant and heirloom tomato panini with chevre and kalamata tapenade

Yay! Summery weekend weather started on Friday, and the lovely log of French goat cheese that's been languishing in my fridge got its day in the sun. The first good heirloom tomatoes starting showing up in stores, and I was powerless. An eggplant and a loaf of fresh sea salt-rosemary focaccia would complete the train of thought, and this would be dinner.

I marinated the sliced eggplant (salted and left in a sieve in the sink to drain the bitter juices, then squeezed of the last drops of leachate) in a basil-balsamic vinaigrette: olive and walnut oils and balsamic vinegar; Dijon mustard and a drib of mesquite honey; then a good, fat chiff of basil, some flaky Maldon and cracked pepper. I let it soak up every atom of flavor while Scott readied the grill and I worked on the ultimate condiment.

I'm kind of picky about my chèvres - so many of the affordable ones from Trader Joe's are just like a crumbly cream cheese and lack the depth of tang and grass and goat that distinguishes a good French cheese. Ile de France makes a really nice one that meets my exacting standards. I mashed it with some finely chopped basil, summer savory and a quickie kalamata tapenade (chopped olives with shallots, S&P and a little lemon zest and chile flake) to spread on the toasted focaccia.

We grilled the eggplant (gas flame with some hickory chips in a foil pouch - so much faster and less wasteful for the grilling needs of just two people) until roasty-soft with crispy edges, and then toasted the focaccia over the flame. I soaked the sliced tomatoes in the warm vinaigrette drippings from the eggplant, then assembled the sandwiches.

Just perfect with a lemony mixed spring green salad and sparkling grapefruit juice.

Don't Call it a Comeback

Yay! I'm over the (first) hump and can eat real food again. I can cook it too, without being too tired or tummy-achy to stand or smell food aromas hitting my face. But I've had to start out slow. I've sort of lost my groove, a little.

On Tuesday I really wanted a pot pie-type comfy food, since it's been a typical cold, wet Oregon May. The slugs have annihilated my vegetable sprouts and even sawed halfway through my beloved dragon arum (Dracunculus vulgaris) - a devastating blow! I thought about making a pot "pie" inside a loaf of bread, and picked up some organic bread dough. Scott chimed in about making them single-servings like hum bao, and I heartily concurred. I whipped up a batch of chicken pot pie filling, taking care to reduce the gravy somewhat to avoid utter soggage. But oh, the calamity. They fell apart before I could even pinch them together. I threw the whole mess into a casserole and just baked it with the bread dough strewn lazily across the top.

Tragically, the bread part ended up completely leaden, and my gravy reduction yielded a dry interior to the mess. Sigh. I think my lower lip stuck out the entire time we ate.

The next day I was craving soup, and even wanted something spicy. I tossed around a few ideas (one of which I'll save for another time - it might be a Thing) and settled on a variation on the highly plastic minestrone. I made a hearty tortellini, sausage and cannelini minestra with a piquant arrabbiata broth simmered with onions, carrots, garlic, zucchini (sauteed first in the flavorful Italian sausage fat) and best of all, a thick Parmesan rind to enrich the whole affair. I tossed in some cheese tortellini (and a can of cannelinis at the end), et voilà. Top with a thick piece of garlicky bruscetta and finely grated Parmigiano Regiano, and I think I'm back.

This weekend: grill therapy.

Almost ready, I swear.

Sorry for the lag in blogging over the past few weeks. It's not even that I'm too busy this time, it's just that I've cooked exactly twice since the halibut post (grilled cheese with tomato soup and penne with jarred tomato sauce, though that hardly counts as cooking). I am nearly over my first trimester and should be getting back to normal very soon. God, I hope so.

People are always interested to know what a foodie craves when she is pregnant. "God, what does Heather crave," people ask Scott. Well not much, I'm sad to say, not yet anyway. Here is some of what I've eaten over the past few weeks:

• 1.5 pints of Haagen Daaz strawberry ice cream (last night with those chewy chocolate crinkle cookies - a winning combination)
• about a pound of Jelly Bellys, opting alternately for Juicy Pear and Black Licorice (but gah, not together - gross - I'm not an animal)
• a corn dog from a questionable gas station deli in BFE
• a piece of supreme pizza from a questionable gas station deli in BFE
• a cucumber and chili Mexican frozen popsicle ("paleta")
• ham and cheese hot pocket (whole wheat! it's good for the baby)
• Nong Shim Kim Chee bowl noodle spicy taste good job
• 2 cans of Spaghettios in cheese sauce
• approximately 4 chili dogs (with the cheese and onions) and tater tots
  
• tuna salad sandwich on a non-sick day
• 3 cantaloupes, salted, each eaten entirely in one sitting
• 5 pints of strawberries, eaten over the sink
• 4 mangoes, salt and peppered
  
• 10 or 20 apples, sometimes with salt, sometimes with cheese
• a half a giant tub of Carnation Instant Breakfast (chocolate) with 1% milk - usually the first thing in my stomach in the morning
• three bowls of pho
• a half a Hawaiian-style pizza with green peppers
• three servings of pasta with red sauce (nothing fancy)
• iceberg lettuce with ranch dressing (a healthy "salad"!)
• a giant bowl of radishes with salt
  
• Ethiopian food (the lentils were the craving, and sticking with vegetarian was a really good choice for me)
• 2 breakfast burritos
• 3 of those mini boxes of cereal from the variety pack: Corn Pops, Rice Krispies and Crispix (I foolishly let Scott have the Fruit Loops)
  
• a movie-size box of Hot Tamales
• a movie-size box of Junior Mints
• approximately 5000 Cliff Bars (while in the field)
• a 6" veggie sub with extra pepperoncini
• 10 bottles of Reed's ginger beer
  

I guess that's enough confession. Try not to judge me. Progesterone's a helluva drug.