last night's popcorn

was chili lime. I humbly recommend it to you: Pop kernels in olive oil, drizzle with melted butter and fresh-squeezed lime juice, then sprinkle on salt and powdered cayenne pepper (all to taste). Bam! Makes your lips tingle a little bit when you eat it. 

north carolina

writes poems in pork

the perks of being unemployed

decidedly include, but are by no means limited to, the preparation of elaborate lunches.

recently at the breakfast table

the colors! I was delighted. I had to stop chopping things to documents them. (The observant reader will note that, in view of the position of the plunger on the French press, I hadn't even had my coffee yet. A true sign of my excitement level re: this breakfast's aesthetic appeal.)

oh scone, oh scone

Let me tell you about this scone. 

Actually, to begin my life with the beginning of my life, let me tell you about my relationship with scones. I definitely ate scones growing up. Those dry, crumbly triangular things you can find at most cafes. They didn't tend to taste like much and they usually had cranberries in them. The first time I had a life-changing scone experience (understatement is for other people) was in Kraków, Poland. I was at a little potluck party, and a Scottish fellow brought scones he'd made and, significantly, clotted cream. Spare a moment, if you can, to pity the poor me who, until the wise age of twenty-three, had never known the joys of clotted cream. What is this? I remember asking. And then eating. A lot. From that day forward, I had a different idea about scones. The scones, as I recall, were less dry, less tired-seeming than the scones to which I'd been accustomed. But it was the addition of clotted cream that did me in.

Picture me now, cozy in San Francisco, coming home from a late Saturday morning run to find two trays of scones being pulled from the oven. My housemate Tim has recently taken up baking (as if he needed to be more charming), much to everyone's delight. So there they were, these scones. Tim made them from the Cheeseboard cookbook. They have lots of things in them, including blueberries, buttermilk, and heavy cream. And pure joy. These are the best scones I have ever had. In my life. I don't know how to tell you this. They were so good, I not only didn't want clotted cream, I didn't add butter. I can think of no higher praise.

stampede of approval

English muffins from scratch? New housemate Jay is ace.

remnants

from this year's Dia de los Muertos, a decisive day, and also as weird a mix of legitimate ritual and weird, privileged white-person appropriation as you'll find anywhere, I imagine. I observed and purchased food.

This is Esmerelda. She is made of sugar. (All of this, of course, was at the beginning of November. But she's still here. I quite like her.)

alchemy

I was chatting with someone today at Mission Pie who told me that she always felt that cooking was a little like alchemy. To take a squash, for example, and turn it into muffins.

There are so many ways to distract one's self from the things one knows one should be doing.

These were tasty – squash, butter, flour, milk, sugar, one egg, baking soda, cinnamon, cardamom, nutmeg, chopped walnuts on top – but I think next time, I want to go the savory route. I'm thinking out with the sweet stuff, and in with some cheddar and rosemary.

cauliflower cake

Who even knew there was such a thing? I love my home. Kristin made this for dinner tonight, and it was scrumptious. And so fluffy! And it held its texture so well, just look!

Am I the luckiest girl on the block? It's arguable.

+2.5lb tomato

From my mom's garden. No joke! 100% heirloom & 100% delicious.

tomatoes

We have so many tomatoes. It's almost disgusting. Except it's delicious. At times like these, I love California.

pesto

is a truly wonderful thing, particularly if you've managed to acquire a Cuisinart ($25 at a yard sale, I kid you not). Below, last night's mint/basil/pistachio pesto. May I say it was tasty?

stone fruit

I'll admit it: left to my own devices, I would have taken the lazy route. I've have had a few epic failures in the past whenever that have shaken my faith in my ability to bake sweet treats, and so I was planning on just showing up and paying the $5 at Omnivore's stone fruit cooking contest. For such crises of confidence as these, however, the right housemate at the right time is the best if not only remedy. Micah was so jazzed at the thought of this competition that, mere minutes after emerging from his bedroom, he scaled a tree all monkey-like and tossed plums into a bowl below held aloft by yrs truly. 

In a quick hour and a half, he whipped up an Italian pistachio plum cake and plum compote (both vegan). Kristin & I assisted. We cabbed it over to Noe (time was of the essence!) and entered. 

What I love about Omnivore's food contests is that they're community-judged, so you get to eat everything and cast your vote. Which also means that you get to eat everything:

We didn't win, but I'm claiming for us an unofficial third place (they only announced the first and second place winners, so really, who's to gainsay me?).

retreat, retreat!

There is a great deal of work to be done. Most of my dreams are about excel spreadsheets. And paper. I escape into Susan Cooper, Lagunitas, Milka. 

Currently: The Dark is Rising, Wilco Tango Foxtrot, Alpenmilch.

saturday

No one deserves to be this lucky. Certainly not me. But isn't it nice (sometimes) that we don't just get what we deserve in life? Things would be pretty harsh otherwise, I think.

I woke up this morning with no plans, and stumbled my way into an invitation to brunch with my downstairs neighbors. I offered to provide something, but ultimately only made coffee. And I got to eat the most gorgeous frittata,

 

and a beautiful tortilla español, fabulous apple wood smoked salmon from the Alemany farmer's market, sweet potatoes, fresh bread with blackberry/lemon jam from Blue Chair, and to sit and talk (and listen! I was doing some listening!) with a bunch of enthnomusicologists and mathematicians about music and USAmerican foreign policy and the Arabic love of puns.

And then I went back upstairs to find everyone making kimchi. Let it be known: Kristin is an amazing pickler of vegetables. I did very little, besides chop some ginger (and of course, all the photo-documentation). In case I had been feasted enough, we feasted! (Yes, that's right, John made biscuits again!) And then we watched The Philadelphia Story. Does no one agree with me that Katharine Hepburn & Jimmy Stewart should end up together? They have so much chemistry! And she and Carry Grant just don't do it for me. Sigh.

just another reason why I love my home

bless that John. The man sure can make a fluffy biscuit.  

Good mushroom gravy, too.

bike/farm/camping

I am no kind of super cyclist, and have no pretensions to anything but to be the most modest and lackadaisical of pedalers-about-town. My housemate Tim recently proposed that I join him volunteering at Slide Ranch, that it was in Marin, that we'd bike there. I foolishly thought Marin meant Marin Headlands, just over the Golden Gate. No doubt this is because I, having no ambitions as a biker, truffle about under the entirely baseless and plainly stupid assumption that no one else does, either. I didn't even look at the proposed route until 8am Saturday morning as we were about to leave. A long and hilly and windy way along Highway 1. I thought he had to be joking. He wasn't joking. There wasn't another way to get there. If you haven't driven that way lately, allow me to remind you there is no shoulder or bike lane. Allow me to remind you the hills go on for decades.

I'll skip the part about me huffing and puffing for close to four hours and stopping ALL THE TIME. It wasn't very glamorous and I am not a secret genius cyclist. I ride an old mountain bike my Mom gave me. I'm happy it has so many gears. But we did get there eventually. (And Tim is basically the best cheerleader ever, in the best possible way). And it looked like paradise.

I ate everything I could see and then sat in a yurt for three and a half hours and taught children how to card wool and spin it into yarn. I am such a sucker for kids. Top prize goes to a three-year-old named Leo who couldn't card wool but liked to pick it up and show it to me. We would agree that it was nice. We would agree that it was pretty. I asked him if he knew what animal wool came from. He got very excited and said "SEEP!" No sh's for him.

There was a potluck dinner and I ate about 2.5 plates of food, drank two beers, and went to sleep at 7:30. The sun hadn't even finished setting yet, but I curled up in my sleeping bag and fell asleep with the moon in my face, framed by grasses. 

The next morning, we woke up early, ate trail mix for breakfast, and biked back. We stopped at Cibo in Saulsalito for a ridiculously tasty brunch. And Blue Bottle Coffee. Oh, yum.

no place like it

I went back to Orangevale for Easter. I got to eat this:

admire these:

and laugh at the contrast between my father's and my mother's reading material (left to right, respectively).

himmel

Tonight was attempt #2 at Bavarian Pretzels. Using this recipe and some food-grade lye I'd ordered on the internet, I made immensely delicious (if not perfectly Bavarian) pretzels. So tasty! Aesthetically, there is a bit of room for improvement, and next time I would prefer it if they don't stick quite so much to the baking tray. Sadly, no photos. I was first very busy cooking and second very busy eating. Too bad. Images of me clad in elbow-length gloves while dipping the pretzels – very quickly – in the water/lye solution would have, no doubt, been humorous. Some other time, perhaps. I will make these again. I will double the recipe.

pizza!

A truly excellent variation on this was made in my oven a bit back (under the proper supervision, I assure you. I'm not taking any credit for this one). Check it out!