in praise of sardines

Screwage

Seen Saturday outside of the shop Ferry Plaza Wine Merchants at the Ferry Plaza building in San Francisco.

Food|and Drink|Markets|Wine|San Francisco

IMBB#22: Orecchiette with Baby Turnips and their Greens

When I listed my 10 favorite foods last week, I began with broccoli rabe, known as cima de rape and rapini in Italian. Judging by flavor alone, broccoli rabe seems to be more closely related to turnips than broccoli {I'll leave it to you botanists out there to set me straight}. The greens of both plants taste pleasantly bitter, toasty, and nutty and can be used interchangeably. As far as I'm concerned, the little white bulbs on the end of the turnip greens is a nice little bonus!

A few days ago, I was surprised to find perfect thumb-sized Tokyo turnips {pictured above} grown by one of northern California's premier organic farms, T & D Willey Farms at a store I rarely visit, our local Whole Foods. Whenever I see these baby turnips, I cannot resist buying them to make my frequent weekday dinner of orecchiette. Therefore, Orecchiette with Baby Turnips and their Greens is my entry in this 22nd edition of Is My Blog Burning, hosted by Amy of Cooking With Amy, who chose the theme Use Your Noodle.

This healthy pasta dish can be tossed together in the time it takes to bring a pot of water to a boil. If you can find it, use the hand-formed orecchiette pasta made by Rustichella d'Abruzzo. I like the rustic irregularity of their orecchiette {which means "little ears"}, because the garlicky olive oil clings to all the pasta's grooves and crevasses. They're the pasta equivalent to the nooks and crannies of English muffins. Otherwise, De Cecco's excellent orecchiette and penne would make worthy substitutes.

When making Italian pasta dishes, I find it helpful to remember that, from the Italian perspective, the point of the dish is the pasta, not the sauce. The other elements in the dish are there to complement the pasta. Therefore, you must adequately season your pasta water. Use 1 tablespoon salt {preferably inexpensive bulk sea salt} per every 2 quarts of water.

Since there are so few ingredients in this dish, the quality and choice of each is of equal importance. To match the assertive flavor of the turnip greens, use a good quality aged sheep's milk cheese to grate over the pasta. I prefer the slightly creamier and milder pecorino sardo to pecorino romano, so if you use the latter combine it with some parmigiano reggiano.

Use this recipe as a starting point for your own variations. Possible additions include anchovies, breadcrumbs fried in olive oil, toasted pine nuts, and a squeeze of lemon or a dash of vinegar. For a heartier meal, I sometimes add Italian sausage. It's up to you.

While the pasta is boiling, relax with a glass of Barbera or Dolcetto d'Alba, which both nicely complement the flavor of the bitter greens.

Sugar (not) High Friday #15: Oranges and Dates

This juicy Orange and Date Salad is my minimalist entry for the fifteenth edition of  Sugar (not) High Friday hosted by Sam of Becks & Posh. Our goal in this event was to showcase desserts that used little or no refined sugar.

This easy dessert is a refreshing assortment of medjool dates and sliced organic citrus (blood oranges, cara cara navel oranges, clementines and tangelos) topped with toasted pistachios, dusted with powdered sugar, and baptized with a spoonful of sweet muscat wine and a few drops of rose water. It was inspired by a recipe in one of my favorite cookbooks, Casa Moro, from the chefs/owners of the London restaurant Moro.

Together with a glass of mint tea, this Orange and Date Salad would make a simple yet elegant conclusion to a rich winter meal, especially one with a Moorish or Indian theme. Use the sweetest citrus fruits available and vary the flavorings to suit your taste. You could substitute orange flower water and perhaps add some orange blossom honey if your citrus fruits are not so sweet. Or you could make it more savory by drizzling the plate with extra virgin olive oil and a few flakes of sea salt. Remember to keep it simple, so that the tartness of the citrus fruits can dance with the sweetness of the dates without too much distraction.

Food|and Drink|Recipes|Desserts|Sugar High Friday #15

Another cold remedy...

...my wife's Tortilla Soup

Let me start this post with a disclaimer. It has nothing to do with the pallid 2001 remake of Ang Lee's masterful Eat Drink Man Woman, which, along with Babette's Feast, Tampopo and Like Water for Chocolate, is one of the all-time great food films. Who's brilliant idea was it to remake a film just 7 years after the original?

Rather, this is my response to Indira's* request to share my cold remedies {which is actually a meme started, I believe, by Raquel of Raquel's Box of Chocolates}.

To help recover from colds and flus, I rely on the curative powers of a never-ending supply of ginger-honey-lemon tea, supplemented with lots of chicken soup, like polentina soup and this spicy tortilla soup. The recipe, which I give all credit to my wife N for developing, was inspired by a different style of tortilla soup that she and I often shared in Washington, D.C., where we both went to college. However, my fondest memory of the original soup goes back to a time before I met N.

One icy winter in the dark years of Bush 41, my mother and brother visited me in D.C. to celebrate Christmas. My Republican mother {please tell me I'm adopted} had never been to the nation's Capital during the holidays, so she was keen to visit the White House to see how Barbara Bush decked the Presidential halls. I remember nothing about the decór except for Mom's declaration that, surely, Nancy's taste was better.

Mostly, I recall standing in line outside the White House for an hour on a night that the mercury dipped so low that the Reflecting Pool {that long rectangular pond between the Lincoln Memorial and the Washington Monument} froze solid. My brother was inconsolably irate. If he had his way, he'd never leave the comfort of his EZ-Boy recliner in his San Diego condo, a remote in one hand and a Big Mac in the other {remind me to check DNA samples for evidence of adoption}.

To help thaw relations {literally and figuratively}, I lured the warring parties to Houston's** with promises of hot soup. The chill thankfully kept the usual hordes away, so we were able to be seated the moment we arrived. We slipped into our bowls of velvety tortilla soup as if they were pools of volcanic mud at a Calistoga spa. The garlic-cumin aromatherapy warmed our frostbitten noses, while the avocado and cheese garnishes wrapped around our tongues like thick silk robes. I knew my ploy had achieved détente when my brother ordered a second bowl.

Although N didn't participate in this episode, we shared many bowls of Houston's tortilla soup during the year or so that we dated before moving to the West Coast.

While there is a branch of Houston's in San Francisco, we only go when my brother visits - on his insistence. With exposure to more authentic Mexican food in the Bay Area, I suppose we've outgrown Houston's version of tortilla soup, which in hindsight is basically a gooey platter of nachos tossed into a blender - i.e. pure college comfort food {see their original recipe here}.

Houston's version fortunately inspired N to create a better version, one that is wonderfully spicy, tomatoey and brothy, yet still preserves the voluptuous avocado garnish of the original. Her tortilla soup is the soup we both clamor for when the latest virus strikes. The good news for the cook is it is as easy to throw together as it is satisfying.

________________________________
*I have a feeling that Indira's recipe for tomato rasam is soon going to join our arsenal for combating future colds. Just looking at the photos of the soup on her brilliant site Mahanandi rejuvenates me. I plan to make a bowl later today!

If you're ever feeling under the weather or just need a kick-start, try Indira's other cold remedy, "Dried Ginger Ale," a tea steeped with dried ginger, black peppercorns and a touch of honey. I am sipping a hot cup right now. It's so powerful, it will resurrect a Zombie.

**Although I didn't think so at the time, my palate and restaurant knowledge was pretty simple. Back then I had no idea that Houston's - which played such a big role in the social scene during my college years - was merely a branch of a Texas chain.

Food blogging when you're ill

Every other year, I catch a cold.

Although this will hardly surprise anyone who's been reading my blog, I tend to be rather self-indulgent. Multiply that times ten when I am not feeling well. I crawl under my thick comforter and curl up catlike for long naps, only coming up for air when the impulse strikes to watch a Woody Allen movie or an episode of "The Kumars at No. 42" on my iBook.

Because my wife N spends her days taming 7-year-olds, the season's virus du jour lays siege to her at least 4 times per year. At those times, I gladly spoil her, serving as her personal chef and support staff. During the relatively rare occasions when I get to play the role of indulgee, I do not hesitate to cash in my favors Godfather-style.

N knows exactly what I will be requesting, so she hardly bothers to ask any more. I suppose that's a perk of a dozen years of marriage.

Thursday after work, she headed straight to Irving Street to pick up two orders of chicken pho' from Loi's, one for our dinner and one for my lunch Friday. Then she stopped by New Cheung Hing for an order of duck jook for Friday's breakfast. Finally she went back up the block to the grocery store to pick up a few chicken legs and thighs so that I could make stock when I was feeling better. It’s good to be loved.

Yesterday, I felt well enough to simmer up that batch of chicken broth.

The best broths are made with a good proportion of meat to bones. I often use a whole chicken per gallon of water, but this time I opted to augment the stash of bones that waited in my freezer with a few extra legs. I removed a couple of thighs after an hour so that I would have meat for my soup. I like to simmer my chicken broth for 3 or 4 hours to extract the most flavor.

The easiest soup for a sick person to make is the polentina from the Chez Panisse Vegetables cookbook. I find it incredibly soothing to prepare and eat, and believe it should be in every busy cook's repertory.

The recipe is just a few lines long. In a medium pot, stew a diced small onion or a leek and a slivered clove or two of garlic in duck fat or butter, pour in a quart of chicken broth, bring to a boil, stir in ⅓ cup polenta (preferably stone-ground), toss in a few leaves of sage, a sprig of thyme and a teaspoon of salt, and simmer the soup for 20-30 minutes. The polenta slightly thickens the broth and imparts a comforting corn flavor.

While the soup is cooking, cook and then chop whatever greens are in your fridge {I’ve used broccoli rabe, arugula, turnip greens, chard and even watercress with equal success in the past. This time I used some gorgeous red Russian kale - pictured left}. When the soup is ready, stir in the cooked greens and add a few grindings of pepper. This time, I added some shredded meat from one of the chicken thighs I removed from the stock. Garnish each serving with some shavings of parmigiano reggiano and a drizzle of your best olive oil.

Depending on how I feel, I may post one of my other favorite chicken soup recipes later in the week. Until then, take care good care of yourselves and try to stay healthy!

Food|and Drink|Recipes|Chicken|Soup

10 foods that whet my appetite

I was flipping through a pile of papers that I had shoved into a dark corner when I found one with a list scribbled on it. I hang my head in shame as I admit that it was my response to a meme that Mona and Lady Lavender of the Kitchen both tagged me for over a month ago! I didn't post it at the time, because I had committed my blog to an exploration of Kashmiri cuisine for Menu for Hope II {that's my excuse and I'm sticking to it}.

I wonder, do memes, like fine wine and cheese, improve with age? Or do they rot and mold like yesterday's sushi?

Without further ado, in no particular order, here is my fashionably late list of My 10 Favorite Foods {happily, month-old sushi is not one of them}:

1. Broccoli rabe. During the winter months, I never neglect to buy a bagful of baby rapini when I visit the Mariquita Farm stand at our local farmers market. N and I eat broccoli rabe once a week, usually as a quick and simple pasta with orecchiette, garlic, chili flakes and pecorino. It's pure winter comfort food at our house. In fact, we ate it Tuesday night for dinner!

2. Whole fish. If I see grilled whole fish on a menu, 9-out-of-10 times I will order it. That's true for everything from my favorite little sardines {duh} on up to the whole Dover sole I had last summer in the Basque country. As a matter of fact, I ate both sardines {pictured left} and sole for lunch that day! For my stomach, life doesn't get much better than that.

3. Pickles. I have yet to meet a pickle I don't like. From half-sour Kosher dills to fiery Indian nimbu achar {pickled limes} to Korean kim chee to my own pickled yellow wax beans.

4. Figs. Figs are Nature's most voluptuous fruit. I am especially enamored of the Adriatic variety that Rick Knoll grows in Brentwood. They're pistachio green on the outside and a luscious ruby red on the inside.

5. White peaches and nectarines. The fruit I crave the most, though, are the tooth-achingly sweet Arctic Rose white nectarines grown by Steven Kashiwase in Winton. They are perfect eaten out of hand, with no embellishment. I made a sorbet once which even included some Sauternes, but I still prefer them naked {no comments please}. In my neck of the woods, the only albino peaches that can rival these nectarines are the Babcocks grown by the inimitable Didar of Ram Das Orchards.

6. Duck. Like whole fish, if a menu includes duck - particularly the leg or liver - I will invariably order it. And yes, although I struggle with the ethics, I would be lying if I didn't include the soon-to-be-outlawed foie gras in this category. One of my all-time favorite dishes was an obscenely large slab of foie gras  topped with a fried egg. I savored every bite sitting on a bench at a communal white marble table in the back of the Barcelona food store Mantequería Ravell. And that was just the first course!

7. Parsnips. Just thinking about that meal in Barcelona made me crave a vegetable! The first one that came to mind is the lowly parsnip. I guess I have a soft spot for all the less celebrated foods in the world - hence the {new and improved} tag line of my blog. My favorite way to cook the small, carrot-sized parsnips is to slowly caramelize them stove top in a cast iron pan in clarified butter or duck fat {oops, back to duck again!}.

8. Pastrami. I've prattled on enough about my love of pastrami on this blog. If you missed it, read here and here. Guess where N and I ate dinner last night.

9. Gran Reserva jamón ibérico de bellota produced by Joselito. On the way to the chiringuito where I tasted those sardines that inspired the name for my blog, N and I dropped by a traditional Sevillano bar near the bullring called Mesón de la Infanta. The air was thick with the smell of ham. Dozens of them hung from the ceiling. We sidled up to the bar and ordered a thick glass of gazpacho and a plateful of jamón ibérico de bellota, the Spanish cured hams from black-hoofed {pata negra} pigs that graze freely on acorns. The jamón glistened with {omega-3 rich} fat and tasted like sex. Click here to read an excellent article about this delicacy.

10. Jalebi from that place near Kemp's Corner in Bombay.  I almost wrote "chocolate," but decided against it. If I have to choose between the two, these amazing sugar spirals fried in clarified butter win, if only for sentimental value. The morning of my first trip to Bombay to visit N's grandparents, we awoke to a breakfast of bright yellow jalebi, their honey-like sweetness balanced by alternating bites of the savory chickpea flour sheets called ganthia - also deep-fried. I couldn't stop eating. First, a bite of sweet jalebi, then a bite of savory ganthia, and so on, all washed down with strong cuppa masala chai. From that moment on, N's grandfather, Dada, warmed up to me. I learned that day the truth of the adage "food is love."

What, I'm already at 10?? I just started warming up!

I haven't even mentioned Catalan olive oil, toasted hazelnuts, Taiwanese dongding oolong tea, Della Fattoria bread, cochinillo (roast suckling pig) at Cándido in Segovia, eggplant, "the fifth quarter," Rudy's plain cheese pizza in Closter (NJ), unagi, toro at Bar Masa, avocados, Chesapeake Bay crab cakes, mapo dofu in Chengdu, percebes {goose-neck barnacles} at Ca' Sento in Valencia, the scents of vanilla and cardamom, butter Mysore masala dosa at that outdoor stand at the end of Laburnum road in Bombay, Maryland silver queen corn, idli sambar delivered to our room at New Woodlands in Madras, Mimi Sheraton's recipe for matzoh ball soup, salsa romesco, zha-jiang mian (hand cut noodles with meat sauce) in Taipei, pulpo a la gallega (octopus) at Casa d'a Troya in Madrid, oil-packed anchovies from Cantabria, fried putillitas or chopitas (baby squid), bouillabaisse at that restaurant overlooking the calanques west of Marseilles, Manresa's parmesan churros and pimientos de Padrón, cheese, wine, gelato in Rome, freshly baked H&H bagels with Nova salmon from Zabar's, Comice pears, roast baby lamb (cordero lechal) at Asador Tierra Aranda in Madrid, peanut butter sandwiches, Nutella, New Jersey beefsteak tomatoes, soon dubu chigae, my grandmother's blueberry pie ....

Don't worry, I'm not going to tag anyone else for this meme. But if you feel like picking up the gauntlet, I'm not going to stop you.

Food|and Drink

My Tofu House

Rarely do I fall so madly in love with a place that after just one visit I add it to my "Short List" of favorite eateries in the Bay Area {see the right hand column}. But that is exactly what happened when I dined at My Tofu House {website is in Korean, click here for English} this past week.

Our friends who live in the Richmond District casually mentioned that we ought to try this small, always crowded Korean restaurant near their apartment. They told us that the husband and wife owners specialize in just one dish, a spicy stew of soft tofu, vegetables, and a choice of meat or seafood. A light of recognition instantly flashed in my mind.

A year ago, I had enviously drooled over tantalizing photos that accompanied an article in the New York Times which depicted this exact same spicy stew, which in Korean is called
soon-dubu chigae. The photos caused me to fantasize about making my own fresh tofu or, alternatively, to pack up and move to New York. At the time, I had no idea that there was a restaurant in San Francisco that specialized in this dish.

Now that I know, it is not an exaggeration to say that the quality of my life has suddenly improved. Just realizing that I can, on any given day, drop into the quaint little restaurant and order a bowl of this spicy elixir fills me with joy.

As soon as you sit down at your table, the waiter brings a warming cup of barley tea (mugi cha in Japanese) and an array of little dishes (pan chan), which include tiny dried anchovies and various pickled vegetables (kimchee), some of which are spicy.

While there are a few other typical Korean restaurant dishes on the menu, just about everyone in the place was ordering some version of soon-dubu chigae. You can specify whether you want your stew with pork, beef or seafood, if you want kimchee added to the pot, and how spicy you want it. I opted for the medium spicy version with pork and kimchee.

The arrival of the stew is quite an impressive production. The waiter delivers to you a stone tureen full of soon-dubu chigae that appears to have been lifted out of a volcano {pictured at the top of the page}. I quickly cracked an egg into the ferociously bubbling broth and left it alone while it gently poached. While you wait for the molten stew to cool, ladle a little broth and vegetable over some rice in a separate bowl and munch on the pan chan.

Pure heaven on a chilly winter night. If you live in the area and have not yet been, go tonight! I promise, your life will change for the better.

My Tofu House
4627 Geary Blvd.
San Francisco, CA 94118
(415) 750-1818

Food|and Drink|Restaurants|Korean|San Francisco

Oink, oink! Le pied de cochon is French for...

...pig's trotters, of course!

It's startling how our tastes change as we age.

As a college student in Washington, D.C., in the 1980's, many a late night ended eating at a mediocre 24-hour French bistro in Georgetown called "Au Pied de Cochon." The name paid homage to the famous {and presumably better} bistro in Paris. The red walls of the Georgetown bistro colorfully depicted a mad chef waving a cleaver whilst he first chases then eventually catches a squealing pig, triumphantly grabbing him by the foot. At that time, the thought of actually ordering the namesake pig's feet never so much as crossed my mind, regardless of the number of drinks that preceded my visit there. Rarely did my 3 am order stray from the comfortable oasis of eggs benedict and French fries.

Fast forward to tonight. In the ensuing 20 years, I have apparently become that mad chef.

I now not only sample odd bits like pig's trotters, tails, ears, snouts, bellies, and what not, I actually relish and even crave them. So I figured it was about time that I learn to properly cook some of these parts, especially as this Tuesday the 17th is the feast day of San Antonio Abate, Patron Saint of Pigs and Butchers {pictured left}. In celebration of this event, Diva in Italy and Kate in Gascony created Some Pig Blogging Weekend, an event I could hardly miss!

These off cuts, innards, and extremities are the sardines of the meat world. We cooks, particularly in America, are often guilty of only paying attention to the sexier cuts of meat. Go to any mid-scale restaurant in San Francisco, for example, and you'll invariably find a menu full of roasted half chickens, flatiron steaks, pork loin chops, braised lamb shanks, and short ribs. I, for one, have had enough!

Though all of the kitchens I have worked in have received at least 3 stars from the local critic, I have not often been afforded the opportunity to work with these lesser used parts of the animal. Like so many American cooks, I have had to look further afield for expert advice on how to cook these forgotten cuts. My main guide is, of course, the gifted Fergus Henderson, the author of The Whole Beast: Nose to Tail Eating and chef/proprietor of St. John, his restaurant outside of London. I also look to other British food writers, Anissa Helou and Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall, a few Spanish cooks, and some intrepid Americans, including Paula Wolfert, Anthony Bourdain and Thomas Keller.

For my first attempt at cooking pig's trotters, I trusted this last chef, Mr. Keller {who I'll call TK, just for fun}. I used his recipe from the book/Yountville bistro, Bouchon. I'd share it with you, but I admittedly don't yet own the book. I just read the recipe in a bookstore and {hopefully} committed it to memory.

If you've never had pig's trotters before, there is one adjective that perfectly describes them: unctuous. Unctuous is not a word I use often, but it is perfectly apt here. Like so many innards and off cuts, they are all about texture and mouth feel. The part that you eat is essentially gelatin with a little bit of fat. To provide a crisp textural contrast, TK has you bread and pan fry the boneless disks of pork trotter.

For those of you who are not squeamish, after the jump I've included pictures and descriptions which illustrate my adventures cooking this succulent, wonderfully sticky and unctuous cut of the pig.

If you can't be with the one you love...

On a narrow shelf above the slicer at the front of the restaurant, where the deli man performed the final step in the magical transformation of tough beef brisket into ethereally tender pastrami and corned beef, dozens of mustard jars stood like toy soldiers, proudly displaying their labels.

"I really ought to buy one," I thought, "and bring it back to N as a surprise." Then I glanced outside at the steady rainfall and pictured myself schlepping the jar around in one hand, while balancing my flimsy umbrella in the other, as I sloshed from one of my million errands to the next. It would be hours before I headed back to my hotel room.

"What good is the mustard without the pastrami or corned beef?" I reassured myself.

I felt a twinge of guilt, as at that moment my stomach was reveling in the object of N's and my shared affection, one of the massive sandwiches of the famed Second Avenue Deli on the Lower East Side of Manhattan. Though full to the point that my belly ached as much as it has after any Thanksgiving feast, my nose couldn't resist being intoxicated by the earthy, spicy aromas that engulfed it. Garlicky, salty vinegar continued to dance on my tongue to the sounds of the crunchy-crisp rhythm of the half-sour pickles that echoed in my ears. I swooned at the thought of the samba of flavors, the sweet coleslaw and, of course, that sharp mustard that had, just moments before, punctuated each bite of my juicy pastrami on rye.

My reverie was abruptly broken by a woman's voice. "Can I get you something else, hun?"

I hesitated. "No, that'll be all." Next time, I consoled myself. Next time I'll get the mustard.

There will be no next time.

I awoke yesterday to the sad news {broken to me, in the way that can only happen in our technologically accelerated era, by a comment on this blog by a longtime reader who lives in Spain...thank you "nopisto"!} that Second Avenue Deli, which had closed its doors on January 1st, would not be reopening. The kosher deli had become a landmark in the 50 years since it was founded by Abe Lebewohl, a Ukrainian immigrant who was tragically murdered a decade ago.

I can't recall a visit to New York that didn't include a visit to this temple of pastrami and corned beef.

For a foodie, losing a favorite restaurant can be as devastating as losing a close friend {I am embarrassed to report that I am that obsessive. Pronouncing my loss, say, "as devastating as losing a pet goldfish," doesn't do justice to my sense of grief... please feel free to tell me to get a life}.

All that remains are our memories. Thankfully, because of this blog, I recorded what has become my last pilgrimage to Second Avenue Deli just a few months ago {read about it here}.

Growing increasingly distraught after David pointed me to these depressing photos, the dreary morning rain outside my San Francisco window mirrored my sullen mood.

My heart {or was it my belly?} lifted momentarily when I recalled reading of a New York-style deli opening in the Presidio Heights neighborhood of San Francisco within the building that houses the Jewish Community Center. Hopes raised further when I remembered that the illustrious Joyce Goldstein had been hired as consulting chef.

Like a widower that starts dating too soon after his wife's passing {Prince Charles comes to mind}, I made tracks to the California Street Delicatessen and Cafe (website not operational yet), where I spotted this sign.

Hazelnut Brown Butter Cake

Thank you for all your patience while I've been busy with many activities, including beautifying my little blog!

As a reward, I'm going to share something sweet with you.

"What's that?" you scoff. "A dessert from Brett? What will he be soaking in his cup of tea today? Will he add anchovies?" Shamefully, your misgivings are warranted. Upon a quick perusal of my "categories" archives (note the fancy new drop-down menus while you're there), you may wonder whether I ever eat desserts.

I'll let you in on a dirty little secret: I have a ferocious sweet tooth.

As you may know, I've spent most of the past decade working in restaurant kitchens. We cooks tend to fall into one of two camps: sweet or savory, rarely crossing lines. My ten years in professional kitchens never saw me stepping away from the savory side of the fence, though many a pastry chef have told me that my calm demeanor would be most welcome in their world.

For reasons that defy explanation and, truthfully, vex my wife, the Sirens of the "hot line" continuously beckon me to their rocky cliffs, where they hypnotize me into standing for countless hours in front of an inferno while orders fly at me like daggers. Though oil burns my arms, my legs cramp, and knives slip (ouch!), I find a sense of serenity in the vortex of the dinner-rush tornado that eludes me anywhere else.

You need a dozen entrées plated right away? No problem. You need a simple pie crust? Ask someone else.

You see, by my own admission, I'm rather clumsy in the pastry kitchen. My least favorite task is one of the easiest, separating egg yolks from whites. I always seem to pollute the whites with a dribble of yolk. I tear delicate doughs, scorch sugar, and cause chocolate to seize.

Fortunately, though, over the years my sweet tooth encouraged me to keep one eye on the pastry chef at all times (and not only so I could nick that handful of chocolate whenever s/he turned away). I incessantly asked questions. There's nothing I dislike more than not knowing how - or why - to do something.

A couple of weeks ago, the Sweet Muse mysteriously chose to whisper into my unworthy ear. She spoke through the pages of my new favorite cook book, Suzanne Goin's Sunday Suppers at Lucques. A couple of weeks ago (yes, I have fallen that far behind in my culinary tales), Pim invited local bloggers to her house to help her organize the raffle drawings for Menu for Hope II. She lured us with promises of her justly famous Thai cooking. How could I pass up such an enticing invitation, especially as it afforded me the chance to finally meet some of my fellow bloggers. I was so enthusiastic that I even convinced N to join me.

Whenever I go to a friend's house, I feel awkward if I don't bring something along. As Pim was providing the main course, I was left with only one option. Dessert.

A lime or mango tart would probably have been ideal after Pim's spicy curried Thai noodles (khao soi - read her recipe here), but my crust phobias prevented me from going down that path. I spied a large jar of Catalonian hazelnuts twiddling their thumbs on my kitchen counter and then remembered drooling over Ms. Goin's recipe for Hazelnut Brown Butter Cake. The recipe was nearly identical to an almond cake that one of my mentor chefs used as a base for her Prune Plum Upside Down Cake, perhaps my favorite dessert in the world.

I baked the cake early in the morning. The aroma of toasted hazelnuts and caramelized butter drove me nearly mad with anticipation. When it emerged from the oven, the cake looked respectable enough, belying its simple collection of ingredients.

Upon arrival at Pim's, though, my bubble of pride quickly deflated. It suddenly dawned on me that I - the savory cook - had brought one of just 2 desserts to a fête that included several well-known, excellent bakers (including Shuna and Heidi!) and, of course, a certain four-star chef. What the hell was I thinking bringing a dessert, especially one I had previously neither made nor tasted?

Thankfully, Chef Goin did not let me down! Her cake - really more of a torte - is divine. It is that rare pastry that manages to be both rich (with butter and hazelnuts), yet light (with lots of beaten egg whites). I plan to make it often, especially during the autumn and winter months. I'm sure if one of you more expert bakers attempt her recipe, it will come out even lighter and more spectacular than my version.*

Maybe it's just luck, but I tend to have a pretty good nose for sniffing out which recipes will work and which ones will flop (and be too much for me to handle). Besides, how could I resist a recipe that Ms. Goin tells us she had chosen as her own wedding cake?

Maybe, just maybe, I'll try my hand at more desserts over this next 6 months and share my successes (and failures) with you. That's a New Year's resolution I can live with!

________________________________
* Feb. 6. Update: I couldn't have been more accurate when I wrote that self-assessment last month. For expert advice on how to make this luscious cake come out far lighter and even more scrumptious than mine did, follow veteran pastry chef Shuna Lydon's detailed instructions in her "dacquoise & meringue" post on KQED's food blog Bay Area Bites!

Please excuse the mess...

I am a minimalist at heart. A friend of mine describes the decor of N's and my house as "Shinto-Shaker meets Bollywood." Translation: we abhor clutter, but love color (especially in pillows and rugs).

Over the 6 months that I've been publishing "in praise of sardines," I've been growing increasingly queasy as I've watched my "blog roll" and other links in the left-hand column grow faster than the ivy that attacks our backyard fence. It was time for drastic measures.

So far, this is what I've done. I've reduced IPOS from 3 to 2 columns. I moved my links (which includes many of you, my readers) to their very own "links" page. You can get to this page any time by clicking on "My Links and Blog Roll," located under my picture in the right-hand column. With more room, I am able to continue to divide my blog roll by region and add the names and locations of each blog's author.

Just as too many ingredients can muddy the taste of a dish, I have stripped away the superfluous and little used garnishes of my blog. Gone are the calender, the lists of recent posts and comments, and the translation tool. In the future, I hope to tidy up my categories and recipes, too. Feel free to leave any suggestions about these changes in the comments section of this post.

I hope you like the improvements as much as I do! It's not much, but for me - a simple Luddite cook more comfortable with a mortar and pestle than a Cuisinart (let alone a keyboard!) - it's a huge accomplishment. Ultimately, my goal is to increase your pleasure as you peruse the stories, recipes and photos that I plan to share with you in the coming year!

Congratulations to the lucky winner...

...of the Kashmiri Cooking Kit: Sandy Der!

Over the weekend, Pim held the much anticipated raffle to choose the winners of the many generous prizes donated by the food blogging community to raise money for A Menu for Hope II. Among the many people who selected the box I donated of special Kashmiri and Indian spices, teas, oils, and rice, Pim drew Sandy's name. Way to go, Sandy!

Sandy, as soon as you read this, please contact me by following the "email me" link in the right hand column of this web page so we can arrange shipping of your new Kashmiri Cooking Kit.

Before scrambling over to Pim's site to see if your name is amongst the  list of raffle winners of one of the many other prizes, take a moment to bask in the warmth of your generosity, knowing that you participated in the campaign that raised over $17,000 for UNICEF's efforts.

Your donation has already helped to ease the suffering of the victims of the devastating earthquakes that struck the Kashmir region of Pakistan and northern India 3 months ago. To further understand the value of your kindness, check out the moving story and short video on the UNICEF website about how donations are helping to keep the children warm during the cold Himalayan winter.

I salute every one of you who participated in this wildly successful fundraiser! I especially want to give a big standing ovation to Pim of chezpim for organizing A Menu for Hope II!

Today, we are all winners!

OK, now go and check to see if you won a prize!

Food|and Drink|Menu for Hope II|Kashmir