a love of labor

Fava beans. Do you love them or hate them? Maybe you love to eat them, but couldn't imagine ever putting in the labor beforehand to do so. This is where I stood just a few years ago. I liked the idea of them, but somehow when it came to boiling, then shelling, then skinning, then cooking again, I just couldn't manage. But things are different now. Funny as it sounds, I love the labor involved.

About a month ago, I bought my first sack of favas of the season. Bringing them home and performing all the labor, I was depressed thinking of the tiny amount of beanie yield in the end. So I put them into another dish that is a labor of love. It was my first rice torte with favas in it, and I immediately thought of my grandma. Did she make something like this? The flavors went together well; she must have.

Then, last week, I was at a friend's house picking up my empty beer keg from the Ferment Change party. "Hey, you want some favas?" I think he got to the F when I blurted out "hell yeah!" We went outside and stripped his plants, yielding a bag much larger than what I would pay for at the market. I brought them home, put them in the fridge and planned for some work time the next day.

With the majority of the labor complete, I tossed some bacon and onions in a pan and started cooking. I got the water boiling for noodles. With the onions a light caramel color, and the bacon getting a touch crispy, I chucked in the favas. A few minutes later, they were ready for some sauce. I put in some more butter, a touch of flour, stirred it quickly and thoroughly, then added a cup or so of milk. I cooked it until it was thickening, then added a cup or so of grated parm. It was pointing toward the best thing I've ever made with favas.

My lord it was good! I wolfed down a few bowls AND there were lots of leftovers. Definitely, the best yet.

Then, the next day, I was out in my garden, tending my favas. They are really late, still blooming, but showing promise of having a nice harvest. I had my head down in the plants when some Jehovah's Witnesses came walking by. I stood up to say hi, and attempt to graciously turn down their literature. I was met with a broad smile and few questions:
"Hey, you like the favas? Do you know what to do with the favas?" an elderly woman named Rosa was asking me in somewhat broken english.
"Sure," I said. "You lovingly think of your grandma as you prepare the beans, then fry them up in a pan with some pancetta and onions. Then eat it right there or add some parmesan and put it on some pasta."
"Oh, I see maybe you are Italian no?"
"Kinda."
"Sounds like enough to me. You have a good day."
"I promise," I said.
Then I went inside and had another bowl.

poached scramble with gifted speck

It's been nearly two weeks since the last BFM. I'm going through severe withdrawal. Without fresh veggies, my skin turns ashen, the gray at the temples becomes more pronounced, and I want to sleep more. And it's not just me. The kids get cranky that the broccoli doesn't taste the same as usual. My partner points out that the store bought tofu tastes like the reason why people don't like tofu.

But then, I was rescued. I went to B's house to mix up 100 gallons of persimmon glop for the latest, crazy, fermentation based, hair-brained idea and came home with some wild collected fungus. We still had a few market eggs left over after all the holiday cookie making. Then G-dog came over with some Nueske's bacon yesterday morning and it all came together. It was a fantastic way to start the year.

Now, today, I get on my bike and ride to the market......YEAH!

Oh, and happy 2010!

curing bacon

We have a lot of stickers around here. Stuck to just about anything it can seem sometimes, while others, like these, oh-so-deliberately placed. A nice little dancing diorama constructed on the edge of the art and craft table. (You know what they say about idle little hands.) But this little scene makes me think of how just four and a half short years ago I never ever thought it possible for one person to have a wardrobe that is nearly completely pink. Tutus have been in. Pink of course. Worn at the very least every third day, at some point, but typically daily. Lots of pink swirly prancing about, that I now accept completely as part of my daily life. A part of it reminds me of life in the Castro when I was in college. But, like wow, talk about a whole 'nother post.

Anyway, this past holiday season brought many viewings of the Nutcracker. Combining the tutus and all with a date to the SF Ballet production, we now have a self-proclaimed ballerina. Well not just one, as apparently the girls in our family are. Since the wee one tends to stand on his toes when he is upright, I've been joking and calling him a ballerino. Girlie monkey informed me that he couldn't be because he was a boy.
"Oh, really?" I asked.
"Yeah, mommy and me have the ballerina gene.........but I don't think you do daddy."
"Well, you have me there kid, I'm not much of a dancer."
"Yeah with those BIG feet!" she chuckles.
"Uh, right. So, I guess because mommy has the gene and you came out of her, then you must have gotten it from her!"
"Yeah!" squeeled at about 100db, which during the final second went inaudible, likely on into the dog whistle range.
"Well, maybe since your brother came out of mommy too, then he could have the ballerina gene?"
I was just dying to hear her response.
"Yeah, maybe," she sighs.
"Yeah, maybe?"
"Yeah.............but I don't think so. Because he just kind of hops around and doesn't really dance. I'm pretty sure he got that gene from you."
For four, that's a good grasp on genetics. But this isn't about genes, its about that dancing and prancing about that accompanies little ballerinas. So when I say I heard a loud crashing sound coming from the monkey's room last week you'll know the background.

It was supposedly "quiet time," which is anything but in her room, but outside of it in the rest of the place it can actually be nice. Not quite quiet, but tame for sure. So there I was in the kitchen when I heard a loud crash and resultant spill of toys, followed by a uuuhhhh, uuuUUUUUAAAAHHHHHH, UUAAHHHHH, AAAHHHHHHH!
AHHHH! AHHHAHHH!
D-D-DAAAAAAADDDEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!
Oh shit! Time to step away from the oven and sprint into the other room while simultaneously yanking the lil' one from his high chair and putting him on the floor where it is safer. The elder monkey makes it to me first and is pointing at her chin and whimpering, tears all down her face and wetting the floor.
"Oh sweetie, what happened? Did you smack your chin?"
"Uhhnnnhhh, huhhnnn. Muh-muh-my.........ch-ch-chin."
"Ohhhhh honey, let me see." She lets me check it out and there is a mark under it, but more importantly there is blood in her mouth. "Let me check out your teeth, are they okay" I get out, not waiting for an answer while starting to open her little mouth and have a look. Everything looks good in there. Oh wait, here it is, she punched a hole in her bottom lip when she went down on her face, despite what looks like her chin absorbing most of the blow.
"Looks like you smacked your chin pretty hard and bit your lip pretty good honey. What do you say lets go get your boo-boo bunny for that huh?"
"Yuh-yeah," said with the lips still trembling and the tears slowed down to a trickle.

I look in the fridge and don't see the bunny. I open up the freezer and start looking around. "Sweetie, I can't find the boo-boo bunny, maybe we'll have to give you some frozen peas or something to put on your chin," I say while moving items out of the way and digging around.
"Daddy, we could use that bacon for my chin. I think that would make it feel better."

Anybody fail to see the logic in that one? If so, sorry. Well, okay, here I'll try. My explanation would go something like: to my daughter, bacon can function like a security item, much like a blanket. When she is in pain, she wants security. When she is in pain and needs some icing to keep down the swelling on something, then frozen bacon it is. Sounds like the ultimate fix, mollifying the coolness and comfort needed in the situation with one fix. I'm proud of that kind of thinking in my off-spring.

After twenty minutes of holding it to her face and repeating in a four-year-old version of Homer's voice "mmmmmmm, bacon," I decided it was time to put the bacon on the inside of that chin for some more therapeutic uses. I fried it up. The monkey requested some, citing "oooooh, some nice crispy bacon will definitely make my chin feel better!" She ate about three pieces, making this disclaimer with each piece until I said we needed some to put into our dinner. We had some sweet pea linguine, dry jack and half-n-half just waiting for a cream sauce. I carmelized some onions in the bacon grease, then sauteed up our cauliflower and carrots in the mess thinking I'd hide them in the sauce and kids would love it. I tossed the remainder of our bacon in and hoped it was enough, thinking at the very least it would taste like it was in there whether we saw it or not.

We dished up and sat down.
"Eeeww! That's yuck!" was the response from the elder monkey. She has really been experimenting with this one, saying it even when she eats all of what she had such disgust for. H and I looked at each other and said in stereo cool, more for us then. The wee one seemed to like it just fine, especially the creamy bacony noodles. Elder monkey managed to eat some of the creamy cauliflower. We were all happy the bacon did it's job at being a healing agent. The curative power of bacon. Who knew.

The next morning I was cleaning up and the monkey requested that we have some bacon again. I picked her up to show her that there was no more in the pan, and that although she can smell bacon, it was just hardened fat.
"What's that?" she asked.
I looked at the greasy image and thought I saw something.
"That?" Looking at the forks crossing fat mold. "Oh, I think that's where the bacon fairy must have spent the night."
I pictured the little thing all snug in the grease for the night, and then prying her little self away to fly off in the morning.......

I guess no matter how much anyone tells you, there is no way to really get across how much your world will be changed by your children.

Especially when it yields such tasty dinner.

cornmeal harvest time at the park

As a shopper at many farmers' markets, I've developed a certain eye for particular foodstuffs. Grains for example. They seem to be lacking in selection at most markets, so when I find a good source I make sure to remember when and where, how much and how good. But this too has limits, since although grains store well, the storage bins tend to empty out before harvest time, leaving folks like me just DYING for a month or so before the new crop is ready. Take corn for instance. I just lurv the stuff. Corn on the cob, frozen corn, popcorn, with a special emphasis this year in cornmeal. I can't get enough apparently. With the pickings slim at the markets lately, I was very happy to find that the East Bay Regional Park District can occasionally be a source for fresh, delicious local grains.

This past weekend we went down to Ardenwood Historic Farm in Fremont to enjoy their Harvest Festival with our good friends. We had read about various activities including corn husking and doll making, cider pressing and ice cream making. Also, that grains would be milled on-site, including wheat. And corn. My heart did a little flutter: could it be? please lord let their be some for me......

Luckily, there were even some genuine old-timers around to do the grinding, using a few tractors as power for the belts involved to run the things. It was mesmerizing to stand at a safe distance and watch the spinning and listen to the spittysandygrindy noises as the flour was milled. Another team of folks took the large trays of fresh, warm flour and scooped it into cloth bags, tossing them on a nearby table for another team to sell. We checked it all out and then bought a still slighlty warm bag for the road. I did a little happy dance, and started thinking of cornbread variations and the possibilities of ingesting to much and getting corn bloat.

Come Monday, with the sourdough fed and looking like it's contemplating some sort of alien flight, it was only natural I'd add some cornflour and start with pizza dough. A touch of whole wheat made it in as well, resulting in it being a third whole grain. We went out and picked some rosemary and thyme and added this with the salt near the end of kneading. After a few hours it had poofed up nicely so I put the stone in the oven for a pre-heat.

Our cherry tomatoes out front are continuing to supply us with fruit so we picked a few cups worth and halved them for a topping. Out back the basil is still hanging on, especially the purple stuff. On Sunday, I finally turned some of our roma harvest into a sauce, so we used this as a base, pressed in basil leaves, finished with cheese and oodles of carmelized onions and we're in business. Then it hit me. All the water I use for my gardening needs at home are from Eb-Mud as we affectionately call it around here, so this pizza is really:
EBRPD Grain + EBMUD watered garden = YUM

Fine with me. I love it when two governmental agencies can get together on something for the betterment of the people. Even when they don't know it. With any luck, someone working for one of these will have some staff member who occasionally trolls about looking for who's saying what about them. On the off chance they are I like you guys. A lot. Please keep up the good work!

Ok, ass-kissing aside, I had to fold some of this dough up, especially since I spotted the calzone fiend out in my tomato patch the hour before and knew he must be on the prowl for a freebie. I tossed in some cheese at the last moment (we didn't have much left) hoping the smell would deter my supertaster quasi-vegan cousin from barging in and mooching on my dinner. Apparently it worked. There's still half in the fridge.

Wednesday found us hitting GTK for more corn meal experiments. I had plenty of buttermilk, eggs and cheese, and the jalapeños I had needed using. But who needs excuses to make cornbread? The weather has started turning crappy round these parts and I've been wanting warm things at all meals. Warm bread in particular.

So how lucky was I, when I pulled the bread from the oven and then remembered my ma saying she had some slow cooked pork roast and veggies in the fridge. I got these out and got some heat into them quick. I unmolded the muffins, having eaten one already since I accidently mangled the top. I pulled another two and a slice off the round to consume with the pork. Together, the flavors danced. The peppers were sweet with just a touch of heat. The freshness of the corn really rang. Damn. I ate until I could hardly breathe. The elder monkey was off with the grandparents and the younger was asleep. The entire scene was too much. I thought, I'm super-hella-lucky. I love my life.

The next day, I'm not sure why exactly, but I just had to make more corn bread. Well, kinda. This stuff was a sandwich loaf of sorts, with about a third of a whole grain component, most of which was corn meal. Because I failed to give my starter any notice of my intent to bake, I cheated and used a packet of commercial yeast. That's right folks. Even the Monkey Wrangler occasionally cheats and uses a form of yeast that will go from pure ingredients to baked loaf in under four hours. But, I did feel a bit silly and was thinking of my friend Chilebrown (who's bacon gift I was about to cook) and his deadly good sourdough jalapeño cheddar bread. Failing in the sourdough department, but still feeling inspired, I added some horseradish jack and a few jalapeños to the dough. The loaf came out beautiful, with all the flavor I had imagined in it coming through. I was proud, as it would allow me yet more cornmeal gluttony.

With the ingredients sliced, baked, fried and ready, it was time for some BAT sandwiches with roasted garlic rosemary potatoes. I'd like to take a moment here and thank Chilebrown for the bacon (it was the pork shoulder bacon from Gene's Market. Did that make it Chandler bacon then CB?) as it was most wonderful and satisfying. I'd also like to apologize to my friend Leena who will read this and want to kill me out of jealousy for having such fine bacon at hand. The poor thing. I guess down under you just can't get good bacon. Well, feast your eyes on this girl. I know the picture doesn't highlight the bacon well, but let me tell you: it was extra crispy.

I've toned it down on the corn madness in the last few days and have been concentrating on the cider. I mean, ciders. So far, so good. If all keeps going like it is, it will be cider not vinegar. So happy. Life is good. Busy, but good.

fall break

Holy crap, where have I been the past two weeks? Like, hellloooooo........is there anybody out there still listening? Have I completely lost my audience by now?

Hello?
(thump thump thump.......a static-y clicking sound over and over)
Hello.........is this thing on?

Oh, right, it's about me not the audience, yes that was it. This is a blog not a job, really here to be a collection of thoughts and ideas that need form, direction maybe, at the very least a place to reside. Being that the space is public, you dear reader get to look at what spills out of the head, however occasional it might be. So, where was I?

The end of september was a whirlwind of activity and food preservation, but it did have a few highlights. During one of our wrangler/monkey "date nights" we dropped by the opening party for our friend's new restaurant and got a chance to see a master dessertress in action. The food was delicious, the staff very accommodating and polite, the ambience most tasteful and soothing. But the dessert.......oh, my! Try, like, the cumin pot de creme for starters. Being a party though, we ate gobs of hot fried pastries (not on the menu yet) made outta something called shoe paste, while sitting at a bar or sorts and admiring the green shoed boss run the sweets department. It was witnessing a craft being performed in a niche of heaven. Fried puffs tossed with hot cardamon or rose or fennel or cacao nib, some sugar of course, then maybe some mesquite flour. You name the spice combo it was sublime. We sat around and ate till stuffed. I thought about how I just wanted to sit there all night and do nothing but eat donuts at the bar. I thought of the talking heads: Everybody's trying, to get to the bar. The name of the bar, the bar is called Heaven.

Choux paste, fancy food and delicious drinks aside, the monkey will probably always think of it as the place where she scored a lot of donuts and some tasty ice cream while sitting at a bar with her daddy. I just love building memories.

Speaking of childhood memories.......this was so frickin' satisfying it was nearly criminal. I had some mortadella in the fridge from the BFM and a craving for a sandwich. It brought me back with how rare a treat it was like when as a child, only this was from such a fine source. Nonetheless it reminded me of thirty something years ago. What I needed was some homemeade ketchup and hot mustard to round out the satisfying taste of what I now think of as my modern version of a bologna sandwich. Come to think of it, if the free mortadella had been stolen and not gifted it would definitley be criminal, but sorry to report, it was just nearly so.

The next day, I was out tending to the wild cherry tomatoes that are still going strong (okay, lurking about like some produce criminal) when I noticed that one of the teeny-tiny itty-bitty melons in the front yard was getting soft. I looked both ways down the sidewalk and picked it from the dry looking vine, giving it a whiff and nearly falling over. It smelled fantastic! Could it be true? A decent cantaloupe here in coldville? I brought it inside and hacked it in two. Low and behold it looked good too, even if it was only half size. It wasn't the sweetest thing ever, but damn it smelled good!

........and speaking of sweet! For the first weekend of October, we were stationed in picturesque Calistoga with our family for the wedding of H's brother. The last of the bunch (of 7, so I do mean bunch) just had to out do everyone else's wedding. Needless to say the ceremony was a grand and formal event with hundreds in attendance held in a medieval Tuscan castle, which fortunately was only a five minute ride from our cottage by the river in downtown. The kids held on till after 10 pm, which was quite remarkable. We knew it was time to go when we handed the elder monkey an extravagant looking chocolate dessert that was only met with a looking-through-us blank stare with glazed over eyes. "Sweetie, do you want some dessert?" No. (?!) Oh my, we better leave......

For those who know me in person, yes, in that photo at the castle I am missing some hair. A bit over 10 inches to be exact. I was feeling in of need a trim for the wedding and I figured it was about time for my second donation of hair to a good cause. If you know of anyone with a long rope dangling from their skull or some extra long braids that could lose some major length then send them over to the Locks of Love site. Or if you know someone who has really really long hair and they are resistant to the idea of losing a mere foot of it, then get them drunk and do it for them. When they wake up the next morning tell them it was for the children. If they are still mad then try and deflect their rage by saying something like "well, I guess I shouldn't mention the tattoo on your ass then!"

Back at home it was time to make some english muffins for my one and only customer who wanted to place a special order. Wait, one and only paying customer I should clarify. You see, when she places an order for them I think back to our tutorial earlier in the year and how I am ever grateful for the opportunity to fine tune my methods with a master. The muffins are now something I am rather proud of. To say dear Shuna is the one ordering them is akin to doing that little childhood dance we all know: "She likes mine better! Nyaah, nyaah, nyaaaaah nyaaah, nyaah! I get to make them, not you!" and all the other things or stupid stuff you'd say when you were feeling superior to your peers. It's not much, just some english muffins. And believe me, I know she could make them for herself, and better, but why? She probably has loads of friends willing to make and feed her anything at a moments notice, because in the past she'd shared some part of her knowledge or the most amazing dessert you'd ever had with them.

Speaking of the past, this one wasn't too long ago but if you've ever read this blog you might remember the bacon/chocolate combo thing and how in a vicodin induced stupor I blathered on about how great they are together. With weasel coffee of all things. Well, with the passing of my 135th birthday this week, my partner and monkey made me a choco/choco twisty candled birthday cake, and as a bonus I received a bacon chocolate bar from my older sister (yep, she's 140!) The cake was scrumptious and the bar was rather, uh......unique. It was, well, I mean is since I still have half, actually, really good. No, really. I guess if it was killer I would have snarfed the whole thing in one sitting, but it's salty enough to keep me from over indulging. It's pleasant and familiar somehow, like having a very smooth dark milk chocolate bar with smokey bits of salt in it. Only, after eating it, you realize that some of the smokey salty crunchy bits were bacon as you pick it from your teeth with your tongue. Overall though, the bacon works well with the chocolate. Really. I'm not gonna go start buying them and making a habit out of it, but if you find that the bacon chocolate bar is an itch that just needs scratching, then go find yourself one of these.

So, there you have it. I really have been alive and well, enjoying this love and food filled life, despite the radio silence. Sorry to my friends and fellow bloggers out there who I've failed to drop by and comment on lately. I've been overwhelmed with double-monkeydom and am still working on the groove........

two great tastes (?)

The door opens without knock or notice of any kind and in pops my cousin "greetings D!"

"Oh, hello Rohan. How are you?"

"You mean, are you well? You americans say it all wrong."

"Right Ro. Sorry. Are you well?"

"Yes, thank you for asking. Dearest of cousins, please forgive my intrusion but what on god's green earth is this next to your fruit. A tastie of sorts?"

"Wha?.......uh, oh that? A few gifts from my SIL. Want some coffee and a nibble of chocolate?"

"Indeed!"

"Well, take a closer look."

"Bloody hell, what the %#&! is this?"

"A few gifts."

"GIFTS? Like from a, what do you call it, a white elephant party?"

"Yes. I mean, no. No white elephant component, but yes, gifts like the thank you very much, I will enjoy these items immensely KIND. Ones that I will enjoy without fail. Ones that on some strange level, I have been searching for going on 5 plus years!"

"Are we really going to have coffee that has passed through an animal while enjoying a square of bacon flavored chocolate?"

"Yeah, check it out. It says mit speck on the bar and weasel on the bag. Everyone knows what that means."



I really have been trying to find a chocolate dessert item that contains bacon. More specifically a bacon chocolate chip cookie. I've never been brave enough, no, make that drunk enough to have attempted a batch at home though, and then into my lap drops a candy bar containing bacon, that puts off the experiment for at least another year. Wheew!

And the passed through an animal coffee? Haven't you ever heard of the stuff? Well, this gifted version doesn't actually pass through the weasel, or any weasel for that matter. It has just been processed with enzymes to simulate the passing through a civet's intestinal tract and out it's butt, only then to be dried in the sun, then ground up and brewed. Ah, technology.

Mmmm, that's some tasty weasel.
And Zotter is my new culinary hero.
Just thought I'd share.

the golden state

There are many reasons to call my home state golden. Whether referring to the gold rush, the golden gate, the golden hills waving with dry grass, or the fields of eye candy that grace our outdoors this time of year. Like these ones:



Or maybe these. These were nice. It was taken from about the same spot, but looking up, back toward the road and it's destination farther uphill.



Both shots were on Hwy 180 this past friday, at about 3,500' on the way to Sequoia-Kings Canyon National Park. The poppies were amazing. The lupine too, as well as countless others that I don't know the name of. I love flowers, so I stopped at a few points, got out of the car, and tried not to tumble down the hill while taking a few pics and beaming with happiness at being in a field of wildflowers.

In the park, I headed toward Grant Grove, to see one of the largest trees on earth. The third largest to be exact. With a base over 40 feet wide, and well over 300 feet tall, this tree is immense. Stop and think for a moment about how big that is. It's frickin' huge.



Remember how you do that calculation for circumference of a circle? C=∏d right?
Then that means that this tree is near 120' around!
At these dimensions it is a building. But a really cool one.
I like to think of it as a 1700 year old building that is nearly fire proof, solar heated, and home to an enormous community of critters. How's that for sustainability of a living community? I'd call that pretty golden too, wouldn't you?



I did say this was the third largest, not tallest, so that means it will help if we talk volume to wrap our heads around how hugemongous it is. Something like, if you stuffed the trunk with ping-pong balls, it wouild fit 37,000,000 of them. Or if you had a car that got 25 mpg, and started driving it using this tree as a gas tank, you could drive around the planet something like 350 times without refueling! That is one hell of a tank.

Now think about the reality of this community, and how being a living entity it's mainly water. Lots of players, but it's being managed by one living creature. Thriving. Did I mention it doesn't have a brain, or a nervous system? That some call it of a lower "order"? With considering all that, I just can't see them as lower, in any way. I'd call these giants smart. In fact, way smart. Smarter than you or I will ever be. It humbles me when I'm in the presence of such creatures. I have much to learn from them.

I know, this is primarily a food blog. And none of this is about food right?

But it is. It's about my food. It's about the food I share with others. It's about the things that inspire me. The entities that bowl me over with their very existence. Whether it's the intense golden hue in those flower petals or the enormity of such a single creature that functions as a sustainable high rise community. It's the micro and the macro and everything between. It's the images and sensations of living here, that are swirling through my mind as I create food for my family. To put it another way, if when you die, your life flashes before your eyes, then this is some of the stuff that I hope passes before mine as I check out.

Don't worry, I'm not going anywhere. I just had to share. In fact, when I was baking this bread last week, knowing I was going to my in-laws soon, I started getting images in my mind of what would be near their home. How within an hour, I could drive through the foothills awash in wildflowers, on my way to walking amongst true giants. I had imagined that I would see these very items before I did. I knew the redwoods would be there, and was pretty sure the flowers were too. Their colors inspired me to incorporate gold and red in bread.

So two of these loafs had the golden cheddar and red bacon combo. Really killer cheddar from Springhill Dairy, paired with super tasty bacon from Highland Hills, all wrapped up in dough that includes my favorite whole wheat from Full Belly Farms.

Cooked to a nice.......golden color.

I'm sure a few of you intuited that I'd eventually work that whole golden state thing into talking about sourdough. I may love them argonauts, and that big bridge thing that spans the gate. I love the sere hills of summer, and of course those poppies. All those things are wrapped up in my head. Which means they're wrapped up in the bread. The bread of my life.

quifflé, soufiche, or just quiche?

This is another quiche post.

No wait, a quiche that's part soufflé. I'm partial to quifflé. It helps me remember what this one was all about.

See, I took a few classes given by a true master in the craft of food. Having learned quite a bit, I've been anxious to apply that knowledge in the kitchen. And if ever there is a savory canvas to imbue with flavor, in which to use my newly acquired confidence in egg whites, where I could put their magic construction powers to work and be able to calibrate what the fluffy results truly were, quiche is it for me.

Wait, quifflé. Yeah, I like that. I'm gonna go with that for the purpose of getting on with this post, and after you check it out, let me know what you think.

I assembled the ingredients and did most of my prep. With room temperature eggs, bacon, three grated cheeses, chopped onions and mushrooms, and whole wheat flour from the farmers market, this was a very local venture. A few pinches of "small craft batched" salt and things were coming together nicely. The monkey and I had raided our garden for the parsley, green onion, thyme, and peas. The frozen butter hunks were ready for a whirl and the yogurt couldn't wait to jump in the savory mingle. I chunked up the bacon into what I believe are called lard-ons, no lardons, and got out the arm shaping iron.

Is there anything else in the world as pleasurable as the smell of frying bacon?

Is there a stupider rhetorical question that I could ask in a post?

Anyway, I fried the lard-ons with the onions and mushrooms and near the end added my herbs. It was looking damn fine. The monkey was getting a bit squirrely, so I needed to put her to work.......


Peas to the rescue! The ramekin comet "peapod" was being transported through space after nimble little fingers helped "free" the captives.


Whew! Thank god for an active imagination. It can really come in quite handy when cooking with little folk.


With the custard portion of our filling nearly complete and the crust awaiting the whole nine yards of backfill (with visible chunks of butter still, I was so happy), it was time to decide if my arms needed more of a workout. Since I can't afford going to the gym anymore, I beat the eggs whites by hand, to a pretty stiff peak and started drooling thinking about how fluffy this quifflé might turn out.

I gently plopped part of the fluff onto the custard and began folding.

I said folding, not mixing. Folding.

I added the rest of the fluff and continued folding. When I thought it was getting somewhat close to being a consistent texture, I stopped. If you think about it, just putting it in the crust will in effect mix it some more, so stop right there.

I popped the pie into a pre-heated oven and after 15 minutes gave it a check.

It was looking nice and "floofy," (as the monkey called it). But it was browning already. It had already risen considerably, and I got the impression that the early browning was partly a function of the egg whites at high temperature and the fact that the loft achieved had pushed it closer to the roof of the oven than I had anticipated. I turned down the heat, removed the rack it was on and put it on the lower one.

This picture does not do it justice. This version had nearly twice the loft of my typical quiche. Egg whites are your friend. Try embracing them sometime and play around with their capabilities. Your mouth will love you, I promise.

Did I forget to mention I made a green olive sordough loaf to go with this one? I'm sorry. I had made a black olive loaf earlier in the week and gave some to Aunty who commented "Nice D, but you know I'm more partial to green olives......how 'bout if I give you some greenies in exchange for giving me a bit of the next loaf?" Like, duh.......I may be stupid sometimes, but I'm not dumb.

Did I mention I'm calling this a quifflé?


LARD-ON and SPRING PEA QUIFFLÉ

4 ounces bacon
8 ounces cheese
1 cup yogurt
5 large eggs
1 smallish yellow onion
6-10 brown mushrooms
1 green onion
1 big handful of garden peas
a few sprigs of parsley and thyme

Cube and fry pig. Add allium and fungus. When pig is lightly crispy add herbal clippings. Remove from heat and set aside. Finely grate your cheese selection and separate your eggs, and I don't mean put them in different parts of the room. Throw together the pig and garden fry, the yogurt, cheese, and egg yolks. Put the peas in last. Beat the tar out of the egg whites. Mind you, that's not beating the hell out of them, just the tar. If doing this by hand, make sure to cuss some when your arms feel like falling off. I don't know why, but it helps. So does beer. GENTLY fold the stiff fluff almost all the way in. With the sensitivity of a ninja, place this into the crust. If you're looking for guidance here, check my previous quiche post about it. Basically, same thing here. Bake on lower rack at 400 for the first 10 or 15 minutes. Turn down to 350 until the center stops doing the jello-jiggle. Tell your family it needs to cool for a bit while you scarf down half on the way to serving it at the table. Congratulate yourself on using old-school ovum-technology and enjoying your first quifflé.

urban legends

I live in an urban area, and have been doing some of my own scientific study of our bay area phenomena. I'm an avid hiker, putting many miles on bay area trails, and I can say with utmost confidence that there are no Sasquatch roaming the east bay hills. I've heard there are some other large hairy beasts making their way back here and there, but not on my side of the bay. The hairy beasts of Food lore though, that's a whole 'nother story. In the past few months while researching the phenomena of the urban bacon man, I encountered not one, but two.

If you have ever cruised a food blog, looking for some supreme meat item, chances are really good you found Dr. Biggles at Meathenge. If anyone is a credible source of food info, and a verified food legend, he is. (It's really a no brainer, I mean think about it, the guy is a doctor and all, with over twenty years in practice.) I have the fortune of sharing a geographic proximity to Da Man and managed a time slot for a farmers market rendezvous. I was stoked I was going to meet Mr. Meat. Our first encounter (in the flesh, I guess) the "meat angel" introduced me to a few market regulars and told me a few stories. He told me about mornings when his family sprang from bed with glee, in anticipation of what the bacon fairy had left at the door before they awoke. Huh? I'll have to get to know him better and inquire further at a later date.

After seeing Biggles a few more times and swapping stuff, his buddy Chilebrown wrote me and offered a food swap. He was interested in some sourdough starter and offered bacon in return. I wrote him back immediately. I had onions and potatoes, many eggs around, and english muffin batter going. When we later chatted and shared info, I told the monkey that a friend was coming over to give us some bacon.

"Oh, bacon daddy. What are we giving him?"
Part of whichever starter he wants. We have two right here.
"Does he like the sourdough too?"
That's what I hear honey, and he likes bacon.
"Oh yeah, I LIKE bacon."
Well you're in luck bubba, 'cuz the bacon dude is on the way!
"The bacon dude daddy?"
Oh yeah!
"With bacon? I LIKE BACON!"

Chilebrown is an enormously generous man, who suffers from no paucity of pork. He gave us two packages, each lovingly vacuum-packed, in return for some muffins and starter. I took the opportunity to do some kitchen math with the monkey, to show her how we made out like bandits. In essence, after CB visited my home last friday, I had no doubt that I had met another from the hominid group known as "Homo urbanus," sub-species "Porcinus edibilis."

For the next five days, we reveled in hog. Good hog, done right and delivered by a bacon god.

Day 1 started off with some red-flannel hash. It's one of my favorite breakfast items at Rick and Ann's. I'm not sure what the real recipe is, but I used beets, onions, potatoes, trumpet mushrooms, garlic, and bacon. Sprinkled with green onions and served up with a quick egg and english muffin, it was most satisfying.

Day 2. When you have canadian bacon, but no pineapple, do you still call it Hawaiian pizza? We didn't. But it was still good. Roasted red pepper and eggplant spread for the sauce, three cheeses and bacon on one side. Sauce, three cheeses, trumpets, artichoke hearts and green onions on the other. Yummy on both.


Day 3. If you know my ways, you might assume that these are calzones, but really they aren't. They are cheese and meat filled english muffins. While making our family staple, I used some of the bacon gift as a filling. I was thinking it would be kinda like a sourdough english pupusa.


How about more like a griddled ham and cheese calzone? It was gooey and filled with smokey pork. Like a hot pocket, only real.




Day 4. When you've already made something with most of your bacon, and have only a tiny bit, you make biscuits and gravy. But we had no biscuits, only potatoes. Easy! Fry some onions, garlic and mushrooms with the leftover bacon, add flour, stir, add milk and cook until it thickens, then add some cheese and pour over some sliced potatoes, top with "sourdough salt" and bake for an hour.



When you serve it with fresh focaccia and a nice salad it even seems healthy. Well, almost. Except that I couldn't help thinking of it as scalloped potato biscuits and gravy.



Day 5. I woke up, dreading my first day of no bacon. While packing the bag for grandma's, I realized H forgot her "calzone" for lunch. Knowing that the quality of this food item is rapidly deteriorating, I packed it, heated it up at lunch, and split it four ways. While my folks were taking the first bite, wondering where this fantastic pork product came from, I simply smiled, and matter-of-factly said, while winking at the monkey "the BPS-man, of course!"

"The BPS man?"

"The Bacon Parcel Service Man. There isn't one here in Novato? What a shame......"

Thanks for the delivery CB, we can't wait for the next.

californio dreamin'

This post plays with a new concept of sorts, so if you are just looking for a recipe, then skip on down a ways and scratch your head while wondering why..........or pretend like you are transported back in time...........(like in the movies, you know, where you exercise "willing suspension of disbelief" all the time)

Feb. 16th, 1863.
Dear Uncle Garner,

It is late Friday here in Monterey. I would love to be home again, enjoying whatever fills your hearth air, and it is this memory that I bring to mind as I write. California remains somewhat exotic for me, and I am still not used to the local fare (even after 13 years!). I will freely admit that unlike home, here in the spring (mis-named winter locally) we have fresh items: onions, garlic and cabbage that look splendid; cheese of many kinds; crabs are still easy to pull from the depths; and ample supply of salt beef and pork are to be had. We are not want for sustenance by any means. Despite these bounties here, I am now and then forced to be somewhat wreckless with my dining preparations. Occasionally, out of need yes, more so out of ignorance truthfully.

I offer as anecdote, an experience involving a bizarre new item: an "alligator pear" or "aguacate," as I have heard, that found it's way into my home a few days ago, after sailing from a port near the City of Angels. Angelic or not, I am not at all acquainted with this leathery looking green pear, and quite to my suprise, in using it as prescribed by it's giftor, created an uproar in our home at supper by placing it atop soup! Afterward, the men stood about frantically smoking their pipes and swilled copious amounts of some local "brandy" while arguing whether this newly presented item was fruit or vegetable, and what therefore would be the proper course for this "pear" to be a part of. If only they knew what was in the soup, their conversations might be of a different matter entirely!

(this is still in the works, so let's stop there for today and fast forward:)

I've been wanting to explore the theme of cooking within a particular time and place in history (and ideally the associated available food), where I pretend I have landed there and am forced to make do. (Miraculously, my current state of experience remains intact. I love fantasies.) This is another horizon to the theme contained here, and it might be important to keep this in mind while you read on. Call it justification for the ingredients about to be used. Call it writing a story around some recipe made up on the spot. Call it using what's in the house, in this season and time, while wanting to participate in some Soup's On! fun. Call it birthing a new idea and trying it out. In public (ouch!). Call it pulling out the stops, and rolling it all into one. Thank you Alanna!

I wanted to play along in the soupy fun and was daydreaming in the realm of possibilities for this post when I tripped over the idea. Literally. We have pumpkins on our doorstep that date to Halloween, a gift grown by grandpa that have lived sporadically in the house since that time. About a month ago they were moved outside. They have collected sediment beneath them with the tiny bit of rain we have had, but are free of rot and look like they were just picked. Several times, while not paying attention going out our door, I have stubbed my toe on one or another, and immediately berated myself about not doing something with them. After the last trip, I thought: Ha! One of you is becoming soup!

I've always wanted to try cooking a soup inside of a pumpkin, so from the start I was intending on making this happen. Due to the antiquity of the pumpkin, I started thinking about other old items we have around that might be used. We have some old stock in the freezer, that's good. We have potatoes and cheese. That's good too. Hey, all these things are old! Yeah, I'll do an OLD SOUP post!

Wait! What am I thinking? Focus D. Okay, put the stock in the pumpkin, add some ingredients, maybe use that salted beef......wait a second. Is it possible that all of the items I am contemplating would have been around for some long-ago relative to use.......Wait, what about this avocado that I wanted to incorporate, and needs to be eaten? I've seen folks put these as garnish on soups. Dowf! How long ago did these become a foodstuff here in sunny California? Hmmm, you don't say, really.......

With the fantasy in mind, the monkey and I forged ahead and brought our victim into the house to be gutted. We removed the top, scooped out the seeds and persimmon, and started to prep our other ingredients. (Kidding about that persimmon! See this post for more background on this overly used item.) With pumpkin prepped, we filled it with our frozen crab stock (using the logic, lots of crabs back then, probably had some stock of sorts or easily could have) and put it in the oven. Where to go from here.....

My sis had bought some "beef bacon" for us to try. Considering it was a heavily salted meat item that was likely rather popular before refrigeration, I assumed that this would have been common back then, and besides, I needed some fat to fry the onions in. I grated a little cheese (olive oil and brine rubbed, I thought this might be reminiscent of earlier days), got out a few potatoes and onions, and sat my Hass down for a little rest. For those sticklers out there, yes, the Hass wasn't "developed" until the 1930's, and to be authentic, this should probably be something more like a Fuerte, but come on, keep playing along please.)

The pumpkin was baking, filled with crab stock, fried salted beef and onions, grated cheese and diced potatoes. It needed more body, and we had leftover cabbage. I don't know about early cabbage usage in CA, but I do know that it would grow easily, and at the very least different species were likely being farmed in family plots by members of the local Asian community at the time. I thinly sliced about a third of a head of cabbage and stirred it into the soup.

Baking together in the oven, it was starting to smell intriguing at least. After a good hour at least, the pumpkin was browning nicely and the contents looked great! I ladled some out into a cup, and it was good. I wanted to stop right there, and write something else for this post, but struggling with honesty, forced myself to go on. Besides, the pumpkin was balanced within a ceramic dish (but unsupported on its bottom) and beginning to cave in with each moment. I removed it from the oven, pureed the contents, scraped the flesh from the gourd, blended that too, and prepared the avocado for the top. I had some garlic quark in the fridge and thought: shucks, I have no fresh crema for authenticities sake, but this will defiantely taste good. (Remember, first time trying this theme out, so my allowances are a bit loose here.)

It was like orange velvet. Only with meat bits, and a crabby disposition. The cream component tied it all together though, and I just couldn't help but frying up some sourdough bread crumbs to serve on top. It was definately different. Inspired though? Uh, sure. Tasty? Yeah, but you might have to like the ingredients to start with. Should I do it again? I'll leave that to the bloggers out there who stumble upon this one. Who I pray, will get to this point in this long and complicated post not asking: "What was this guy thinking?" only to read on and find themselves staring at a recipe in disbelief.

californio pumpkin soup:

1 big, old pumpkin
1 quart crab stock
3 russet potatoes
3 large spring onions
2 thick slabs "beef bacon"
3 ounces finely grated Old World Portuguese cheese
1/3 savoy cabbage

garnish:
1 avocado
seasoned sourdough bread crumbs
creme fraiche (sounds better huh?), but you can use sour cream or quark for the same result
oregano sprig

Cut off top of pumpkin and scoop out the seeds and loose innards. Place stock into pumpkin and put into the oven. (I took the lid off until the liquid was hot, as it seemed that initially it kept the inside from effectively heating by acting as the top to a cooler on a blistering hot day.) Do this in some sort of secondary containment if attempting for the first time, as I did and still managed to make a huge mess. While the pot is browning and the stock is heating, fry your bacon. If using beef, you will need some oil too. I used a local olive oil and when the bacon was beginning to brown, I threw in the chopped onions including most of the greens. When the bacon is done, chop it into smaller pieces, adding it and the onions to the steaming broth in the gourd. Dice the potatoes and some finely sliced cabbage. Add some finely grated cheese. Carefully stir all of the ingredients while trying not to poke a hole in the side of the now possibly slumping/deforming pot. Place the lid back on and attempt to cook for an hour or so more. When it has been over an hour, or impending scalding hot liquid doom is imminent, transfer the contents of the pumpkin to either a blender or a large pot and puree by some means. Scrape the now very tender flesh from the steaming pumpkin and add to the puree. With all of the cooked items incorporated, serve garnished with slices of avocado, some creamy dollop of sorts, and something else fun, like herbed breadcrumbs from the last bread you overbaked. Think: It is not 1863, and try to enjoy. And serve with a nice high-alcohol beer. Preferably prepared in an authentic fashion of course.

Thanks for listening!

For those stopping by for the first time:
Thanks for coming on the ride. Please check for all of your personal belongings before disembarking the vehicle and have a lovely day. And please, stop by the monkey ranch in the future. It's really not this weird all the time. (Who am I kidding?)

On second thought, maybe I should have started playing with this new theme in a time and place where sourdough, used with whole wheat and rye were popular breads. Yeah....maybe that would have been a bit easier considering this picture represents what else had been happening in my house as I have attempted to write up this post. See, I'll be playing in the snow with monkeys this weekend, and I hear bread keeps you warm. When dipped in hot soup that is. So today, in preparation for the cold I baked some bagels, pretzels, and a baguette while starting the new habit of documenting sourdough adventures in my new "book of loaves."

A monkey wranglers work in the kitchen, is never completely done........