food, and other musings

Moro The Cookbook

"The Moro cookbook is a distillation of our favourite recipes, a wonderful playground of tastes conjuring up images of hairy-chested matadors and of hedonistic sultans. We hope, like us, you will be excited by these flavours and enticed by the romance and tradition inherent in each dish. We also want to impart something of the 'language of spice,' how a teaspoon of ginger or five all-spice berries can speak of different continents."

So write husband and wife chefs Sam and Sam Clark, the owners of London's Moro restaurant, in the introduction to their cookbook. I just received it as a gift from my Bri'ish friends M. and S. who know of my love of eating and who share at least my gluttony, if not my cooking enthusiasm. A quick flip through seduces me - the rough paper throws images of saffron rice with raisins, pistachios and caramelised crispy onions in my face, the photo full of close-up grains of rice yellowed with precious saffron threads. Characters from the Arabic alphabet dance across the page in sworls and long elegant slashes if the recipe owes its origins to the Muslim world, and Spanish translations grace those recipes taken from that corner of Europe. All the recipes were created after Sam and Sam drove a camper-van through Spain and Morocco to the Sahara (how romantic!) They explain in the book that the word Moro is taken from the Spanish word for Moor, el Moro, since the Moors' 700-year occupation of Spain is the tie between cultures and foodways that the Clarks call "the saffron-cinnamon link."

I promise an exotic treat from this new cookbook one day soon...M. and S., thank you!

Recipe: Salade Nicoise

People at Mr. Food Musings' office often ask him how he stays so thin, what with all my cooking and the dining out. Lucky him, he's a string bean, having inherited skinny genes from both parents. I'm the one fighting the constant battle of the bulge, and though my boot camp workouts help, I have to balance my "foie gras and 4 bottles of wine" nights with more spare meals.

One lunch standby that fits the bill, whether I'm eating in or out, is the Salade Nicoise. The French get credit for this salad composed of tuna over lettuces dressed with a light vinaigrette and a smattering of tomatoes, potatoes, olives and green beans. It's super quick to make if you keep a few things on hand, and for anyone following Weight Watchers (gulp - I am, again, such have been my excesses of late) it's only about 5 points. Plus it combines cancer-busting veg with a bit of protein to keep you from getting hungry again in a few hours.

Salade Nicoise
Yield: 1

I'm not going to worry about exact quantities here, except for the tuna. Veggies are good for you in so many ways - they're energy-dense, full of fiber and many have a wonderful inherent sweetness we miss when we drown them in butter or salad dressing - so I'll throw in anything I have in the fridge; you'll see some asparagus spears and carrots in this photo. I usually struggle to finish my salad, it ends up being so filling.

lettuce (use anything but iceberg so you get flavor and nutrients - iceberg is nothing but H2O)
1 Roma tomato, or half a regular tomato, chopped
1-2 TBSP vinaigrette, either oil and vinegar or store-bought
salt and pepper to taste
1 small potato, boiled or nuked, cooled, and quartered
10 olives
French (or other variety of fresh) green beans, steamed and cooled
1/3 - 1/2 cup tuna fish
1 hard-boiled egg, quartered (optional)

It doesn't take much to make this once you've got your green beans steamed and your potato cooked. I generally toss the lettuce and tomato with about a tablespoon each of olive oil and lemon juice or red wine vinegar, then sprinkle with salt and pepper. I tip it out onto a big plate and then let my artsy side take over, arranging cute little potato quarters, olives, and green beans around the side of the plate. I add 1/3 cup of tuna on top, sprinkle with a tad more salt and pepper, and munch away.

The Side of Restaurants You Don't See

For all the ink that's given over to glorifying celebrity chefs and lauding their culinary triumphs, it's nice to see some ink being given to the people who get that food out night after night after night, on tired feet and with little sleep. What struck me about Miguel, the story's protagonist, is his unrelenting desire to go farther, do more, push harder. Something to think about the next time I'm sitting at dinner, marveling at the bright green fava beans and softly braised pork shoulder, enjoying a glass of wine with Mr. Food Musings. There's a back story, after all, and one worth knowing.

You may have to register online at the Washington Post to read this story. Make sure you watch the video, too.

Restaurant Roundup: Café Maritime, C&L Steak, Incanto

Café Maritime
The Scene A good neighborhood seafood restaurant merges anonymously into the onslaught of traffic and noise that is Lombard Street near Scott. Inside, vestiges of the sea permeate, from painted seascapes to wavy lengths of light glass that hide the kitchen from diners' eyes.
The Staff Chef Pepe Pumacayo dishes out raw fruits-de-mer, Maine lobster rolls, and seafood pastas with aplomb. Go for the food, not the service, which on our visit consisted of one college-aged dude who found the specials too difficult to learn anew each night. Uh, okay.
The Stand outs Teeny weeny kumamoto oysters on the half shell are a great introduction to the bivalve; these are tender and creamy with merely a nod to the bright salty sea they once called home. The house salad, a refreshing mix of green beans, radish, avocado and lettuces, comes with a mound of sweet lobster salad piled high on a wedge of toast. The crab cake appetizer boasts nearly no filling and is enough for a meal. Make sure you order the miniature coconut creme pie; once an insider's secret, it's now on the menu and feeds two from its silken insides and crisp, flaky butter crust.
The So whats? The lobster salad in the Maine lobster roll, though good, is a tad too sweet to match my recollections of the original. But if that's the worst I can say, you know you're in pretty good hands.

Café Maritime, San Francisco, 2417 Lombard Street, 415-885-2530

C&L Steak
The Scene A steakhouse with echoes of an old-moneyed gentleman's club (think comfy chairs that have fashionably lost their twinge of newness) and a soupcon of Hemingway's favorite Parisian haunt now occupies the space that once housed the joyless Charles Nob Hill. You almost expect a fire to be burning in one corner of the bar, with droll patrons looking out on the glittering condos with jealousy or pride. Eschew the front room in favor of the back, where golden walls and plush wine-colored banquettes entice you to sit all night long over a glass of wine...and another...and another, till the staff kicks you out.
The Staff Though Aqua titan Laurent Manrique oversees the kitchen, it's southerner and Aqua alum Peter Zoole who's in the kitchen each night. Inspiration comes from both chefs' travels across the U.S., and Zoole's southern roots get their due.
The Stand outs The playful menu takes steakhouse favorites (salads, sides, steak and desserts) on a tour through major U.S. cities and presents them in full regional regalia. You can order soup to nuts from just one town, or city-hop. Denver inspired Zoole to think of cowboys around a campfire, eating beans from a can and brewing coffee over the flames. The resulting rib-eye is rubbed with coffee and served with bean sauce, and make-your-own S'mores are dessert: be careful you don't burn yourself as you roast homemade marshmallows over the hot blue flame. New Orleans' crayfish Caesar salad lets the delicate sweetness of the crustacean shine through, despite an ample coat of finger-lickin' good Bayou heat. Atlanta's caramelized onion grits are a must order, whether you think you like grits or you hate 'em; these are creamy and lush and topped with two light-as-air fried onion rings. And the Boston baked beans, oh my, I nearly licked the dish clean. Molasses and brown sugar sweeten them up while Linguica sausage adds zing. Come to think of it, all the sides are to die for...a meal composed of those alone is swoon-worthy indeed.
The So whats? San Francisco's petite filet in sourdough seems unnecessarily fussy, though the steak itself (from Painted Hills in Oregon) is juicy and flavorful. Denver's chilled iceberg lettuce with smoked mountain trout is lackluster compared to the other salads that pack way more personality and punch.

C&L Steak, San Francisco, 1250 Jones Street, 415-771-5400

Incanto
The Scene The sun bathes this Noe Valley trattoria in a warm glow if you go for an early dinner; the front is entirely framed in window glass. The food takes center stage even when it comes to decoration: a vase of asparagus stands in water on the hostess's desk in lieu of flowers, and the deli case is full of salumi, garlic, chili peppers and onions proudly displayed. The front room is basic with blond wood and dark green curtains, and a tiny back room that looks like a library boasts much of the restaurant's wine collection.
The Staff Chef Chris Cosentino, the second man to run the kitchen, comes by way of Rubicon, Chez Panisse and the now-closed Redwood Park. He includes at least two nightly dishes made of offal, all those bits most Americans think should be thrown in the garbage, because he believes it honors the animal and keeps Old World tradition alive. A word to the habitually late: call ahead and warn them but don't expect niceties. We were told firmly they'd hold the table for 10 minutes - no more. Harumph! Service was good, if perfunctory.
The Stand outs Mr. Food Musings happily ordered the agnolotti with pig's brains - and I happily abstained. The flavor, described as similar to sweetbreads, sounded great, but the texture - runny scrambled eggs - turned me off. (I can vouch for the deep, soothing broth.) Crostini slathered with bright green fava bean puree was paired with roughly chopped strawberries, an unusual - and genius - combination. Salmon crudo was soft and sweet with young green almonds, not quite hard on the inside. Pastas, be they big stretches of handkerchiefs and plentiful pork ragu, or tagliatelle, broccoli rabe, garlic scapes and chili flake, melded flavors perfectly. Our foursome traded bites around the table in a constant game of musical plates, and no one got the raw end of the deal.
The So whats? Not a damn thing. The food was wonderful - inventive, rustic, bursting with flavor and well-priced. The space itself didn't cast much of a spell, but next time you're thinking of Delfina, give Incanto a call instead.

Incanto, San Francisco, 1550 Church Street, 415-641-4500

Heavy Metal

Published in The Northside (local San Francisco paper) June 2005.
Fashion/Beauty column: trend watch for metallics. Read the column.
Download Northside_Metallics.pdf

Hostess with the Mostest

Knowing that I am a huge cupcake fan, Little Sister's friend M. recently wrote to me about her cupcake adventures in New York City.

I won’t deny that I have a sweet tooth. Nevertheless, it’s usually someone else who suggests splitting dessert (with me eating more than my half!) To me, the typical choices on dessert menus seem uninspired – and uninspiring. Crème brulée, molten chocolate cake, flan, sorbets made of seasonal fruits, something clever involving Nutella…all are too easy to come by at fine restaurants and TGI Friday's alike. Yes, they’re delicious and sinful, but even the more inventive desserts seem to be treading old ground. I believe dessert should be fun!

This is why I’m mystified by the cupcake rage. The childhood dessert revival is the epitome of treading old ground – but without the fun. When I was a kid, I used to frost my own cupcakes, decorate them with multicolored sprinkles and make smiley faces with red hots. They tasted awful, but they had character. Now, urbanites in million dollar apartments are embracing their childhood by waiting in line for cupcakes that are impersonal and overly precious. I waited in line once to try a Magnolia cupcake, the hottest mini-treat in town; I was left unimpressed and slightly nauseous, and vowed never again.

But on a visit to Long Island City, my friend K. suggested lunch at Sage American Kitchen, a neighborhood catering company. She wanted me to try their homemade Hostess cupcake, the Fauxstess. For a second time, I gave in to the novelty cupcake hype, but this time, I was genuinely excited.

The Hostess was not a childhood staple for me. With the exception of the occasional Nilla Wafer or windmill cookie, my mom avoided packaged foods and Hostess cupcakes were strictly verboten, which made them even more appealing. Now that I’m all grown up, financially independent and live several states away, I can’t bring myself to buy them. Twenty-five year old girls living in New York are supposed to like trendy Magnolia cupcakes, not the Hostess variety.

I decide that there will be two tests for this Fauxstess cupcake:
1) Can the icing peel off in one continuous motion, completely separating from the rest of the cake?
2) Does the filling inside hover somewhere between whipped cream and frosting, neither overtaking nor being overtaken by the chocolate cake?

One look at the Fauxstess ($2) reveals a relatively small cupcake that’s curvier than the original. The other elements are all there: chocolate cake, dark frosting, mysterious filling and iconic white squiggle. I put it to the first test and try to peel off the icing. It fails. Drat! I always got a kick out of doing that; it’s a sick pleasure, like putting glue on my hand and peeling it off after it dries, then trying to convince my mom that I had a flesh-eating virus.

But on to the second, more important test: the filling. The inside is still weirdly wonderful and enhanced by the moist chocolate cake, far superior to the dry original. Sage American Kitchen knows what it’s doing; this version is fudgy and delicious, a definite taste improvement.

With the same lovable qualities of the packaged classic, the Fauxstess is a good compromise between going to the bodega for a trans-fatfull Hostess and waiting in line at Magnolia. And for someone who had a Hostess-free childhood, this cupcake actually seems exotic. I’ll take one of these over a crème brulée any day.

Tip: If you have more cash to spend and don’t have time to make it to Queens, you can visit St. Bart’s Café (catered by Sage). For $9, you can get the Hostess dessert, a platter of cupcakes and ice cream.

Sage American Kitchen, Queens, NY, 26-21 Jackson Avenue, 718-361-0707
Sage American Kitchen's St. Bart’s Café, New York, 109 East 50th Street, 212-888-2664
Magnolia Bakery, New York, 401 Bleecker Street, 212-462-2572

Manresa

Forget Thomas Keller: David Kinch is the new chef to bow down to in the Bay Area. His restaurant, Manresa, is tucked away in an unobtrusive yellow bungalow on a sleepy side street in the wealthy enclave of Los Gatos, and was just named to this year’s list of Top 50 Restaurants in the World by Restaurant magazine. Some refer to it coyly as French Laundry South, but to call it that dismisses with a flick of the pen what might be the area’s brightest new star.

Recently there's been much ado over Manresa, especially in food blog circles; after Saturday night, I consider myself one of the converted. I can only hope that our dining companions that night – C., who has been angling to guest star on my blog for ages, and his girlfriend C., who dropped out of the picture 7 months ago (much to my chagrin, oh-ho, MUCH to my chagrin) and is now back in the picture (I literally did a little dance when I saw her for the first time again in Manresa. Everyone stared. Who cares? I was ECSTATIC!) – will not be disappointed to find that this post focuses entirely on the food, the food, oh, the food. I beg their forgiveness for, though they are witty and wise, I have 16 exquisite courses to get through. And at Manresa, it’s all about the food. The service is professional and relaxed, the décor cozy and decidedly not pretentious, but trust me – it’s all about what’s on the plate.

And so it began, with a glass of champagne and a reunion of good friends, two of them back on track after a few months of momentary insanity (that’s C. and C., folks, not me and Mr. FM.)

Black olive madeleines and red pepper gumdrops The olive-laced madeleines, warm and crisp on the outside, would have made Proust weep. The savory gumdrops balanced them with a hint of the pepper’s natural sweetness and a dusting of sugar.

Citrus salad in oolong tea gelée with fresh mint Tiny precious segments of orange and grapefruit swam in a clear tea sea. Light and bright.

Foie Gras Cromequis Heaven and Orgasm rolled into one. What looks like a small cube of fried, breaded cheese is really foie gras. Eat it in one bite and shake and shudder in ecstasy as the foie gras, rendered liquid by the high heat, oozes into your mouth with its earthy, sensuous goodness. Oh, God...

“The Egg” Considered a nod to Alain Passard's famous egg at l'Arpege in Paris, this egg is coddled for 60 seconds and served in the shell with a drizzle of maple syrup. Dip your mother-of-pearl spoon all the way to the bottom and scoop up the soft, golden yolk, pillowy clouds of egg white and whipped cream, and a hint of Mother Nature's sweetener. (For a photo of Passard's egg, click here and then again when you see Chaud-froid d'oeuf fermier, Sirop d'érable.)

Broccoli soup with foie gras and a Parmesan crisp The Parmesan crisp, meant for sharing, came to the table in the shape of a hook. It looked like a Mexican churro, sans cinnamon and sugar, with deep grooves etched all the way around. Its crisp skin oozed butter and reminded me of the Perfect French Fry. The soup combined broccoli, pureed smooth, with more foie gras.

Scallop sashimi and yuzu consommé The raw scallop had been minced into nearly microscopic pieces, then recomposed in the scallop's familiar oval shape. Served in a mother-of-pearl shell with equally miniature chives and quivering consommé made of yuzu, a citrus fruit found mainly in Japan that hovers between tangerine and grapefruit.

Soft shell crab with avocado and wilted dandelions One half of the plumpest, juiciest soft shell crab I've ever had the good fortune to place on my tongue. Lightly fried and served atop gently mashed avocado with echoes of lemon, and thin strands that resembled cabbage or bean sprouts but which careful questioning revealed were, in fact, dandelion.

Black cod with crab and salmon roe A small morsel of ebony-skinned cod, served skin side up and bathed in a bit of broth and butter, fresh strings of sweet crab meat and fat globes of salmon roe like none other I've tasted: creamy and rich, no hint of fishiness or brine. I relished each as it popped in my mouth and slid down my throat.

Veal sweetbreads Don't turn up your nose; these succulent sweetbreads were fried with an easy touch and served with round baby carrots, orange slices and wild asparagus whose stems were so delicate and its buds so top-heavy, it was hard to imagine them standing up on the mountainside at all.

Squab with cherries and cippolini onions One thigh and breast of luscious dark meat, the color of an old Burgundy, with warmed cherries and caramelized whole cippolini onions.

Venison with fried squash blossoms The quarter-sized piece of venison was accompanied by a mound of minced dried fruit, not oily enough to call a pesto but that's the best I can do. The zucchini blossom was stuffed with spinach and a mild creamy cheese (ricotta?) before being gently fried.

Mini ice cream cones In rainbow colors of cherry, rhubarb, mango and green apple on crisp homemade cones the color of caramel.

Mini strawberry soufflé with lemon custard Served in a teacup-sized soufflé pan, the soufflés airy and ethereal as any soufflé should be, one small, perfect red slice of strawberry baked on top.

Chocolate marquis with condensed milk ice cream A mousse-like cake, fluffy in consistency but dense in flavor, with an ice cream so rich it deserves a new name.

Chocolate madeleines with strawberry gumdrops The meal came full circle and ended as it had begun, with dessert madeleines and gumdrops.

Manresa, Los Gatos, 320 Village Lane, 408-354-4330

Mr. Food Musings' First Post!

What can I say? We're a couple of talented writers. (Get it? A couple. Ha!) Here's the story of Mr. FM's latest solo dinner with his folks while I was away in Washington DC.

The journey always begins the same way—in a rush. The truth is, I have a terrible habit of arriving 30 minutes late for just about every occasion, and try as I might, it’s a habit I can’t seem to break—especially without the help of Ms. Food Musings, who on this day, a Sunday, was back east visiting her best, closest and very pregnant friend, L. And so, having grown lonely in Ms. FM’s long absence, I promised my parents I would be at the house in time for a nice walk before dinner, and there I was, late, driving fast enough down the hills of Gough Street to feel intermittent touches of weightlessness, then weaving through the messy, construction-infested tangle that leads to Highway 101 before finally merging onto perhaps the greatest freeway in the world for those who are chronically late, 280.

I have driven 280 more than any other freeway in my life, and I always feel a sense of tranquility on this fast and most beautiful of roads. With the speedometer reading 90 MPH, I took in the view of the Crystal Springs reservoir, glassy blue in the scar of the San Andreas; the hills, which on so many days, this day included, seem to be holding back a slow-motion ocean of fog; and everywhere the color green, a result of winter grasses being watered well into late spring this year by rain, rain and more rain.

Exiting at A. Road, I arrived at my parents’ precisely 30 minutes late. Dad was carefully flattening the grocery bags from his earlier trip to the store, where he had purchased fresh, wild salmon, the only kind he buys for reasons of both taste and health. On the counter were portabella mushrooms still brown with dirt, plump asparagus spears and a scattering of potatoes. Per protocol, Dad would take command of the fish and mushrooms, both destined for the hot coals of the grill, and my Mom would subdue the vegetables to perfection on the stove and in the oven. But first, a walk.

In years past, we would all go on walks together, but since my Mom’s recent hip replacement surgery (all went well), Dad and I have been the only ones keeping up the tradition. Ms Food Musings joins us occasionally, but is usually content to keep my Mom company while we’re out.

In truth, I don’t mind that it’s just my Dad and me. It’s a chance for us to talk about all the things we like to talk about, namely business and stocks, without boring Mom and Ms. Food Musings to tears. On this day, we talked about recent investments, all of which were going wondrously for Dad and wondrously badly for me (though they still hold the promise of someday delivering vast wealth. Someday…) I also rely on these walks for career advice and thoughts on life, and occasionally there is the new dwelling under construction to trespass upon, inspect and critique.

Returning to the house, we mixed a drink. Sometimes it’s a margarita, sometimes it’s a daiquiri made the authentic way, but more often than not - and on this day - it’s a Jack Rose. Made with apple brandy, grenadine and lemon - and always to the ratio my Dad swears by (8 parts base, two parts citrus and one part sweetener) - it’s a powerful drink both tart and sweet. Over the years, we have made Jack Roses with calvados, both vintage and non, but recently we have been using genuine AppleJack, the brandy that puts the Jack in Jack Rose and that is made only by America’s oldest distillery, Laird & Company, established 1780.

Drinks mixed and poured, Dad and I stepped outside to start the charcoal using his new chimney, which was purchased after the electrical starter broke, a fate suffered after roughly two years of use, just like all the starters that came before. The charcoal was Dad’s latest refinement, a mix of mesquite-laced briquettes and actual mesquite, and the result of both his engineering background (he likes how the briquettes slow the burn a bit) and his North Dakota thrift (briquettes cost a lot less than real mesquite). All of this took place in the Weber grill, the simplest money can buy, a now-classic bowl resting on a tripod of metal tubes.

Meanwhile in the kitchen my Mom modestly transformed the asparagus into perfectly steamed vegetables requiring only a touch of pepper once served to find completion. The potatoes, quartered and broiled, were coated in peasant-style Dijon mustard and a mix of herbs, the round mustard seeds visible, a simple looking dish full of complex flavors. On the counter sat my favorite dessert, an apple crisp, baked earlier that day and giving up its heat ever so slowly.

As dinner neared, I headed out to the wine cellar to find something old, something red, something French. My Dad, after years of haranguing from both me and my Mom, has finally installed racks in the wine cellar, formerly a pool dressing room and now considerably more useful, and this Sunday was the first time I saw the results. It’s a thing of beauty. I no longer have to risk grievous back injury – or worse, losing a bottle of 30-year-old wine to the hard concrete floor. Cheered by this turn of events, I selected a 1990 Chateau Angelus, St. Emilion, Grand Cru and walked back to the house triumphant.

Dinner was served. Conversation flowed. Everything was perfect, except for the vacant fourth chair, which would normally be occupied by a smiling, rapidly talking Ms. Food Musings. As you know if you are a regular reader of this blog, she is a Southerner through and through, and relishes telling stories and trading commentary over the day’s last meal. Without her presence, dinner was decidedly a bit more subdued than usual.

Finishing my final remnant of fire-touched salmon followed by a last, long drink of Bordeaux, I helped clear the table before the apple crisp was served, now cooled to warm and accompanied by cream both whipped and iced to create a grand, sweet finish. My Mom, still recovering a bit, announced she was headed off to bed, so my Dad and I made a fire in the living room, poured very small glasses of scotch, and attempted, unsuccessfully, to solve a few of the world’s great problems.

I left around 11:00 to end the journey much the way it had begun, running late and arriving significantly past the hour I had sworn I would be home by. And once again I missed Ms Food Musings. She would have gotten me home a bit earlier and would have sidled up next to me in bed and warmed me to sleep.

(sigh) Isn't he dreamy?

Life is just a bowl full of cherries

They say a picture is worth a thousand words, so forgive me if this post is short. Yesterday morning Mr. Food Musings and I were in Los Gatos, a wealthy Silicon Valley suburb, after dinner the night before at Manresa (oh me, oh my, wait till I tell you all about it!). After a quick breakfast we wandered over to the Los Gatos farmer's market held near the park underneath big fat leaving trees. It's only a few blocks long, but we found fuzzy pods bursting with fava beans; French-style crepes with butter, sugar and cinnamon; mounds of green beans, green garlic, potatoes in every size and color; strawberries galore; infused balsamic oils and fruity-flavored golden olive oils; lumps of fresh crab meat picked clean from the shell; beds of shaved ice full of oysters being shucked one by one and slurped down by the hungry crowd; and a stand of preserves from Fontana Farms. Mr. FM and I were seduced by the strawberry rhubarb but if I'm ever down that way again, you may see me loading up on raspberry and peach or very berry. The fruit had warmed under the hot morning sun and a dab slithered down my chin before I caught it. The ingredients are simple: just picked fruit, sugar, pectin and lemon. We swiped a flat of big red strawberries and a bag of sweet cherries, then sat for a minute with the sun warming the tops of our heads and shoulders before heading back to the City.

Fun with Cucumbers

Ah, the lowly cucumber, a most underrated summer refresher. Cocombre, in French, which is much more fun to say (ko-KOM-bruh). For a late morning snack I whacked off the green peeling, so dark that in my dimly lit kitchen it looked almost black, cut it into chunky slices and sprinkled it with a healthy dousing of salt, pepper and apple cider vinegar. A treat my southern grandmother used to serve in the summertime to cool down our mouths on a muggy day when we'd otherwise be left to swelter in the thick heat.

Other ways I like to eat cucumbers:
~ sliced into a pitcher of water that's kept ice-cold in the fridge
~ on slices of melba toast or sweet wheat crackers with a smear of cream cheese or goat cheese
~ with a scoop of tangy sour cream
~ on a bread and butter sandwich
~ sliced once lengthwise, the seeds scooped out and filled with warmed artichoke dip or crab salad
~ garnishing my friend R.'s martini made with Hendrick's, a Scottish gin infused with cucumber, coriander seed, the more familiar juniper berries, citrus peel and rose petals. It's deliciously herbal and mineraly.