Farmers Market – Food Woolf

Lamb Burger with Mint and Pistachio Salsa Verde

ground lamb burger — Lamb Burger with Mint and Pistachio Salsa Verde

Summertime is the season of burgers. Be it beef, bison, turkey, tuna, lamb, or tofu—I find myself craving a burger and its supremely satisfying proportions on a frequent basis. I love making new variations on the classic theme of burgers. Ground meat doesn’t take a lot of time to prepare or cook and, if done right, can be a real show stopper if the right ingredients are used.

My husband and I work in the restaurant industry which means our off duty time is during the daylight hours. So for us, many of our best meals together are during lunch. Because of this I’ve began perfecting elegant, open faced burgers that taste great, have enough protein to sustain us through a long night, and go easy on the bread.

Thanks to the good people at Jimenez Family Farm (based in Santa Ynez, they drive down to the Hollywood Farmers Market every Sunday), I discovered the beauty of a perfectly cooked lamb burger. Top the ground lamb shoulder patty with the complementary flavors of mint and sweet Santa Barbara Pistachios, and the results hit the flavor trifecta: simple, delicious, and true to the terroir. This lamb burger with a mint and pistachio salsa verde is so good, I’ve actually started daydreaming about owning my own restaurant and building the whole business around every juicy, burger-bite.

Continue to get the Lamb Burger with Mint and Pistachio Recipe »

July 21

Strawberry Rhubarb Compote with Pistachios

Some words carry flavor. Speak aloud the familiar syllables of coffee, chocolate or toast, and the brain fires memories of taste. Flash: a steaming cup of Sumatra, soft and gently acidic washes over your tongue. Your first taste of waxy chocolate Easter bunny as it melted in your mouth. Fresh baked bread, made golden from the heat of a toaster, on a cold winter day.

When I speak the words strawberry and rhubarb, I am given a crystalline remembrance with my grandmother. It’s a summer’s day in the 1980’s. I’m in my Grandmother’s tiny kitchen and staring at a pie she’s placed atop her ancient, four-legged cast iron stove to cool.

“It’s strawberry rhubarb pie,” she tells me. She slices into the golden pie crust and it falls away to expose a pink heart of strawberries and softened rhubarb. I take a bite—it’s the first time I’ve ever tasted these two flavors together—and I am struck by the sweet, earthy flavors of strawberry and tart-like-a-lemon rhubarb. The flavors are complex, almost too adult for me, were it not for all the enticing sugar.

“This is rhubarb?” I say to her, knowing the look of the plant from hours of playing make-believe in our family garden. The stalks of the plant resemble celery and the rough green canopy of leaves grow high enough to make a perfect hiding place for me—a child of five or six–from the sun.

I enjoy another bite of memory and it’s gone.

Though my interest was piqued to recreate Grammie’s strawberry rhubarb pie in my own kitchen, my desire for simplicity got the best of me. Rather than make a crisp (I’m always looking for ways around making a pie crust from scratch), I settled on modifying a recipe for a rhubarb and pistachio compote my friend Louisa Shafia created for her cookbook, Lucid Food.

Continue for an easy, no-bake Strawberry Rhubarb Recipe »

May 25

Vacation Cocktail: A Sangria Recipe

If a vacation back home could be distilled and put into a glass, I think it might taste a lot like sangria.

The simple moments–the naps on the couch, dinner table conversations, picnics, garden time, observing the changes in the landscape, listening to the sound of nature, building sandcastles, catching up with old friends, and walks around the old haunts–all have a kind of essence to them, or flavor.

A homecoming cocktail would have to start with wine, since every dinner in the family dining room requires a toast. After pulling the cork on a bottle of crisp white wine and a floral rosé, I’d add zesty citrus—sun kissed tangerines or juicy oranges—to mimic the blast of sweet excitement I feel whenever I see my beloved friends and family. Of course I’d mix in some plump and ripe strawberries to mark the long ago days of childhood and vacation trips to the Pick Your Own strawberry fields near my home in Massachusetts. I would add fresh mint to commemorate my family’s summer gardens and my great grandmother’s iced tea recipe for a hot summers’ day. I would slice up some mahogany dark cherries—sweet gems from the Ann Arbor farmers market if I got lucky—to show the influence of my husband and his Michigan family on just about every aspect of my life. I spoon in a bit of Cointreau to sweeten things up and tip my hat to the sophistication of my family’s palate.

Continue to get my Homecoming Sangria Recipe »

December 31

Goodbye to the 'Naughts

This first decade of the new century has been a doozy. In just ten years, life stories have been written and re-written by time, chance, good fortune, and circumstance. These first ten years have been marked wonderful little moments, joyful surprises, and gut wrenching incidents. There have been great meals, new flavors, old recipes, new techniques, and great innovations for the kitchen.

In this decade I have photographed more food than faces.

Continue to Read More New Year’s Wishes, Find Hangover Cures and Chef Resolutions »

November 19

Where To Buy Turkey in Los Angeles

I’m not sure how it happened, but I completely forgot to order my Thanksgiving turkey. My husband snapped me out of my ignorance of current calendar dates last night. He was gentle, but pointed.

“Chef Quinn ordered his turkey from Harvey Gus,” he said. “Maybe you should see if it isn’t too late to get a turkey.”

I gave him a blank stare. Wait. Get a turkey? How many days do I have before Thanksgiving?

That’s when I realized I was in trouble. As I scrambled to do research on where to find a bird, I realized I was in one of those concurrent life/food blog moments. If I were to get anything out of this potential debacle, I would have to write about it. Fast.

Based on my research, I offer you this roundup of Where to Buy Turkey in LA (Last Minute).

To get the Inside Scoop on Where To Buy a Turkey in LA »

September 19

A Whole New Beet

best beet

I was five years old when I remember eating my first beet. It was from my mother’s garden, picked earlier that day. She cooked the red root vegetable for dinner and I remember being skeptical that I would like it. “Just try it,” she said. And when I tasted its earthy sweetness and saw how the slices could stain my tiny finger tips a bright shade of pink, I knew I was a fan. Food that could double as a magic marker and was sweet, was automatically good stuff in my book.

Since then, I’ve made a lot of beets. I prefer the wrap-in-tin-foil-and-roast method of cooking . I love sautéeing the green-red tops for a midday snack. But recently, after seeing a favorite farmers market vendor offering up thin slices of beets soaked in citrus hot pepper, I thought it was time to try his technique.

After rinsing my bunch of freshly picked beets, I used a mandolin to slice the red root vegetable into thin rounds. I juiced a handful of lemons and limes (2 of each) and poured the mixture over the beets. I added a generous sprinkling of kosher salt and cayenne pepper until I could taste the salt and the spice against the sweetness of the beets. I sealed my plastic container and waited a day to taste the results of the marinade.

Unfortunately, even after a day, the beets lacked the tart, pickled quality of the farm stand’s beets. Something was missing. I waited another day and found that the beets had taken on much more of the citrus flavors. By the third day the beets were nearly perfect and were great in salads or popped directly in my mouth for a snack. On the fourth day, just before I ate the last spicy beet slice, I dreamed of bloody Mary’s garnished with beet slices.

The following week I returned to the market to find out what key ingredient I had missed. It turned out that my market partner and friend, Leah, was equally besotted by the crunchy treat and had the very same questions. Thanks to the translation skills of the farmer’s young son, we learned that lime juice was the only citrus needed to soak the beets. And as for the spice, we learned we had missed one key ingredient–paprika.

Now that I have the recipe for that great citrus-soaked beets, I’ll be making this recipe often. I hope you do, too!

Marinated beets at Hollywood Farmers Market

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Lime Marinated Beets

These get better the day after you make them.

1 bunch of small beets (no more than three)

1 bunch of limes (4 or more depending on how big your beets are)

2 tsp kosher salt

1 or 2 generous pinches of cayenne pepper

1 or 2 generous pinches paprika

Thinly slice beets on a mandolin. Toss beets in a mixing bowl with 2 teaspoons of salt. Add a generous pinch of cayenne pepper and paprika. Juice 4 limes and toss the mixture together. Taste for balance. Add more spice or salt if necessary. What you’re going for is a nice, spicy flavor. Put beets in a shallow dish that allows a thin layer of beets submerged in lime juice. Add more lime juice if necessary. Wait a day or two before serving. If possible, move the beets around to allow for a more equitable distribution of lime juice.

Serve citrus soaked beets in salads, or as a garnish for a fancy Bloody Mary or Martini.

*PS A special thank you to Diane at White on Rice for her help making my beet picture the best it could be!

August 5

Expert advice on essential pantry herbs

Every home cook has basic items they always stock in their kitchen’s pantry. Requirements slide up and down a varying scale of basic essentials to gourmet necessities. While some gourmands require jars of caviar, blocks of chocolate and imported espresso beans, I like to keep things simple in my little kitchen. My cabinets stocked with cans of tuna, sardines, plum tomatoes, chicken stock and bags of pasta, granola, cereal and nuts. Nothing too complicated.

As for spices, I avoid the dried stuff in jars. As New York Times’ food writer Mark Bittman suggests my spice shelf should be dedicated to items that don’t go bad quickly. I stock dried red peppers, whole nutmeg, large sticks of Vietnamese Cinnamon (thanks White on Rice!), dried oregano from Italy, cardamom pods and a tube of harissa.

I have to admit that when it comes to buying fresh herbs, however, I am utterly uncertain what should be considered essential. Unless I have a specific recipe in mind, I’m often left wondering what I should or shouldn’t be buying at the farmers market herb stand. And sometimes, the thought of tossing another bunch of wilted (and yes, I admit it, moldy) basil into the garbage keeps me from buying anything at all.

But now, thanks to Lily Baltazar—the daughter of an herb grower and the person in charge of overseeing the family’s herb stands at farmers markets across southern California—I think I have a much better understanding of what an essential herb really is.

I recently had the pleasure of interviewing Lily for my weekly column in the LA Weekly’s food blog, Squid Ink. Lily thrives on educating customers and teaching them how use herbs. After learning tons of great ideas on how to use leftover herbs (read the full story here), I decided to ask Lily what herbs she couldn’t live without. Here is what she had to say:

If you could only have a handful of herbs in your pantry, what would they be?

I would certainly pick Italian parsley, basil, thyme, arugula and cilantro. I like to think that we are all “home chefs” and although our flavor palates are different, these herbs provide an array of flavors.

I love Italian Parsley too! I think that may be the once thing I always buy at your herb stand with confidence. I chop it up and throw it in sauces, toss with bread crumbs and add to salads (especially my radish and sardine salad). Why is Italian Parsley one of your essential herbs?

It sparks up any meal, whether you are making tabouli, putting a soup stock together, or adding it to a carton of store bought soup, it will enhance the look of the dish, as well as the flavor.

And Basil?

Basil is another herb that works well with any dish. I want to get customers to think past Italian pesto. This beautiful herb can be used for so much more. Just add extra leaves to a sandwich, to top a pizza and add to salads. Chop up basil and add last minute to soups, use it in spring rolls. Or just add it in the place of cilantro.

Suzanne Goin likes to use muddle basil stems to flavor her vinaigrettes. That’s an ingenious use of leftovers, I have to say. And speaking of Suzanne, thyme seems to be the number one herb used in most of her dishes at Tavern. Why is thyme so important to you?

Thyme is the versatile herb that can be used in just about anything. Use it for marinades and meat rubs for grilling. Chop and use for mushroom dishes. Thyme is a must for salad dressing. This beautiful herb is now being used to flavor and garnish for drinks.

And what about arugula? Is it really an herb?

The nutty spicy green is gaining in popularity. Its nutty, peppery leaves go well with fish, sushi, spring rolls, chicken, beef. I like to use this green in combination with sweets. Try an arugula salad with fresh dates from the farmers market or fresh, ripe fruit like apples, pears, candied nuts…The list goes on. For extra flavor, add cheese to an arugula salad.

Sometimes when I run out of spinach I like to use any arugula I have and sauté it. I recently used it in an egg white omelet and loved how it gave the simple egg preparation such a nice peppery note…Why is cilantro on your list of essential herbs?

I like to chop it up and sprinkle it on just about anything. I like it for salsa, chutney, salads, sandwiches, burritos, quesadillas.

How do you suggest storing fresh herbs? Is there a way to prolong their freshness?

Keep pantry herbs all together in a plastic bag or in a plastic tub. I like to bring out all of my herbs together, to inspire experimentation and new uses. The only exception to this is basil. Basil is special and does not like cold temps. Wrap your basil in a dry paper towel and place in a separate bag. Put the bag in the cheese bin or the warmest part of your fridge. All my pantry herbs (except for basil) will last about a week in the fridge.

Lily Baltazar’s family business, ABC Rhubarb is based in Fillmore, California. I visit her every week at the Hollywood Farmers Market.

July 29

An improvised recipe for Maryland Crab soup

(Photo credit: from Diane at White on Rice)

There’s something really beautiful about having the confidence and skill to improvise. Musicians do it when they see beyond the black notes on a chart and close their eyes to jam. It’s the same with creating something impromptu in the kitchen; it comes when the cook understands more than just the basic chemistry of cooking and ratios and starts to feel their way into a never-before-created dish.

Like a musician that can hear a tune unwind in their head, a chef must be able to cook and taste a dish before ever slicing into product or turning on the stove. The day I cooked crab soup from beginning to end without ever boiling a pot of water, was the day I realized I had started to think like a chef.

Take me to the bridge!

I have my friend Chef Brian—sous chef of Hatfield’s restaurant–to thank for my recent transformation. Over the past year he’s taken me under his wing, described the way he creates dishes and has talked me through the way prepares every ingredient. Thanks to his willingness to share culinary secrets, he’s given me information that can only learned by spending thousands of hours in the kitchen.

I recently invited a handful of my very best culinary friends to our Los Angeles apartment for a night of eating. I couldn’t think of a better way to celebrate our love of food than with a casual dinner that celebrated the bounty of California’s farmers’ market featuring freshly caught Santa Barbara crab. With the Hungry Cat Crab Fest–one of my favorite LA dining events–as inspiration, I began to put together my menu.

Standing in the Hollywood Farmer’s Market I saw it all so clearly. I would serve a multi course dinner, starting with a cucumber and lime cocktail. I’d begin with a savory fruit salad (Suzanne Goin style), follow it with a Maryland-style crab soup and corn bread, and finale with a huge Santa Barbara rock crab, mallets and plenty of corn on the cob. I felt confident about the salad and the simple boiling of the crab and ears of corn–but the soup was a different matter completely.

I didn’t have a recipe, nor any hope of finding one. I asked my boss (Suzanne Goin herself) if she had a copy of her husband—Chef David Lentz‘s—soup recipe but she didn’t. Oddly confident I thought, I can figure this out.

I began to doubt my abilities the moment after I had navigated through the crowded Hollywood Farmers Market with bags stuffed full of fresh produce and angry Santa Barbara crabs. Suddenly my mind was flooded with an imagined future of disappointed food bloggers politely eating a watery crab soup.

Just as I was at my lowest low, the culinary gods smiled upon me as I stumbled across the path of smiling Chef Brian—a Maryland native and crab expert.

“My god,” I gasped. “Can you tell me how to make crab soup?”

With my hands occupied with heavy sacks, he ran down the basic procedures of preparing a Maryland crab soup. Unable to take notes, I visualized the cooking of the crab, the messy job of pulling out the crustacean’s sweet meat, the sautéing of the shells and cooking the bodies down with mirepoix to create a rich stock. I saw it all as I repeated the steps all over again at the stove. Thanks to Brian’s advice and my newfound confidence, the soup was a huge success.

Like a family recipe that is shared through generations, this soup is created by feel and instinct. I offer you the recipe here, as it was described to me at the Hollywood Farmer’s market.

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An Improvised Maryland Crab Soup
As shared by Brian Best, Hatfield’s Restaurant

4 large Santa Barbara Crabs
1 large bunch of carrots, peeled and chopped
1 large bunch of celery, chopped
3 large onions, chopped
6 ears of corn
fingerling potatoes (1-2 pounds), peeled and chopped into small pieces
2 small cans of tomato paste
2 dried ancho chili
2-3 tbl Harissa from a tube
Vegetable oil for cooking
Olive oil for cooking
enough water to cover the crabs
left over vegetable scraps or herbs

Crabs should be alive before you cook them. Leave crabs in the coolest section of the refrigerator until you are ready to cook them. Putting them in the freezer for 10 minutes before you cook them will make the cooking process less difficult for the crabs (and you).

Fill a large pot with water. Bring the water to a boil. Add the crab one at a time to make sure they are fully submerged in the water. Cook separately if necessary. Depending on the size of the crab, cook for 12-15 minutes but no more. Remove the crab from the water, let cool. Reserve the cooking liquid if possible.

Cover your worktable with newspapers. This is going to be messy. Using a mallet, hammer, or crackers, break the claws to reveal meat. Using chopsticks or picks, remove the meat. Put crab meat in one bowl and the shells in another. Rinse crab’s top shell of the dark internal liquid, as this juice will make the soup bitter. Break down the top shell with a hammer.

Using the same large pot, heat pot over high heat with a little vegetable oil. Add an acho chili or two, the crab shells and pieces. Stir crab shells frequently, making sure to heat all the shells evenly. The crab shells should start to smell of the sea, about 10-15 minutes.

In a separate pan, add half of chopped onion, carrot and celery to a hot pan with olive oil. Sautee down until the mirepoix ingredients begin to soften. Add to the sautéing crab shells. Add herbs and any vegetable scraps you may have. Add cooking liquid or water to the crab shells, being careful to add just enough to cover the shells. Simmer on stove for an hour. Taste. Drain the crab stock with the finest sieve you have. Cook down the stock for 30 minutes to an hour.

In your sautee pan, cook down the remaining mirepoix ingredients until soft. Add softened mirepoix and potatoes to stock. Remove the corn from the cob and add to stock. Add tomato paste, stir to dissolve. Add crab meat. Cook down for 30-60 minutes. Taste for seasoning. Add Harrissa if you desire more spice. Serve immediately or freeze.

Serve with cornbread.

June 15March 14

Farmers Market Cocktail Recipe

I’m one of those people that go to the farmers’ market with nothing more than a handful of dollars and a culinary mind that’s ready for inspiration. A vegetable’s texture and bright color sets my mind racing. A ripe piece of fruit entices me with its soft skin and mouth-filling juices. Sweet or savory, I’m always amazed at what the market inspires in my kitchen.

This week at the market was all about the fruit. I filled my bags with cherries, juicy stone fruits and bright citrus. But it was boysenberries–glistening gems from Jimenez Farms’–that inspired my imagination.

Not up for baking or jelly making, I set out to create a cocktail that celebrated the fruit’s delicate nature and its robust flavors. It took me a couple of tries, but I finally found the perfect ingredients to celebrate the fruit’s sweetness and savory flavors. After the last sip of juice I was fishing around the bottom of the glass for every delicious morsel of fruit.

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The Gemmy

½ tangerine (or sweet citrus), juiced
½ lemon, juiced
5 boysenberries
1 oz simple syrup
2 oz spiced rum (I prefer Barbancourt)
2 branches of thyme

In a cocktail mixer, muddle boysenberries and the leaves from one branch of thyme. Juice half a lemon and tangerine into the glass. Add the simple syrup and rum and then fill the glass with ice. Shake well and serve immediately. Garnish with the remaining branch of thyme.

March 28November 14

A Beet Recipe for My Mother

I became mortal last week. One phone call and one letter took away that lingering innocence of youth and reminded me that no one, not even myself, can live forever. Here, in the center of my being, is the undeniable understanding that every moment we have is precious; every morsel of food is important; and nothing is to be overlooked.

The phone call was from my mother. She just got the news that she had been diagnosed with breast cancer. Then, in what felt like seconds later, I received a letter from my doctor. My blood tests came back abnormal. I have high cholesterol.

The news effected me in unexpected ways. When I spoke with my mother, I found zen-like calm, hope and positivity for my mother’s recovery. I felt oddly at peace, without fear and satisfied with the idea that we will find a treatment that will heal her. And then, in the privacy of my own home, I openly mourned the loss of bacon in my life.

Goodbye Guanciale

My off-the chart 250 cholesterol number on the doctor’s letter read like a foodie death sentence. The letter suggested in detail I “replace butter with olive and canola oil…Replace red meat with fish, poultry and tofu…Limit foods with high cholesterol.”

I started freaking out. No more fearless consumption of fennel sausage pizza at midnight? No more bacon draped hamburgers for lunch? No chicken liver bruschettas as a quick mid-day snack? What about those yolk-dripping bacon and egg sandwiches I love so much? No more gobbling up the frosting-heavy corner piece of birthday cake?

I paced my apartment. I was a vegetarian once. I could do it again, right? But now that I know what I know, how could I turn my fork away from all those great foods I’ve come to love and build my whole life around?

The cure for cancer

It’s been days since we received her first diagnosis. There’s still so much we need to find out. But in the meantime my mother and our collective family have been doing our share of internet research. My mother doesn’t care much for “traditional” medicine. She fears the mainstream medical line of thinking and clings to the old ways of healing.

My mother says she can cure herself of cancer with the power of raw food. She says that with lots of whole grains, flax seed oil and raw fruits and vegetables she can bring healing to her body without the use of chemo. There are other people—beautiful young and thriving people like Kris Carr of crazy sexy life–who say such things are possible.

The idea of clean living through a wholesome, locally sourced diet of fresh fruit and vegetables makes sense to me. I’ve seen the awesome power of food. The farmers’ market is my church. But what I don’t understand is HOW raw food can heal cancer. Is the cancer that my mother has responsive to such dietary changes? Will she need other helping factors to make the cancer go away? Will she need estrogen therapy? Chemo?

These are questions that will take time to answer. There’s still so much to learn. In the meantime, I offer this recipe for my mother. Because it’s her favorite dish from when she visited Pizzeria Mozza. And she asked for it.

Mom: I know this isn’t a raw dish. But I did find a way to incorporate some flax seed oil and the flavors of the beets make me feel so alive. I know it will do good things–for both of us.

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Beets in Horseradish
Inspired by a dish at Pizzeria Mozza
Makes 2 servings

1 small bunch of baby beets (golf ball sized)
1 tbsp flax seed oil
1 tbsp fresh horseradish
2 tsp white wine or champagne vinegar
1 tsp Dijon or whole grain mustard
Salt to taste

Preheat oven to 425º. Rinse beets well, dry. Place on a sheet pan and tent with tin foil. Roast in oven for 30-40 minutes, or until a knife easily slices through the beets’ center. Let beets cool.

When cool enough to touch, slip the skins off with your hands. Roughly chop the beats into small chunks. Should be about 1 ½ – 2 cups. Put beets in a mixing bowl and drizzle with the flax seed oil. Toss to lightly coat the beets. Using a wooden spoon, gently mix in horseradish, vinegar and mustard. The beets should have a slightly creamy look to them. Taste. Add salt, if needed. Adjust for taste.

Serve cold or room temperature. Perfect as a side dish (literally), since beets have a way of coloring everything they touch!

March 10

What's to love about LA (on Sunday)?

Sundays in Los Angeles are special. Almost always beautiful, Sundays in the City of Angels is the most relaxed day of the week. Gone are the power suits, the high-heels and tight dresses; the uniform of choice is a mixture of well-worn jeans, ironic tee shirts, comfortable shoes (flip flops, Uggs and sneakers), hat (baseball or a hipster 50’s lid) and sunglasses.

I always see great art on Sunday.

Sunday is my jam. If Sunday was music, it would play like an old copy of Miles Davis’ Kind of Blue. Sundays are quiet as the Sunday paper; cozy as a nap on the couch; delectable as a leisurely brunch; meditative as a walk through the farmers’ market.

The food on Sunday is always better.

Sundays are for a freshly made cocktail made with hand picked things selected with care. Sundays are for a cold beer in a pint glass or a crisp white with oysters.

Sundays are for seeing old friends and family and meeting new characters.

May your next Sundays be soft and gentle, like kisses…

Images from Los Angeles Art Museum, Hungry Cat, Los Angeles, Hollywood Farmers Market, Terroni Los Angeles

January 18

Meyer Lemon Trifle: a Bittersweet Recipe

“When life gives you lemons, make lemonade.” –proverb

“When life gives you Meyer lemons, make as many things as possible.” –Food Woolf

After eating a mouth-puckering Meyer lemon trifle at Suzanne Goin and (her husband) David Lentz’s restaurant, Hungry Cat, I decided to try my hand at recreating the dish for Leah of Spicy Salty Sweet and my annual New Year’s celebration.

With sweeter juice, supple peel, and approachable acidity, the Meyer lemon appeals to cooks seeking bright and floral citrus notes. For a desert-phobe like me, this one hundred year-old lemon hybrid’s approachability is a siren song that inspired me to go beyond my comfort zone. The process of making the dessert required my utmost attention and care; in the end, the trifle was a bright finale at the close of an incredible meal (Matt Bites polished off his trifle in two, happy minutes).

As I prepared to collect information about the history of Meyer lemons and recipe information, I discovered that the cookbook that could make this dish possible had gone missing. I checked under the stacks of papers on my desk, scoured the trunk of my car, examined the space behind the stove, eye-balled under my bed, lifted dishes (just in case it was hiding between them), and scanned all of my book shelves. From what I can gather, a hungry black hole swallowed the hardcover whole. Surely Suzanne Goin doesn’t have a legion of muses that require karmic payment for inspiration…Or does she?

Ah well, despite the loss, I’m happy; with a dessert this good and relatively easy (this coming from a dessert-phobe), I willingly give an offering to the culinary muses.

photo by White On Rice Couple

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Meyer Lemon Trifle
Inspired by a dish at the Hungry Cat
Serves 8

Ingredients:

2 2/3 cups sugar
3 sticks unsalted butter, cut into 1/2-inch cubes
1 1/3 cups fresh lemon juice
2 tablespoons grated lemon peel
1/4 teaspoon salt
10 large eggs, beaten to blend

small container of heavy whipping cream (1/2 pint)

two lemons
3/4 cup sugar

Optional: home made or store bought cookies or pound cake for crumbling between layers

For lemon curd:

Combine first 5 ingredients in heavy medium saucepan. Stir over medium heat until butter melts and sugar dissolves. Remove from heat. Slowly add the beaten eggs—being careful not to cook the eggs by adding them too quickly—and whisk constantly. Once you have added all of the eggs to the mixture, return to a medium-low heat. Whisk constantly, until curd thickens (this may happen within 3-4 minutes). Be careful not to let the mixture come to a boil. Strain curd through a sieve into bowl or medium sized casserole dish if you need to chill the mixture quickly. Press plastic wrap directly onto surface of curd and chill, preferably overnight.

For candied lemon zest:

two lemons
3/4 cup sugar

To make your own candied lemon zest:

Wash lemons. Using a vegetable peeler, cut wide strips of zest, being careful to avoid the white pith. Place zests in a small saucepan, cover with cold water and bring to a boil. Let boil for 3 minutes. Remove from heat, drain water, and repeat process two more times.

Next, add 3/4 cup of water and ¾ cups sugar to zests. Cook over low heat until the sugar mixture starts to thicken. Cooking time will be approximately 10 to 15 minutes. *This recipe makes more zest than needed, store extra zests in their candied liquid in an air tight container. Perfect for topping ice cream.

For whipped cream:

In a deep (chilled) metal mixing bowl, beat the half pint of heavy cream until soft peaks form. Use a mixer or a whisk if you want to get an upper arm work out.

Sprinkle with confectioner’s sugar and ½ teaspoon of vanilla extract. Beat until soft peaks return, being careful not to over beat.

To make the trifle:
Fill individual glasses (or bowls) with a layer of lemon curd and whipped cream. Sprinkle crumbled cookies or pound cake on top. Add another layer of lemon curd and whipped cream. Top with candied lemon zest and a cookie.

* Meyer lemon season in Southern California starts in January and can extend to April.

Author’s Note: The missing cookbook was later discovered. It was hiding underneath a stack of ignored bills.

December 6

Coffee-Braised Bison Shortribs: A Low Fat Indulgence

Have you ever noticed that soon after learning a new word, or becoming interested in the latest subject matter, you begin to see signs of that new thing everywhere? You overhear people talking about it. Read a headline focusing on it. See a photo of it on the side of a bus. You do a double take–did everyone know about this thing but me?

Sometimes finding a new ingredient is like that, too. You become excited about the item–feeling uniquely able to uncover the ingredient’s culinary possibilities–only to discover everyone around you talking about how they ate it, cooked it, or shopped for it. You realize you’re not alone in your discovery. Either everyone else has just learned about The New Great Ingredient, or your culinary discovery is more a coming-to-your-senses moment.

Bison is my New Great Ingredient. After a lifetime of never cooking, eating, or even seeing bison, I suddenly see signs of bison everywhere. There are bison burgers on the menus of burger joints all over Los Angeles. Iron Chef’s battle with bison as their secret ingredient. Bison vendors sell their vacuum packed meat to lines of dedicated farmers’ market customers. Magazine articles extol the virtues of bison’s low fat, high-protein nutrition profile. Though bison may be one of America’s original meat sources, the industry seems to be breaking through to a nation of meat eaters like me, that are interested in healthier and low-fat alternatives.

Suddenly, I’m very interested in bison. And to tell you the truth, I’m craving the stuff.

Continue for a Super Easy Coffee-Braised Shortrib Recipe »

November 29November 28

Thanksgiving musings and food blog photography

Out of habit, I photograph what I cook and what I eat. Though this is not a novel idea—many food writers and bloggers do such things—but I often forget how unusual a two minute food photography session may appear to be to all of my non-blogger friends.

Take for example Thanksgiving dinner. The oddity of my habit was illuminated (literally) after the first course was served. As guests lifted their first spoonful of cauliflower and almond soup to their mouths, I snatched my bowl off the table and placed it on the floor. As the room went silent, I stood small white bounce card along side of the white puree, pulled my Lowel Ego light from its permanent near-the-dining-room-table-spot, powered up my camera, turned it to the “flower” setting, and started snapping photographs.

You could have heard a pin drop as my ten dinner guests stopped eating and watched me snap photographs of the soup.

“For those of you who don’t know,” my husband explained “Brooke is writing about our meal tonight for her blog.” Guests nodded, still stunned by my lighting set up.

Hans continued with his gracious explanation of my handiwork. “And if for any reason you do not want to be photographed–for fear of being seen by some authorities somewhere…Now is the time to let us know.”

Luckily, our guests were happy to fully participate.

Foodbuzz 24, 24, 24: Family Meal–Restaurant Orphans' Thanksgiving

Like emergency room doctors and military personal, restaurant people don’t experience holidays like everyone else. Unlike doctors and the military, we don’t save or take lives. We just feed people who act like we do.

Restaurant people—as a group–are not part timers or after-school pick-up-shift dabblers. Restaurant people are passionate and hardened individuals that pay their bills by making or serving people food. We beat up our bodies (burn, cut, bruise, starve, deprive ourselves of sleep) and work extremely hard. And then, when it’s all over, we play hard and eat like Tudor kings.

When you’re a restaurant person you say goodbye to your family’s holiday dinner traditions and say hello to one in the morning champagne toasts with a band of depraved co-workers. Holidays, for us restaurant folk, are required days of service that line our wallets with much needed cash. Holidays are where we make up for the slow weeks to come and take our licks for being on the receiving end of customer expectations. And if you’re lucky to work for a restaurant that closes for Thanksgiving and Christmas, these are the two days out of the year that you can count on not being called in to work last minute.

Though twenty-four hours to celebrate a holiday is an amazing thing, it often isn’t enough time for big city restaurant folk to make their way back to their family—as many food service professionals are transplants from towns all over the country. Since most restaurants don’t allow staff time off during holidays, more often than not holidays are spent with co-workers.

This is the world of restaurant orphans.

Hosting Thanksgiving dinner for orphaned restaurant friends is a tradition I started several years ago. Unlike the long-established Thanksgiving dinners of my childhood, this is a celebration of food peopled by passionate food lovers. Though the guest list may change year to year, there is one common characteristic: my guests are restaurant professionals that work extremely hard and beat up their bodies–burn, cut, bruise, starve, and sleep deprive themselves for the job–and when the shift is complete, they play hard and consume food (and wine) like Tudor kings.

Restaurant Orphan Thanksgiving 2008

Thanks to my many years toiling away in the Los Angeles dining scene and my current position at a critically acclaimed (and Michelin awarded) restaurant, the caliber of guests attending this year’s celebration was extraordinary. This year’s guest list included:

–sous-chef of Hatfield‘s, a Cal-French, Michelin-starred restaurant.
–general manager/managing partner of Osteria Mozza–Mario Batali, Joe Bastianich and Nancy Silverton’s three star Italian restaurant
–manager of Jose Andres’ newest restaurant concept, the Bazaar
–a 1980’s new wave rock and roll star
–a Los Angeles, expert wine retailer and son of a world famous Burgundy wine importer
–front of house staff from Hatfield’s and Pizzeria Mozza
–a dominatrix (don’t ask)

With twelve invited guests, it was clear I would need to rely on my friends’ culinary talents. I plotted a five-course menu that featured specific dishes that showcased culinary passions and wine pairing abilities. Two weeks before Thanksgiving, I sent the proposed menu to my guests and requested they bring a wine that would pair with their dish. I checked in with my friends over the few days before our dinner, and I was relieved to discover everyone’s excitement about their assigned course. Seeing the menu in advance was just what they needed to understand where their dish fit in. We were all good to go.

Thanksgiving day preparation

As the host, I was responsible for the turkey, stuffing, gravy and, with my heart set on doing more than just the basics, a Brussels sprout side dish. Knowing full well that I would need to stay focused, I planned the days before Thanksgiving very carefully.

After a fair amount of research, I decided to dry brine of my turkey. On the Sunday before Thanksgiving I went to the busy Hollywood Farmers’ Market to pick up my pre-ordered organic, free-range turkey from Healthy Family Farms (located in Fillmore).

Based on the ravenous appetites of my friends, I purchased a 24-and-a-half-pound turkey. The locally raised, free-range organic bird cost $4/pound–but it was an easy purchase for both my conscience and pocketbook.

Once at home, I went straight to work. I followed the LA Times recipe (based on Judy Rodgers of Zuni Café’s dry brining technique), which consists of moderate salting and daily massaging of the bird. At almost 25-pounds, there was no denying the bird’s presence. Its strong legs, heavy body, pale skin, and blue veins reminded me daily of the sacrifice the bird made. Following three days of giving the bird gentle back massages and belly rubs, I felt a strange, almost sentimental connection to the turkey.

The day before Thanksgiving I prepped the chestnut, apple, and leek stuffing.

My husband and I peeled Brussels sprouts and, when we were finished, we rearranged our home.After careful reorganization, my husband and I turned our two-bedroom apartment into a small, twelve-seat restaurant with a comfortable lounge.

Thanksgiving Day

After a short run in the morning, I started work on the turkey. I felt a hint of anxiety start to build as I massaged butter and thyme under the bird’s skin and patted the residual moisture away. Would I be able to pull this off? Can a turkey this big still taste moist and tender. I soothed my nerves with a coffee break and a simple bowl of yogurt in our make-shift lounge.

My stress-free morning quickly ended, however, when I noticed two workmen with lawn equipment starting a gardening project just outside our first floor apartment. Carried on their shoulders were heavy, plastic sacks of steer manure—the very bags of cow dung I had eyed with curiosity ever since the pyramid of bags appeared on my landlord’s front garden, a few days prior. I watched in silent horror as the two happy men laid inches of cow dung onto the ground, just inches from my twelve-seat dining room.

If my time in restaurants has taught me one thing–it is to expect shit to happen. With an ironic laugh, I shut all the windows, lit some candles, and went to cooking my turkey.

The recipe required a high temperature start and flipping of the bird in the first half hour of cooking. The browned backside of the turkey made me proud, but in my struggle to flip over the monstrous bird I mistakenly ripped some of the turkey’s delicate skin from the leg and breast. After some swearing, rubbing of butter on the exposed areas, and patching with a toothpick and extra neck skin, I returned my Franken-turkey to the oven.

Every thirty minutes for the next four hours, I basted the bird. A half-hour before the proposed final cooking time, I checked the bird’s internal temperature. When the meat thermometer’s line sped past 165° and hit 180°, I gasped in shock. Had my fears come true? Would I really be forced to serve dried out, sawdust flavored turkey? The thought of 24 pounds of failure chilled me to the core. Hoping for the best, I wrapped the browned turkey in tin foil, set it on the table to rest, and tried to forget about it.

A half hour later–following the manager code of timeliness, my good friends David, the GM of Osteria Mozza, and his girlfriend Kate, a manager at The Bazaar, arrived at our appointed start time of 4 p.m. Minutes later Brian, the sous chef, and Lisa, the host of Hatfield’s, knocked on the door with their arms heavy with prep containers and coolers. The kitchen was a flurry of activity as David and Kate unloaded their milk-crate of pastries and numerous bottles of wine. Brian and Lisa unloaded a slew of plastic containers–a sort of portable mise-en-place–a beautiful apple pie, and containers still warm with cauliflower soup.

I conducted traffic, pulled plates from cabinets, directed dishes to serving tables, and kissed guests as I eyed the turkey drippings in the pan. I still needed to make the gravy, heat the stuffing, and prepare my Brussels sprout dish.

First course–appetizers

By five o’clock all of our guests had arrived. The restaurant orphans congregated in the living room with a glass of wine in hand and enjoyed Dan the wine seller’s contribution to the meal’s first course: an affetati misti, a delicious blend of dried, cured meats from Italy with a glass of Barbolini Lambrusco, a dry, sparkling red from Castelvetro DOC. Along with the salami purchased from the gourmet food seller, Joan’s on Third, Dan prepared a delicious Mediterranean dip consisting of anchovies, parsley, garlic, walnuts and salt cured black olives as well as pickled green beans.

While guest nibbled, Brian coached me through my final dish preparation in the kitchen. Brian is all skills and technique, a rock in the kitchen. A host’s dream for sure. He smiled as I tossed my Gourmet Magazine recipe for gravy aside, and like a good teacher, Brian talked me through the steps of crafting a gravy from the ingredients we had on hand.

When it came to separating the pan drippings from the residual fat (and butter) from the turkey, Brian had me ditch my thoroughly confusing gravy separator, and coached me to pour the turkey drippings into a metal prep dishes. We cleared room in the freezer and left the liquid to chill. Like magic, after several minutes the fat hardened on the surface of the bowl–making the separation of fat from juice incredibly simple.

Between cooking lessons, Brian warmed his perfectly thick puree of cauliflower soup on the stove. When it was ready to be served we deep fried his chiffonade of sage in grapeseed oil (for its ability to be heated to high temperatures without burning). Pilar—a beautiful Spanish server from Pizzeria Mozza—and I cleared the kitchen counter and, in the style of a kitchen brigade, plated all 12 bowls of soup at once.

“We need runners!” a common call from any kitchen line, was sung as three professional servers/guests swooped in, snatched up plates, and presented the soup in less than a minute.

Thanksgiving Menu 2008

Cauliflower and almond soup
With lemon oil

Paired with

François Chidaine
Clos du Breuil
Montlouis sur Loire, 2006

Mixed green salad with roasted beets and goat cheese
With a orange vinaigrette

Paired with

Wehlener Sonnenuhr
Riesling Kabinett
1996

When the last guest finished spooning the final mouthful of soup, a fleet of hands swooped in to clear the dishes. Out of habit, Pilar opened her hand and paused before taking away an empty dish. “May I (clear)?” she asked, and burst out laughing, realizing her inability to stop being a professional server—even on her day off.

Pilar and I donned our orange work aprons and went to washing dishes between courses. Meanwhile, without any fanfare, Brian began carving the turkey. As the first pieces were sliced from the bird, I held my breath as I watched him sample the meat.

“How is it?” I asked, nervously.

“In a word?” Brian paused, “Amazing.”

I said a silent prayer of thanks to the Turkey cooking gods and went back into server mode. It was time to serve the meal.

2nd course

Roasted, brined turkey

Paired with

Louis Jadot
Savigny-les-Beaune
Clos des Guettes
2005

R. Lopez de Heredia Vina Tondonia, S.A.
Vina Bosconia
Red Rioja
1999

Chestnut, apple and leek stuffing

Cranberry grapefruit compote

Brussel sprout leaves with pistachio and lemon

Sweet Yam puree with maple syrup and roasted walnuts

Paul’s Potato gratin

Gerry helps me light my food:

Sitting down with a full plate of food was an incredible relief. The bird was juicy, moist, and most importantly, tasted like a bird. The dry brine helped retain moisture while maintaining a truly flavorful taste. It was, by far, the best turkey I have ever tasted.

As guests shared stories and swapped glasses of wine, we relaxed and enjoyed the array of food on our plate. Sweet yams were creamy and thick with flavor. The earthiness of the turkey paired beautifully with the bitter and sweet cranberry compote. The buttery gratin offered the traditional flavors of potato while staying away from boring mashed potatoes. The big chunks of stuffing were scented with roasted chestnuts, buttery leeks and sweet and salty apples.

As friends went back for seconds, I dipped my spoon into Brian’s amazing sweet yam puree. The yam’s creamy texture and natural sweetness was the kind of dish I couldn’t be trusted around. I would have eaten the whole thing myself if it wasn’t for:

3rd course
Assorted cheeses

Paired with

Dow’s Vintage Porto
1985

4th course

Assorted desserts:

Apple Pie

Paired with

Elderton Botrytis Semillon
2007

Torta della Nonna

Some twenty bottles of wine later (remember–we restaurant people eat and drink like Henery the 8th) the night came to a hazy, happy close.

With all hands on deck we quickly cleaned the house, ushered people to cabs, and said good night.

I can’t wait to do it all over again.

Recipe for Roast Salted Turkey
Slightly modified recipe from the LA Times

1 turkey (12 pound? 15 pound? 25 pound? It’s all up to you)
1 stick of butter
fresh thyme
2 apples, quartered
2 onions, quartered
Kosher salt

1. Wash the turkey inside and out, pat it dry and weigh it. Measure 1 tablespoon of salt into a bowl for every 5 pounds the turkey weighs (for a 15-pound turkey, you’d have 3 tablespoons).

2. Sprinkle the inside of the turkey lightly with salt. Place the turkey on its back and salt the breasts, concentrating the salt in the center, where the meat is thickest. You’ll probably use a little more than a tablespoon. It should look liberally seasoned, but not over salted.

3. Turn the turkey on one side and sprinkle the entire side with salt, concentrating on the thigh. You should use a little less than a tablespoon. Flip the turkey over and do the same with the opposite side.

4. Place the turkey in a 2 1/2-gallon sealable plastic bag, press out the air and seal tightly. Place the turkey breast-side up in the refrigerator. Chill for 3 days, leaving it in the bag, but turning it and massaging the salt into the skin every day.

5. Remove the turkey from the bag. There should be no salt visible on the surface and the skin should be moist but not wet. Wipe the turkey dry with a paper towel, place it breast-side up on a plate and refrigerate uncovered for at least 8 hours.

6. On the day it is to be cooked, remove the turkey from the refrigerator and leave it at room temperature at least 1 hour. Preheat the oven to 425 degrees.

7. Rub butter and herbs under skin, being careful not to tear skin.

8. Quarter two onions and two apples. Stuff in cavity.

9. Place the turkey breast-side down on a roasting rack in a roasting pan; put it in the oven. After 30 minutes, remove the pan from the oven and carefully turn the turkey over so the breast is facing up. (It’s easiest to do this by hand, using kitchen towels or oven mitts)

10. Reduce the oven temperature to 325 degrees, return the turkey to the oven and roast. **Every half hour, turn the baking dish and baste turkey with butter. Check bird’s internal temperature in the deepest part of the thigh, but not touching the bone. Stop roasting when the thermometer reads 165 degrees, about 2 3/4 hours total roasting for a 12-16 pound bird. About 3.5 hours for a 24 pound bird.

11. Remove the turkey from the oven, transfer it to a warm platter or carving board; tent loosely with foil. Remove apples and onions from the cavity and discard. Let stand at least 30 minutes to let the juices redistribute through the meat. Carve and serve.

Chestnut, leek, and apple stuffing
modified from Gourmet (November, 2008)

10 cups white bread cubes (crusts discarded)
3 large leeks (white and pale green parts only). Rinsed well then cut into 1-inch pieces (4 cups)
1 ½ sticks unsalted butter
4 celery ribs, sliced ¼ inch
1 tbsp chopped, fresh thyme
4 tart heirloom apples, peeled and cut into ½-inch cubes
1 jar of roasted chestnuts (16 oz.), halved
1 cup half and half
1 cup buttermilk
3/4 cup chopped flat-leaf parsley

–Preheat oven to 350ºF with racks in upper and lower position. Bake bread cubes on a four-sided sheet pan on the top rack for about 20 minutes, or until dry and slightly golden brown.
–wash leeks well. Submerge in a large bowl of water to remove grit.
–Melt butter in a large (12-inch) heavy skillet over medium heat. Add leeks and celery and cook for about 10 minutes until the vegetables become soft. Add thyme, apples, 1 ½ tsp salt, and 1 tsp pepper and cook—cover if possible—and stir occasionally, until apples are tender, about 5 minutes. Transfer mixture to a bowl and toss with toasted bread, chestnuts, cream and buttermilk, parsley, ½ tsp salt, and ¼ tsp pepper.

**Stuffing can be pre-assembled (but not baked) 1 day ahead. Bring to room temperature before baking.

When ready, preheat oven to 450ºF and bake in lower third of oven until the stuffing is heated through and the top is golden, about 30 minutes.

November 22November 14

Los Angeles Original Farmers' Market Celebrates 75 years

The Original Farmers’ Market at Third and Fairfax celebrates 75 years of business. In response to their call for recollections of this historic culinary landmark, I submit this memory.

Love letter to the Farmers Market

Ten years ago, I moved to Los Angeles after a lifetime of residency in small towns across Massachusetts. Though I had uprooted myself several times to live in different towns within my hometown state, the cross-country move was, by far, the grandest uprooting of my life.

In Los Angeles, when I wasn’t in class studying screenwriting, I would travel 3rd Street in my little Volkswagon, in hopes of collecting a mental database of familiar landmarks. I was often lost within the sprawling landscape of LA’s streets, with the Atlantic Ocean as a forsaken compass point. I went west when I thought I was traveling east. I followed Wilshire for hours, searching for its end. One of the first markers of my new city was the Original Farmers’ Market on the corner of Third and Fairfax. Though I knew nothing about the history of the farmers’ market, the buildings proved to me that LA was once a simple village, that shared traditions like the one I came from.

I’d park my car in the sprawling lot speckled with sports cars and tour busses and meander through the market. I marveled at the shelves always lined with precise piles of fruits and vegetables–a site I had only seen during the summer months of Massachusetts. I admired the impracticality of laminated photos of dead movie stars and Hollywood street signs as souvenirs. I was soothed by the white clock tower as it marked the passing of time. The friendly French man behind the cheese counter and the smiling butcher that offered to help find the best deal surprised me with their kindness. The Farmers’ market, regardless of whether or not I stopped by, gave me a sense of calm.

Looking back now, it is no wonder that I chose to live just one block from the Original Farmers’ Market. The neighborhood is my own little village where I can walk to shops, enjoy the park, and eat out at my favorite restaurants. I am a regular, a local, a fixture at the market.

After many years of feeling lost, I have finally found a home in this big city, thanks in part to the Original Farmers Market.

Happy Anniversary.

November 9

Eat cheap with sweet potatoes

A delicious, nutritious, and satisfying meal for just 40-cents

I thought I knew what sweet potatoes tasted like. In my taste memory, sweet potatoes were dense, mealy, and slightly sweet. Yet, despite the millions of meals I’ve eaten and the multitudes of hours spent reading about food, I was mistaken. My outdated perspective on the sweet potato got a serious overhaul recently, when I tasted a baked yam, fresh from the oven. I was dumbfounded by its complex flavors, natural sweetness, and its unadulterated texture; it was creamy like a savory pudding.

I’ve had my share of sweet potato fries, but have never tasted anything like this.

How could something so simple–a yam baked in an oven for an hour and sprinkled with salt and pepper–taste so complex? I did a taste-double take. Wait-a-minute, I said to myself, didn’t this unadulterated and undeniably delectable sweet potato cost only forty-cents?

Sweet potato (or yam as it is commonly called in some parts of the states) is a distant relative of the potato. Native to South America, the sweet potato is thought to have originated from the Yucatán Peninsula of Mexico and the mouth of the Orinoco River in Venezuela. The tuber’s color ranges in shades between yellow, reddish-orange, white and purple.

Besides complex carbohydrates, sweet potatoes are rich in nutrients like vitamin A, vitamin C, iron, and vitamin B6. A baked yam is simply decadent with a smidgen of butter and just a pinch of salt and pepper. At approximately 90 calories per serving, the sweet flavor and rich texture will make you feel like you’re eating something far more sinful.

According to one statistic, sweet potato consumption in the US is down dramatically. In the 1920’s the average American ate 13 pounds of sweet potatoes a year. Now, the average American eats less than two pounds in 12 months.

Here’s to changing that statistic

With economic times such as they are, the low-priced sweet potato is a great tasting way to fill your belly and save some serious money. At my local farmers’ market I bought four large yams for just $1.20. Not many meals taste as good as my thirty-cent yam.

For a great snack or a no-prep meal

Wrap sweet potato in tin foil and bake, for about an hour in a 350-degree oven. Unwrap and serve with a touch of butter. Season with salt and pepper.

Bake off a number of sweet potatoes at once. Save uneaten potatoes for a great side dish for another meal. Mash with a fork and reheat the yams with a touch of milk (cream or soy milk will also work), a pinch of nutmeg, and a sprinkling of salt and pepper for under 15-minute mashed potatoes.

November 8

How to save money at the Farmers market

When money is this tight, is it possible to shop at a farmers’ market and still save money? The answer is yes: if you’re careful.

If you want to stay committed to your food-shopping budget, you have to be focused at the farmers’ market. As the seasons change and food cravings kick in, a bevy of culinary darlings threaten to coax every last dollar from your wallet and secreted away emergency funds. It’s easy to be blinded by the glory, when there are sun kissed Meyer lemons at 50-cents a piece, a bundle of herbs for just a dollar, beautiful apples for $3.50/lb, and buffalo mozzarella for $16/lb. The farmers’ market offers great bargains alongside cash absorbing luxury items.

DON’T BRING MORE THAN YOU CAN SPEND

Even though this may seem obvious, if you want to stay within your budget it is important not to bring a wallet full of cash to the farmers’ market. Don’t tempt yourself with an “emergency twenty” hidden away in the back of your wallet. If you’re a consummate food lover, all it takes is a glistening berry, a remarkable piece of fish, a gorgeous slab of beef, or a sample of nutty cheese to throw your budget out the window and motivate you to empty your wallet in a second. Do yourself and your budget a favor and leave the extra bucks at home.

ASK BEFORE YOU BUY

Though I may be careful when shopping at the supermarket, there’s something hypnotic about the farmers’ market. I lose all reason. Unlike a grocery store chain that entices me with price tags, the farmers’ lure me with glorious nature at the peak of freshness. The product is beguiling.

When I first started shopping at the farmers market I approached purchasing fruits and vegetables like a jazz player: I let impulse guide me. Though this was a great way to “get my chops” at the market, my impulsive shopping habits took quite a bite out of my weekly budget.

I’m not alone. For many food lovers, food pricing at the farmers’ market is an after thought. For every inexpensive sweet potato there is a tempting (and pricey) Honshimeji Mushroom. Though it may seem obvious, in order to stay true to a budget, you have to ask for pricing before even considering a product. Though asking for prices seriously “harshes” my improvisational style, the staccato sound of fifteen dollars a pound is enough to turn my inspiration elsewhere. And for someone like me that’s easily swayed by guilt, I now ask for pricing on items before I even touch the product I’m considering. Otherwise, that handful of delicious looking berries I spent ten minutes picking through will end up in my shopping bag–despite their astronomical price.

IMPROVISATION VS PLANNING

In the style of Miles Davis, I let the market inspire my culinary riffs. The early days of my improvisational style, unfortunately, were costly. After several weeks with a crisper filled with wilted carrots, moldy mushrooms and soggy broccoli for dishes that never got made, I realized it was time to become a more proficient and focused improviser.

Have a clear theme in mind

Before leaving for the market, I plan the number of meals I want to make. Sunday night and Monday night are my evenings to make dinner. With the number of dishes I want to make in mind, I walk around the market with my hands cemented behind my back: a move that keeps me from reaching into my pockets for my market dollars. I let my creative mind wander and allow the fruit, vegetable, and meat vendors to entice me with their products. Then I formulate the menu I want to create BEFORE buying anything. Then, with a clear menu in mind, I return to the vendors that inspired me.

FOLLOW A RECIPE

Sometimes, even a well-laid out shopping list can’t help. You may have a specific recipe you want to follow, but sometimes a new arrival at the market can distract you and inspire a whole new addition to the menu. Be aware of these impulses. Maybe one additional side dish isn’t a bad thing–but be careful not to lose the plot. Sudden inspirations, however, have turned simple chicken dinners into an elaborate, multi-course tasting menus because I couldn’t help myself. Sure, we enjoyed all the intricate side dishes and courses of food, but in the end my budget was busted.

Now, before I leave for the market, I peruse my favorite cookbooks and come up with specific meals I want to prepare. Using my shopping list as a guide, I stay focused on the list and don’t allow myself to be tempted by every fruit and vegetable that just came into season. If it’s fresh today, it will most likely be available next week. When I find myself being tempted at stand after stand, I start a mental list of what looks good so I can start planning for next week’s menu.

MULTIPLE MEAL PLANNING

If you’re shopping for more than one meal, think about how to maximize your shopping. By thinking big, you can double up on your meal plans to create multiple meals. Buy a whole chicken, roast it for dinner, and use the left-over meat for chicken salad the next day. By maximizing left-over possibilities, you’ll reduce cooking time and create a secondary meal for the next day.

BUY HEARTY

When in doubt, buy items that will last longer than a few days. Produce like potatoes, apples, oranges, and squash have a substantial storage life and can be bought in bulk. Having these low-price and hearty items on hand for a last minute snack not only saves time, the thinking ahead can also save you a fair bit of money.

What are your tricks to saving money at the farmers’ market?

October 30

Penne tre colori: Something wonderful from almost nothing

Penne tre colori, originally uploaded by Foodwoolf.

Desperation inspires an act of innovation

Whenever my refrigerator is empty, I see an opportunity to make something from nothing. Like the generations of women before me that created culinary masterpieces from scraps, I see possibilities in my limited larder.

With nothing but a container of leftover penne, a head of purple cauliflower, and a handful of steadily wilting radishes to inspire me, I let the ingredients dictate my recipe.

Never having sautéed a radish before, I heavily salted the vegetable (as I do when serving it raw on buttered bread), sliced it in thin rounds, and sautéed it in butter. I was delighted to discover that cooking mellowed the radishes’ sharp bite and offered a lovely earthiness and delightful color to the simple dish. The cauliflower’s sweetness was coaxed from a simple sauté and a generous dose of salt and pepper.

This dish is not only simple but incredibly beautiful and satisfying; it will be a standard in my cooking repertoire, regardless of the status of my larder.

Penne Tre colori
Serves 2

1 head of purple cauliflower (regular cauliflower will do, but it won’t look as pretty!)
1 small bunch of breakfast radishes (red, pink and white radish), thinly sliced rounds
3 tbsp olive oil
1 clove of garlic
½ bag of penne pasta (cooked)
1 tbsp butter
Sea salt
Pepper
Finishing olive oil (about 1 tbsp)
pinch of chopped tarragon

Clean the cauliflower, removing outer leaves (if there are any) and the bottom of the stem, leaving at least 2 inches of the cauliflower’s trunk. Slice the cauliflower vertically from stem to florets, about ¼ inch slices. Don’t worry if the florets break apart.

Slice the radishes in uniformly thin (1/8-inch) slices.

Heat a small sauté pan over medium high heat with 2-½ tbsp of olive oil. Using the back of your knife, bruise the clove of garlic. Add to pan, let cook for 1 minute. Add cauliflower and let sauté untouched, for 3 minutes, or until it is nicely browned on one side. Toss to allow cauliflower to cook on the other side. As both sides brown, turn down flame and cook. Keep on flame until the cauliflower is cooked almost all the way through, about 10-12 minutes. Season with salt and pepper to taste. Remove garlic clove and set cauliflower aside in a warm and covered bowl.

Meanwhile, another sauté pan, heat over medium high heat. When hot, add the butter. When the butter melts, add the radishes and a generous pinch of sea salt and grated pepper. Taste for seasoning. Sauté until soft, about 3-5 minutes. Add the pinch of chopped tarragon and toss.

Add the remaining ½ teaspoon of olive oil to the warm (and empty) cauliflower sauté pan. Once the oil is heated, add left over pasta (if using left-over, dry pasta) and reheat over low flame until warm (about 4 minutes). If using fresh from the pot pasta, simply drain. Add hot pasta to a warm bowl with sautéed vegetables. Toss.

Add ¼ cup to ½ cup grated Parmesan to pasta, toss. Taste pasta for seasoning, adjust if necessary. Plate in warm bowls. Finish with a drizzle of finishing olive oil and a pinch of sea salt. Serve immediately.

“Blessed are those who expect little. They are seldom disappointed.”

—Tony Hillerman

September 21January 4

Foodbuzz 24, 24, 24: Farmers’ Market Iron Chef: Battle in the Kitchen

PRESS RELEASE (Los Angeles) Saturday, September 20th. Celebrating the launch of the Foodbuzz.com, an Internet food blog community, 24 featured publishers from around the world simultaneously participated in an array of culinary events across the globe.

One such event included two food bloggers, Food Woolf.com and SpicySaltySweet.com. The two bloggers—-both writing partners and Food Buzz featured publishers, battled it out in the kitchen in an Iron Chef-styled challenge.

Without the aid of sous-chefs or an arena-sized kitchen, the two Los Angeles-based food writers challenged themselves in a timed cooking challenge inspired by the bounty of produce available at the Santa Monica Farmers market. The challengers had two hours to prep, cook and plate three dishes focused on one main fall ingredient: Apples.

Dishes were presented to a panel of food lovers and food industry professionals and the trio of courses were evaluated on taste, plating and originality.

The judges deliberated over scores and, after some discussion, revealed the winning chef and her slim three point lead score. Food Woolf, also a long time friend and writing partner of Spicy Salty Sweet, was quick to point out to all involved how close the scores were.

“It’s not about who’s the better chef. It’s about whose dishes came out great this one day.”

Battle Apple

The challengers:
Food Blogger–Food Woolf (aka Brooke Burton)

Stats
From: Newbury, Massachusetts
Food Blog: Foodwoolf.com
Current job: writer, waiter
Cuisine: Farm driven American/European
Interests: eating, photographing food, reading cookbooks, hiking Runyon Canyon,
Ideal secret ingredient: bacon
Culinary inspirations: Nancy Silverton, Alice Waters, Mario Batali and farmers
Ideal judge: An enthusiastic eater
Culinary secret weapon: Passion!
Favorite restaurant: Pizzeria Mozza, Chez Panisse Café, Hungry Cat
Favorite food: Do I have to choose just one?
Food you won’t go near: food with a shelf life of over twenty years (think Twinkies)
Favorite food destination: Italy
Alternative food job: cook, restaurant owner

HER CHALLENGER:

Food Blog: www.spicysaltysweet.com

Current job: food & wine writer
Cuisine: Mediterranean
Interests: Cooking, eating traveling, hiking, camping, drinking and making wine
Ideal secret ingredient: tomato
Culinary inspirations: local farmers, Italian grandmas, Nancy Silverton, Mario Batali, Alton Brown
Ideal judge: Anthony Bourdain. He never lies and his critiques are always quotable.
Culinary secret weapon: Homemade ricotta
Favorite restaurant: O Ya in Boston, Pizzeria Mozza, Cyrus in Healdsburg
Favorite food: If I had to eat one thing for the rest of my life it would be pizza, it’s so versatile! And bacon.
Food you won’t go near: brains
Favorite food destination: In the U.S.–Sonoma County. Abroad? Italy, baby.
Alternative food job: Maybe one day I’ll make a little wine.

BEHIND THE SCENES:IT’S NOT ABOUT WINNING, IT’S HOW YOU PLAY THE GAME

7AM. With less than five hours of sleep after a late night at work, I pull myself from bed. I must prepare for battle. I flip on the kitchen lights and inspect the red suitcase I’ve filled with frying pans, knives, cutting boards, wooden spoons and mixing bowls. I empty my pantry and fill three canvas sacks with imported vinegars, Italian olive oils and sea salt. Never can be too prepared.

9 AM. With reusable shopping bags in hand and recipes memorized, Leah and I arrive at Santa Monica Farmers Market eager to discover our secret ingredient. Scanning the stands covered with muli-colored heirlooms and classic breeds of blush and green apples, the bounty of the markets’ abundant fall produce clearly dictates its decision: the secret ingredient is apple.

“May the battle begin!”

With just one hour to collect our ingredients, Leah and I take off in different directions. Within minutes, it the sweet smell of dozens of heirloom apples from Cirone Farms’ See Canyon market stand that draws my competitor and me together.

We sample crescent slices of the dozens of heirloom apple varieties like the Spitzenberg, Jonathan, Jonalicious, Fuji, Bellflower, and Hawkeye from the San Luis Obisbo apple farm.

It is the red-skinned, tart and sweet Spitzenberg (Thomas Jefferson’s favorite apple), however, that both Leah and I are drawn to for its complexity flavor. Leah and I snap up pounds of the Spitzenbergs. She buys Newton Pippins, Muutsus and Red Stripes while I grab handfuls of Jonalicious for their balance of sweet and tart and two softball-sized green Bellflowers, for their crisp texture and abundant, tart juice.

10:30 AM. My hook and go cart is heavy with newly purchased fresh goat cheese from the Farmstead Artisan goat cheese makers; apple cider and squash from Rocky Canyon; spinach and herbs from Maggie’s Farm; and heirloom zebra tomatoes from Munak.

10:45 AM. Thanks to some help from Eddie, the kindly butcher that put aside some organic duck breast for me, the trip Whole Foods of Santa Monica for protein and hard to find ingredients is a success. With a budget of $100 each, Leah and I have successfully purchased fresh, beautiful and straight-from-the-source ingredients for us to feed three courses to five judges.

12 AM. Arrive at our version of kitchen stadium: my friend Pilar’s house. Leah and I unload my kitchen suitcase filled with cooking gear and bagged pantry items from my car. From her trunk we pull a wine crate packed with knives, mixing bowls and serving utensils and a cardboard box filled with dishes. Once inside the large kitchen, we claim a side of the marble-topped kitchen island and begin organizing our cooking stations.

1 PM. Our esteemed panel of judges arrives.

The judges–food professionals, a restaurant publicity maven and a food lover–discuss voting procedure, the ethics of dressing dogs in cute outfits and food culture while Leah and I finalize the organization of our menus.

1:10 PM. Nick, one of our judges, flips a coin to decide which blogger will begin cooking. With a thirty-minute window between the two of us, the kitchen will be free to each chef for thirty minutes and each will have a chance to present their food without losing the dishes’ integrity.

ALLEZ-CUIZINE!

I watch Leah furiously begin chopping apples. I smile at her as she works. Her face is tight with concentration. She rarely looks up from her cutting board. I try to make conversation with the judges, but really, I’m thinking about the time. I watch the digital numbers on my wrist as I wait for:

1:40 Based on my time line and planned menu, I decide to prep and cook my butternut squash puree first. I slice away at the tough skin as I watch Leah drape cheesecloth over a plastic prep container and note the rising temperature of the raw milk she’s poured into a stockpot. As she checks the thermometer on the pot, I gasp when I realize what she’s doing. Leah is making cheese.

While the clock starts to tick away at my prep time, I mix up a blend of apple cider, calvados, Averna and dark rum. I pour it over ice with a nickel-sized slice of lemon zest and serve it to the judges (before judging has even begun) as an apertif. The judges clink glasses with me and take a sip. Mulled apples, pie spices and toast coat my tongue and sends my heart racing. But there’s no time for drinking cocktails. I’ve got cooking to do.

Leah zips past me as I stand at the stove. She washes a pot at the sink and returns it to one of her two burners at the four-burner stove. I watch her begin what looks like an apple risotto. Her smile confirms it as I give her a high five for choosing such high-difficulty dishes.

“Looks like the competitors are much too friendly,” notes one of the judges.

Time shape shifts as I prepare my dishes. There’s a calm that’s come over me. The swirl of sound as the judges speak disappears as I prepare the duck breasts. I slice away at unwanted textures of bone or connective tissue as I replay the memory of the kitchen prep I’ve watched in restaurant back kitchens. I set the mental image of my kitchen heroes and mimic their knife technique. I slice cross patterns into the fat of the duck and admire the patterns of white skin and crimson meat.

Despite the growing level of excitement in the kitchen, I find myself slipping into an almost meditative state. I prepare an apple gastrique and still have time to marvel at the syrupy texture of the sauce. I taste flavors of the veal stock, the sweet and tart of the apple, the balance of salt to pepper. I enjoy the nuanced colors of the apple as they caramelize in the pan. Despite the pressures of time, I find myself enjoying the beauty of cooking a new dish.

It must be my well-seasoned cast iron skillet making me feel this confident. Using a battle-axe of a fry pan, I feel like a confident toddler with a security blanket. I turn up the flame on my skillet until I can feel the heat on the palm of my hand when I hold it just above the pan’s coal-black surface. I toss the duck breasts onto the hot metal and listen to the hiss of meat searing.

My calm waivers while pureeing a cooked butternut squash and apples. Orange pulp splatters the white cabinets like a Pollack painting as my hand held mixer breaks in half. I ditch the immersion blender.

3:40 PM. I pull chilled plates from the refrigerator and begin plating my composed spinach salad. I toss the greens in salt and pepper, drizzle the leaves with a Spanish olive oil and then drizzle the salad with lemon juice and apple cider vinegar. I plate the greens and add the artisan goat cheese, candied nuts, and sautéed Bellewether green apples. I toss the quartered, green heirloom tomatoes in lemon juice and olive oil (just like Alice Waters taught me to do in her Café Cookbook) and add them to the salad. I question my choice of apples and green tomatoes for a moment, and decide to stick with my original plan.

I slice the duck breast and discover the meat is cooked pink all the way through. The meat looks exactly as I wanted it, but the duck’s fatty layer remains. I decide against trying to render off the duck fat, for fear of overcooking the meat.

I finish caramelizing apples with cream and sugar as the judges demand the next course. I add a splash of Calvados from a Normandy and grab the store bought gelato (a cheat, I know) from the freezer. As the last few seconds tick away, I realize the plates I planned to use are much too big. I become frantic as I search my host’s cabinets for smaller dishes. I snatch tea cups from the shelves and claw clumsy balls of vanilla ice cream from the frozen solid pint container. The ice cream scoop hits the floor and I let out an audible yelp.

My husband steps in to pluck the scoop off of the floor. There’s another call for my third and final course. I’m not going to make it! Forget about perfect quenelles of ice cream. I toss the ice cream into tea cups and rush to the judges table. So much for my zen like calm.

My Dishes

Spinach and Bellflower apple salad with Farmstead Artisan Goat Cheese, candied peanuts and green heirloom tomatoes

Pan seared duck breast with Jonalicious gastrique, pureed apple and butternut squash, and candied apples

Naked Pie: Caramelized Spizenburg apples with Calvados and vanilla ice cream

While the judges deliberate, Leah and I stand in the kitchen like two shell-shocked warriors. We share appreciatory smiles while we hungrily chew the extra scraps from our dishes. We’re tired, exhausted, hungry and in need of a drink. Water or alcohol, it doesn’t matter. Something. Anything.

The judges call us to the table for the final judgment. The scores (plating, originality and taste) have been tallied.

“The judges have decided. It was a very close race. With the winning score of 68 points, the winner is…”

The judges announce my name and my face flushes. I can’t believe it. I’ve won? But what about the lacking salt on the duck? The choice of greens in my salad? The big tea cup instead of a bowl for my dessert?

I scan the judging cards and see the numbers all add up. I won by three taste points.

Leah and I take a seat at the judges’ table to taste what remains of the dishes after two judges leave before they’re late for a night of service at their busy restaurant jobs. It’s the first chance we’ve had all day to sit down and relax.

It’s wonderful tasting Leah’s apple dishes. Her palate cleansing apple and fennel salad is refreshingly simple. The perfectly cooked Pork loin with its sweet and spicy relish is by far the best savory course of them all. The doughy fritter, delicate cheese drizzled with honey reminds me of a sophisticated fairground dessert. Even though I feel a sense of pride for winning, I know we both have won. The element of competition raised our game, made us better chefs and inspired us to take chances.

After facing the heat of our make-shift kitchen stadium, Leah and I–two food bloggers, writing partners, featured publishers and, most importantly, friends—are still just as unified as ever. Maybe even more unified than before.