Tuesday, December 25, 2007



Ho, Ho, Ho…

I can’t remember the last time I wasn’t with my family for the holiday, unless you count the time years back when my parents had traveled to Bali and M dragged me to the Midnight Mass from hell. I won’t go into details, but let’s just say the mass was less about fa-la-la Christmas and Carols and more about the homophobic beliefs of Father T. We couldn’t get out of there fast enough, and after a 20 year hiatus from the Catholic Church, I vowed that I would never go back. Suffice it to say, Christmas for me is about family and friends and sharing thanks for having such wonderful people in my life.

I have fond memories of the holidays growing up. In our house, it meant making about 15 different types of Christmas cookies. Let me see, there were the Yummy Caramel Bars and Seven Layer Bars, (my faves) the Dream Bars, the Mexican Wedding Cakes, the Buckeyes, the cookies with the chocolate in the middle, the basic sugar cookie with green and red sugar…I cant forget the FUDGE…oh man. My mind blanks, but there had to have been more. When we made cookies, we would store them in tins in the freezer and for months following, we would dive into the freezer at odd times throughout the day for a sweet treat. At night after a grueling swim practice, I would cozy up next to the lit Christmas tree with the fire cracklin’ in the fire place and my Yummy Caramel Bar in hand. I remember thinking; life doesn’t get much better than this. There was something about it all. The lights, the scent of the Christmas tree, (in the years between the plastic models) the fireplace, family, and my own Yummy Caramel Bar, plucked from the tin in the freezer.

This year, while our family is gathering to celebrate after the New Year, I am a little nostalgic being away from them on Christmas Eve and Christmas day. We have so many traditions that have emerged over the years. From our eve of movie going and Indian food, to opening one gift, to the Christmas morning of taking 5 hours to cycle through the gifts under the tree..everyone opening just one per round. I need a little bit of the family Christmas here this year. I failed to put up lights or even get a tree and I am fighting a cold and feeling crappy.. but I can still make the house smell of sugar and maybe even have that cracklin’ fire in the fireplace.



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Tuesday, December 04, 2007

Apologies!

I am sorry that I have been neglecting you W&W. I have quite the project in the works and it seems to be consuming my body and mind! I hope to unveil it soon ;)

Sunday, November 11, 2007

Japan Part 3.


Food.

Early Morning at the Tsukiji Market.

Mystery Flavor..

Super Cute Sweets.

Okonomiyake.
I cant believe that it has taken me the longest to write about the food in Japan. For me, eating is one of my favorite things, so eating in Japan was one of my favorite memories of being in Japan.

On our first evening, jet lagged and all, we were wandering through Ginza around 4:30pm looking for a place that was open for dinner. You know, early bird special? We didn’t have too much luck with that, unless we wanted café fare via Tullys or Starbucks… so, we wandered into this cute little place tucked away down some stairs behind a wooden façade. The menu was in Japanese, with no pictures, so we figured, well, they must have sushi, right? The woman was a bit surprised to see us, Americans, walking in for dinner at 4:30, but she seated us anyway. We were the first to arrive apparently. We tried to get some English out of her, as far as the menu was concerned. She didn’t know much, and for this she bowed and apologized profusely. But, she did keep repeating, “horse” as she pointed to the different options on the menu. We would ask, “sushi?” and she would say, “ah, yes, Horse.” We would say, noodles? And she, “ah, yes, with Horse.”
Oh boy. I have too many fond memories of horses…
In the end, I think that we managed to order Udon noodles without the horse, but I am still not so sure what we ended up eating that night.

From this adventure, I learned that the Japanese restaurants seem to specialize in one thing. sushi, bento, udon, okonomiyake..or horse. And, you cant just wander into any restaurant and assume that they will have sushi, or udon noodles. What they serve is many variations of bento, or many different kinds of udon noodles..or, in the case of our first outing, many kinds of dishes prepared solely with horse.

What was really great about dining out in Japan, was that many restaurants didn’t have English menus, but they did have a hefty display case out front that showcased their menu in plastic food parts. (I have to say, I was curious to visit the factory store that makes all these plastic food items..) Many times, we would have to usher the server outside and point to the dish that we wanted, or if the menu was in Japanese with only a few pictures, we would end up ordering something that was photographed, just so we had some idea of what might be ending up on our table.

Some of my most memorable meals had to be the Okonomiyake. Something that I would never have known existed, if it hadn’t been for my mom who went on an Okonomiyake cooking kick after visiting Japan last year. It starts with either a thin pancake of batter or of noodles, and then it is filled with cabbage, meat, green onions, ginger and topped with an egg. It is cooked on a flat top in front of you, smothered with plum sauce, then pushed over to your end of the grill, where you eat it right off the hot surface. In Hiroshima, we happened upon a “village” of Okonomiyake restaurants, upstairs in a small non descript building. It was basically a floor of little open bars, each with a flat top grill, around which you sit, and they cook for you. Yum.

Of course, I can’t not talk about the sushi and the Tsukiji market, because that was a highlight and a place that T had been telling me about for 2 years. It was pretty remarkable. A few mornings, we would get up really early and just wander around the perimeter, where the shops were already open. There were these small bars along the outside, where I experienced raw fish over steamed rice for breakfast, for the first time…and, I loved it. I cant think of a healthier way to start the day, really. (we went back there the next morning for sushi at 6am..)

Of course, being a dessert person, I did some sampling of the local sweets. I have to say, while the dessert pastries are beautifully packaged, they weren’t my favorite. They make a lot of paste-like fillings encased in this chewy-anise flavored dough, that I just couldn’t bring myself to love. I tried, I did. But, I was very impressed with the bakerys there. The Japanese have adopted the Euro style bakery and have added their own twist. While I didn’t love the bean paste in the rubbery dough, I did love it in a sugar dusted filled donut, and I did love the purple taro filled sweet buns, complete with a purple sugary glaze. Oh man, they can certainly bake the breakfast pastries…

And, I cannot forget the soft serve. They served it everywhere, mostly along the touristed sights. It was the perfect snack after a morning tour of a temple and a lot of walking. They mainly served Green Tea, to my delight, but I also sampled Milk flavor, and passed up a jet black flavor. I am still not sure what it was but the picture that advertised it, made it look like it was made from charcoal. Can this be?

I could go on and on, for the food was so delicious, and the vending machines were dizzying and numerous, but this entry needs to end so that my next entry can begin.
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Sunday, November 04, 2007


Harajuku girl
Originally uploaded by Jonas B

Japan Part 2

Style.

One thing that was prevalent across Japan was the amazing sense of style. I found myself many times embarrassed to be donning the same Old Navy shirt, the same clunky red shoes, and the same fluorescent rain shell..yet again. I guess these are the breaks when you are traveling around for 3 weeks living out of your carry on. I was conscious of the style quotient in Japan before we left, so I made an effort to do a little shopping and bought some stylish walking shoes, and some pants other than my staple Levi Jeans, but I think that it is impossible to blend in here, regardless of the steps you take to look somewhat stylish.

On the first day, I pulled out my brand new stylish and comfy walking shoes and found myself cursing under my breath and limping from large blisters within the first hour. Note to self: break in shoes, especially those to be worn without socks. Another note: band-aids don’t stick, but moleskin does. I spent the rest of the trip trying to find the equivalent of moleskin, which I was successful in doing, and it really saved my a** because we walked a lot. A lot.

Women in Tokyo are so stylish and seem to wear anything well. The fad of the moment, while the weather was still somewhat warm, but Fall closing in, was shorts or skirts and high black boots, with a wooly ski hat. I found it somewhat humorous at first, I mean, why wear a ski hat and shorts when you could just put some pants on? Well, that is me…boring and practical me. After a day or so, I started thinking that it was actually kind of cute. All the layering, suspender-skirts, the long sweaters, the shorts, the boots.
And, then, there are the Japanese men. I saw more hair-do’s on the young men than the women. The young men really do it up, I mean, really. I think that they must go through more styling products than the women. It is so different. You see men walking in groups of three or four, checking out the girls, and they each have a different doo going on… puffy, slicked back, mullet-style…you name it.

Halfway through our visit to Tokyo, I decided that I wanted to dress like a Tokyo woman. So, after a long day of walking, I ventured into a cool shop. After grabbing a few things off the hangers, I motioned to the salesperson that I wanted to try them on. Instead of just pointing my way to the room, the woman, took my clothes from me, took everything off the hangers, folded everything nicely and laid everything out in the dressing room for me. When I went to step into the room, with my shoes on, I learned that you don’t do that here. You are to take your shoes off and leave them at the door of the room. The only problem here was that we had been walking all day. I am sure that you can imagine what that might mean in a pair of shoes worn without socks…walking all day, every day? Needless to say, I was horrified that I had to take the shoes off and leave them for all to whiff. So, I tried to mask the stench by placing them face down, cradling each other, and I made my way into the dressing room. As if I wasn’t already embarrassed, the saleswoman came over, and grabbed my shoes to re-arrange them just so, and in the process, she began coughing…presumably from the smell. Then, she started talking to her co-worker and giggling… I was so mortified that I snuck my way out of the dressing room and out the door. (everything was too small anyway..) After this, I was a bit intimidated to repeat the experience. Interesting though, when I did end up trying on more clothes, I found, not surprisingly, that clothes don’t fit the same here. particularly pants. They are made for a shorter more petite woman, and the hems are sewn very differently. Shucks, because there were some cute pants…

On the second to last day of our trip, I remembered that my boss was throwing a Halloween party. I cant believe that I went the whole trip, when I could have been gathering costume pieces along the way. Throughout our travels, we saw many stores toting the young style of the day, which was a lot like the retro-80’s look. On that day in Kyoto, I remembered some styles that we had seen in Tokyo, in the Harajuku district. Harajuku is where all the young kids hang out and on Sundays, many gather along a certain bridge, dressed to the nines. There are a few different styles: punk, goth, kawaii (which means cute, dressed babylike), decora (which means decked out in accessories) and cosplay (which means dressing like an anime character). With all of the creative dress here, I realized that my costume was staring me in the face. So, on our last day, I braved the shops once again, this time with my less offensive shoes…




Monday, October 29, 2007

Stay Tuned for Japan Part 2. In the meantime, enjoy this video...

Shibuya Crosswalks.

This is a video of the craziest intersection of people.
When all crosswalks say walk, there are hoardes of people waiting to cross...in every direction.
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Thursday, October 25, 2007

Japan. Part 1.




Skip to my loo.

There is so much more to Japan than the just their amazing toilets, but I have to dedicate some of my blog to them for they continually made me smile throughout the trip. For those of you who think that a toilet is just a toilet, is just a toilet, I have some news for you.

Yes, there were plenty of bathrooms that utilized the ‘Japanese’ style of toilet..which really is not much more than a hole in the ground, with a rail in front of it to hold onto. For this, I learned the hard way, the first few times, when I didn’t roll up the bottom of my pant legs, and they fell to the ground..which usually isn’t the squeakiest of clean surfaces. (keep in mind, it is harder for women to aim..)

But, walk into a stall with a ‘western’ style toilet, and the experience is almost like a trip to the spa. First, I ventured to sit on a few of these toilets, (with the liner of course) because I couldn’t resist the heated seat. You can actually adjust the controls with just how heated you want your seat…and your toilet seat.

Then, for a little more privacy for those embarrassing public restroom moments, you have the option to cover up those noises, with the sound of running water and birds chirping. Some toilets do this automatically when you sit down, so a lot of times, when you walk into a full bathroom, you hear the sounds of nature and a rushing river…not the sounds that you might expect to hear. Just like a trip to the spa…How relaxing is that?

Then, there are the bidet and washing options which I never partook in, but I was curious about, so one night at the hotel while standing over the toilet, I pressed a button with a spray logo on it. Some sort of spigot came out and literally sprayed me in the face with water, as I stood peering into the toilet like an idiot. It then proceeding to spray the ceiling and the mirror across the room. Quite the cleanse, I would think, if you were actually sitting on the toilet. I certainly hope it wasn’t water from the toilet bowl..

Many of these toilets gave me the sense that I was operating some pretty complex machinery. Most have a control panel on the side with many buttons to push…almost as if I could push a button and buy a can of milk tea, or push a button and a hand would extend out and massage my back. I imagine for the Japanese, the masters of invention, that this is just a matter of time.


Tuesday, October 23, 2007

My Feet in Japan.

While I repair myself from our travels home, I will begin my Japan coverage with some photos....


In Tokyo.


On top of a beautiful sewer grate. Each city had their own special pattern.


Soaked. The wettest day, in Kyoto.


In Hakone.
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Thursday, October 18, 2007

Stay Tuned......


soon to come...Tales from Japan:

how much I love Japanese toilets
how I am mortified at trying on clothing after a day of walking in stinky shoes..and more!!

Friday, September 28, 2007


Bubble Tea is SO yesterday. Today, it is all about the Iced Matcha Latte..



I was heartbroken the other day when I decided to walk 2 miles to the U district to treat myself to a Bubble Tea at my favorite place. I had a frequent drinker card, and they even knew me there. During my last visit, I think that they actually perfected my drink. My usual was the black milk tea, and last time I told them to make it a little less sweet but to give me more tapioca. It was so perfect.
Unfortunately, my perfect bubble tea experience would be my last..at least for a while until I get over the shock of walking up to the doorway of "Gossip Tea" and seeing a hand scrawled sign on the door. "Closed-Sorry"

Closed? Sorry? That's it?

I peered into the windows to see my boba haven in complete disarray with the chairs piled up in a corner, the counters pulled out and signs in the windows claiming that the next best thing (a Chinese bakery) would be "coming soon."

So, in my shock, I did what I had to do. I went to the next best bubble tea place, up the street. I dont know, my drink was so sweet, the pearls not quite perfect, and hardly any ice. All in all, just not the boba experience that I had grown to love.

SO boba, I am moving on. Officially, you and I are through. (for now at least)

I have a new love. Certainly not as sweet nor as chewy. I have entered the milk tea phase of the matcha tea lattes. So far, I have only ventured with the iced version, but so far, I have been quite pleased. I am even somewhat impressed with Starbucks version, minus the nasty melon syrup they add. I am not quite sure why they would tamper with something that is good on its own.
Less is more, right? Although, I guess if they had tapioca pearls, that might be a different story..





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Wednesday, September 19, 2007


To New York City, we go.







Oh, New York City.. you fed me well. I think I am still full. And. I think I love you. I love your endless energy, your endless noise, and your endless options for a good meal. I love your people too. People who, unlike Seattlelites, actually stop to ask why we are standing on the sidewalk outside of the James Beard House at 11:30 pm, looking happy, relieved and exhausted, with our 6 humongous igloo coolers, waiting for 3 separate cabs to transport us back to our hotel.

“Is there any beer in there?”

“Wow, you have been here all day. We saw you arrive at 8:30 this morning. What’s with all the igloos? ”

Contrary to what I always thought about New Yorkers, they actually do notice you, and contrary to many Seattlelites, they actually do care. This is shocking to see, in a city that moves a mile a minute.

We arrived early on Thursday morning, via the red eye and upon our arrival to the hotel, only one room was available, the smaller of the two. So, the four of us: my boss, her 3 year old son and my coworker, plunked down our 6 igloos, our 6 suitcases and ourselves, squeezed into 2 tiny beds and ordered room service. Then, we slept. I could already tell that we would bond this weekend, given that we were so cozily cramped and napping together in this tiny NYC hotel room.

In Seattle at the airport, our trip began with quite the excitement, so we were somewhat relieved to have actually arrived with all our things in one piece, minus the box of chicken stock that was haphazardly stuffed into the outer pouch of my checked bag, now burst and dripping all over my unmentionables as I heaved it off the baggage carousel in Newark.

It turns out; the airline has a policy that you can’t check anything over 70 pounds, at all. And so, our igloos that were packed so tightly and with such forethought, had to be all rearranged. We were “those people,” the ones that cause all the congestion in the check in lines. The ones you huff and roll your eyes at. Frantically, we had to unbungee and rearrange our items so that each of the 6 coolers weighed less than 70 pounds. This meant, pulling that tin of olive oil out, putting it in Stu’s bag, pulling that bottle of Barolo out, and putting it in my suitcase. It meant switching around the bags that we were going to check. So much was going on, that we lost track of what was in our checked luggage and what had been transferred to our carry ons. So, it wasn’t at all shocking when we walked through the security line, two of us without incident and the third sparking a haz-mat emergency call and a crowd of 10 TSA officials, gathering around the x-ray screen. It dawned on me that I had stuffed a bag of flour into Stu’s bag, so I thought for certain that that was what the hubbub was about. Upon searching, they unveiled our 10 pound tin of olive oil, and whoops…all of Stu’s kitchen knives. This must have been the highlight of the day for TSA. One official even told us so. I can imagine that it gets boring there, repeatedly busting people for having 4 oz of lotion instead of 2.5.
So, ours was quite the find. I mean, who else would try to get through security so blatantly, with a gallon of liquid and a bag of knives?

And so we napped, and then we ate a nice meal at 11 Madison Park, and then we napped again. That night we ordered room service and planned our attack for the next days prep in the James Beard kitchen. I was nervous because I was the one that had the most work to do the next day. I was to make all the bread and crackers, two kinds of hand dipped truffles and an extra large batch of Panna Cotta. I do this most days at the restaurant, but usually, I make it in batches of 12, not batches of 65. with all that gelatin to contend with, I was a little nervous that something would glitch, and that my dessert, my whole reason for being invited to cook with at the Beard house with my boss and coworker, would either be a puddle of sweet cream, or a jello brick. So, the next day, I was sure to have some coffee. Then, I was careful, so so careful. Prepping was such a breeze that we even had time to break for a nice leisurely lunch at the Fatty Crab. http://www.fattycrab.com/ Who couldn’t love a place that serves a beer called “Porkslap” with a photo of two pigs slapping their belly’s together? We reconvened back in the kitchen after lunch and began getting ready for our dinner. The evening went so smoothly, and the guests seemed rather pleased with all the food, and my dessert turned out well too. Phew! I have the admit that I was a little worried when I pulled the tray from the fridge and H. let me know that she was worried the Panna Cottas weren’t set up enough. But she did say that she wanted them very softly set, and that is exactly how they jiggled on the plate. Ah Relief.

Celebration was in order, so we cleaned up at the hotel and headed back out to Momofuku Ssam Bar. http://www.momofuku.com/ Oh man, this place was so delicious. It is such an experience to eat out with someone who really knows food and knows just what to order. Who would have thought that pig’s head would be so delicious that we would order a second helping? Really, it was that good. We ate and toasted with some sake, and I sank happily into my chair.

The next morning, we had an 11:30 reservation at Per Se. I think that I went to bed around 3:30, so time to get up came a bit early and I wasn’t quite sure I was ready to start the day off with more wine. But, my worries diminished pretty quickly after the first glass of bubbly and a toast. It was here where we spent the next 5 hours. Eating. At this table. Oh man. So so wonderful. So much food. So many courses. I think that I counted about 20. After the first 5 courses, I knew that I might be in trouble when I was already starting to fill up and the server told us that ‘now the real meal begins..’ so much great food and wine was had that day, but a few standouts included the signature “oysters and pearls” which consisted of tapioca pearls (my fave and a recurring thing in my meals in NY) and oysters in a buttery, custardy union with caviar on top. Oh man, it was so very good. I think that the most interesting dish was the foie gras and peanut butter and jelly terrine. This was something served to the men at the table while the women enjoyed a less whimsical preparation served with a selection of about 15 different salts. The desserts consisted of the signature “coffee and doughnuts” which was a coffee semifreddo, with milk foam and doughnuts on the side. I remember doing this dessert in culinary school, along with a few others in the French Laundry cookbook. My teacher for the plated desserts portion of our course was the thinking behind that dessert, for he was the pastry chef at French Laundry back in those days. This dessert was quite delicious, the semifreddo had the creamiest texture…one I hope to duplicate on a menu someday soon. After the multiple dessert courses, they had the nerve to bring out more. Truffles, 15 different kinds for us to choose from. And, then, more. Nougat, cookies, caramels…oh stop. Now.

As the sun was beginning to slightly dim in the sky, we exited Per Se. So full. So grateful for this experience, the whole of it. Being here in NYC and experiencing all the great food and representing my restaurant at the James Beard House was so amazing. I was actually moved to tears when I called my parents to leave a message about the trip. Everything about the weekend was so memorable. NYC is so memorable.



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Tuesday, September 04, 2007

Kauai Dreamin'


me and Min lookin' good, circa 1987.....

(I am the one that looks like a boy, in pink shades...)


It is hard to believe that my first family trip to Kauai was more than 20 years ago. I remember that my sisters and I competed daily to see who could out tan the other, sun worshipping for 8 hours a day, and at that time only wearing SPF 6 sunscreen..(which my parents were still using up until a few years ago :)) I remember thinking how much I would impress my schoolmates when I returned home to the new school year, donning my new bronzed look. I remember bringing along my grandparents, who nearly burned down our hotel room when they put a rice cake in the toaster, and I remember learning how “Barking Sands” beach got that name, when my sisters and I had to cross a mile of hot sand back to the car without our shoes. I remember my parents taking us down sugar cane lined roads to show us their 'secret beach', which is Shipwreck Beach, now on the Hyatt Kauai grounds. And, I will never forget the time when I got myself and my sisters in trouble. Then, just an impressionable 15, lured by the ultra-coolness of the local surfers and their lascivious ways.

Since then, I have been back numerous times; Kauai is like a second home to me. I have gone alone, tried to surf the “good” waves and gotten pummeled by the coral and called names by the locals. Alone, I have explored the quiet side of the island and gotten my Land Cruiser stuck in the sand. I have seen my older sister marry there, and I invited my husband along, a couple of times, when we were newly dating. Some say that I was jumping the gun. 3 years later we would return to the same place, and he would propose to me, down on one knee in the sand. A year ago this week, T and I returned again with family and friends in tow, to exchange our own vows. This year, I went back, this time with my sisters, mom and nephew. A girls trip, with boy. I love that he is only 2 years old, but like his mom, grandma and aunties, he is drawn to the pounding waves and the waters edge. He too, is lured by the ocean.

When I think of Kauai, I mimic the same sentiment as my mom, as we drive down the road from town to shore, with the perfumed breeze, the rainbow trees and the blue sparkling waters near. She says with an inhale and a sigh, “I love this place.”

I too, love this place.

Friday, August 10, 2007

Time is a changing.





If you were to ask me what the most valuable tool for my use in the kitchen is, you might be surprised at my answer. It’s not the whisk, the namesake of my blog, the mixer or the cuisinart..nor is it the zester, the rubber spatula or my candy thermometer. Don’t get me wrong, these things are pretty handy day to day…and, really, I couldn’t live without any one of them, but the one thing that really keeps me ticking..literally, is my handy timer. I actually have a pretty good internal clock. One that, every morning, wakes me at 6:09, a minute before my alarm clock goes off. In the kitchen, it comes in handy though, to have that back up nagging voice. I admit, at times, when I hear the beeping, I think to myself before I go searching each oven, “now what did I set that for again?” My trusty timer has saved many cookies from the brink, and it has reminded me when I have crumbles bubbling and crème brulee’s cooking slow and low. So, yesterday, when I stood in the kitchen and the timer starting beeping at me and counting upwards at a large clip, I was a little alarmed. (I hadn’t set it to do that or even touched it for that matter) At first I figured it was the resident restaurant ghost playing tricks on me, but when I thought about it, I realized that my timer was trying to tell me something else. He was tired and he was full of grime and oil from being dropped into the fryer (his trusty magnets have worn..thank goodness the fryer wasn’t on.) He had nagged me for 6 long years, with only 1 battery change, and, he wasn’t going to take it anymore, even if I gave him a fresh battery and wiped his parts free of oil and grime. That was it.
So, today, I retired Taylor Timer, and I reminisced about the good times and bad, through the kitchens of Greystone, Ithaca and back to Seattle. I think of all the millions of things we produced, me and him, together.
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Thursday, July 26, 2007

Initiation

10 years ago, on the second day of work at one of my first restaurant jobs ever, I cut my finger. I was hired as a prep cook, pretty much the bottom of the food chain, and I had minimal experience. I was 23 years old and I wanted to be a chef and I had to start somewhere. So there I was, chopping potatoes for the clam chowder…with a long serrated knife.
(not the optimal tool for this job)

I was nervous that day, walking into the kitchen, the only female in a sea of testosterone, tattoos and death metal. My immediate superior was a guy named Adam, who I learned that day, was into S&M and Satan.

Did I mention that I was nervous? I really wanted to show these seasoned pros that I could chop and dice as quick as the rest of ‘em, so I was trying my hardest to go go go. Then, it slipped. My knife. Across the flesh of my left thumb. My first thought, besides, ‘shit’…was, ‘can I let this go undetected, slip away to the first aid kit and reappear as if nothing happened?’ It was too late. I think my gasp and my quick instinct to run to the hand sink gave me away, not to mention the blood on my cutting board.

When I found the courage to take the pressure off my thumb and look at it, I was shocked at what I saw. A deep cut, really deep, queasy-deep. A crowd of cooks slowly surrounded me and confirmed my findings..yeah, it was deep.
4 stitches later and bound up with gauze, I returned to work. Instantly, on my second day of work where just that morning, I had been essentially anonymous, I was now a celebrity in that kitchen, the butt of all ‘rubber knife’ jokes.

Yesterday, I found myself initiated once again. Even though I have been with my current job for a few years, the most suffering I encounter on a weekly basis is a burn here, a burn there. I rarely cut myself. I will admit that I am not the best when it comes to sharpening my knives, so I am used to the slightly dull feel of them, day after day. Yesterday, I decided that it was time though, to sharpen my knives..and so I did. All day I was pretty impressed with my honing job, pretty impressed that I could actually get my knife THAT sharp. Wow.

It is funny because I was pretty much finished for the day, and I realized that I still needed to steep some cream overnight with fresh ginger. It was kind of an afterthought, so I quickly grabbed my knife and started chopping. It happened so fast. So clean. So sharp. As I had done 10 years earlier, I headed briskly towards the hand sink, thought ‘shit,’ and wondered whether I could be nonchalant about the whole thing. I looked at my finger, and again was shocked at what I saw…or, what I didn’t see…what came out of my mouth next was a bit surreal. I asked my coworker to look on my cutting board to see if my fingertip was still sitting where I left it. Her scream followed by ‘eww!, eww!, eww!’ was all I needed to know. I would be heading to the hospital that afternoon.

Before yesterday, I hadn’t heard the many battle stories of those before me, who had severed their fingertips. But, today, when I headed into work, thick gauze bandage and all, my co workers came out of the woodwork showing me their ‘amputation’ scars, proudly telling me how they too, had cut off their finger tips once, even twice. I feel as if I have been initiated once again. 10 years ago, I was welcomed into the kitchen with stitches, and now, 10 years later and a little more seasoned, perhaps I have reached a new level?
Or, perhaps I have just another good war story to tell..

Wednesday, July 18, 2007


Best thing since Bubble Tea.





When the weather heats up, I find myself craving a nice iced latte or a ‘Tall Espresso Frappuccino blended beverage’ (as they refer to it at Starbucks) after work; that is, if I have already had my allotted Bubble Tea for the week. I have tried not to make this a daily thing, as it adds up, and really, do I need all that extra caffeine, huh? do I, do I???

A few weeks ago, I came across an article in the New York Times about the New Orleans iced coffee. Typically, when coffee is brewed in the normal way, with hot water, there is a bitter flavor that accompanies it, most likely as a result of the hot water releasing the coffee beans bitter components. (similar to how tannins are released from Black Tea if steeped too long) The New Orleans style of brewing is called cold brewing, where the coffee is ground, soaked in cold water for 12-24 hours, then strained, leaving you a more concentrated coffee, with a sweeter flavor, not a bitter one.

I was intrigued so I tried this out last week, and let me say that this coffee is really tasty. So tasty, that I may have kicked my store-bought-iced-beverage habit for the summer. I was really surprised how much cold brewing actually changes the flavor of the coffee. The flavor was surprisingly sweet, untarnished by any bitter undertones.

You MUST try this!!

New Orleans Iced Coffee

8 oz freshly ground coffee (your favorite robust blend)
5 cups cold water

Mix the coffee and the water together to just combine it then let it sit covered in the fridge for 12-24 hours.
Then, pour the mixture into a fine sieve or through a permanent coffee filter. Let the mixture drain for a few hours. You will have about a 3-4 cups of coffee concentrate.

Then, fill a glass with ice, add ½ cup milk and ½ cup of coffee. (I like this ratio, although the traditional ratio is ¼ cup coffee, ¾ cup milk)

Sit on your porch and enjoy!
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Tuesday, July 17, 2007

Sin City.







Ah, Vegas. Isnt this place hell on earth at 110 degrees? When I first arrived and walked out to the 100 person long cab line in the sweltering heat, the thought did cross my mind. Then, I was assigned to my cabbie who was generously pumping the AC and the bass. It seemed appropriate, ‘Chicago’ was playing. It was a cheesy tune with all the horns and whatnot, and the back speakers nearly blew out. I almost laughed at loud. I was in Vegas. Cheese city. My Cabbie looked like a well tanned transplant from some ocean paradise on the Florida Pan handle, and apparently he had had too many beans in his burrito at lunch.
Luckily, my destination on the strip was only a short drive away..

If you have never been to Vegas, it is like nothing I have ever seen, ever. This place is intriguing to visit, but almost a little repulsing at the same time. I am not a big gambler, but I do like to eat, and the shopping is kind of fun. So, we did plenty of walking. It was so hot that we ended up walking through the casinos, which is quite the clever ploy on their part, clever indeed. Suck the people into the cool depths, and get them spending. The hotels all have their themes, which is quite amusing and pretty fascinating. Where do you want to go? Paris, Venice perhaps? Each themed hotel has its own little shopping area to mimic the real thing; whether it is a cobbled street in Paris, or the Grand Canal, complete with gondola rides. It is Disneyland for adults. And, the construction is never ending. We must have passed at least 3 projects in the works: a new shopping center, just down the street from two other shopping centers, and what do you know, another casino and resort.

It is so hot during the day that the city really comes alive at night. This is when the scenesters come out, and apparently La Lohan too. We took the more adult approach to nights in Vegas and instead of hitting the Pure nightclub or the beach at Tao (on top of a hotel, I guess), we hit the Cirque du Soleil shows…twice. I had never seen one, ever, so the first night we took in a show called “Ka.” It was amazing, but not as amazing as the highlight of my trip, the “Love” show. This is a Cirque show dedicated to the songs of the Beatles, and I am a huge Beatles and John Lennon fan. Have been since I was 5. One of my first music memories is listening to John Lennon’s ‘Double Fantasy’ record with my oldest friend, singing our hearts out. It brings me such good memories, and seeing this show made my trip. It was that excellent.
So, I highly recommend it, ok?

All in all, I’ll be honest. I don’t love Vegas, but it fascinates me nonetheless. It may take 5 more years, but I imagine that I will be back.
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Monday, July 02, 2007

Just a quick shout out..
if you havent tried these yet, try these now. they are quite delicious..

The Brother of the Booty are quite delicious too..
(Unfortunately, my other favorite, the 'wheat free Chaos' has since been 'retired'....)

Sunday, July 01, 2007


For the love of Mayonnaise.



The first of July and this summertime weather have given me a bit of a hankering for potato salad lately. Randomly this week as well, the love and loath of Mayonnaise became a topic in two completely separate conversations of mine. Random I know, especially since I was not the one to bring up the M word in either discussion.

(In case you are curious, the heated discussions were all about hating mayonnaise (crazy), mayo not being the preferred glue of choice in salads (crazy) and a t-shirt purchased by a friend stating “I hate Mayonnaise”)

I, on the other hand, have some good memories of Mayo.

Mayo is around when there is leftover turkey at Thanksgiving. When I get lazy and don’t feel like making a sammy, I just dip my turkey into the stuff, straight up. (Don’t worry Mom; I don’t dip into the jar anymore)

Mayo is there with the cranberry sauce and mustard to stick my turkey sammy together, when I do get around to making it.

Mayo is the glue for many divine sandwich fillings. Egg salad, yum. Chicken salad, yum yum. And tuna salad…probably my least favorite, but I wouldn’t turn it away still.

I even remember a time when my mom used to make guacamole with mayo. Umm, can you say, yum?

Mayonnaise is there for dipping your artichoke leaves and hearts in…yes, right next to the melted butter.

Did I mention dipping French Fries in Mayo? (it’s a Canadian thing, eh?)

It was one of my first experiences as a prep cook at a local alehouse that I have my most fond mayonnaise memories…well, not really the fondest, but it is still a memory. Back in those days, making potato salad meant boiling 50 pounds of potatoes in a large steam kettle, cutting every last one into quartered segments, then, my favorite part…pouring all the potatoes into a huge plastic bin, putting on kitchen gloves and adding gallons of jiggley mayonnaise to the bin along with all the other key ingredients that make up a very American style potato salad. Then, the fun part. I would literally swim up to my shoulders in the potato salad, using my hands and most of my arm, because really, how else do you mix 50 pounds of potatoes with gallons of mayonnaise? This was truly humbling for me, especially when the guy I had a crush on at the time would walk by the kitchen and spot me in all my glamour, covered in Mayo.

Luckily, I escaped from this experience with my love of Mayo unharmed, but I have begun to appreciate Mayonnaise of another kind.

The Homemade kind.
This is not something I do often, but if you haven’t tried homemade Mayo, I suggest you start. Mayonnaise is basically an emulsion of egg yolks and oil with a touch of zing from vinegar, mustard or lemon. The type of oil used is what carries the flavor through, so imagine all the possibilities...

Walnut oil..truffle oil? Hmmm, I think this calls for a future blog entry, but for now, I should get back to my 'Best Foods' style potato salad.

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For those requests for a recipe, this is what I do...
boil some red potatoes, cool and cut them up. then, toss them with a little vinegar, mayo, salt and pepper. then, add your fixings...for example, hard boiled egg, celery, radish, pickle, green onion...the potato salad is quite versatile that way!!

Sunday, June 17, 2007



A dud.

A huge part of baking is improvising and testing out recipes, fine tuning the good ones into excellent ones and just crossing the bad ones off your list. I had some plums in the house from my produce delivery, and like apricots, I just don’t eat plums raw. It is that same thing as with apricots, the tart skin that gets me every time. I am starting to think that maybe I just don’t like tart. So, I found a recipe from this great book with a beautiful and delicious looking photo of a plum cake. It looked like a coffeecake, and the plums were juicy and oozy..almost caramel like. I decided to bake it for T’s arrival home this week.

I started to wonder if the baking goddesses were hinting at something when I discovered a LARGE spider crawling out from underneath the pages of my recipe book only to disappear into the endless wicker of my desk chair. (Three days later, and I think that he is still there) Then, the moment after I committed myself to baking the cake, I realized that I didn’t have any regular sugar in the house. (for which I subbed brown sugar) Then, when I went to melt the last of my butter, all perfectly measured out, it blew up into a fat bomb all over my microwave, giving me less than the amount that I needed. (for which I subbed olive oil)

I just wasn’t feeling it, the love, the rhythm, the good feelings when you know that you are making something that kicks a**. It was more of a ho-hum feeling. A ‘Gee, I hope this doesn’t taste terrible’ feeling. It just wasn’t looking good.

So, I shouldn’t have been at all surprised, when I pulled the cake, hot from the oven, cut myself and big wedge, and ho-hum.

It was ho-hum boring.

I suppose that it could have nothing to do with the recipe, from which I had completely strayed, but I feel hesitant to waste the time on it again, when I know that there are much better recipes in my note book, tried and true.

the cake, 4 days later. I finally threw it out.

Monday, June 11, 2007


Sugar. I love you. I hate you.



Quick and painless.

It is amazing that before I visited the dentist for my ‘quick and painless’ procedure this morning, I actually had planned on getting a coffee afterwards, visiting Trader Joes and wandering around my old hood of Queen Anne before I made my way to my hair appointment later in the afternoon. It sounds like a nice morning, yes? Unfortunately, my quick procedure turned into an excruciatingly painful one, as I left the office on the brink of tears, managed to make it to Trader Joes, all the while fighting back the sobbing and screams as I threw the most random of articles into my shopping basket. Hours later, now that I think about it, I’m not sure I even remember what I bought, the logic behind my purchases, or why I even thought that going to Trader Joes was a good idea in the first place. I decided halfway through my shopping trip that I just really wasn’t up to my usual browsing, something I normally delight in. I just wanted to get the hell out of the store, lock myself in the safety of my car, and scream. So that is what I did. I almost literally put my shopping basket down mid aisle, and I vacated. My throbbing and face numbing tooth pain was caused by the cold cement underneath my new crown settling in snugly next to my sad little tooth underneath. It wasn’t unlike the time; I believe it was two crowns ago, when I had the most excruciating tooth pain, from the misalignment of the crown, which had been riding too high. I remember those painful nights like it was yesterday, T running to the store in the middle of the night and popping the max dosage of Aleve throughout the long weekend until I was able to get into the dentist so he could fix his mistake.
(I chose this dentist long ago, while walking past the sign on his window that claimed he was Queen Anne’s Gentle Dentist.)

Have I mentioned that I have bad teeth?

Today’s crown makes lucky number 7.

Of course, it didn’t just start with the crowns. As a youth, there were the Apple Jacks, Diet Coke, Sweet Tarts and Laffy Taffy. And, then, there were the dreaded Christmas time dental visits to Dr. Brugos. (pre See’s Candy Christmas morning binge) Just the gift I always want for Christmas, a filling or two or..five… but, at least one for each year of my youth and one for each year of my adolescence… until there were no more teeth left to fill and the mighty "Crown" made its debut. While sitting in the dentists chair at the young age of 20, in preparation for 4 fillings, I remember thinking with horror that by the time I reached 30, I might not have any teeth left, only crowns. I told my dentist this, and I remember that he just laughed. Not a comforting laugh that says “oh c’mon that’s not true,” but the laugh that says “mo’ money baby, mo’ money.” Thank goodness this is not true. I am 32 going on 33 and I am happy to say I still have my front teeth (phew!) and a few 20 year old silver fillings that will soon crack to make way for yet another mighty Crown.

I have many dreams about my teeth and I am always waking up feeling relief. I particularly like the dream in which all my teeth just fall out. Isn’t that nice? Or, what about the dream where my front teeth have magically been replaced by gold caps with diamond bling? Please tell me that this is not in my future.

When I think back on years past of dental visits, I can’t remember my first filling, (too long ago and too painful a memory) but I certainly remember my first Crown. I remember the big needle numbing my tongue, nose and eyes and, I remember Dr. Brugos spraying bitterly cold air right on my nerve (sans Novocain), to dry off the tooth in preparation for laying the crown. That was at least 12 years ago, and I still remember that pain so clearly. The yelp, the tears, and the question, “oh, I am sorry, is that sensitive?”

I think that it is particularly suiting that given my dental history, (don’t worry, my hygiene is always top notch) that I would have anything to do with Sugar on a daily basis. I suppose there is a reason why I carry my toothbrush to work, and on days like this, it resonates more than ever.
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Friday, June 01, 2007


Apricot.

I dont really love Apricots, plain, but ask me what my favorite jam is, and I would have to say, Apricot, of course..with Strawberry a close second.

Contradictory? yes.

I have an aversion to the Apricot's fuzzy skin.. and its tartness, it is just too much for my taste buds to handle. I am convinced that there are good Apricots out there, but I really feel like the magic of this fruit comes out after they are cooked, which is why I think that I love Apricot jam so.

This week, in my produce bin, I received more Apricots than I could handle, and since I still have my Rhubarb jam (see previous post), I decided that the perfect place for them would be transformed into a Roasted Apricot Sorbet.

Oh mamma, let me tell you, this left my tastebuds singing....in a good way.




Roasted Apricot Sorbet

3/4 c sugar
1/2 c water
22 oz apricots, pitted.
2 Tablspoons Lemon Juice
1/8 teaspoon almond extract
pinch salt

bring water and sugar to a boil, turn off and set aside.
roast apricots for an hour at 350.
puree apricots with simple syrup and add remaining ingredients.
chill and spin in ice cream maker.
devour.



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Sunday, May 06, 2007




Rhubarb.



It is a bit of an awkward time of year, around now, fruit speaking. At work, we strive to use seasonal and locally grown produce for the most part, and right now there is a lull. All winter, I have borrowed citrus from California to grace the dessert menus. I have loved the citrus, but, as with other fruits and seasons, its time is almost up. I get antsy. I really want to start introducing cherries and strawberries on a menu that is feeling a little nut heavy these days.

There is one vegetable though, that I have grown particularly fond of in my recent days of berry and cherry yearning.

Rhubarb. The Pie Plant.

I have never really familiarized myself with it, until most recently while trying to introduce new elements to my desserts. As the citrus dwindles from the menu, Rhubarb has taken a firm hold a couple spots. In one form, baked under a hazelnut struesal topping, and in another, lightly poached with orange and vanilla, just enough to lightly sweeten, yet retain its vibrant color, slight crisp texture and tart flavor.

Today, I played with Rhubarb in another form.

With a bit of sugar and lemon zest, I cooked it down into its more concentrated state.

Jam.


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