An early epiphany

Epiphany. Or Theophany. From the ancient Greek, meaning "vision of god." A Christian feast day that celebrates the revelation of Jesus Christ to the biblical Magi as the son of God. Typically celebrated on or around January 6, the twelfth day of Christmas.


While in Tudor England the twelfth night or epiphany marked the end of a winter festival that began with Halloween, the event was a little lower key in my household growing up. My mother proclaimed this the day that the decorations returned to boxes in the back corner of the basement, and my father somewhat gratefully relinquished his post as the fourth wise man, leaning over the nativity each evening to test the light bulb illuminating the northern star for potential fire-producing heat.


As this holiday season draws to a close, my "epiphany" (or revelation) comes a little early and is far more secular than sacred. Oddly appropriate at this point in my spiritual life. But I digress...


January first was a celebration of the wonderful world of Chinese food for John and me. Scintillating conversation with friends over a bite-sized brunch of dim sum provided a sensational transition into 2012. And we chose to have dinner at a new and promising new Chinese restaurant within walking distance from home: Yiping. We're gradually working our way through the menu at Yiping, which focuses on authentic (less-Americanized) Chinese cuisine using fresh, local ingredients. And on Sunday January 1, my epiphany came in the form of Ma Po Tofu.


A popular dish in the Sichuan province of China, I was introduced to this tofu-based dish by a former coworker while working in Fremont, and fell in immediate if confused love. While I've had versions of the dish that incorporated ground pork or beef, Yiping's rendition is vegetarian -- and fiery hot.


My first surprise was that this was John's first exposure to ma po tofu. He was equally surprised when it arrived at the table. Looking at the clearly chili-based sauce, he exclaimed "YOU ordered THAT!?!" Because while I'm far from a "mayonnaise mouth," I tend to be far less tolerant of spicy dishes than he is. I suspect he had concerns that I'd be unable to tolerate the heat and he'd be eating a primarily plant based dinner...


I've never understood my inconsistent response to spicy food -- why some dishes blow my head off, but others work, and work really well. The closest I've come to articulating this is the feeling that in order to enjoy the spiciest foods, they need to provide more than just heat -- a smoke, a sweetness, something to set it off.


But as I moved my chopsticks back and forth between the tofu and Yiping's equally unctuous fried rice, light dawned over marble head. An epiphany. Because while I got all of the mind numbing, nasal cleaning, tear-inducing side effects of the tofu dish, nothing in that experience numbed the sweetness of the snap peas or the nutty rice. Yes, it burned, but it didn't burn my palate. It didn't destroy my ability to taste -- and enjoy -- the other food on the table.


And while I can't honestly claim to have seen God in that moment, my universe did become a little clearer. An excellent way to launch a new calendar year.

Closing the Kitchen on 2011...

As we close the kitchen door on 2011 -- we're going out to eat this evening -- I want to reassure those of you not following my food photography on Facebook that while I didn't share it here, we didn't exactly spend a year in fasting. The image to the left emerged from the oven for dinner last night, our takeon this Blue Kitchen masterpiece. Bacon and blue cheese... a capital note on which to close the kitchen.

I leave you this evening with a collage of images representing a year's worth of comestibles. As I get back into the groove over the next few weeks, the stories behind some of them will appear on these pages. While 2011 was certainly a year filled with change it was also one of discovery and reaffirmation. Happiness to me is sharing good food with good friends.

• A beer and a burger with my "Sick Sigma" buddies from Sunnyvale.
• A sensational summer afternoon sipping sparkling wine...
• Introducing an old friend to a new trend: pork belly buns off of a food truck...
• An amazing "caught this morning" roasted salmon fillet...
• Portuguese cheese sold from an outbuilding on a Petaluma farm...
• The ultimate farmer's market find: saurkraut "juice" as the ultimate cure for radiation-induced dehydration...
• A last minute reunion with some of the people who inspired my early love of food, over dim sum after Thanksgiving...

Here's to a happy, healthy, peaceful and prosperous 2012!

dusting this thing off...

Three hundred sixty four days ago, I proclaimed 2011 "a new year, a new decade, a blank slate with infinite possibility."

Almost a year later I can say with the twenty-twenty clarity of hindsight that I had NO idea how true that statement would become.

Three months later I found myself unemployed. Neither a surprise nor a disappointment, but certainly an inconvenience. And in the end, a great blessing. Because it forced me to look without filters at who I am, what I want, and where I'll find happiness.

Six months later I accepted the offer for what's turning out to be my dream job. I'm neither a food writer nor a restaurateur (those are fantasy jobs, not dream jobs). I get to use both my God-given talents and my post-university education to make the world a better place -- at least for some people working in human resources in the healthcare industry. It's been a huge shift from high tech, and I've let go of some fun techie toys in the process. But what I do today has a real impact on real people, not just margins and stock prices. And I sleep much better knowing that.

Nine months later I came face-to-face, eye-to-eye with my mortality... and kicked it summarily to the curb. I'm not done with this world (nor it with me) yet. I'll spare the gory details except to say that if you're reading this and you're a woman over 40, go get the mammogram.

There's 2011 in less than 400 words. Bring on 2012!

Turn the page...

Two thousand eleven?

Or twenty eleven?

A new year, a new decade, a blank slate with infinite possibility.

Honestly I'm less concerned about what we're going to call it; I'm still trying to figure out how the heck we got here... so quickly. As I flip the calendar forward I find myself reflecting on the moments that in many ways define the lens through which I see the world today. Some represent key ingredients in the recipe that is my life. Others seemed insignificant in the moment, but provide the salt, seasonings and structural elements critical to a balanced dish.

1978 brought us Saturday Night Fever, Space Invaders and the very first cell phone. My parents balked at spending 70c a gallon on gasoline as they sat in blocks-long lines waiting to fill the tank in the Nova. We celebrated my tenth birthday in Lake Tahoe where I learned that for the rest of the world "ethnic" wasn't synonymous with Italian. We dined at a Greek restaurant whose name I've long forgotten, but I can still taste the beautifully balanced complexity of the moussaka and the strange lasagna the waiter called pastizio, the brightness that lemon and a sprinkle of salt brought to the fried potatoes. My horizons expanded 100% in that experience.

1983 gave birth to both the internets and Microsoft Word, while 125 million television viewers watched the 4077 fold up the M*A*S*H tents for the final time. For this high school freshman, the adventure lay in Paris, France with seven other teenage girls and a social studies teacher with a sense of adventure, a touch of insanity or perhaps a bit of both. My parents' goal in providing this opportunity was likely to expand my horizons. Perhaps on some level they succeeded: my strongest memories include a pillow war launched over the Atlantic with a rowdy college soccer team from Spain and my first exposure to French wine and steak tartarre.

Mark Wills reminds us that a space shuttle fell out of the sky in 1986, the year that ushered us one step closer to email and offered me closure on twelve years of Catholic education. I won a scholarship that spring with an essay on a topic I'd have to dig through boxes of memorabilia to remember. I left for college that year with no clear idea of what direction my career path would take, but I knowing that ultimately I would write. For myself, if no one else was interested.

Technologically 1989 introduced us to Microsoft Office, the 486 PC, Nintendo's Game Boy and the first GPS satellites. Personally I embarked on a brand new journey in 1989. While I would have told you I was fat in high school (and alongside some of my size 2-4 friends I certainly felt that way), after three years of dorm and cafeteria food I could no longer ignore the freshman fifteen not-quite-forty and with two of my sorority sisters joined Weight Watchers, beginning a twenty year love/hate relationship with the bathroom scale.

While Windows 95 and the introduction of java script were the hot topics in technology, in the spring of 1995 some combination of chance/fate/circumstance put me at the Old Spaghetti Factory in Concord, across the table from the man I would later love like no other. Half a year later, across from the same man at a different table I glanced at his chicken ceasar salad and quipped 'dude, I can taste that pepper from here.' And thus began fifteen years of food and life adventures.

In 1997 the world bids farewell to two iconic ladies of the 20th century: Princess Diana and Mother Theresa of Calcutta, and we're introduced Dolly the genetically engineered lamb and Harry Potter. Personally, Kyle's birth in June creates another branch on the family tree -- and over time an opportunity to pass on heirloom family recipes to the next generation.

While the rest of the world fretted over the consequences of the Y2K bug, my family came face-to-face with the "C" word for the first time in late 1999 when my father -- a lifetime smoker -- was diagnosed with stage IV lung cancer. In the six months that followed I saw the healing power of food at a new level as he taught me his holiday recipe secrets, I spent six hours in December looking for fresh cherries for turnovers, we found an excellent source of take-out chiles rellenos and twelve new ways to serve chicken livers to quiet the chemo cravings and bring peace and comfort.

A $415 million, eight-year federal study completed in 2006 finds that a low-fat diet does not decrease the risk of heart disease, cancer, or stroke and high fructose corn syrup begins its ascent as the latest ugly red-headed stepchild of the food world. And on February 5, 2006 I tiptoed softly onto the food blog scene. Some 1790-days, 28 daring baker challenges, 33 Tuesdays with Dorie, hundreds of dinners out and a handful of holidays later I'm still here. Sometimes vocal, sometimes more silent, but ready to see where the next five, ten, fifteen years will take us...

Coming out of the dark...

Yep...starting again is part of the plan.

I didn't write much here in 2010. Okay, okay, I didn't write at ALL here in 2010.

But with a flip of the calendar we're turning the page; starting a new chapter. I'm ready to see what tastes and temptations that new chapter will bring...

Tart? Pudding? What’s in a name?

When they announced the Bakewell Tart as June's Daring Baker challenge, Jasmine and Annemarie shared some of the old world dessert's history including the controversy behind its name. There's apparently a whole lot of conflict over whether it's a tart or a pudding.

I know my mind works in mysterious ways, but the tart versus pudding debate struck me as Shakespearean in nature. Bill said it best through Juliet: Oh, what's in a name? That which we call a rose by any other word would smell as sweet; so Romeo would, were he not Romeo called, retain that dear perfection to which he owes without that title. Translation: Tart? Pudding? Let's quit arguing and enjoy dessert!

And in retrospect, the Bakewell Tart…er… Pudding is the perfect Shakespearean confection.

Think about it…

The hero: An almost sinful shortcrust pastry base.

The leading lady: An unctuous layer of vine ripened fruit at the peak of perfection.

The comic relief: All topped off with a fluffy frangipane that doesn't feel like it will fit in with the rest of the cast. But it does.

A whole lot of history, a bit of comedy… and the tragedy arrives when the plate is empty. The Bard would have LOVED it. We sure did!

But I digress. The June Daring Bakers' challenge was hosted by Jasmine of Confessions of a Cardamom Addict and Annemarie of Ambrosia and Nectar. They chose a Traditional (UK) Bakewell Tart... er... pudding that was inspired by a rich baking history dating back to the 1800's in England. Required elements included the pastry and the frangipane, but our hostesses left us to our own devices when choosing the fruit filling. For me there WAS no question – I'd stashed away a jar of our Blenheim Jam for precisely this purpose. The tart (pudding) came together without much fuss, and the apricots paired beautifully with the almonds in the finished product.

For those of you who want to try your hand at the tart, Jasmine's posted the recipe here and Annemarie has it here. And the ongoing escapades of the Daring Bakers can now be found in the Daring Kitchen.

Before the Apple revolution…

Long before the Steves - Jobs and Wozniak -revolutionized the world of personal computing by reconfiguring the forbidden fruit, produce of a different type dominated the Silicon Valley. At the turn of the twentieth century the hottest commodity in Santa Clara Valley was the apricot, not the apple. And the Royal Blenheim - a probably hybrid of France's Royal and England's Blenheim apricots - was considered the king of pre-Silicon Valley crops from World War II until the tech invasion converted orchards into office parks in the 1970's and 80's.

Despite their regal status, these days the finicky Blenheim is often more of a wall flower than a homecoming queen. By today's standards they're smaller than your average apricot and they often retain a pale green tinge around the edge, even at the peak of flavor. Their delicate flesh bruises easily, making them difficult to market to a consumer who equates blemish-free with beauty and perfection. But if you're willing to peak beneath the surface, the Blenheim packs quite a reward. So when John learned that this summer's harvest from the folks at Peter Wolfe Ranch in Brentwood was available for pick-up we cleared the calendar for the weekend.

We made the trek to Brentwood on Saturday morning, hoping to beat the heat. Vera – the voice of our trusty Verizon-provided GPS navigation system – served us well, only whining a couple of times about "recalculating route…" as she guided us through the rapidly expanding suburban sprawl of strip malls and cookie-cutter houses toward our destination. When we emerged from the car we were pleasantly surprised NOT to be overwhelmed by the heat and we made our way to the shed to pick up our stash. And one taste of the elusive apricot made it clear to us that "progress" is a matter of perspective. I'll take a green-tinged blemished Blenheim over the softball-sized firm-fleshed apricots lining the aisles at the mega mart any day. These little guys are liquid sunshine, and at least in my head they are the taste equivalent of the color apricot.

We spent Sunday deploying 24 pounds of apricots. Sadly I spent most of the day scouring the marts of trade for canning supplies since Amazon's shipping department failed to expedite my order. It frightened me that the guy managing the kitchenware department at Bed Bath and Beyond had no idea what a canning funnel or canning tongs were, and was only vaguely more familiar with ball jars, lids, pectin and paraffin. In the end I found the lids and seals on an abandoned aisle at Andronico's, and we made do with my existing inventory of tongs and funnels. Like his great aunt before him, John held hot jars carefully and "offered it up" when they singed his fingertips.

While I was traipsing around the Tri-Valley in search of supplies, John was making my kitchen smell like summer. He started with two preserve recipes: Blenheim Apricot Jam and Apricot Butter. When I got home we pulled out the ice cream bowl attachment for the Kitchen Aid and made David Lebovitz' Apricot Sorbet. And I pitted the last of a pound of farmer's market cherries and set to work on a custardy Apricot Cherry Clafouti.

All in all, a weekend well spent.

For a little more history on the beautiful Blenheim, see this article from the Chronicle in 2004.

In defense of the doggie bag...

Pay attention to what your body's telling you.

That's one of the pieces of advice I'm trying to employ in my quest for a healthier lifestyle as I transition into late middle youth. And while I'm willing to drink a little lemonade and not so many beers (I'm not a beer fan anyway) and eat a few more salads in my next thirty forty years, I'm NOT willing to give up my passion for good food. So in an effort at portion control, I'm a judicious proponent of the doggie bag when dining out. And since I've NEVER liked leftovers, that forces me out of my comfort and into my creative zone.

Take a recent dinner; a conglomeration of take out and in house leftovers.

I started with about a cup of chirashi rice leftover from lunch at Koji's. Added some chopped onion and leftover steamed asparagus. And kicked it up a notch with a dash of Thai sweet chili sauce. I paired this dish with an egg scrambled with another container of sauteed mixed mushrooms left over from dinner at Bridges. Seasoned with a bit of oregano, a nice foil for my take on "fried rice."

A nourishing, soul-satisfying, virtually no (addional) cost meal.

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Twenty dollars in tomatoes???

Juicy little sun-ripened pearls of red, orange, and yellow, cherry tomatoes have always been among my favorite aspects of late summer. As I've matured I've put names to the faces of the Sungold and the Sweet 100, and I've learned that while they're available at the mega-mart virtually year-round, they're just got as tasty trucked up from the southern hemisphere in the dark days of December...

So when I learned that my little Aerogarden offered a kit with cherry tomatoes I thought my md-winter dream of caprese salad might become reality. I'm not exactly a green thumb -- to my mother's great dismay I killed the unkillable palm tree and cactus in college -- but we had some luck with the aerogarden herbs last fall and I was willing to take a risk...

And as you can see from the over-exposed photograph above, I DID get tomatoes. Tasty tomatoes. They were slow growing, but the little buds after 8 weeks and the itty bitty orbs in the 12th week kept my attention.

I think I missed something in the instructions around properly supporting them though -- my plants caved under the weight of the fully ripened fruit, and each plant yielded about 30 tomatoes before completely giving in. So I'll call it a qualified success and try again next year...

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Cheesecake: The Sequel (or a tasty sauce hides a world of sins)

A year ago we conquered cheesecake for children. With this month's Daring Baker challenge, we showcase a more grown-up cheesecake, in many cases all dressed up and headed to the prom. Or the Oscars. For those with baking skills.

For someone with my (lack of) talent with cheesecake, we're headed for the homeowner's association planning meeting. Whee!

But I digress...

The April 2009 challenge is hosted by Jenny from Jenny Bakes. She has chosen Abbey's Infamous Cheesecake as the challenge. But she's given us a LOT of leeway in the execution. She challenged thousands of us to play with it. Make it unique. Make a showstopper of a dessert. Add flavor, sauces, decorations – dress it up and show it off.

Um... sure. You realize you're pushing buttons here Jenny. I thought I'd proved in December that I'm cheesecake impaired? You want me to get CREATIVE?!?!

So I took a couple of deep, cleansing zen-like breaths, rolled up my sleeves, grabbed an apron, said a silent prayer to Martha, Peabody, Shuna, Tartlett and a host of my other baking gods and goddesses... and made some minor modifications to the base recipe.

I went with a meyer lemon theme, paying homage to the fruit I played softball with in the back yard as a kid, never guessing I'd one day be spending $1.25 a piece for them.

I zested the lemon before I juiced it, and tossed the zest in with a combination of graham crackers and almond meal to form the crust.

I added a bit of limoncello to the batter.

And when the cake came out of the oven with a couple of crevasses (see... I TOLD you cheesecake impaired), I took a tip from Alton brown and decorated it with a sauce make of sour cream, lemon marmalade and candied meyer lemons.

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Waste not...

Letting you all in on a little secret... I'm not much of a breakfast eater.

Don't get me wrong... I love breakfast FOOD (I love almost ALL food), but if I had my way, my ideal day would start at the crack of noon. Until I was in my mid thirties, breakfast typically consisted of a can of Mountain Dew on my way to school/work. Diet if I was feeling particularly virtuous.

But continuing to enjoy good food as I make the transition into what a colleague calls "late middle youth" requires that I get and keep my (_]_) in gear. Unfortunately my schedule dictates that several of these butt-busting sessions happen in the early morning hours. And since the drama associated with passing out on Lizette mid-workout is a once-in-a-lifetime experience, I find myself becoming better acquainted with breakfast.

One of my go-to (translated: "you can sleep an extra 15 minutes because this one takes no time to prepare") pre-workout breakfasts is the humble banana, smeared with a tablespoon of peanut butter. Potassium and protein both seem to fuel my workout, and a little natural sugar gives me an additional energy boost.

The problem? I'm picky about bananas. I like them almost green. If they've gone all the way yellow, they're over-ripe for me. And they cross my line very quickly, so if I'm not very careful this produces a lot of waste.

So I'm always on the lookout for good banana bread and muffin recipes -- a nice alternative to tossing a mushy banana into the blender for a smoothie. And I recently found a GREAT recipe over at Sugar Laws for some mighty yummy Banana Saffron Muffins. Easy to assemble and Katy's right: the saffron adds a subtle but distinct flavor and makes these muffins something special. An added bonus: they freeze well, and tossed in the toaster oven for a minute and then smeared with a bit of peanut butter it's every bit as quick and satisfying as the aforementioned standard.

And anything that affords me a few extra minutes of sleep is a VERY good thing. Just ask anyone who's had the misfortune of scheduling a 6:30 AM conference call with me...

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