September 2005 Archives

It is so very fulfilling to make stock. First off, it gives you an excuse to feel all wise and thrifty and safe chicken bits in your freezer rather than wastefully throwing them away. Then it gives you an excuse to use up all the chicken bits that are clogging up your freezer, thus cleaning out the freezer itself and basically making something from nothing.

Not to mention the fact that since it takes literally all day to make stock, you have a fantastic excuse to sit on your arse all day without feeling lazy. You aren't lazy, you're very busy making stock.

Then the fact that your house smells just luscious the whole time. Five hours in, you have to restrain yourself from dipping your face into the stock pot and coming up with a chicken wing in some kind of dangerous, meaty version of bobbing for apples. Although I should note that it can sometimes be a little depressing, when, at the end of the day, the house has smelled good for seven hours and there isn't anything to eat. I recommend throwing another chicken in the oven (remembering to save the bones when you're done!) so that you don't starve to death as a result of your stock-making.

And finally, when all those hours pass, you end up with a freezer full of liquid gold. You save money (not to mention sodium; even the best stuff tends to be crazy salty) over buying the canned stuff. Plus it tastes so good. It has richness and body from the gelatin in the bones, a color somewhere between amber and very good German hefewiezen and heaps of chicken-y flavor. And, perhaps best of all, making stock gives you a great reason to make delicious dishes that require it. For me, that almost always means risotto, something I plan to do this week. Stay tuned!

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I was on the phone yesterday with my mum, (who still has not seen this site!), when she asked me if I wanted some of my grandmother's garam masala sent to me. She knew I'd say yes of course.

Garam masala (or, hot spice) is a mixture of cardamom, cloves, pepper, cumin, cinnamon, nutmeg, mace and bay leaf. Because the recipes are specific to each family that makes it, there are many variations. The powder is dark and head-filling, and dramatically changes the course of a dish with a single spoon--maybe that's why there's so much secrecy surrounding different family recipes. But it's almost always a combination of these heat producing spices--not chili, but spices that numb your tongue and warm your mouth and throat. It's powerful stuff, so it's usually paired with lamb, beef, or goat dishes, adding a complexity of flavour towards the end of the cooking--although I've seen it around in less traditional forms too: foams, sauces and jellies. Or paired with white chocolate and other sweet things.

Last year, flipping through my mother's recipe book (mostly lists of ingredients without quantities or methods), I caught a glimpse at a recipe for garam masala. It was scribbled on a post-it note and stuck to the back of the binder. I was shocked. My mum had finally, after thirty years of asking, convinced my grandmother in Kenya to give her the family garam masala recipe. I'd never seen anything in this folder so precise.

Although it can be bought at Indian grocery stores and specialty stores, my family waits for that time of the year when my grandmother weighs it all out in her kitchen in Nairobi, grinds it to a powder, cuts it, seals it in ziploc bags, and mails it to her children in Chicago and Washington D.C. From there, my mother divides the lot and sends some to each of her children. My share should be here in just a few days! I don't have the recipe, and if I did, I'd get a serious talking to for sharing it with anyone--but here is Madhur Jaffrey's:

1 tablespoon cardamom seeds
1 teaspoon whole cloves
1 teaspoon whole black cumin seeds
one stick cinnamon
1/3 nutmeg
one curl of mace

Grind all in a clean, dry coffee grinder, store in a dark, airtight container, and use wisely.

Max, the twinkly eyed sommelier at work, gave me a present yesterday: a parcel of shiba fune--Japanese ginger biscuits--each one bundled in its own feather soft paper wrapping, in a bamboo basket, tied with a red and white paper ribbon, wrapped in lilac flowery paper, sealed with a golden sticker, in a pink paper bag. And the at the bottom of the package, is a little folded map with diagrams and characters that give it the look of an ancient treasure map. I have to admit, I enjoyed opening it almost as much as eating it.

The biscuit itself is shaped like an elongated pringle--apparently the shape of a primitive ship from which it gets its name. One side is frosted pale, the other golden, and the whole thing has an incredibly sharp kind of crunchiness. The ginger spreads a warmth long after the cookie is gone, which feels almost medicinal. They're addictive and I'll be rationing the package until I can find out where to get more.

I was sitting at the computer, answering some e-mails, when I caught the sweet licorice smell of fennel seeds. I forgot they were there: three little clusters Glyn picked on a bike ride a few days ago. Native to Southern Europe and the Mediterranean, fennel is really well established in Northern California. It feels at home here, near the ocean, by the roadside, in vacant plots, and all over the hills above Highway 1. It's considered a pest. A tasty pest, but a pest nonetheless.

I love the crunch of fennel raw in salads, the sweetness it lends when it's baked till golden, and I like it as a layer of taste in vegetable stocks. I like a handful of sugar coated fennel seeds after a spicy meal, and any candies and drinks that remind me of it. But tonight, I'm making a giant salad for dinner, and I'll grind the seeds with other spices for the dressing.

I stumbled across the Happy Taco while looking for something else. It's that sort of place. A small taqueria with Rite Aid on one side, Straw Hat Pizza on the other. Forgive its logo taco-man, it makes no promises. I first went in for the usual burrito, super burrito, taco, super taco and chip n dip options. But it's the barbeque chicken torta that I keep going back for. The torta is simply a mexican sandwich--there's a lot of discussion over what makes it authentic, but when I go for a super burrito, it's not really authenticity I'm after.

This is a good, cheap sandwich, if you're ever in Half Moon Bay and your belly is rumbling after surfing or whatever people come here to do (why do people come here?). And I have to be really hungry to finish the whole thing. A long bun, sweet and tender as Brioche, grilled, then layered with pickled jalapenos, tomato, avocado, onions, lettuce, and finally that barbeque chicken in perfect proportion to the other fillings. And with a bottle of tamarind soda, it's perfect. Luckily, the place closes at 10 pm, which means that if I'm working, it's closed by the time I get out. Which means I can't eat this as often as I'd like.

Happy Taco
184 San Mateo Road, Half Moon Bay
(650) 726-5480

Glyn and I have been talking about lamb shwarma tucked into hot pita bread with yogurty chilli sauces, and all you can eat Indian vegetarian buffets, for almost a week now. This food is as common in North London as Mexican food in California, and I miss it so much.

A few nights ago, Souzy, the lovely hostess at our restaurant, told me about Tarboush, open very late with great kebabs and belly dancing. So right after my shift we drove through the Disney lit streets of Redwood City towards real hummus. When we got there at 1 in the morning, the tables were still packed and groups were settling down with hookahs and coffee. "Kitchen closed at twelve," the host said, smiling. So we ate some pizza from Round Table: artichokes, salami and red onion. Yes, there were tears.

She also told me about Shalimar, her favourite Indian restaurant in the city. So I looked at the menu on-line--lots of things, and all of them cheap--and planned on going there for lunch yesterday. We got to the appropriately named Jones Street, but, the place was closed at 3 in the afternoon for a two hour break. Closed. So we drove a few circles around the Tenderloin and parked in front of Naan N' Curry, a Pakistani Tandoor place on Eddy Street.

There, under the sparkly tapestry of a ceiling, to the high pitch of Hindi film music, we did what must be done in such a place--we ordered too much food: chicken tandoori--one hot pink leg/thigh, still a bit juicy. Skewer of lamb boti--dry but super hot and tasty. Bhaigan bharta--roasted eggplant with fried onions and tomatoes. The kheema naan was a bit disappointing, but the plain ones were delicious, with some soft bready sections and some dark, crisp bubbles. And when our tummies were full and our mouths so burned even the sweet mango lassis and stodgy, syrupy gulab jambu could do nothing to cool our tongues, we paid $27 and left, panting.

Naan n curry
398 Eddy Street
San Francisco, CA 94102
(415) 775-1349

So, I'm finally over the bad experience at Michael Mina's and have ventured out to a good San Francisco restaurant again. Campton Place. For lunch. I'm not that into lunch. I never say to people, "let's do lunch." Dinner is heels and sparkles, and lunch is well, lunch is usually a sandwich, a spread of cheese, using up leftovers from dinner, the real meal. But Glyn had to work early the next day, so it had to be lunch. It's a strange feeling to leave the dark, sleek dining room with a full tummy and the warm buzz of champagne and step out into sunshine, suddenly a part of the human traffic of downtown. We had the whole day ahead of us to shop, go to the movies, stroll about.

And Campton Place is very lunchable: we both had the four course menu for $49 and shared a bottle of la Veuve after the champagne cart came around. First, a sweet and sour tomato terrine covered in tomato water jelly with a nice chunk of melty centered Burrata. This was very simple, but possibly my favourite thing.

Then, a single scallop, seared only on one side with white beans, boullabaise and chorizo oil. The liquid was fishy delicious and the scallop too. I had the sliced duck breast: barely cooked with a crackly skin that tasted of lavender and fennel and a crisp spring roll filled with liquid foie gras in a bowl of duck consomme.

For dessert, the "symphony" of milk chocolate, caramel and Maldon salt. The portion was tiny and beautiful, a little quenelle of ice cream on a layered disk of buttery and chocolately goodness. But it was too rich for my taste, with nothing but salty caramel to cut the richness of the chocolate. I think since working in pastry I've gotten pickier with desserts.

A lot of tableside action: removing hot covers, pouring consomme and foie gras liquid. I find that stuff a little bit awkward and unnecessary, but the service was so attentive and classy, and they made us feel comfortable in the hotel dining room. And the food was not bad. I felt like a big geek when I asked, with far too much enthusiasm, if Harold McGee ever comes in, as I'd read somewhere. Our server had never heard of him. Still, I'd go back. For dinner.

Campton Place Hotel
340 Stockton Street,
San Francisco, CA 94108

(415) 781-5555

(Schug Winery, Sonoma California)

My Dear Boy's parents left yesterday after a number of days of utterly gratuitious eating and drinking. We ate in Sonoma at The Girl and the Fig, in Napa at Terra and the Culinary Institute of America at Graystone, in San Francisco at the Ferry Building (crabcake sandwiches, Cowgirl Creamery cheese, Acme bread, Ciao Bella gelato, Scharffen Berger chocolate. . . bliss), Chez Marthe (a.k.a. my house) and Plouf.

And we went to numerous wineries and tasted and tasted and tasted. Swirl, sniff, sip. . . however, I personally never spit. I don't care if the wine tastes like bat urine, I drink it. The pleasant buzz that lasts all day is part of the appeal of tasting, an activity I very much enjoy. It's such a perfectly useless way to pass the time; it exists only for its own sake and is thus very relaxing. We've decided we like Sonoma better than Napa. Everything is more easy-going, less self-important and 15% cheaper. Plus, there's just more wineries making more interesting wine there. Napa sometimes seem like Disneyland Wine Country, big, flashier, but not necessarily better.

I was very excited to have Stephen's parents for dinner here. I cooked for them loads of times, but never in my home, so it wasn't quite official. I planned pretty well, so most of what I cooked was done all or partially in advance. This let me be relaxed, chat and actually enjoy the act of entertaining instead of running around sauteeing and sweating, a somewhat novel concept. My menu:

With apertifs,
White Bean Puree with Basil with bread and crudite
Sugar and Spiced Nuts

For dinner,
Curried Butternut Squash Soup with Shrimp and Goat Cheese Ravioli
Proscuitto-Wrapped Snaper with Braised Fennel and Heirloom Tomato Sauce
Creme Fraiche Panna Cotta with Roasted Nectarines and Figs

Everything worked quite well, but the panna cotta was the real homerun of the evening. It was based on a recipe from a recent issue of Bon Appetit. Super easy and just unusual enough to be really impressive. It looks to become a part of my repetoire.

I think Stephen is a little bummed that he won't see his parents for a while, but they had a really good time, so I suspect they'll be back sooner rather than later. My mom is coming October 6th to for futher eating and drinking to celebrate the day of my birth. So more love and more full tummies coming up.

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There was no milk in the fridge this morning so we left the coffee on low (is that dangerous?) and went out with a list of three things: Kerry Gold butter, whole milk, and eggs. I stayed in my pajamas in the car, watching tourists eat their bagels on the benches of main street. Glyn came back with an extra thing, not on the list--a roll of plain chocolate Digestives!

No, they're not a sneaky laxative made of chocolate, they're wheaty biscuits covered in a thin layer of chocolate. Perfect with tea. When my family first moved abroad from England, visiting relatives and friends always brought a few packets of Digestives to our house. The round crumbly biscuits were often broken when we unwrapped them--from bumping around the airplane. And I had to share them with my brother, who could eat three times faster than me. But still, we went through the tea and biscuit ceremony: dipping some pieces into hot tea, long enough to melt the chocolate but quickly enough to hold the biscuit together.

I've been feeling pretty nostalgic about London lately. The biscuits pushed me over. There are so many things I want to get back to--the voices, the parks in the summer, the drives through the city at night, Tom Aikens. I really miss the supermarkets and the Indian markets. Sainsbury's and Waitrose are a pleasure to browse through. So many kinds of syrups, honeys, vinegars, mushrooms, vegetables, organic free range meats, duck eggs and quail eggs all over the place, game--and every fruit has a sticker on it to tell you where it came from. Like a children's book.

Safeway, on the other hand, is open 24 hours. And when I get off work at 12 like tonight, it's nice to be able to go buy a loaf of bread to go with the fava bean, corn, and sausage stew leftover from yesterday. We also had some purple potatoes dipped in pesto and homemade creme fraiche and walked on the beach that smells of sweetened condensed milk. Sober, I should add, because I realise that's a pretty unbelievable comparison.

My mum is a seriously good cook. I have tried a few of my favourite dishes growing up, and failed, because she makes things look easy and doesn't use recipes. I'm still working on them, so this may be the only Indian dish she makes that I make as well as her. That's because it's pretty easy, and I've made it enough times to get it right. It reminds me of Sundays at my parents house, which was always either a roast or a curry, and the table was crowded with family and friends.

Jeera Chicken has a simple and fairly common cast of Indian spices, but cumin is the star. The one I make is more of a confit, with everything caramelized slowly in the spiced oil, so there's no sitting around stirring (unless you want to). The chili amount depends, of course, on how hot they are. I use green serranos. So here it is Nishant, but in return, you have to suggest some good beer pairings (available outside of Portland).

2 cups clarified butter or oil (excess can be drained later)
1/2 cup cumin seeds
1/4 cup whole black peppercorns
1/4 cup cardamom pods
1/4 cup cloves
3 cinnamon sticks
2 white onions, diced
roughly chopped green masala: 7 garlic cloves, 2 green chilies, one ginger root (equal parts)
1/2 teaspoon tumeric powder
salt
1 whole chicken broken down, or 6-8 thighs

In a heavy bottomed pan, get the oil hot and put in the cumin, pepper, cardamom, cloves, and cinnamon. When the spices have heated through, just a minute or two, turn the heat way down and add the onion. Let the onion cook on a low simmer until it's translucent and soft, then add the green masala, tumeric and some salt. Let this mixture cook on a very low simmer for about an hour, you don't need to stir it, until everything is unrecognizably golden and soft. If you're crazy, now is the time to pick out the whole spices. This can all be done ahead and kept in the fridge or frozen, or, cook the chicken right away in the oil and serve with crusty bread and good beer.

Almost every time I really enjoy cheese I think back to a series of lectures with Thomas Badcock-real name. I wish I could get in touch with him again--the tall Englishman with a spotted bow tie who managed to highlight the history of cheese in such an intelligent and hilarious way that even the most doodle prone students were writing things down: luxury vs. survival, or Brillat-Savarin, a feeder? He encouraged enthusiasm for the cheese course, suggested thoughtful pairings, and dreamed of restaurants filled again with the aggressive stench of the cheese cart.

The Cheese Man first told me about the Family of Decay: cheese, wine, miso, cured meats, olives. Basically, things we've learned to ferment, treat, and preserve out of necessity, but which continue to evolve and change because we still eat them. Why? Because at the right moment, before ripeness turns to rot, before the Brie tastes like a bottle of ammonia, there's a window of perfectly delicious.

My family has just left after a wonderful visit here full of eating and drinking together in Napa. We ate at the French Laundry, in whose beautiful gardens my mother asked Thomas Keller, in his whites, "are you the chef? Do you know how long it took me to get a reservation here?" Oh yes. I don't know where to start with dinner at the French Laundry, I've wanted to eat there for so many years and flipped through the cookbook when I couldn't sleep. Classics from those pages suddenly appearing in front of me: Oysters and Pearls, Coffee and Doughnuts. It was surreal.

We also had dinner at Domaine Chandon, which was O.K. And we had a dinner at home. We couldn't fit eight people around our dining table, so some on the sofa, some on the floor; it really felt like home. Our menu:

mushroom foam
tiny Yukon baked with quail egg
lamb shank ravioli with spicy butternut broth

tomato granita, tomato and mozzarella creamwich, tomato water
seared scallops, fennel salad, blood orange olive oil
duck rillette, torchon of foie gras, smoked duck breast with blueberry gastrique, sauternes jelly
beetroot tarte tatin with Humbolt Fog

white chocolate, sherry, and plum trifle
rose turkish delight parfait on milk chocolate rice krispy cake

Apart from overcooking the quail eggs in the oven (should have poached them first then dropped them in the indent of potatoe), everything went really well. My dad went booze shopping with Glyn and Nishant, and had gathered a few bottles from our trip to Napa. We hadn't all been together since January and then it was only for a few days. So this was a really special meal. I'm so glad Martha and Stephen came too. And now?

Now my family's all gone, the fog is nuzzling up to the windows and I feel like drinking tea all the time. Tonight what began as tea--my mum brought me a golden bag of Kenyan--turned into an indoor picnic of various cheeses, crusty bread, saucisson sec, and some sweet sherry. I bought a Bucheron and aged Gouda at our wine and cheese store on main street, and had some leftovers from Cowgirl Creamery. Cashel Blue, Red Hawk, Humboldt Fog. They're my family now...