food, and other musings

Pobody's Nerfect

Lord knows I'm not perfect. The good news is that neither am I vain. (See? A virtue amidst the rubble!) So it is, dear readers, that I am willing to share with you a low point in my culinary life. I burned -- dreadfully, sinfully burned -- these innocent zucchini and lemons, and now I offer them up to you as my penance.

Were I not as virtuous, I could have blamed it on my oven. It's about a thousand years old, the temperature fluctuates like a woman in the throes of menopause, and it's a hideous shade of orange to boot. But I am owning my mistake so it doesn't own me. (Sorry, sorry, I realize a bit of Dr. Phil-esque psychobabble snuck in; I guess as long as I'm coming clean I may as well admit to my penchant for the far cheaper, and thus cliché-ridden, form of television therapy.)

In another magnanimous, ego-free show of honesty, I will also tell you that, despite their disgusting blackened appearance, they didn't taste half bad! The burnt portion formed a skin not dissimilar from the one made by crackling fires on plump, snowy marshmallows. And you know you'd eat that, so just wipe that look of horrified scorn off your face. Condescension and pity do not open the gates to Nirvana, folks.

COCO500 Redux

Last Friday after a book reading in Corte Madera, I went back to COCO500 with the Restaurant Whore and F. Both F. and I had eaten there before and suffered through terrible service, but one of us knew the bartender, one of us had a mad craving for the squash blossom and truffle oil flatbread, and one of us was just happy to go along and sneak in another yummy chocolate brownie. The verdict? Much better. I still loved the tempura-fried green beans (though yoo-hoo, the lemon aioli is way better than the eggplant tapenade for dipping) and fell immediately, head-over-heels in love with the flatbread. That alone is worth the trip. We also had a lovely whole fish, a dorade I believe, which was fileted tableside (I kept the head and ate the little cheeks -- I was willing to share but no one else wanted any). The wine was excellent, and this time the service was too. I wouldn't make a point of going back or dragging Mr. Food Musings -- well, maybe for the flatbread... -- but if we were in the neighborhood, I'd happily go in for another bite.

Besides the food, there were a few other choice morsels from the night. Can you guess who said what?

"Rosemary is the slut of the herb world."   

"Decorum is overrated." 

"I guarantee you that the two of us would have spent more than the four of them with their little salads." (said punishingly about four 20-somethings distracting the servers with their copycat Citizens-clad bums and tin giggles)

COCO500, San Francisco, 500 Brannon Street, 415.543.2222

Recipe: Clotilde's Yogurt Cake

The best cake I have ever had is my grandmother's plain cake. We called it plain because that's what it was and how it tasted, with its simple off-white crumb and a top that was a tad sweeter, wetter, a thin layer of velvet that always stuck to the wax paper when it was lifted off. Its real name, I learned many years later, is 1-2-3-4 cake, so called because of its main ingredients: a cup of milk, 2 of sugar and 3 of flour, 4 eggs and a few other teapoons of this and tablespoons of that. There was, is, always plain cake at grandma's house, fresh ones and frozen ones on standby, waiting for a quick dusting of cinnamon, sugar and brown sugar for a quick morning coffee cake, or tart lemon icing, the kind that hardens into a crisp paper-thin crust; others ready for great swaths of rich chocolate frosting, the kind inevitably swiped by greedy fingers. But my favorite way to eat it is unadorned, unaccompanied by anything more than a glass of milk. Plain.

When I saw Clotilde's recipe for yogurt cake, I knew right away it was in the same vein. I was looking for something simple and comforting to take to a friend's house for dinner. When I read that this recipe comes from her boyfriend's grandmother, I knew I had to make it. And since that first cake on Saturday night (which I served with local Straus organic vanilla ice cream and orange blossom honey) I have made two more. One is in the freezer, wrapped in wax paper and aluminum foil, just like at my grandmother's house, and another sits on the counter, already cut into for breakfast. Of course, I ate it plain.

Gâteau au Yaourt (Yogurt Cake) first pubished on Chocolate and Zucchini
Serves 12

A cake so simple it's the first one taught to les enfants francais, with a not-too-sweet crumb and a crunchy top. A cake that pairs well with raspberries and creme fraiche, with vanilla ice cream and honey, with a cup of tea and milk. 

1 cup of whole milk plain unsweetened yogurt
2 eggs (or egg substitute)
1 cup sugar
2 cups all-purpose flour
1/2 cup vegetable oil
1 TBSP baking powder
1 TBSP light rum
1 tsp vanilla extract

Preheat the oven to 350° F. Butter and flour a round ten-inch cake pan. In a large mixing-bowl, gently combine the yogurt, eggs, sugar, and flour. Add in the oil, baking powder, rum and vanilla and mix again. The batter may not quite absorb all the liquid, but that's okay -- don't overwork it. Pour the batter into prepared cake pan and bake for 45 minutes, until the top is golden brown and a toothpick comes out clean. Let stand for ten minutes, then turn out onto a rack to cool.

Free Pizza Today!

This is not a joke, people. Yahoo and North Beach Pizza in San Francisco are teaming up to give away free pizza to anyone who walks in the Grant Street store today between 11 a.m. and midnight. Don't get greedy -- it's medium with two toppings only.

It may not be a swanky Neapolitan-inspired A16 or Pizzeria Delfina beauty, but if you like cheese you'll happily choke your way through the thick layer of oozing lusciousness that rides on top of this medium crust local.

Grab your sneaks, and bon appetit!

North Beach Pizza, San Francisco, 1499 Grant Avenue, 415.433.2444

You Know You Live in a Foodie Town When...

You overhear the following conversations in the movie theater:

"The difference between mashed potatoes and smashed potatoes is..." -- father to daughter

"You could use mini chocolate chips in the chocolate sorbet, I guess." -- guy to a friend

All this while I happily chomped away on sludgy yellow movie popcorn and went home to order pizza for delivery. I love slumming it!

Well, Truss Me a Turkey and French Rack a Lamb -- the Girl's Got Style!

The other day, I realized that I have changed. Fundamentally. Had an epiphany, experienced a watershed moment, turned over a new leaf and taken a fork in the road.

You see, I now own a full set of mise en place bowls.

Don't get me wrong. I'm a planner, and I've always chopped and diced and minced my ingredients before beginning to cook. Usually I'd just shove each ingredient off to one sloppy side of the cutting board, or even onto the countertop (gulp).

But with the recent acquisition of nesting bowls from Mr. Food Musings' mom (thank you!) I can now mise in style, from the teeny-weeny thimble sized bowl for garlic to the Papa Bear bowl for marinated meat. At their inaugural dinner, I used 'em to hold taco fixins.

From today forward, I will add tablespoons of vanilla and teaspoons of salt to the pot with grace, with verve, with panache!

All righty, must run. Time to iron my new crisp white chef's jacket.... KIDDING!!!

Who Loves Boobs?

Racy title, eh? Well, I know what you're thinking.

That I'm desperate for attention.

Or, maybe that after my recent trip east to meet baby S. I've become obsessed with boobies.

Despite being right on the first guess, the reason for the post is to get you to go eat out and raise money for breast cancer research. It's a deadly disease that robs women of their bodies and their lives, and robs all of us of mothers, grandmothers, best friends and sisters.

But with Taste for the Cure -- now through October 23 (sorry I'm late but I just heard about it today) -- you can try a restaurant you've never been (Aziza would be my choice) or revisit an old one (Hawthorne Lane anyone? Or Bix?), donate some dollars to UCSF's Carol Franc Buck Breast Center and get those restaurants to match your donation.

I'm feeling lazy and want to get out the news but you can read more about it where I first did.

Recipe: Carrot Cake

Home, sweet home. Or at least home, sweet L.'s  home. I so enjoyed my time back East, not the least of which included hearing vermilion leaves go crunch underfoot, swinging on the front porch with a Scarlett O'Hara in hand and learning to coax a smile from baby S. What a dreamboat he is... (sigh)

L. and I made good use of her kitchen, trading off baby S. as needed to stir the artichoke and snap pea risotto or throw another dollop of raspberry-orange-ancho chile marinade on the sizzling grouper. But the star of the week was the carrot cake my mom brought up in honor of dad's recent birthday.

Every year he chooses a new cake and this year it was carrot, so mom pulled out her tried and true recipe from my grandmother's neighbor, Mrs. C. It was scrummy! L. and her husband noshed on it all weeklong for dessert (not to mention breakfast and midnight snack). I had a piece, enough to confirm that it was moister than any cake I've ever had and slathered in decadent cream cheese icing. And then my fun, new egg allergy kicked in and I decided one piece would have to be plenty.

Delicious Carrot Cake
Serves 12

For the cake:
2 cups flour                  
2 cups sugar   
2 tsp cinnamon      
2 tsp baking soda   
1 tsp salt   
1 cup vegetable oil
4 eggs (or equivalent egg substitute)
3 cups grated carrots

For the icing:
8 oz. cream cheese, softened
1 stick butter    
1 1-pound box confectioner's sugar         
2 tsp vanilla     
1 cup chopped pecans or walnuts

For the cake: Preheat oven to 350. Butter and flour three round cake pans. Sift together all dry ingredients. Add oil and stir well. Add eggs one at a time, stirring after each to mix well. Fold in the carrots. Pour batter into prepared cake pans and bake 25-35 minutes, or until a toothpick comes out clean.

For the icing: In a large bowl, beat the softened cream cheese, butter, and confectioner's sugar. Stir in vanilla. Once cool, ice the top of each cake, placing one on top of the next until you have three tiers, then ice the final top and sides. Sprinkle nuts on top.

Best Food Writing 2005

Every year, alongside those other Best (fill-in-the-blank) Writing series -- you know the ones, they threaten every spare tree in the forest and crowd your nightstand, unread -- is one that I devotedly snatch up. The Best Food Writing was the first time I realized that there was such a thing as food writing, outside the obvious things like restaurant reviews and recipes. I picked the first up years ago in the airport on my way to Italy, and became so absorbed I nearly forgot I might die any moment in a fiery plane crash.

This year's food writing anthology came out last week. In it you'll find the usual suspects: Ruth Reichl, Colman Andrews, a rep from the New York Times (in this case, reviewer Frank Bruni) and many more. There are newspaper writers, food memoirists, magazine editors, published book authors and other writers both well-known in the food world, and not. I was surprised not to see Jeffrey Steingarten or Anthony Bourdain this year but maybe the editors figure they've gotten enough press.

New to this year's edition is a section on the Blogworld, with posts from six food bloggers all over the world. I'm not one to toot my own horn, but, hey, "TOOT TOOT!" One of my posts from April made the cut!

I haven't read the book yet -- I admit, I flipped to my part first to read and reread it, still sort of pinching myself to see my words in print -- but every year I devour the book and find myself learning something new, discovering a new food writer to enjoy or getting inspired to test out a new recipe. I hope you'll pick up a copy next time you're in the local bookstore and see what you can find.

Happy reading.

Thomas McKeller?

A little birdie told me that Thomas Keller has closed a deal to open a new restaurant in the infamous Watergate in DC (see, my trip East has been fruitful!) Is this one-time local boy destined for ubiquity along the lines of Jean-Georges...or even (gulp) the widely loved, equally widely derided Emeril?