Gastronomie

Best of 2009, Day 17: It Was What It Was

Today, Gwen's challenge was to pick "a word that encapsulates your year. '2009 was _____.'"

There are plenty of words I could use to finish that sentence (2009 was bizarre. 2009 was topsy-turvy. 2009 was ridiculous. 2009 was harrowing. See?), but instead I'm going to talk about a phrase that came up with almost dizzying frequency this year.

"It is What it Is."

It's a loaded sentence, if you really think about it. From one perspective, it encapsulates the whole Serenity Prayer in five little words. It acknowledges that we can't always be in control, that we can't know what's to come or how we'll necessarily react to those unknowns.

On the other hand, it's also kind of a cop-out. It's the way we verbally shrug our shoulders, tell ourselves and whomever's listening that we've given up. That we have no more energy for the fight.

I think it was sometime in July that the profound conflict in those twelve letters, those otherwise inconsequential words, threw me for a loop. I started counting how often I said the phrase, and how often I heard it.

Would you believe me if I told you that in ONE WEEK,  seven different people used that phrase a total of 18 times? I won't even tell you how often I caught myself midway through that now-God-awful cliché.

"It is what it is" has come to symbolize the overwhelming greatness and awfulness that 2009 has been. The whole year has been a paradox of accomplishments and failures, delightful surprises and abject disappointments, daydreams and nightmares. And yes, it's been a lesson in the difference between giving up and letting go.

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This post is part of Gwen Bell's "Best of 2009 Challenge" 

Best of 2009, Day 12: Heat

Today's "topic" in the "Best of 2009 Challenge" is an interesting one for me. You see, I've been a fairly adventurous eater most of my life. From asking my parents to take me to sushi for my 13th birthday to discovering (and becoming addicted to) Ethiopian food my freshman year of college, I can't think of a time when I wasn't willing to try something new. There are the rare exceptions, of course, now mostly limited to runny egg yolks and fish with tiny bones. 

But the one flavor profile I never really developed a taste for until this year? Spicy. By which I mean hot-pepper-spice, not horseradish heat. Despite years of eating everything from Mexican to Indian, I was still ordering all my food "mild" when given the choice.

I'm not exactly sure when this changed. Not sure which dish or meal first introduced me to the endorphin rush that so often accompanies the delicious heat of capsicum. Or when I realized that, properly used, peppers have a delicate and beautiful flavor that keeps you coming back for more, despite the pain.

I recently made a Penne alla Vodka that I finished with vodka we'd infused with Rancho Gordo Chiles de Arbol. It was... scorchingly hot. It was bite after bite of intensely-building heat. Even C, who is generally immune to extreme heat, commented that it was crazy-hot. And yet, I couldn't stop eating it. That meal was a new milestone for me.

So what was my delicious discovery this year? Tortuous, flavorful, nervous-system-awakening heat.

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This post is part of the Best of 2009 Challenge.

Best of 2009, Day 8: Solitude with Dad

After my dad passed away last year, I didn't dream about him for a long time. It made me angry that he wouldn't "visit" me in my sleep, and tell me that we had done right by him. That letting him go was what he wanted, and that he was at peace. I missed him terribly and spoke to him every night before bed, but the dreams just wouldn't come. 

As the year went on, I'd catch glimpses of him in my sleep but never really connected with him and he never spoke to me. It left me in such a state of limbo, and I felt tremendously unsettled by his death.

So as I trudged off to Burning Man this year, I made a commitment to spend as much time in the Temple as I needed to feel at peace with his loss. I can't say my father saw much redeeming value to Burning Man -- "you're crazy to put yourself through that," he'd say. But on the day that marked the anniversary of the day he entered the hospital (fully expecting to come home), I sat in the Temple and wept and spoke to him; to be honest, I might even have cursed him a little for his stubbornness. I walked around looking at the the tributes that were written to other fathers and loved ones lost, wondering if those people had found peace.

Finally, after wandering aimlessly for an hour, I sat on the edge of the second floor platform and leaned my head forward to rest against a beam, tears dropping from my eyes. I looked down and saw that my tears were falling on a box holding someone's ashes -- a mother who was loved and hated, and who was brought to the Playa and left to disappear in the ashes of the Temple burn.

In a split second, everything fell away and I was completely and utterly alone. The hundreds of people around me disappeared, and the world went silent. In that moment, I understood that my dad was there, had been there all along, and that it was my own anger and sorrow that had kept me from him. I understood that I needed to forgive him for leaving us too soon, and that I had to forgive myself for not having been a better daughter in the last year of his life. 

As the world came back into focus, I felt a profound sense of peace and quietude, and walked away knowing that I would never question my dad's presence again. It's one of the best moments I've ever had with my father. 

 
 

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This post is woefully late, which bums me out, but I've been swamped with two great projects for TimesTwo, and a short-notice trip to Florida. So, I'm cutting myself a bit of slack and getting the post up despite the lateness of it. This post is part of the Best of 2009 Challenge.

Best of 2009, Day 5: The Epic Night Out

I'm a very lucky girl; please don't think I don't know this. 

I am surrounded by seriously amazing people with whom I've had seriously amazing experiences. I live in a place that routinely provides ridiculous opportunities, and if you're not too scared of falling down a rabbit hole, you just might find some serious magic in these parts. So coming up with a single "night that rocked your world" was more than a little difficult.

I managed to narrow it down to two nights which could not be more different from one another. One of them happened on the Playa, and I expect will become part of another post this month. The other happened fairly recently and brought together three of my social circles in a sort of warm, fuzzy Venn Diagram of life.

I was in San Diego, attending a conference I've been involved with for a decade. I knew that some of my favorite colleagues from a prior job would be there, and was looking forward to spending time with them. But my brother and my dear friend Thom (and his fiancee, Jen) live there too, and I really wanted to see them as well. The problem: I only had 36 hours on the ground.

So on my one night there, after the obligatory conference mixers and cocktail parties, two dear industry friends and I were picked up by T & J and met my kid brother and his roommate at Shakespeare's Pub & Grill for fish and chips, steak & kidney pie, and curry chips. 

What ensued was a night full of conspiracy theory debates, healthy competition over a couple of pool tables, a few Sláintes and finally, a proper SoCal burrito (no beans, no rice, grilled tortilla).

I fell into bed that night after posting this tweet:

I think that pretty much says it all.

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This post is part of Gwen Bell's "Best of 2009 Challenge" 

Best of 2009, Day 3: The Shoe Shine Man

 
When I stopped to think about what article really moved me this year, made me sit up and take notice (and make sure all my friends did, too), it's actually not a particularly positive story. 

I walked by the corner of Market & New Montgomery streets every weekday for two years. Sometime in late 2008, this nicely dressed gentleman set up a mobile shoe-polishing shop on the corner. He was there every morning when I got off BART, and most days until sundown. I chalked him up to another victim of the economy; an enterprising businessman doing what he could to get by. 

Imagine my shock when I found out that Larry Moore was a homeless, recovering alcoholic who was doing his best to change his life. And imagine my disgust when I learned what the city was doing to him.

Now, here's the thing: I understand about rules. And I get that government bureaucracies are designed to enforce them. But they're usually not so good at it, and then they have to pick THIS guy to strong-arm? And then send him on a cat-and-mouse chase that would have frustrated lesser men? Bollocks.

I made sure everyone I knew saw that article. I made sure to stop by Larry's stand the next morning. He was SO busy that I just dropped off a pair of shoes and $10, telling him I'd pick them up that evening (they were ready promptly at 5pm).

But when I got to the office that morning, I found this gem; it turns out, the city (its people and its bureaucrats) had done right by Larry Moore. On Thursday, he made enough money to open a bank account, and get his first ATM card. He had enough to pay for a room for a week -- A WEEK, PEOPLE -- and not have to sleep under the Bay Bridge. 

I don't walk by the corner where Larry works every day anymore. But on the days that I do, I am reminded that the generosity of a few strangers can change lives. And I smile (both inside and out) knowing that even in the depths of this recession, there are a few success stories to tell.

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This post is part of Gwen Bell's "Best of 2009 Challenge".

Best of 2009, Day 1: The 39-Mile Trip

Gwen Bell, who is a cool and inspirational woman for many reasons, has started the Best of 2009 Challenge, and against my better judgment, I'm taking the plunge. That means you're going to see somewhere in the neighborhood of 15-20 posts from me this month. Some of them will have to do with food, no doubt. Most of them, I wager, will not. 

I hope you'll follow me on this journey anyway, and perhaps play along. I'd love for you to link to your posts in the comments, or leave your own Best Of story for each day I write. 

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My best trip of this year was not much of a trip at all, or at least not in the traditional sense. 

It was the weekend I spent walking across San Francisco with 2800 other women during the Avon Breast Cancer Walk.

Over the course of 30 hours and 39 miles, I experienced a range of emotions that left me raw and exposed for the better part of two weeks afterwards. 

As we set off in the blustery fog on Saturday July 11th, I had no sense that the weekend would change how I would face both physical and emotional challenges for the rest of my life. 

As we braved the winds and incessant noise as we marched north on the Golden Gate bridge, our excitement and energy kept us going. On the way back, our spirits were flagging from pain and exhaustion, but the fog had lifted and the sun was shining like a beacon on Wellness Village, where we'd be spending the night. It was a lesson in faith.

As we crawled into our sleeping bags that night, feet blistered and joints aching, I had no idea how I'd be able to walk another 13 miles the next day. When I woke in the morning, I felt restored and energized by the women surrounding me. It was a lesson in healing.

As we crossed the finish line at Golden Gate Park on the afternoon of the 12th, tears sprang from my eyes while I laughed hysterically and hugged my walking partner. It was a lesson in friendship.

And when I finally fell into the arms of the people I love dearly, people who cheered us on and helped us fund-raise and took us out for champagne to celebrate the accomplishment, I learned the most important lesson of all. It was a lesson in pride AND humility.

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Party Potatoes Make a Nifty Shepherd's Pie

When I first wrote about Colin's grandmother's "Party Potatoes" a few years ago, it was without much expectation. It's true that they really are the most amazing mashed potatoes I've ever eaten, but how many times has someone said that? Potatoes, dairy, more dairy and butter (What?! Butter is its own food group, you know.)  -- "There must be a dozen similar recipes," I thought. 

Evidently not. Na's potatoes have developed a nearly cult-like following amongst my friends and family since I've made them for every Thanksgiving and Christmas dinner, whether we were hosting or not. This year, in fact, there were no fewer than half a dozen Tweets and emails exchanged about them. Don't believe me? Check it out:

See? Legendary. 

The only problem with them, really, is the leftovers. By the time we've polished off the other leftovers, we usually have at least a serving or two of Party Potatoes left. This year, I finally figured out the best way to use them, and I'd be a jerk not to share my new Shepherd's Pie recipe with you.

Nannie's Shepherd's Pie

• 1 large onion (or 2 medium onions), chopped
• 1 c. carrot, chopped
• 2 T dark beer 
• 1.5 lbs lamb sirloin or lamb chuck, minced fine*
• 5 ounces beef chuck, minced fine*
• 2.5 T Worcestershire sauce (or more to taste)
• 1.5 T tomato paste
• 1 c. peas (frozen is fine)
• 1 t garlic powder
• Salt & Pepper to taste
• 1.5 - 2 c. Nannie's Party Potatoes

1. Preheat the oven to 350 degrees.
2. In a large pan, brown half the onions and all the carrots in a bit of vegetable oil. Allow them to char a bit. Remove to a bowl.
3. Sweat the remaining onions lightly in the beer, allowing the alcohol to cook off. Remove to the bowl.
4. Brown the lamb and beef in the same pan, seasoning with the Worcestershire, salt & pepper. Make sure the meat doesn't "steam" by browning everything in small batches. Remove each batch to the bowl with the onions & carrots.
5. In the same bowl, mix in the tomato paste, any leftover Worcestershire, and the frozen peas.
6. In a casserole or baking dish, layer the meat-vegetable mixture, sprinkle with garlic powder, a bit more pepper, and finally the potatoes.
7. Bake, covered, for 25-30 minutes. Serve.

* I used my Cuisinart to mince the meat after trimming it of most of the fat. I prefer this method to buying ground lamb as I think it cuts down on the gaminess, which is why I also add a bit of beef to round out the flavor.

Food, Life, Death & Being Iranian

^{Image courtesy of Peyman Meli}

It's self-evident why I'm writing this post today, I suppose. For two weeks, I have been watching, along with the rest of the world, the devastation in my homeland.

Some four years ago, I wrote these words:

"Nearly 70% of Iran's population is under the age of 30, and the median age is 23. That's an awful lot of young people who are champing at the bit for change."

While I am not surprised by what is happening in Tehran, I am shocked and saddened at its course.

I wouldn't have expected myself to be as gravely affected by the images, by the Tweets, by the words of the scholars and theologians who've been interviewed. I certainly did not expect to be this angry at or disappointed in President Obama, for whom I cast my first ballot ever. And to be honest, I kept it together fairly well until I finally watched the video of Neda Agha-Soltan's death. Since then, I find myself dissolving into tears frequently, and unable to process the myriad articles and blog posts and news stories. I mean that quite literally -- I read the same sentence over and over, keep rewinding the clips, and somehow the words just don't come together in any comprehensible way.

So I decided that since I can't control or comprehend or, frankly, deal with what's going on back home, I would make halva in honor of the brave, willful, hopeful Iranians who have spilled their blood in the streets while the Persian diaspora looks on.

We Iranians are a people for whom food is sacred. Like most ancient civilizations, we still eat dishes that have survived invasions, dynastic changes, and cultural revolutions. Our halva is quite different from those you are probably familiar with (which we call "halvardeh"). It's a sweet, slightly bitter, highly fragrant and somewhat dense paste, traditionally made and eaten during occasions of mourning -- wakes, memorials, even simply to honor a lost loved one. It seemed a fitting food to come from my kitchen these days.

Persian Halva

• 1 c. white granulated sugar
• 1/2 c. water
• 1/4 c. rosewater
• 3-4 threads good quality saffron
• 1 c. unsalted butter
• 1-1/2 c. white flour

1. Heat sugar and water in a saucepan, stirring until the sugar is dissolved. Add the rosewater and saffron, cover and remove from heat.
2. Melt the butter gently over low heat; do not allow it to brown. Add the flour, stirring to create a "roux". Keep stirring (I use a wooden spoon) until it takes on a deep gold color and begins to smell quite nutty -- about 7-10 minutes*.
3. Slowly add the sugar syrup to the flour paste, stirring well to incorporate completely.
4. Turn the paste out onto a serving plate and press into place -- it should be about 1/3" or so thick. Press patterns into the halva using the back of a spoon or the tines of a fork. Allow to cool, and serve with hot tea.

*I like my halva with a little more color; if you prefer it sweeter and less "burnt" cook it a bit less. Just make sure to cook off the raw flour taste.

Epic Burger, at a not-so-Epic price

So, yea, this whole "recession" thing is quite the bummer. Instead of meeting somewhere for a cocktail en route home, we've been practicing our bartending skills at home. Dinners out have been scaled back a bit, and I've become an aficionado of the myriad happy hour and lunch deals around town instead.

When I heard that Epic Roasthouse was selling their incredible burger for $20 INCLUDING a beer and a brownie, it seemed like an excellent excuse to take the work team out for lunch. Now, here's the thing -- the burger is normally $20 on its own, but with good reason. First off, it's half a pound of amazingly delicious beef, ground fresh daily from cuts of Epic's steaks. Second, it's accompanied by more trimmings than any burger I've ever ordered, and crispy waffle-cut crisps. And, did I mention? HALF A POUND OF FRESH BEEF ON A BRIOCHE BUN?

"Accoutrements" include little ramikins of bacon, aioli, mustard, corn salad, sauteed mushrooms, house made ketchup, three kinds of pickles, lettuce and tomato. We had one each rare, medium rare, and medium burgers at our table, and they were PERFECTLY cooked. My medium rare burger was warm all the way through but still very, very pink in the center, reminding me of our dinner at Bern's Steakhouse.

Beers on offer are either of their tap brews -- on this day, Trumer Pils or Anchor Steam. (If you ask very, very nicely, the bartender just might let you have something off the bottle list for the appropriate upcharge.)

The brownie? Well, I'll admit that it's pretty "meh". The crumbly, nutty topping is all I ate of mine, but I have a feeling that that same nice bartender just MIGHT let you have another beer instead of the dessert, but I haven't tried it.

Epic is running this deal only during the week, and only in the upstairs bar from 11am - 3pm. Personally, I think it's a nice treat mid-week, and is a little gentler on the bank account than dinner out.

369 The Embarcadero (near Folsom)
San Francisco
415.369.9955

Cocktail Inspiration, Found

Like most people, I find inspiration in random places. But my current cocktail passions have taken a very unique path, as these things go.

It won't surprise you to hear that Alembic and NOPA laid the groundwork for this little "problem" -- it was their cocktails, after all, that started me looking at what goes into a drink as an "ingredient" in the gastronomical sense of the word. Soon after, I met Cam and Anita of Married With Dinner, two "civilians" who are as passionate about cocktails as Obama is about Change. They, along with Jen and a few other folks, organized a "Summer of Cocktails", wherein a group of us tasted our way through the Bay Area represented drinks in Food & Wine's  Cocktails 2008. It was this experience that really introduced me to the nuances in cocktail culture:  the differences between gins, when to use rye over bourbon, why gommes behave differently than simple syrups.

Finally, I got serious enough about the cocktails I was making at home that I invested (heavily) in a really well-stocked bar -- how many people do you know who have four types of bitters? -- and some small-batch ingredients. One of my (oft visited) stops is Cask, where I've procured goodies from  Small Hand Foods (Orgeat, Grenadine and Pineapple Gomme), along with hard-to-find spirits, liqueurs and hardware.

From there, as with cooking, it became a question of experimentation, and understanding. Learning, for example, that I prefer keeping two kinds of ice in the freezer -- standard cubes and smaller chunks -- because I like to shake Manhattans with smaller ice to break down and incorporate the rye (and yes, I do prefer a Manhattan made with rye) with the other aromatics, while I prefer my martinis watered down as little as possible.

I'm lucky, I suppose, in that cooking by nose and eye comes naturally to me; using those skills for cocktail creation is incredibly satisfying. And there's no doubt that having a champion (and critic) in C is important -- his palate helps to temper my preference for overtly tart beverages. So, over the several weeks, I've added a couple recipes to my notebook that I thought some of you might enjoy. Without further ado...

Velvet Fuji

• Half a Fuji apple (most crisp-tart apples will do), peeled and roughly chopped
• 2 oz Woodford Reserve Bourbon
• .5 oz Orgeat
• .5 oz + 1 tsp fresh-squeezed lemon juice
• 1 dash bitters
• 1 tsp dark maple syrup

1. Muddle the apple in a shaker, then add remaining ingredients.
2. Shake vigorously, and double strain into a chilled cocktail glass
3. Garnish with a lemon twist, or orange blossom

Saturday Superlative

• 1.5 oz vodka
• .5 oz Aqua Perfecta Basil Eau de Vie
• 1 tsp Absinthe (I prefer St. George Spirits)
• 1 oz fresh-squeezed grapefruit juice
• 1 tsp agave nectar
• Club soda

1. Stir first five ingredients in a mixing glass with ice cubes until well-chilled
2. Strain into a DOF glass containing three ice cubes
3. Top with soda and garnish with a basil leaf or grapefruit twist