tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7308386507207042102024-03-13T19:16:14.651-07:00JAMIE|LIVINGUnknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger83125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-730838650720704210.post-78772694870144824072011-03-03T14:53:00.000-08:002011-03-03T15:13:10.685-08:00New Jamie Living Blog: Check it out!The last month has been very exciting for Jamie Living as I launched a <a href="http://www.jamieliving.com">new website</a> and with it, a <a href="http://jamieliving.com/blog/">new blog</a>. I know, can you stand it? So cool! What this means though is that as of today, right now in fact, this is the last post you will receive from jamieliving.blogspot.com. Don't worry, all of my previous recipes have been transferred over and there is even a new recipe for <a href="http://jamieliving.com/2011/03/braised-lamb-shanks-with-creamy-cannellini-beans/">Braised Lamb Shanks and Creamy Cannellini Beans </a>that many of you have not seen yet!<div><br /></div><div>So, the best way to keep receiving your delicious Jamie Living recipes and food stories is to update your RSS feed. Simply visit the <a href="http://jamieliving.com/blog/">blog </a>and click Subscribe via RSS on the right hand side. Don't worry, it will only take a second and that way we can stay friends, right? ....RIGHT. I'd also love to hear any of your thoughts on the new website and blog. As you know, comments are always welcome. Much love and I will see you on the other side :) Jamie</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-730838650720704210.post-81427582237600063912011-02-11T11:21:00.000-08:002011-02-12T16:40:14.102-08:00Fudgy Black Bean BrowniesI know, I know. Who would have thought beans ever belonged in brownies? But they do! I've actually been sitting on this recipe for almost 3 years since I first saw it on Heidi Swanson's <a href="http://www.101cookbooks.com/archives/amazing-black-bean-brownies-recipe.html">101cookbooks</a>. Intrigued though not yet fully committed, I decided to wait for the perfect moment to make them. As you know I hate baking, so if I'm going to whip out my sad baking skills, it is going to be for something worth it. And yes, these brownies are totally worth it!<br /><br />I made my first batch a few weeks ago for my Dad's birthday and have been craving them ever since. In fact, when my parents departed I didn't even offer to send them with a few morsels. I justified it to myself that they were getting on a plane and the brownies were sure to be smashed in their carry-ons. In reality however, I just didn't want to share. I'm a terrible daughter! <div><br /></div><div>So, there are a few fantastic things about these brownies. First, and most obviously, they are loaded with black beans. This means more fiber to help slow the absorption rate of the sweetener. Second, they are completely gluten free. And third, and perhaps most importantly, the absence of flour produces brownies of such a rich, creamy, and fudge-like consistency you cannot help but be immediately addiction. (If you prefer more "cakey" brownies, these might not be for you.)<br /><br />I made a few Jamie Living changes to the recipe including a delicious combination of butter and coconut oil and substituting brown rice syrup for agave. I get asked almost weekly my thoughts on agave and I have to say, I'm not a huge fan. I don't enjoy the taste as much as other alternative sweeteners and I find it really gives me a sugar shock. (I once had a bit too much at a particular raw restaurant and found myself too shaky to drive home. I know, I'm a delicate flower!) If you are into agave however, Madhava seems to be the best brand. Brown rice syrup works beautifully in this recipe and adds a lovely, almost burnt caramel flavor. If you can't get your hands on brown rice syrup, real maple syrup would also work very well.<br /><br />Now let me just say that these brownies are dangerously good. Once you make this recipe you will want to keep them on hand...permanently. Which may not necessarily be a bad thing. I mean beans, eggs, a little chocolate...how could you go wrong! So now this Valentine's Day there is no excuse to get sucked into a box of junky, doesn't-taste-that-good-anyway chocolate, when you could have these ridiculous brownies. Happy baking and enjoy!</div><div><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-XceRCB3BAG4/TVccJWO1KZI/AAAAAAAAAaM/t7rS5b3vILk/s1600/brownies%2B1.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-XceRCB3BAG4/TVccJWO1KZI/AAAAAAAAAaM/t7rS5b3vILk/s320/brownies%2B1.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5572954010806462866" /></a><br /><br />Fudgy Black Bean Brownies<br /><br />4 ounces unsweetened chocolate (I used Sunspire organic, fair-trade <a href="http://www.sunspire.com/products/organic-fair-trade-100-cacao-unsweetened-baking-bar">100% cacao bar</a>)<br />1 stick unsalted organic butter<br />1 1/2 tablespoons extra virgin coconut oil<br />2 cups cooked back beans, rinsed and drained<br />1 cup walnuts, chopped<br />1 tablespoon vanilla extract<br />Pinch of cloves<br />1/4 teaspoon sea salt<br />4 organic eggs<br />1 cup brown rice syrup (<a href="http://www.lundberg.com/Products/Syrup.aspx">Lundberg </a>is my favorite)<br /><br /><br />Preheat the oven to 325 degrees. Line an 8 1/2 by 11-inch baking dish with parchment paper and lightly butter it.<br /><br />Melt the chocolate, butter, and coconut oil in a small sauce pan over low-medium heat. Stir to make sure the chocolate is fully melted. Set aside.<br /><br />Place the beans, 1/2 a cup of walnuts, vanilla extract, and 3 spoonfuls of the chocolate mixture into a food processor and blend until smooth. The batter will be pretty thick. Set aside.<br /><br />In a large bowl, mix together the remaining 1/2 cup of walnuts, the remaining melted chocolate mixture, cloves and salt. Mix well and set aside.<br /><br />In another bowl, beat the eggs until light and creamy, about 1 minute, then add the brown rice syrup and mix together.<br /><br />Add the bean mixture to the walnut/chocolate/cloves mixture and stir until well blended. Add the egg mixture and stir well to combine. Place the batter into the lined baking pan and bake for 35-40 minutes, until the brownies are set. Removes from the oven and let cool. Cover and place in the fridge for a few hours or overnight for best results.<br /></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-730838650720704210.post-79931739796138261172011-01-31T09:18:00.001-08:002011-02-01T17:34:41.871-08:00Curried Kale and Shiitake Mushrooms<div style="text-align: left;">It may seem like I'm on a curry kick and...well, I am. I love using curry powder in the winter when I need a little something warm in my tummy. And please don't think curry has to be a big production (as in creating an entire Indian buffet because you somehow thought it was necessary when you promised your husband <i>curry</i>). I sneak a zesty addition of curry powder into my <a href="http://jamieliving.blogspot.com/2010/07/tahinis-take-on-tuna-fish.html">tahini tuna fish</a>, onto roasted butternut squash and grilled zucchini, as well as into my dark leafy greens.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>Now I haven't spoken of my favorite vegetable for a while so I think it's time for an ode to kale. First know however, that the first 21 years of my life were dedicated to broccoli. Yes, I ate lettuce, greens beans, asparagus and boy choy but none of these held my attention like broccoli. Its textured crown and crunchy stalk were forever welcome on my plate, whether steamed, roasted or, in my favorite childhood fashion, drowned in my mother's curried mayo and lemon sauce. So when I started cooking for myself, not surprisingly broccoli was the first item on my shopping list. I strolled down the vegetables aisle looking at the chard, spinach and a leafy unknown named kale, and always ran back to the safety of my broccoli. So what changed? Well I did't get bored if that's what you're thinking. As a creature (and </div><div>eater) of habit I would have happily stayed a sole broccoli eater had I not ventured into macrobiotics. In adjusting my food to a more plant-based diet, I was forced to branch out a bit. Truly, when half your plate is required vegetables, there is honestly only so much broccoli you can eat.</div><div><br /></div><img src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_urtYzt6xL_E/TUiwgWQcCaI/AAAAAAAAAZw/BnWzOdUZkdE/s320/4.jpg" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5568895009020447138" /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>My next trip to the market I begrudgingly bought a head of kale. The large leaves flattened in the middle and attached to a hearty stalk while the outer edges curled up, making each leaf look like a large green fan. "What the hell am I going to do with this? " I thought. Broccoli was simple. Rinse, chop, saute, done. This looked way more complicated. My macrobiotic cookbook recommended I steam the kale then drizzle sesame oil and tamari over the top. The preparation was easy enough: rinse, chop then steam, and the result was okay, even good actually. Though not as sweet as broccoli, I enjoyed its chloroform-filled taste and if I didn't steam the kale to death, I could get a nice al dente (almost broccoli-like) texture. And with that one recipe, I was kale-inspired! I soon branched out and tried red kale, lacinato kale and red Russian kale. I sauteed kale with garlic and onions, tossed it into soups, threw it into smoothies, and mixed it in with my beans and rice. (Now that I eat meat, I love it with braised beef, or chicken, or fish or well, any animal protein actually.)</div><div><br /></div><div>Though I've never lost my broccoli love, "culinarily" speaking kale goes where broccoli just can't. Sure I can put broccoli into a soup or a stir-fry but it has to be at the last minute to make sure the broccoli doesn't turn to mush. Kale, alternatively, somehow always holds its physical integrity, making it a much more versatile vegetable. Rarely does a day go by when I do not eat kale in some form or another. I simply adore it, though will admit I should probably branch out a bit...you know, give chard a chance, perhaps. I actually partook in my ole' buddy broccoli last night and it was a nice change of pace. I guess when it comes down to it, I'm just a greens freak! </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>The key to falling in love with greens is preparing them the right way. Rarely do plain vegetables entice the taste buds, but if prepared well with spices and good fats, there is no end to the delicious possibilities. Here is my current favorite way to make kale. I made this recipe at a cooking demo just last week where a 10-year old told me it was "the best thing she has ever eaten!" She might have been exaggerating for my ego's sake, but hey I'll take it. It also went over well with a 5 and 7-year old pair of siblings whose father told me neither of them will eat kale. After one bite the 7-year old proclaimed, " Dad, we'd eat kale if you made it like this!" And with those kinds of endorsements, there is not much else to say. Enjoy!</div><div><br /></div><div><img src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_urtYzt6xL_E/TUiwfwQ08iI/AAAAAAAAAZo/FZCHOEOE6dw/s320/33.jpg" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 214px; height: 320px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5568894998821532194" /></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>Curried Kale and Shiitake Mushrooms</b></div><div><br /></div><div>Serves 4 as a side </div><div><br /></div><div>2 tablespoons extra virgin coconut oil</div><div>1/2 a red onion, diced</div><div>1 clove garlic, minced</div><div>4 ounces (about 1 1/2 cups) shiitake or trumpet mushrooms, chopped</div><div>1/2-1 teaspoon curry powder</div><div>1 bunch kale, washed, ends trimmed, and chopped</div><div>sea salt and pepper</div><div>pinch of nutmeg to taste</div><div>2 tablespoons water</div><div><br /></div><div>Warm the oil in a large skillet over medium heat and add the onions. Cook until translucent and a bit golden, about 10 minutes. Add the garlic, mushrooms, curry powder and a pinch of salt, stir well, and cook until the mushrooms have softened.</div><div><br /></div><div>Add the kale and combine with the mushroom mixture. Reduce the heat to low, add another pinch of salt, pepper, nutmeg and the water and cover and cook for about 7 minutes. The kale should be nicely wilted and bright green and the liquid mostly evaporated. </div><div><br /></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-730838650720704210.post-31671841101670094792011-01-20T09:53:00.000-08:002011-01-25T14:11:14.466-08:00Hong Kong Style CurryWho knew Chinese cuisine included curry? Well, I assume the Chinese but<i> I</i> had absolutely no idea. I naively thought this delectable dish came to life solely in the hands of Thai, Indian, and Vietnamese chefs. This assumption shows you how much I know...I've also recently discovered Burmese and Japanese curry and guess at this point I should just assume all of Asia has got some sort of curry going on. However, this does not mean all curries are created equal. While Indian curries tend to focus on thick, turmeric-infused sauces and the Thai and Vietnamese rely heavily on lemongrass and coconut milk to produce thinner, more soup like curries, Chinese curry is right in-between: thick and well-spiced with a rich coconut base. Now the first time I happened upon curry at my favorite <a href="http://www.imperialtea.com/hours_directions.php">Chinese restaurant</a>, I was entirely confused. In fact, I eyed said curry for several months before ever ordering it, gauging the excited responses as it arrived at other patrons tables. It certainly intrigued me but I was so addicted to their anise-spiced beef stew, I just couldn't take the leap (yes, creature of habit, here I am). Still, whenever we had a new server I'd ask him or her for their take on the curry. "It's the best dish on the menu," each one would gush. "Great, I'll take the beef stew," was my standard reply. Obviously I wasn't ready. One day, however, the stars finally aligned. <div><br /></div><div>It was a bitter cold night, I had just <a href="http://jamieliving.blogspot.com/2010/04/roasted-kabocha-squash-and-lentil-soup.html">filmed</a> my first cooking class and I was in desperate need of something warming, creamy and comforting. I knew I was ready because I did not ask the newly-arrived waiter his thoughts on the curry. I simply said, "Hong Kong curry, please." A daring move, I know. Twenty fidgety-with-excitement minutes later, a steaming plate of orange-tinged stew arrived, and after swooning over the first bite, I immediately began to berate myself for not ordering it sooner. Consequently, and rather inevitably, a new dish addiction emerged. In fact, since ordering my first Chinese curry a year ago, I have yet to return to the beef. Okay to be completely honest, I sometimes make Gray get the beef so I can have a little bite...you know, get the best of both worlds.<div><br /></div><div>The star of the curry and provider of its brilliant orange color is none other than my personal favroite, kabocha squash, which after about an hour of cooking melts into the coconut milk to create a sweet, starchy sauce that needs nothing else. In fact, that is the entire curry: coconut milk, kabocha squash and good quality curry powder. After this incredible revelation that all but changed my life, I decided to make my <i>own </i>version of Hong Kong curry to see if I could come close to the original. And I must say, mine is pretty awesome! The primary difference is that I added a few other vegetables to the mix, just to lighten it up a bit (in a good way). Even better, the curry is doubly delicious the next day as the spices have had time to coalesce and the coconut milk has thickened. Enjoy!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_urtYzt6xL_E/TToj9BZjuGI/AAAAAAAAAZg/ncBfgp80RnY/s1600/IMG_0124.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_urtYzt6xL_E/TToj9BZjuGI/AAAAAAAAAZg/ncBfgp80RnY/s320/IMG_0124.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5564799820824295522" border="0" /></a><br />Hong Kong Curry</div><div>Serves 3<br /></div><div><br /></div><div>1 1/2 cans organic, full-fat coconut milk</div><div>1 tablespoon curry powder</div><div>1 inch fresh ginger, peeled and minced</div><div>1/2 a red onion, diced</div><div>One 1/2 a kabocha squash, seeded, peeled and cubed</div><div>1 8-inch daikon radish, peeled and chopped into 1/2 inch rounds</div><div>Sea salt</div><div>1/2 -3/4 cup of water</div><div>1 cup shitake mushrooms, chopped</div><div>1 cup broccoli florets</div><div>1 cup cauliflower florets</div><div><br /></div><div>Preheat the oven to 400 degrees. In a small Dutch oven mix together the coconut milk and curry powder. Add the ginger, onion, kabocha squash, daikon radish, a bit of salt and the water. Mix together and place in the oven for 45 minutes. The daikon and kabocha should be very tender and the sauce thickened. If it needs to cook a little more, keep it in the oven for an additional 10 minute or so. </div><div><br /></div><div>Remove the curry from the oven and place on the stove. Remove the lid and add the mushrooms, broccoli, cauliflower and another pinch of salt. If the curry has reduced too much you many also add a bit more water. Mix thoroughly and place on low-medium heat until the vegetables have softened. Taste for flavor and add a bit more curry powder or salt if necessary.</div><div><br /></div><div>The first evening I served this dish with poached eggs (scrambled would work well too) and for lunch the following day I topped it off with a bit of sauerkraut. So good!<br /></div><div><br /></div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-730838650720704210.post-45275116311792307822011-01-06T15:09:00.000-08:002011-01-13T14:08:40.826-08:00ShakshukaYears ago, while living in my second tacky Berkeley apartment, my mother gave me a beautiful stainless steel All-Clad pot. What prompted this wonderful gifting was that my parents were coming up for a visit and I was having visions of grandeur about making them brunch in my closet-sized kitchen. A few days earlier, I had stumbled upon a Mario Batali recipe of baked eggs in spinach which had all of my "I'm-in-college-and-I-don't-cook", criteria: It was easy, healthy, and looked freaking yummy! The only problem was that among my ridiculous mix of IKEA pans and hand-me-down knives, I didn't have the right cooking vessel. "What can I bring you?" my mom asked a few days before their visit. "Um...how about a stainless steel pot?" I asked, worried that she was thinking more along the lines of cookies and laundry detergent. "A pot it is! We can't wait to see you," she gushed. <div><br /></div><div>They soon arrived, pot in tow, like wide-eyed collegiates themselves, eager to explore the campus, near-by restaurants, and of course, drag me to Target. And with all the running around, I completely forgot to make them brunch! That's right...it never happened, and that poor Batali recipe has gone unmade to this day (though over the years I've thought about it a lot, if that counts for anything). Fast forward nearly a decade to last month when I went to an amazing <a href="http://hummusbargrill.com/">Israeli restaurant</a> on the recommendation of my dear, foodie loving friend Asi. (We quickly connected freshman year of high school over our mutual love of swing dancing, mutual dislike of our Spanish teacher <i>Senor Tucker</i>, and our severe addiction to sushi.)</div><div><br /></div><div>As I was going on and on in my debriefing to him about my glorious meal (a requisite after any Asi recommendation) he interrupted me and said, "Have you ever had Shakshuka?" Now, Asi talks really fast, so to be honest I had no idea what he said. "One more time, please", I teased. "Shakshuka. It's an Israeli breakfast dish of eggs baked in spicy tomato sauce. It's awesome!" Though the only thing this dish had in common with the never-attempted egg recipe of my young adulthood was well, eggs, I was definitely intrigued. So I decided this dish, this little Israeli breakfast favorite, would be my baked egg redemption. It was on! </div><div><br /></div><div>Shakshuka truly is, in Asi's words, awesome! It is terrifically easy and provides such amazing flavor you almost feel like it's cheating. Honestly, it is a bone fide too-good-to-be-true dish. Traditionally eaten for breakfast, I served it for dinner alongside basmati rice and a <a href="http://jamieliving.blogspot.com/2009/12/arugula-red-cabbage-salad-with-balsamic.html">cabbage and arugula salad</a>. Though perfect for a no-time-to-cook evening, I would venture to say Shakshuka is a dish to be eaten at any time. I used cayenne to create the spice, but a jalapeño pepper would do the job just as well. And for those of you familiar with Shakshuka you are probably thinking, "But she forgot the bell pepper!" Please know, I did not forget the bell pepper. They just aren't in season at the moment so I took a leap and went without it. I promise to throw one in come July. Enjoy!</div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><u><br /></u></span></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_urtYzt6xL_E/TS4612DvyKI/AAAAAAAAAY4/TLmOybgruwo/s1600/IMG_1115.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_urtYzt6xL_E/TS4612DvyKI/AAAAAAAAAY4/TLmOybgruwo/s320/IMG_1115.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5561447286567848098" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_urtYzt6xL_E/TS9AogjwR8I/AAAAAAAAAZY/zqF0a7bSdP8/s1600/IMG_1117.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_urtYzt6xL_E/TS9AogjwR8I/AAAAAAAAAZY/zqF0a7bSdP8/s320/IMG_1117.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5561735129504696258" /></a><br /></div><div>Shakshuka (Poached Eggs in Spicy Tomato Sauce)</div><div>Serves 2</div><div><br /></div><div>1/4 cup of olive oil</div><div>1/2 a medium yellow onion, diced</div><div>3 cloves garlic, minced</div><div>2 teaspoons ground cumin</div><div>1 teaspoon ground paprika</div><div>1/4-1/2 teaspoon cayenne</div><div>1 28-ounce whole peeled tomatoes (you can also used a can of crushed fire roasted tomatoes)</div><div>1/4 cup water</div><div>Sea salt and pepper to taste</div><div>4 organic eggs</div><div><br /></div><div>In a medium sized pot, heat the olive oil over medium heat. Add the onions and cook until soft and golden, about 5 minutes. Add the garlic, cumin, paprika and cayenne. Mix thoroughly and cook for another 2-3 minutes. </div><div><br /></div><div>Put the tomatoes and their liquid in a bowl and break them up with your hands. Add the tomatoes and liquid plus a 1/4 of water to the onion mixture. Place the heat on medium and allow to simmer, stirring occasionally, until slightly thick, about 10-12 minutes. Season with salt.</div><div><br /></div><div>Crack each egg into the pot so they are evenly distributed and remain close to the surface. Cover and cook until the yolks are set, roughly 6 minutes. Sprinkle salt and pepper over each egg and ladle onto individual plates with rice and salad.</div><div><br /></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-730838650720704210.post-18946722536541667492011-01-05T09:13:00.000-08:002011-01-09T14:09:34.277-08:00Mushroom and Kabocha Squash Soup<div style="text-align: left;">I never thought it would come to this but I am COOKED OUT! This unusual feeling stems from the fact that I'm still recuperating from 4 beautiful, snow-packed days in Mammoth with 11 friends and family members. We laughed, we drank, we danced and we certainly ate. Normally on such a trip I divide the meals among the guests (you know, to divvy up the work), but this year my controlling brain took over and I decided<i> </i>to be in charge of <i>all 4 dinners</i>. That's right, every single one with enough to feed 11 people. I <span style="font-style: italic;">clearly</span> wasn't in my right mind. Oh, and of course with my persnickety penchant for only organic ingredients, I had to bring everything with me. So when Gray and I stuffed the car with two coolers full of chicken, beef, an 8-pound pork shoulder and 10 heads of kale, I knew two things: One, my husband was a saint for dealing with my food insanity, and two, I had bitten off way more than I wanted to chew. And yet, despite all my Jewish-mother worrying, many guests volunteered as sous chefs and everything turned out fantastic (and yes we had enough). They eagerly took my orders, accepted my crazy cook antics, and didn't balk too much when I showed them how to wash the lettuce <span style="font-style: italic;">my way </span><span>or chop the kale </span><span style="font-style: italic;">just so.</span></div><div><br /></div><div>And now I am home in my own little kitchen, desperately missing all their help. Who wants to come over and be my sous chef? Since getting home on Saturday, I've done little more than make salad and reheat Mammoth leftovers. Gotta love leftovers. But when yesterday rolled around I knew I had to cooking something fresh. You can only eat beef chili and chicken tagine for so many days in a row, no matter how delicious it is. So off I went to the farmers market to grab ingredients for a soup. I didn't know what kind of soup...all I knew was that I wanted to throw stuff into a pot and call it a day. <div><br /><br /><img src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_urtYzt6xL_E/TSUOhQlgbGI/AAAAAAAAAYg/S9ZLHzhIgyc/s320/IMG_1101.JPG" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5558865279609498722" border="0" /><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Before I get into my recipe, first let me preface: I adore mushrooms! Their meaty texture and deep flavor have always entranced my taste-buds, especially as a child when I often downed copious amounts of Campbell's Cream of Mushroom soup. (I actually once requested it at a friend's house to which her mother replied,"Really? We only use mushroom soup when mixing it with green beans." To which <span style="font-style: italic;">I</span> responded, "Gross!" I don't remember being invited over for dinner again.) Another reason I love mushrooms is that they add a heartiness and sense of satiety to dishes which is ideal when going meat-free. And so, I grabbed a mixed bag of trumpet, oyster and shittake mushrooms from my favorite mushroom lady, remembering they would pair well with the unused kabocha squash I had sitting at home.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"> </div><img src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_urtYzt6xL_E/TSUOhkTpcvI/AAAAAAAAAYo/235u-rvWqDk/s320/IMG_1102.JPG" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5558865284903301874" border="0" /><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">What emerged after 30 minutes of them co-mingling in the pot was sweet, unctuous and shockingly decadent. Wow! To avoid a sad soup that tasted like salty, boiled vegetables I first roasted the kabocha squash with ginger and lemon and sauteed the mushrooms with onions and garlic to get the good umami flavor going. Freaking good. To add a bit of protein, and what I like to think of as my<span style="font-family: georgia; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"> 'pièce de résistance',</span> I topped each bowl with a fried egg. A poached or soft boiled egg works just as well depending on your preference, or if you have leftover brown rice, white beans or shredded chicken, you could throw those in as well.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">The options are endless when starting with this base so feel free to play around with whatever is in the fridge. I love a quick, warming soup during the winter and have a sneaking suspicion this particular one will be making an appearance again very soon. Enjoy!</div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /><img src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_urtYzt6xL_E/TSUOh0O0OjI/AAAAAAAAAYw/DtHaSsRIWOM/s320/IMG_1114.JPG" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5558865289178004018" border="0" /><b><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><b><br /></b></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><b>Mushroom and Kabocha Squ</b><b>ash Soup</b></span></div></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;">Serves 3</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">1 small kabocha squash, peeled, seeded, and cubed</div><div style="text-align: left;">1/2 teaspoon ginger powder</div><div style="text-align: left;">1 teaspoon lemon juice</div><div style="text-align: left;">3 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil, divided</div><div style="text-align: left;">2 small red onions, chopped</div><div style="text-align: left;">2 garlic cloves, chopped</div><div style="text-align: left;">3/4 pound mixed mushrooms (oyster, trumpet, shittake, chantrelles, etc.), chopped</div><div style="text-align: left;">5 cups water</div><div style="text-align: left;">2 teaspoons tamari (<a href="http://www.san-j.com/product_info.asp?id=3">San-J</a> and <a href="http://www.edenfoods.com/store/product_details.php?products_id=106970">Eden </a>are my favorite brands.)</div><div style="text-align: left;">2 teaspoons fish sauce (I use <a href="http://importfood.com/sagb2401.html">Golden Boy</a>. Whichever one you choose, make sure there are no added preservatives or MSG.)</div><div style="text-align: left;">1 teaspoon toasted unrefined sesame oil</div><div style="text-align: left;">1 handful cilantro</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Preheat the oven to 415 degrees. Place the cubed squash into a baking dish and mix with 1 tablespoon olive oil, ginger powder, lemon juice , and sea salt. Roast for 4o minutes until the squash is nicely browned. Set aside.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">In a large stock pot, warm the remaining olive oil. Add the onions and cook until nicely browned. Add the garlic and cook for another minute or so. Mix in the chopped mushrooms with a pinch of salt and cover for 3-5 minutes. Remove the cover and toss the mushrooms to make sure they are evenly cooking and wilted a bit. Add the water and squash, bring to a boil, reduce to a simmer and cook, partially covered, for 10 minutes.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Taste the broth and add a bit of salt if needed. Add the tamari and fish sauce and let cook for another 3 minutes. Mix in the sesame oil and taste for flavor. Add a bit more tamari and fish sauce if needed. Toss in the cilantro leaves and serve. Enjoy!</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div></div><div> </div></div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-730838650720704210.post-64174633454165224752010-12-16T14:38:00.000-08:002010-12-21T13:14:38.611-08:00Gluten Free Sesame and Anise Cookies<p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">I love cookies. Which is funny for a girl who doesn't eat sugar. But I have to admit, there is just something fantastic about those chewy treats that fit so neatly in the palm of your hand. And yes, I am a chewy cookie girl, not a crunch-loving one. "What about cupcakes?", you ask. Nope, never been a fan. I'm not a cake fan either. Too light and airy. In fact, had my mother make giant chocolate and butterscotch chip ice cream balls for my 8th birthday as a protest against cake. </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span">(Disclaimer: This statement does not include cheesecake or flourless chocolate cakes.) And yet for all my cookie love,</span><span class="Apple-style-span"> I didn't </span><span class="Apple-style-span">actually have a </span><span class="Apple-style-span"><i>real </i></span><span class="Apple-style-span">chocolate chip cookie until I was a preteen. And let me tell you...when I finally bit into the rich, buttery goodness, noticed the sharp zing of sugar and coating of fat on my tongue, I immediately plopped it down on the table and thought,“What the heck is this and what have I been eating all these years!?!”</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">As with all things, it began with my mother. My mom loves to bake and couldn't wait to have a little girl with whom she could share her baking joy. She got the daughter she wanted but everything else was a no-go. I am not a baker, never have never will be, and though to this day I'm happy to talk her ear off in the kitchen, she knows not to ask me to measure or whisk. My mother's baking also comes with a single caveat: she’s a hippie baker. As a kid, butter substitutes, fructose and carob lined our pantry and glared at me from their “better-than-thou” perches. By everyday standards I don’t think I’m even allowed to call her baked round experiments "cookies", though they were certainly cookies to me and my siblings. Each baked treat harbored whole rolled oats and a good dose of the wheat germ that lived in the refrigerator side door. As I am now learning more about baked goods, I keep hearing this term “crumb”. Like “the cake had a nice light crumb” or “the scone with its richly textured crumb.” Yet, I know nothing about “crumbs” for the simple fact that my mother’s baking didn’t have any! God bless that sweet hippie baker, with her whole wheat dense-as-a-door edibles. Everything that came out of her kitchen weighed about 5 pounds, packed with walnuts, dried fruit and an extreme colon-cleansing amount of fiber. Her cookies were toughly-textured things that broke off in large chunks rather than crumbling under the pressure of one’s teeth. And I loved them. I still do actually. I have to admit that because of my earliest experiences with what I thought were "real" cookies, I’m still a major fan of the healthy hippie stuff and am repelled by sickeningly sweet cakes and muffins that leave your teeth aching and your mouth begging for a scrapper to remove the shellac of sugar and fat. And yes, my sugar queen sister thinks I'm annoying but my dentist loves me. </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">Sugar is such a p</span>opular topic, especially during the holidays. In fact, it is safe to say that almost every day in December a client asks for <i>healthy dessert recipes</i>. I've only posted a few which include my delicious <a href="http://jamieliving.blogspot.com/2010/02/blueberry-chocolate-truffles.html">chocolate truffles</a>, <a href="http://jamieliving.blogspot.com/2009/10/gluten-free-chocolate-brown-rice-crispy.html">brown rice crispy treats </a>and <a href="http://jamieliving.blogspot.com/2009/08/star-anise-honey-tea-biscuits.html">date walnut tea biscuits</a>. So here is a new cookie I just made for my friend's annual cookie party. It is gluten-free (a nice healthy buzz word) and is sweetened with real maple syrup. The great thing about bringing healthier desserts to a party is you can eat your own stuff without getting sucked into all the other junk. Here is a quick rundown on exactly what makes a dessert <i>healthy</i>. And no, it does not mean low fat. Healthy, in my book anyway, means high quality fat, unrefined sweeteners, and whole grain (or no grain) flours. Here is a list for you to use to make your holiday desserts a little more healthy.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span"><b>Fats</b>: Use organic butter or extra virgin coconut oil rather than refined vegetable oils </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span"><b>Sweeteners</b>: Substitute honey, maple syrup, brown rice syrup or unrefined/unbleached cane sugar for white and brown sugar (Here is a handy <a href="http://jamieliving.blogspot.com/2009/10/gluten-free-chocolate-brown-rice-crispy.html">conversion sheet</a>)</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span"><b>Flours</b>: Use whole wheat pastry flour or almond flour instead of enriched white flour</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span">Be warned: These cookies are dangerously good. They are reminiscent of halvah, a rich Middle Eastern sesame confection that my father often brought home when he wanted to be <i>bad</i>. Yes, halvah and salami were his go-to treats and there was an ongoing debate as to which version, the traditional or the chocolate dipped halvah, was best. (I was a flip-flopper myself.) The star anise was a last minute addition and I think it gives a nice warming sensation to the cookies.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span class="Apple-style-span">The sesame cookie dough has a similar texture to peanut butter cookie dough. Though it may seem dry, it is not. That is how it is supposed to be. </span><span class="Apple-style-span">I adapted this recipe from the blog </span><span class="Apple-style-span"><a href="http://www.elanaspantry.com/">Elana's Pantry</a></span><span class="Apple-style-span">, which is a great resource for gluten-free goodies.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium; "><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_urtYzt6xL_E/TQ_waKc_ZrI/AAAAAAAAAYU/0gncRivrHXQ/s1600/IMG_1079.JPG"><img style="text-align: left;display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px; " src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_urtYzt6xL_E/TQ_waKc_ZrI/AAAAAAAAAYU/0gncRivrHXQ/s320/IMG_1079.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5552921197844326066" /></a></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span"><b>Gluten Free Sesame and Anise Cookies</b></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span">Makes 24 cookies</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span">2 1/2 cup almond flour</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span">1/4 teaspoon sea salt</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span">1 teaspoon baking soda</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span">1 teaspoon ground star anise</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span">1/2 cup maple syrup</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span">2/3 cup roasted organic tahini (Sesame seed paste. I used <a href="http://www.arrowheadmills.com/product/sesame-tahini-organic">Arrowhead Mills.</a>)</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span">1 tablespoon organic butter (You can also use coconut oil here to make the cookies vegan.)</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span">1 tablespoon vanilla extract</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span">1/2 cup toasted sesame seeds, in a small bowl</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span">In a large mixing bowl combine the almond flour, sea salt, baking soda and star anise. In a smaller bowl mix together the maple syrup, tahini, butter, and vanilla extract. Mix the dry ingredients into the wet and combine thoroughly. Make 1 inch balls with the dough and roll each in the sesame seeds. Place on a parchment lined baking sheet and flatten a bit. Bake at 350 degrees for 10-12 minutes, until the cookies are golden. Cool and enjoy!</span></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-730838650720704210.post-13587750106806861302010-12-10T08:29:00.000-08:002010-12-10T16:46:10.692-08:00Christmas Cheer<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify">5th grade was my first year in private school and I was excited for the change and eager to see what this new school had to offer.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Moving from a class of 35 to one of 12 was quite a change of pace but in the regular Jamie fashion, I soon got a handle on my new surroundings (i.e. first imperative school purchase: a sticker collection to trade with the other “cool” girls in my grade…all three of them).<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>The curriculum was heavily focused on grammar (not that I’ve retained any of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">that</i> knowledge) and the headmistresses, Mrs. Powell and Mrs. Plunkett, made sure every class took their monthly turn memorizing a poem to recite in front of the school and admiring parents at Friday assemblies.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>They were quite a pair, those two.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Mrs. Powell’s overly-painted cheeks, forehead and nose made her already-angry face look like it might burst into flame, while Mrs. Plunkett, always dressed in an angelic combination of pastels, appeared on the brink of a face plant thanks to the girth of her over-sized ankles (or <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">cankles</i>, more aptly) bearing down on her oppressively small high heels.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Roald Dahl himself couldn’t have done better when these two were matched.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify">Unlike the rest of the kids in my grade, who thought reciting poems was LAME, I was thrilled.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Granted, the poems were a bit dry and none of us had any clue what they meant, but as a girl always down for a little time in the spotlight, I didn’t care.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Just give me the words and show me the stage!<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Or concrete playground, as it were.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Right before Christmas break we were given "Sea Fever" by John Masefield to study and recite.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>All I could make out was that this guy really liked sailing, which was enough for me.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>I was so excited to have a new performance in my repertoire that I asked if I could recite the poem for my relatives at Christmas dinner.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>All 40 of them!<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>“During dessert would be best,” my aunt graciously said, though I should have sensed the eye roll.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>My sister and I were always asking to perform for our friends and family.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Hey, she should I have been grateful I didn’t want to do our cheerleading routine again.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>“You're ugly, you're ugly, your mama says you're ugly!”<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Now <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal">that</i> was a show stopper!<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify">When my aunt brought out the large braising pots of sumptuous coq au vin and plates of buttery popovers, I barely looked up from my plate.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>In fact, I could barely take a bite of my food as I was entirely obsessed with rehearsing my lines over and over in my head.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Finally it was time.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>I stood in front of my obviously-buzzed family members and began to speak.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>“I must go down to the seas again,” I bellowed in my biggest 10-year old voice.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>I looked over at my 15-year cousin Lorin to catch him smiling at me.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>“They love it!” I thought.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>I breezed through the first stanza and dove into the second with added gusto.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>As I neared the end I raised my voice louder for added effect. "And the flung spray and the blown spume!" I boomed.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>As the line came out of my mouth my cousin’s eyes widened and, as if to lead the charge, he burst out laughing.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>"What did she say?" my grandmother asked.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>"Blown spume!<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Jamie said blown spume!" my uncle cackled.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Obviously not understanding the joke, I was mortified at the response. <span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>I promptly forgot the rest of the poem and ran “offstage” to the nearby bathroom.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Granted I should have known my audience, as my family can make a sexual joke out of most anything.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>But I was in 5th grade, how was I supposed to know what "blown spume" might refer to?<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>It took a good hour and 2 cups of my aunt’s homemade (and alcohol-laced) eggnog to coax me back to the party.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify">For years, my Uncle told and retold the story at every family gathering.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>"Remember when Jamie recited that poem about blown spume?” he’d say out of the side of his mischievous mouth. “Where did she get that poem?<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Just hilarious!!”<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify">“Where did I get that poem?” I often wondered during these intense moments of humiliation.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Mrs. Powell and Mrs. Plunkett, that’s where!<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>How could they have done this to me?<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Were they not aware the havoc this poem might wreak on every child who chose to entertain their families during the holiday season?<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>There were only two possibilities:<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>1) the hilarity of the line was wholly lost on them, which is entirely likely since neither had much of a sense of humor or 2) they completely understood the possible outcome and assigned the poem on purpose!</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify">Over the last few years (yes, I am a slow forgiver) I’ve released most of my anger for Mrses Powell and Plunkett.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>They were a crazy, scary pair of headmistresses with a bizarre penchant for classical poetry but hey, it could have been worse.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>And now I prefer to think that yes, they certainly assigned “Sea Fever” as a twisted joke to be played on our 5<sup>th</sup> grade class; a grand trick passed down from headmistress to headmistress to ensure deep childhood scarring.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>It took me years (too many to admit actually) to understand why my family was laughing at me.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>I initially thought they had all gone insane.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>How could the combination of two bizarre words be enough to insight a laugh riot?<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Thankfully I can now laugh <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">with</i> them at the absurdity of it all and in particular at that little girl who at the top of her unknowing lungs screamed, “…blown spume!!” Looking back now, my only regret from that night has nothing to do with that ridiculous poem:<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>I regret not eating my coq au vin.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>While everyone was in sheer food ecstasy, I was obsessing over my lines, trying to get them just right.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Just perfect.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>My aunt is a brilliant cook and to have missed her coq au vin was a true travesty.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>And to make things worse, she hasn’t made it since that fateful Christmas dinner.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>I’m sure it’s too late to ask for it this year but I’m truly considering putting in a request for 2011.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Though if I know her (and my uncle) at all, there might be a caveat.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>“Only if you recite the blown spume poem again,” I can hear her saying.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Honestly, it might be worth it.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span style="mso-spacerun:yes"><img src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_urtYzt6xL_E/TQKQOyTymvI/AAAAAAAAAYE/QeJuOp8lbSk/s320/IMG_1059.JPG" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5549156274571221746" /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify">Home grown fingerling potatoes from my friend Eddie's garden. It definitely pays to have a friend with a green thumb. I've got to get more of those potatoes...and green thumb friends.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span style="mso-spacerun:yes"><img src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_urtYzt6xL_E/TQKQPR4IFTI/AAAAAAAAAYM/YzjQoH5jfhs/s320/IMG_1064.JPG" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5549156283045123378" /></span></p><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="mso-spacerun:yes"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_urtYzt6xL_E/TQKQOyTymvI/AAAAAAAAAYE/QeJuOp8lbSk/s1600/IMG_1059.JPG"><br /></a></span></div><span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><b>Beef Stew with Roasted Vegetables</b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify">The last few years my Aunt Sissy has thrown a soup party for Christmas. Granted the menu doesn't have the same panache as coq au vin, but sometimes a big warming bowl (OK, a few big bowls) of soup around the holiday table is all you really need. Last year I made my <a href="http://jamieliving.blogspot.com/2010/04/roasted-kabocha-squash-and-lentil-soup.html">roasted kabocha squash and lentil soup</a>, which was a big hit. This year I'm eager to debut my first ever beef stew; a recent recreation of my friend Jacqueline's peasant stew that she made for my birthday a few weeks ago. I've woken up with stew on the brain at least 3 times since having hers, it was that good! As with all things Jacqueline, when I asked her how she made it, she immediately dove into a 30 minute explanation of each nuanced technique she employed to get the deeply rich, unbelievably flavored beef stew. OK, I will admit right now that Jacqueline is a better cook than me. Fine, I've said it. But I will also say I just don't have the time and mental capacity to go the culinary distance that she does. I'm all about good, delicious food that I can hammer out in an hour. (Fine, sometimes two.)</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify">So with all of that, here is my Jacqueline inspired beef stew. Though I did cut a few corners I kept two intact that I think give the dish that added, "Oh my frickin' God this is good," quality. First, roast the root vegetables. Roasting them brings out their innate sweetness which tames the beefiness. Second, use the anchovy! It does not impart a fishy flavor (promise!) but provides umami, the 5th <i>savory </i>flavor also found in bacon and Parmesan cheese, that adds the final touch to make this dish a real show stopper. </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify">Serves 4</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify">5 tablespoons olive oil, divided </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify">2-3 cups fingerling potatoes, scrubbed and cubed</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify">1 turnip, cubed</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify">2 carrots, peeled and cubed</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify">1 pound organic beef stew meat, cut into 1 inch cubes</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify">1 onion, chopped</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify">1/2 a fennel bulb, chopped</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify">4 garlic cloves, minced</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify">1 anchovy fillet</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify">1/4 teaspoon cloves</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify">1 teaspoon fresh thyme</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify">1/2 cup red wine</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify">1/2 cup crushed tomatoes</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify">3 cups organic chicken stock</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify">Sea salt and pepper to taste</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify">Preheat the oven to 400 degrees. Mix the chopped potatoes, turnip and carrots with 2 tablespoons of olive oil and bit of salt and place in a large roasting pan. Throw them into the oven for about 35 minutes, or until they are nicely golden. Once done, take the vegetables out of the oven, set aside and reduce the oven to 315 degrees.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify">While the vegetables are roasting, heat 2 tablespoons of olive oil in a heavy stock pot and add the beef. Sprinkle the meat with a bit of salt and pepper and cook until all sides are browned. Remove the meat from the pot and set aside. Drain the excess fat from the pot, place it back on the heat and add the remaining tablespoon of olive oil. Add the onion and fennel and saute until soft, about 5 minutes. Add the garlic, anchovy, cloves and thyme and cook for another few minutes until the anchovy fillet has dissolved. Add the wine to the pot, and bring to a boil, scraping the pot of any brown bits. </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify">Add the crushed tomatoes, beef, roasted vegetables, and the chicken stock to the large pot and mix thoroughly. Cover and bake in the 315 degree oven for 2 hours, until the beef is tender. Remove from the oven, adjust the seasoning and serve with a <a href="http://jamieliving.blogspot.com/2010/01/chicory-persimmon-and-almond-salad.html">crisp winter salad</a>. Enjoy!</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><br /></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-730838650720704210.post-89825293354139403152010-11-30T13:47:00.000-08:002011-02-07T14:23:54.965-08:00Spiced Pumpkin and Apple Soup<div style="text-align: left;">“So, what are you going to wear to Thanksgiving?” my sister asked as she sucked in her rounded cheeks to make model faces in the mirror.<span> </span>I glared back at her in annoyance.<span> </span>“I don’t know and honestly, I really don’t care!”<span> </span>Perhaps I shouldn’t have been so pissy but honestly, she had her priorities all wrong.<span> </span>How could she be concerned with what to wear?<span> </span>Who the hell cared?<span> </span>What she should have asked was, “What do you think they will have for dinner?”</div><p class="MsoNormal"><span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal">Every year we spend Thanksgiving with my Aunt Sissy’s family.<span> </span>As my Uncle Jon’s wife, her clan was a bit removed for our direct blood line which automatically made them far more fun. <span> </span>The Bishops were a family of 5 strikingly tall, square-jawed children and always seemed to be busting at the seams with more uncles, aunts and cousins.<span> </span>Our sit-down Thanksgiving meal was easily 45 people with everyone in attendance. “AAAHHHH, Jamie-girl it’s so good to see you!!,” Mary, my Aunt’s sister and hostess, would scream as we walked in.<span> </span>Mary never talked.<span> </span>In fact, she screamed and laughed through every interaction which was both startling and infectious.<span> </span>Truly, at Thanksgiving we all talked like we were on an airport runway.<span> </span>My sister and I weaved in and out of the throngs of family members saying our <i>hellos</i> and <i>how are yous</i>, all the while sneaking bottles of Martinelli’s apple cider for the kids table. <span> </span>(Thinking about it now, the cider was already for the kids table.<span> What can I say, my scarcity mentality has always been strong</span>).</p> <p class="MsoNormal">As the ladies bustled in the kitchen, picking at crispy turkey skin and getting the buffet ready, the rest of the party reconnected over multiple games of pool and a bit too much crab and spinach dip.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Though I liked watching my older cousins lovingly scream and yell over missed or made shots, it was always the kitchen that held my attention.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Mary’s kitchen was a thing of beauty.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Shiny copper pots hung over the 8-burner wolf range which led to a deep white porcelain sink that looked out over Malibu’s coastline.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Her two sturdy ovens produced such devastatingly delicious smells that every once in a while an uncle would stumble in and cry, “Is dinner ready yet?”<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> Naturally t</span>he Thanksgiving staples were on the menu but as a family of foodies they loved to spice things up.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>One year there was tortilla soup with chunks of avocado.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Another year, Bibb lettuce with pomegranates and champagne vinaigrette.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>And who could forget the curried sweet potato medallions with maple syrup glaze? <span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>For dessert, in addition to the requisite pumpkin pie with homemade whipped cream, there was always at least one pumpkin cheesecake and some sort of chocolate mousse thingy.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>(I recently asked my sister what she remembers of the dessert table. Her reply: “They never had pecan pie.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>It’s my favorite.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>What were they thinking?”<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>So, I guess Thanksgiving attire <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">wasn’t </i>her only concern.) <span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Yes, the Bishops were certainly a big family in size, stature, and, most importantly, in appetite.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">When it was time for carving the<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal"> three </i>20-pound birds, my father was summoned from his nap on the couch to do the honors.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Do not ask me why my Dad, the least sociable, least related guy in the house was the bird carving man.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Perhaps it was because he was the only man not glued to the football game or maybe because he was, again, the only man constantly hanging around the bird.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Whatever the reason, when Mary wrapped a white apron around my Dad’s protruding belly, it was go time!<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>In my Dad went, without a plan or specific direction, tearing up the birds and placing entire joints on the platter.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>And as if to sing out, “one for you, one for me”, with every steaming piece put on the platter, another one was thrown directly in my Dad’s mouth.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>He probably ate a good 3 pounds of turkey just carving it.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>And thank goodness for that safety net of an apron which caught all the flying juice, meat and skin that fell from his mouth.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>“Dad, stop eating the bird.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>There won’t be anything left!” I screamed.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Now I knew there was no way my father could eat it all, but I promise you he made a significant dent.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>“Jamie, don’t tell me what to do!<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>I’ve got it handled,” he sternly replied. “Handled straight into your stomach,” I continued to push. And here we come flying back to my fears of scarcity.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> But if we are all being honest, t</span>he man’s mouth was a <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Hoover</st1:place></st1:city> and I was just certain he was minutes away from sucking up each entire turkey, bones and all.</p><p class="MsoNormal">Once the carving was complete and the saved carcasses wrapped in white trash bags as my father’s “soon to be soup” reward, it was turkey time.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Kids and adults alike jockeyed for position in the buffet line, ogling the many hot, bubbling dishes that crowded the table.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>As we settled into our chairs in the large sunken living room watching the <st1:state st="on"><st1:place st="on">California</st1:place></st1:state> sun set into the ocean, we gave thanks for each other, the amazing food, and for the generous chefs who made it all happen. <span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Sometimes there were announcements of college acceptances, engagements, or babies but mostly we just sat together eating, drinking, and laughing way too loud.</p><p class="MsoNormal">I don’t know anyone who doesn’t like Thanksgiving.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Ultimately it’s a holiday centered on food, family, and consuming way too much of both. <span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Not much has changed around my family’s Thanksgiving, though now Aunt Sissy herself, rather than Mary, hosts it and the Bishop children’s children have children.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>(Did you get that?)<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>My sister still queries every year as to what I’m going to wear for turkey day and just as I did 15 years ago I shoot back, “I have no idea, Laura.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>I’m just thinking about the food!”</p><img src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_urtYzt6xL_E/TPV2urwQP0I/AAAAAAAAAXk/Do2sYJXxs5g/s320/thanksgiving2010%2Bsquash.JPG" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5545469060567809858" /><p class="MsoNormal"><b>Spiced Pumpkin and Apple Soup</b></p><p class="MsoNormal"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal; ">Serves 4</span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal">So truth be told I actually didn't spend Thanksgiving with my family this year. After 7 years together I finally conceded to go to Gray's family's house for turkey day...and I was not looking forward to it. Don't get me wrong, Gray's family are lovely people and I definitely wanted to see them. I just didn't want to miss MY family's Thanksgiving. Well as you know, marriage is all about compromise and so it was about time I made an appearance at the in-laws. The festivities were held at Gray's uncle and aunt's beautiful ranch style home in San Diego. Their backyard literally wraps around the entire house and on the left side is an amazing kitchen garden; A garden, in fact, that supplied the large Cinderella pumpkin centerpieces. Well, one look at the huge pumpkin on my table and I had to have it. I couldn't help myself. Gray's aunt graciously said yes and I immediately began laying out all of my cooking options.</p><p class="MsoNormal">Originally I thought to turn half the pumpkin into soup and throw the rest into a winter salad but the flesh was simply too soft to hold up. So, a giant soup it was! The pumpkin was also not as sweet as I had imaged, which is how the apples and honey made their way into the pot. I made this soup the day after Thanksgiving as a thank you to Gray's cousins who housed us for the weekend. When Gray's 6 year old cousin took a bite he said, "Wow, this is yummy. You are a really good cook!" Though I know he genuinely enjoyed the soup by his quickly emptied mug, it may have also been a ploy to get me down there next year. Well, it worked.</p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Georgia;">4 cups roasted pumpkin**<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Georgia;">2 tablespoons of olive oil<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Georgia;">1 red onion, chopped<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Georgia;">4 cloves garlic, minced<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Georgia;">2 gala or <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">fuji</st1:place></st1:city> apples, peeled and chopped<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Georgia;">1 tablespoon butter, optional<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Georgia;">2 tsp. cinnamon<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Georgia;">½-1 tsp. curry powder<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Georgia;">¼ tsp. nutmeg<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Georgia;">A dash of chipotle pepper powder (if you are a spice lover, add more)<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Georgia;">1 ½ tbs. organic honey<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Georgia;">4 cups organic chicken or vegetable stock<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Georgia;">Salt and pepper to taste</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Georgia;"></span><span style="font-family:Georgia;"><a href="http://jamieliving.blogspot.com/2009/06/that-added-crunch.html">Tamari roasted sunflower seeds</a>, for garnish</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Georgia;"></span></p><img src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_urtYzt6xL_E/TPV2u8CSNQI/AAAAAAAAAXs/yzW07kaaavE/s320/thanksgiving2010%2Bsquash%2Bquarters.JPG" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5545469064938403074" /> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Georgia;">**To roast the pumpkin, preheat the oven to 400 </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Georgia;">degrees.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Chop the pumpkin into large quarters and scoop out the seeds.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Peel the pumpkin quarters and cut into 1 ½- 2 inch pieces for roasting.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Mix the pumpkin pieces with a bit of olive oil and salt and roast for 30 minutes, until the pieces are softened and a bit brown. Remove from the oven and set aside.</span></p><img src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_urtYzt6xL_E/TPV2vSjXhTI/AAAAAAAAAX0/N_-QoSxsdxE/s320/thanksgiving2010%2Broasted%2Bsquash.JPG" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5545469070982743346" /><br /><div><img src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_urtYzt6xL_E/TPV2wbMQQYI/AAAAAAAAAX8/_K-P4-Vk71Q/s320/thanksgiving2010%2Bsoup.JPG" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5545469090481586562" /><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Georgia;">In a large stock pot over low-medium hea</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Georgia;">t, add olive oil and </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Georgia;">sauté</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Georgia;"> the onions until translucent.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Georgia;"><span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Add the pumpkin, garlic, apples, butter, and pinch of salt and cook for another 5 minutes until the apples begin to soften.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Georgia;"><span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Georgia;">Add the cinnamon, curry powder, nutmeg, chipotle, and honey and mix thoroughly.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Georgia;"><span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Georgia;">Add the chicken stock and bring to a gentle simmer for 5 minutes.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Georgia;"><span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Georgia;">Turn off the heat and with a hand immersion blender or in batches with a regular blender, puree the soup.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Georgia;"><span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Georgia;">Once puréed, return to the heat and taste for seasoning.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Georgia;"><span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Georgia;">Add salt and pepper if needed.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Georgia;"><span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Georgia;">Ladle the soup into your favorite mugs and top with tamari sunflower seeds.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Georgia;"><span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Georgia;">Enjoy!</span></p></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-730838650720704210.post-77235883272528923462010-11-08T10:59:00.001-08:002010-11-10T09:47:46.385-08:00Apple Cider Braised Squash with Walnuts and Pomegranate Seeds<div style="text-align: left;">You've gotta love how literal I used to take things. When I was 10 and had my first bowl of Pho in Seattle, I thought Vietnam's Pearl on Rainier Avenue was the only place in the world to get those giant bowls of steaming, spiced noodle soup. I honestly believed Vietnamese cuisine was indigenous to Washington state. How was I to know? There are countless stories from my childhood of me taking things at face value. Fine, I admit it. I wasn't so much of a critical thinker. It also took me 22 years to realize my parents were just winging the entire parental thing. It's therefore not surprising that I used to think the only farmer's market in the world was in Santa Barbara.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div>My paternal grandmother was the first person to ever take me to a farmer's market. In fact, every time I visited her beach house we got up early on Saturday morning to get the best pickings at the downtown market. She was notoriously more "visual artist" than "cook" and so always filled her huge wicker basket with fresh flowers and orchids for the dining table and fruit for the big bowl that sat in the middle of the kitchen island while I wandered in and out of the stalls looking at avocados, oranges, and freshly baked breads. "This is the best market in the world!", she said while examining a delicate orchid bud. "And this is the best orchid stand, " she sang while giving the stand owner an approving smile.</div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><img src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_urtYzt6xL_E/TNiTqCOBWdI/AAAAAAAAAXE/Wum2Q3qWtJw/s320/IMG_0822.JPG" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5537338092211493330" /></div><div><br /></div><div>Everything and everyone in my grandmother's life is "the best". She has the best housekeeper, the best flower vendor, the best orthopedist. "Oh, he's the best in the country!", she praises. "People travel from around the world to see him." Let me add that not only are these particular people <i>the best</i>, they are <i>hers</i> and I often wonder if they agree with her self-entitled ownership rights. Now, whether or not any of <i>the bests</i> are true is completely irrelevant. My grandmother deeply believes that her world consists solely of <i>bests </i>and I, with my painfully literal interpretations, always believed her. I don't think I questioned anything she said until I was about 20. My favorite "best" was why to dress well on an airplane. "Jamie, remember to always dress your best while traveling," she so frequently reminded me. "I've met the best, most gorgeous, most glamorous people while traveling. You never know who you are going to meet!" From what I can gather, this recommendation all stemmed from her chance meeting and subsequent dinner with the Marchioness of Bath. No joke! Of course, with a story like that you might think I'd wear something other than sweatpants and my coke-bottle glasses on the plane. But no. That is serious dedication to comfort, my friends.</div><div><br /></div><div>So let me admit right now that Santa Barbara is the best farmer's market...in Southern California. It was the first place I ever ate sugar snap peas (and quickly learned you CAN have too much of a good thing) and where my grandmother asked her favorite farmers what they thought was <i>the best </i>of their bounty. I often think about my grandmother's conversations with her farmers when I am talking to my own. That's right, <i>my </i>farmers. Turns out I might have a small ownership problem myself. The farmer's market was our little ritual and I cherished strolling down the aisles with my grandmother in an environment so rich and beautiful to us both. We recently went back and, just like old times, she headed for <i>her </i>orchid lady and I quickly OD'd on sugar snap peas. It was a great morning and ended just like so many outings with my grandmother had. "Jamie," she said, hold my chin in her tanned yet aged hand. "Honey, you need a facial. I'm taking you to see my girl immediately. She is the best!"</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><img src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_urtYzt6xL_E/TNiTpgUcJxI/AAAAAAAAAW8/jv-MR_zMGgQ/s320/IMG_0248.JPG" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5537338083111610130" /></div><b><div><b><br /></b></div>Apple Cider Braised Squash with Walnuts and Pomegranate Seeds</b><div><b><br /></b></div><div>This is a recipe I made last week at the San Francisco Farmer's Market Food Wise booth. Every Tuesday they have guest chefs make a seasonal dish for the public to taste. I had one gentleman come up to me and exclaim, "This is absolutely perfect!" I was on cloud 9 for the rest of the day. Squash cooked in cider is a lovely combination of starchy and sweet while the nuts and pomegranates give it a great fatty and sour crunch. Think of this as a potential replacement for the traditional marshmallow topped sweet potatoes. Enjoy!</div><div><b><br /></b><div>Serves 4-6</div><div> <p class="MsoNormal"><b>Ingredients</b></p> 2 kabocha squash (about 2 pounds) or other firm winter squash such as acorn or butternut<br />3 tablespoons unsalted butter or ghee<br />1 garlic clove, minced<br />1 inch piece freshly grated ginger or 1 teaspoon powdered ginger<br />1 1/2 cups fresh unfiltered apple cider or juice<br />1 cup water<br />2 teaspoons brown rice or apple cider vinegar<br />1 teaspoon salt<br />Freshly ground black pepper<br />¼ cup fresh cilantro, chopped<br />Walnuts or almonds, toasted and chopped<br />2 tablespoons pomegranate seeds<u><br /></u></div><div><p class="MsoNormal">If using kabocha squash, cut off the stem and split lengthwise.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Peel it with a vegetable peeler and scrape out the seeds with a spoon. Cut each piece lengthwise in half again, then crosswise into 1/2-inch -thick slices. If using an acorn squash use the same method however you do not have to peel it.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Melt the butter in a large (12-inch) skillet over low heat. Add garlic and ginger and cook, stirring about 3 to 5 minutes. Do not brown the garlic. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">Add the squash to the skillet, then the apple cider, water, vinegar, and salt. Cook, stirring occasionally, over medium heat at an even boil until the cider has boiled down to a glaze and the squash is tender, 20 to 30 minutes. Taste and season with pepper, and additional salt if needed.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Top with fresh cilantro, toasted nuts, and pomegranate seeds and serve.</p></div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-730838650720704210.post-81062114871869596132010-11-01T09:19:00.001-07:002010-11-01T09:20:52.947-07:00Soy Marinated Rock CodThe restaurant smelled a little funky, a mix between the much-needed-to-be-cleaned lobster and crab tanks to the left and Buster's BBQ on my right. It was less of a restaurant to be honest, and more of a 10 seater bar in the middle of an incandescently lit food court, the same "court", you will recall, that my family regularly patronized for frozen yogurt. But this time the trip had nothing to do with dessert. We we were on a sushi mission. I was 7 years old at the time and only knew two things sushi: one was that my Dad loved it and two, that it was special...very special. With my limited knowledge of what lay before me we strolled up to the bar with its two sticks as eating utensils and laminated menus with pictures of brightly colored slabs of fish. As you can imagine my child self was justifiably concerned. I should mention there was a third thing that made this event special, the <i>only </i>thing in fact that kept me from grabbing frozen yogurt for lunch and heading to the car. This outing was just me and my Dad. Such an occurrence had never happened before and looking back I have no idea where my mother and sister were. I now imagine my mother lecturing my father for his lack of one-on-one time with me and him acquiescing with one line, " OK, I'll take her to sushi."<div><br /></div><div>So there we sat at the sushi bar next to a couple that was deeply engaged in their glazed eel. It looked kind of like chicken which helped calm me a bit. "Is this your first time eating sushi?" said the woman, taking a quick swig of sake. I nodded. "You are in for a treat!" My Dad took care of the ordering and I have to give him credit: he started us off with a soft shell crab roll. Simply put, if you want to get a kid to eat something, throw it in a deep fryer! He quickly handed me an inside piece of the roll, fearing I'd be too scared to eat a piece with a large crab leg hanging from it. Though I was unfamiliar with what lay before me I tried to mentally break it down into things I understood. I recognized white rice. Check. The white flaky stuff in the middle kind of looked like the baked fish my mom made. That's cool. I was a bit baffled by the seaweed but that wasn't enough to keep me from cramming the entire piece swiftly into my small child-sized mouth. Imagine stuffed chipmunk cheeks and that was me, trying to keep bits of rice and crab from flying out of my mouth. My first thought was, "I don't think I did this right" which was quickly followed by, "Aw, this is freakin' good!"</div><div><br /></div><div>First I was hit by the sweet, slightly sour sticky rice then by the crispy fried crab and last by the creamy mayo that brought the entire bite together. Heaven! My eyes rolled back into my head with pure food ecstasy and I soon heard my Dad say with a smirk, "So I guess you like it, huh?" YES, more please! After that first bite I was all in and tasted everything my Dad put in from of me. California roll, eel roll, yellowtail and salmon all made the list. I even tried the salmon eggs and octopus, neither of which I liked but hey, I tried it. The chef was so impressed with the little white girl eating sushi that he gave me a green tea ice cream, on the house. "Good eater!" he praised. "Don't I know it!", my father replied. From that day forward sushi was my favorite food. I loved its clean and fresh taste, how the food was pristinely presented and delivered in bite-sized pieces, and most of all, that it was something my Dad and I could agree upon.</div><div><br /></div><div>As I got older sushi became my go-to date option. I mean come on, what better way to a free sushi dinner?! It was also helpful in screening potential suitors. If they weren't down for sushi, I was not interested. In retrospect, I wonder what those boys must have thought when I suggested sushi as our first date. Presumptuous, expensive tastes, culinarily-adventurous princess? All I know is that I never got any complains. In fact, I first fell in love over sushi. I had been dating this guy for a month or two and things were going well. I wasn't <i>that </i>into him but he was older and drove a convertible so those improved his score. One night he invited me over for dinner. We had only ever gone out to eat and I kept replaying horror stories from girlfriends about cooking dates gone awry. "Please dear Lord don't let it be Refrigerator Surprise Meat Casserole," I prayed. Much to my delight I walked into his house to find him julienning carrots, cucumbers and fresh ahi tuna. "I like to make sushi at least once a week," he said, staring directly at me. Was this man looking straight into my soul? How did he know my deepest food desires? Well, that was it. I loved him. I had too!! When he ripped my heart out 6 months later I was devastated. "I love you, but I'm not in love with you," was the only answer I received. It took me an entire year to get over him, partly because every time I passed a sushi restaurant I burst into tears.</div><div><br /></div><div>The revelation came, as many good ones do, in my therapist's office. We were recounting <i>again</i>my feelings of loss and pain over my lack of a sushi-eating boyfriend when she said, "Is it possible<i> </i>that you don't miss your boyfriend at all but rather are mourning the loss of the attention and connection you never got from your father?" Oh my goodness, thank you Ms. Freud!!! Yes, I had just realized that the only time I'd ever felt connected to my Dad was over sushi and that my ex-boyfriend had become, dare I say it?, the perfect Dad substitute. The realization was simultaneously fantastic and horrific. Fantastic because I was immediately free of any emotions associated with my ex-boyfriend and horrific because I now had to work on my relationship with my father. OY!</div><div><br /></div><div>Thanks to a heavy stint in therapy and way too much hippie soul searching, things with my Dad are good now. OK, not <i>good</i>, but definitely better. We can talk about work or music and can walk away from an argument without screaming or slamming doors. Most importantly, we no longer need a piece of raw fish to bring us together. Though, it never hurts.</div><div><br /><br /><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_urtYzt6xL_E/TMybDrr_-WI/AAAAAAAAAW0/wmEmHcGoxHA/s1600/IMG_0850.JPG"><img src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_urtYzt6xL_E/TMybDrr_-WI/AAAAAAAAAW0/wmEmHcGoxHA/s320/IMG_0850.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5533968529700682082" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px; " /></a><br /><br /><br /><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_urtYzt6xL_E/TMyay47rPXI/AAAAAAAAAWs/foQ6VTY1zWw/s1600/IMG_0851.JPG"><img src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_urtYzt6xL_E/TMyay47rPXI/AAAAAAAAAWs/foQ6VTY1zWw/s320/IMG_0851.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5533968241198316914" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px; " /></a><br /></div><div><b>Soy Marinated Rock Cod</b></div><div>Sushi, though delicious, take a decent amount of time to prep. This is my current favorite "de-constructed" sushi inspired dish that comes together in no time. OK, so it's not really sushi since the fish is cooked but it certainly does have similar flavors. Serve it along side rice and toasted nori to make your own open-faced sushi rolls. YUM!</div><div><br /></div><div>Serves 2-3</div><div><i></i></div><div><br /></div><div>3 pieces rock cod or other white fish, about 1 pound total<br />2-3 tablespoons tamari or shoyu (natural soy sauce)<br />1 teaspoon balsamic vinegar<br />2 tablespoons brown rice vinegar<br />1 tablespoon honey or brown rice syrup<br />1 clove garlic, minced<br />1/2 inch ginger, freshly grated</div><div>1/4 cup cilantro, chopped</div><div><br /></div><div>Preheat the oven to 350 degrees. Remove the fish from its packaging and dry it with paper towels. Please in an shallow baking dish and set aside.</div><div><br /></div><div>In a small bowl add the tamari, balsamic vinegar, brown rice vinegar, and honey and whisk together. Add in the minced garlic and grated ginger and combine. Add the marinade to the fish in the baking dish and let sit in the refrigerator for 15 minutes.</div><div><br /></div><div>Remove the fish from the fridge and place it in the oven and bake for 15-20 minutes, until the fish is white and flaky. Top with fresh cilantro and serve with a green salad, rice and toasted nori. Enjoy!</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-730838650720704210.post-16288896890722852512010-09-29T21:07:00.000-07:002011-02-02T13:42:41.991-08:00Chicken Tagine with Lemon and Olives<p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">"Your parents always made the BEST food!" my aunt said while weaving in and out of traffic on our way to </span></span><st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Pearl</span></span></st1:place></st1:city><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">, our favorite Vietnamese place.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">I was up for my annual </span></span><st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Seattle</span></span></st1:place></st1:city><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> visit and we were engaged in a "Family Secrets" talk.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">These talks happened every so often, most commonly over two bowls of steamy pho and fresh spring rolls, and comprised of never before told stories about my parents, grandparents and, occasionally, great-grandparents.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">"When your parents had their apartment in </span></span><st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Santa Monica</span></span></st1:place></st1:city><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">, they experimented with all kinds of food and everything was amazing.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Wonder why they don't do that anymore?"</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">I had briefly heard about these cooking adventures in passing from my mother and imagined my parents as lovely hosts who cooked, drank red wine out of bowl-sized glasses and showed off their culinary skills with Fleetwood Mac on the record player.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Skills, might I add, that I never saw.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Of course I saw my mother cook, but nothing like she or my aunt ever described.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">It was the mid-seventies and my parents lived in a beautiful "Spanish style" apartment building in </span></span><st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Santa Monica</span></span></st1:place></st1:city><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> that my grandmother conveniently owned. Being quit handy, my father became the building manager and soon had the run of the place.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">With a lovely courtyard and fire pit perfect for impromptu jam sessions and a teeny-weeny kitchen that allowed you to smack your face on the fridge when turning away from stove, it was ideal for the newly married couple.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">And it was in this little apartment that my parents made braised veal with lemon, capers and stuffed white fish.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Where they invited my aunt over to partake in hand-rolled pasta that my mother had literally hung from the rafters because there was no table space.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">They held monstrous brunches and served quiche, bagels, fruit salad, and my Dad's famous </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">fish eggs</span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">(This is the only dish I've ever seen my father make.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Take sauteed onions, mix with your eggs and throw into a hot, oiled pan.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Toss in any vegetable you have in the fridge.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Then, add kippers, herring or smoked trout and serve to your mortified children.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Viola, fish eggs!)</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">In her hippy glory, my mother loving made strudel by hand, laying the long dough out over her too-short table.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">By the time she was done, the sheets hung over the table edge, kissing the floor.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">I felt like a reporter getting the goods on breaking news every time I heard one of these food stories.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">The characters were my parents, Debra and Steven in name and body, but somehow I didn't recognize them; these characters were the youthful, care-free counterparts, Debbie and Steve, to my now busy, children-laden parents.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">It was a side of my mom and dad I'd never seen before and I desperately wanted to know.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Who were these people that made pasta from scratch or spent an entire Sunday cooking for friends?</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">With every morsel of information I felt more connected to these young, exciting newlyweds, as if they were </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">my </span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">friends and these memories were sourced from my own seat at the dinner table.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">There is one night in particular I could swear I was there.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">It was the evening my parents ventured into Middle Eastern cuisine.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">I think I was born with olives and lemons in my blood because there is no other flavor profile I adore more.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">On this particular night, young Debbie and Steve made chicken tagine with quince and almonds and homemade baklava.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">The sweet, astringent flavor of quince and delicate texture of long-cooked chicken filled my mouth and trickled down my throat as I imagined the dish in my mind.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">The table oohed and ahhed as my mother served her slightly intoxicated guests their generous helpings.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">A bit of sauce spilled on the floor and their kitten Rocky quickly pounced to lick it up.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Even the kitty was smiling.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Like a director I watched from behind the camera and took in all the smiles, laughs, smells and tastes.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">They may have not seen me but I certainly saw them and reveled in their unabashed delights.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Hours of patiently maneuvering delicate phyllo dough and sticky honey made the baklava all the more delectable.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">It's thin layered, buttery sweet crunch left a party in the mouth only the tagine might have hoped to rival. And there it was.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">The party I knew I attend though it was held years before my birth.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Amazingly, I only heard about this particular meal a few times but there was something about the time, the place and the menu that stuck with me.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Envisioning my parents as two youngsters creating a fun-filled home allowed me to break out of our parent/child relationship and relate to them under the umbrella of what we all jointly loved...food.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; "></span></span></p><span class="Apple-style-span"><div><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_urtYzt6xL_E/TKJdmLRzwiI/AAAAAAAAAWk/_d84zg1JgvI/s1600/IMG_0732.JPG"><img src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_urtYzt6xL_E/TKJdmLRzwiI/AAAAAAAAAWk/_d84zg1JgvI/s320/IMG_0732.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5522079003553546786" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px; " /></a></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br />Though not my mother's original recipe, I recently served this dish for my brother's 21st birthday to my own table of ohhs and ahhs. It really is a crowd pleaser and not very difficult to make. All you need are some foodie friends and you are good to go.<br /><br /></span></span></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Chicken Tagine with Lemon and Olives</span></span></b></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Adapted from </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Cover and Bake </span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">by Cook's Illustrated Magazine</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Serves 4</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">1 teaspoon ground ginger</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">1 1/2 teaspoon ground cumin</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">1 teaspoon ground coriander</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">2 teaspoons sweet paprika</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">salt and ground black pepper</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">3 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">1 3-4 pound organic chicken, skinned and cut into respective parts with the wings reserved for another use. (You can also do this with 8 skinless thighs or breasts)</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">1 large onion, halved and sliced thin</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">2 tablespoons of water</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">4 garlic cloves, minced</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">2 bay leaves</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">1 3/4 cups water</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">1/2 cup organic un-sulfured apricots, chopped</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">1 (2 inch) strip of lemon peel or 1/2 a preserved lemon, minced</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">3 tablespoons lemon juice</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">1/2 cup kalamata olives, pitted and halved</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">2 tablespoons parsley, chopped</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Adjust the oven rack to the lower-middle position and pre-heat to 300 degrees. Combine the ginger, cumin, coriander, paprika, 1 teaspoon of salt, 1/4 teaspoon black pepper, and 2 tablespoons of olive oil in a large bowl. Dry the chicken pieces thoroughly with paper towels and add to the bowl with the spiced and toss to coat. Heat the remaining tablespoon of oil in a large oven-proof Dutch oven over medium heat. Add 3 of the chicken parts, skinned side down, and cook without moving them until lightly browned, about 4 minutes. Flip the chicken over and continue to cook until the second side is golden, about 4 minutes longer. Transfer to a plate. Add the remaining chicken parts to the pot and repeat, then transfer them to the plate and set aside.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Add the onion and 2 tablespoons of water to the pt with the drippings and return to medium-high heat. Cook, scraping the browned bits off the bottom of the pot, until the onion has softened and begins to brown, 5-6 minutes. Add the garlic and cook until fragrant, about 30 seconds. Add the bay leaves, water, apricots, lemon peel, and browned chicken with any accumulated juices; bring to a simmer. Cover, transfer to the oven, and cook until the chicken is easily pierced with a knife, about 1 1/4 hours.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Transfer the chicken to a serving platter and cover to keep warm. Add the lemon juice and olives to the sauce. Bring to a simmer and let the juice reduce by half. Add salt and pepper to taste then add the chicken back to the pot, and sprinkle with parsley. Enjoy!</span></span></div></span><p></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-730838650720704210.post-70880782857524651342010-09-14T18:17:00.000-07:002010-09-20T13:09:35.968-07:00End of Summer Salad Party<div style="text-align: left;">I have a theory. Simply stated, most people don't truly dislike as many foods as they think they do. I pose it's more a matter of preparation than actual hatred of that specific food. Granted there are definitely a few foods on my "rather not eat" list (sea urchin, any type of aspic and egg salad are a few that come to mind) however, I can honestly say that I have tried them all at the height of their preparation and come to my conclusion legitimately. Consequently, I'm always shocked when I run into an adult that says, "I don't like vegetables." What do you mean you don't like vegetables?!? Do you even know how many types of vegetables there are? It's impossible for you to dislike them all! The truth is, most of these poor people suffered through childhoods filled with canned, boiled or microwaved vegetables. It's no wonder they now won't touch the stuff with a 10-foot pole! If that was my only knowledge of vegetables, I wouldn't either. In 9<sup>th</sup> grade I practically lived at my best friend's house, a sprawling multi-level place where kids ran free and parents escaped to the opposite side of the house. Her parents were lovely people but not what I would call culinarily inclined. To give you an example, twice a week they microwaved broccoli and served it with spray butter. Now, I have always been a broccoli lover but even I couldn't get myself to stomach this zapped, rubbery "vegetable". (They also cooked their morning eggs and bacon in the microwave. OY!) In retrospect, I still don't know why I didn't just eat before going over there. I'm pained deeply when I hear stories of gray asparagus and carrots boiled to mush not only because it brings back microwave memories but because it makes me wonder how we could be made to put such yucky stuff into our mouths year in and year out. I should say kudos to parents for trying. I truly appreciate you wanting to get vegetables into your children but I'm sure we could have found a more delicious way.</div><div> <p class="MsoNormal">When I met my husband, he too had a laundry list of things he didn't eat, including kale and asparagus, my two all time faves. The first time I said I wanted to make him a kale dish he stared back at me, horrified, and said, "Are you sure that's safe? I used to feed it to my Iguana Spud. I don't think it's for human consumption!" And so goes the life of kale, relegated as garnish or lizard food. As a girl who likes a challenge, I made it my mission to make him fall in love with everything that he refused to eat. Once I had won him over with my braised kale (he was surprised not only by its deliciousness but by the fact that he didn't die!), I moved on the asparagus. When spring came, I found the most beautiful tender asparagus and roasted them with salt, pepper, and olive oil. Let me just say, he mowed through those asparagus so fast I only snagged two spears for myself. Since conquering Gray's taste buds (he eats anything I put in front of him now and just last night requested more dark leafy greens. I adore this man!), I now work on friends and family. Yes, I love hosting dinner parties for the sheer joy of feeding friends but my devious side also enjoys sneaking foods into the menu previously deemed inedible.</p><p class="MsoNormal">Enter the summer salad party. First, I wanted to make dishes that reflected the bounty of summer before it left us. I also wanted to show the men folk that YES you can have salad for dinner and be quite full and satisfied. Lastly, we have this friend, who shall remain nameless, who does not like beans or potatoes. Again I ask you, what the WHAT??? How is this possible? Beans and potatoes are the easiest foods to like because you can do anything with them. Mashed, fried, baked, broiled, they taste amazing every which way. But no, she doesn't like them in any form. We've decided she is a communist! So, of course, I couldn't contain myself and made a bean salad which I promptly insisted she try the second she walked in. She filled her plate with the other salads and took just a smidgen of beans. Whatever, as long as she tried them. About an hour into dinner I notice my friend get up for seconds. Now as a health coach I'm in a complete moral dilemma with seconds. I encourage people to try and stick to one plate, especially if they are no longer hungry, but the cook in me takes seconds as the most supreme form of praise and wants people to load up. Anyway, I noticed that when my friend sat back down, plate fully reloaded, she had indulged in a lovely scoop of beans. YES! <st1:place st="on"><st1:city st="on">Mission</st1:city></st1:place> accomplished.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span">And while I'm sure that our friend will prob</span>ably continue to voice her objection to beans, I now have proof that with the right preparation, she is open to bending the rules. Now it's time to move on to potatoes :)</p><img src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_urtYzt6xL_E/TJQHRNoNk0I/AAAAAAAAAWE/dqpnWXIxf60/s320/IMG_0899.JPG" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5518043435733193538" /><img src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_urtYzt6xL_E/TJQHR6SHlzI/AAAAAAAAAWU/nWVFHXFGcDo/s320/IMG_0906.JPG" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5518043447720122162" /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div></div><div><span style="font-weight:bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span">End of Summer Salads</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /><br />Here is the menu I put together for the party:<br /></span><br /><a href="http://jamieliving.blogspot.com/2009/06/definitive-queen.html"><span class="Apple-style-span">Green salad</span></a> with orange, avocado, and tamari roasted<a href="http://jamieliving.blogspot.com/2009/06/that-added-crunch.html"><span class="Apple-style-span"> pumpkin seeds</span></a><br /><a href="http://www.jamieoliver.com/recipes/chicken-recipes/barbecued-chicken-with-warm-green-bean-s"><span class="Apple-style-span">Grilled chicken breast and fresh green bean salad</span></a></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><a href="http://www.jamieoliver.com/recipes/chicken-recipes/barbecued-chicken-with-warm-green-bean-s"></a>Farro salad with fresh corn and roasted red onions<br />Bean salad with sun-dried tomatoes and Dijon vinaigrette</span></div><div><br /></div><img src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_urtYzt6xL_E/TJQHRlo7fnI/AAAAAAAAAWM/pvF3hnd6CnQ/s320/IMG_0904.JPG" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5518043442178653810" /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><b>Farro salad with fresh corn and roasted red onions</b></div><div>Serves 4</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>4 cups water</div><div>1 cup farro, soaked overnight</div><div>1 teaspoon salt</div><div>4 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil, divided</div><div>3 large torpedo onions, sliced into 1/2 inch strips (Regular red onions will work well too)</div><div>1 teaspoon organic butter or ghee</div><div>2 cup organic fresh corn, cut off the cob</div><div>1/4 cup fresh Italian parsley, chopped</div><div>Salt and pepper taste</div><div><br /><br /></div><img src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_urtYzt6xL_E/TJP4c-8UohI/AAAAAAAAAVs/_V70MC3UEvw/s320/IMG_0898.JPG" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5518027145275023890" /><div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div></div><div>Preheat the oven to 400 degrees. Place the strips of onion on a 8 1/2 x 11 pyrex baking dish. Drizzle with 2 tablespoons of olive oil, salt and pepper and roast in the oven for about 40 minutes, stirring once half way through, until the onions are soft and a little crispy at the ends. </div><div><br /></div><div>Place the water, farro, and salt in a large stock pot and bring to a boil. Reduce to a simmer and cook for 18-20 minutes, or until the farro is tender but still toothy. Drain excess water and set aside.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>In a heavy skillet, heat the organic butter and sauté the corn until just tender, about 4 minutes. Place the cooked corn, farro, and onions into a large bowl and season with the remaining olive oil, salt and pepper. Mix thoroughly. Stir in the parsley and enjoy!</div><div><br /></div><div><img src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_urtYzt6xL_E/TJQHe-AnnaI/AAAAAAAAAWc/LWHrl5MHQWc/s320/IMG_0901.JPG" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5518043672058764706" /></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>Bean salad with sun-dried tomatoes and Dijon vinaigrette</b></div><div>Serves 4-5</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>1 can kidney beans, drained and rinsed</div><div>1 can pinto beans, drained and rinsed</div><div>1 can red beans or cannellini beans, drained and rinsed</div><div>3 stalks of celery, cut into 1/4 inch pieces</div><div>1 small red onion, cut in half and thinly sliced</div><div>1/2 cup sun-dried tomatoes, chopped (If they are oil packed, simply chop them. If they are dried, reconstitute them in boiling water for a few minutes then chop.)</div><div>1 handful arugula</div><div>1/4 cup fresh parsley, chopped</div><div>A pinch of smoked sea salt</div><div><br /></div><div><b>For the Dijon dressing</b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div>1 garlic clove, minced</div><div>1/4 teaspoon dried oregano</div><div>1/4 teaspoon dried thyme</div><div>1 teaspoon Dijon mustard</div><div>3 tablespoons red wine vinegar</div><div>1/4 cup plus 1 tablespoon extra virgin olive oil</div><div>Salt and pepper to taste</div><div><br /></div><div>In a heavy bottomed skillet at the beans and heat through. **You can also quickly blanch them at this point if you prefer. Place them in a large bowl and add the celery, onions, tomatoes, arugula, parsley, and smoked salt.</div><div><br /></div><div>In a small bowl, whisk together the garlic, dried herbs, Dijon mustard, and vinegar. Slowly drizzle in the olive oil. Continue to whisk until the dressing comes together. Season with salt and pepper to taste. </div><div><br /></div><div>Drizzle the dressing over the beans, toss well, and serve immediately. Yum!</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-730838650720704210.post-5017574733490201472010-09-09T17:06:00.000-07:002010-09-15T16:33:48.371-07:00The Candy ClubI had been waiting for my sister Laura to come home for the last hour. We attended separate schools and I always made better time on my royal blue 10-speed than she did on the rickety yellow school bus that brought her home. (My sister had been admitted to a school for gifted children the year before. A school, I might add, that denied me 3 years in a row. This was certainly a gaping wound on my part and one that my sister often enjoyed dousing with salt.) I sat on the front porch playing with the roly polies and trailing the lines between the big red bricks that made up our stairs with my finger. Finally, she turned the corner and walked up our driveway. I yelled from the porch, "Hey you wanna go to the little store?" My sister and I asked each other this question at least four times a week. The little store was just that: a ram-shackled little building about three blocks from our house that resembled an "old-tyme" general store with an ethnic twist. The back of the store was stocked with frozen vegetables and meats, and right next to the pig trotters, popsicles. (I only ever grabbed a popsicle when in dire need.) The left side of the store was stocked with beer and liquor while for us children, the right side was dedicated entirely to candy. The old man behind the counter always recognized us but rarely offered a smile. I'm sure he thought we were just biding our time before pick-pocketing our favorite items. Which was true. I had dreamed of hijacking the place and escaping with every last bit of candy on the shelves. However, this sugar fueled fantasy was nothing compared to the sweet devotion of my sister Laura, aka, "the candy queen".<br /><br />Of course all children love sweets, but Laura took it to a entirely new level. While my mother craved green vegetables and salads when pregnant with me, she inhaled every candy, cake and chocolate bar in Ventura County while Laura was in the womb. My sister was literally made out of sugar. And so our respective preferences were shaped. I ate vegetables constantly and Laura hoarded candy in her room. Many times we didn't even know the stash was there until a conspicuous trail of ants blew her cover. About a decade later she was outed by my cousin's dog who found a hidden donut in my sister's overnight bag. I thought she was going to KILL that dog! Every Halloween we laid out our "bag of crap", as my father lovingly called it, to swap Abbazabbas for Snickers bars and haggle over the price of Red Hots. My sister owned her sweet tooth and quickly decided that everything should taste like candy. Like when my parents attempted to get her to stop sucking her middle and index fingers by saying, "Laura, your fingers are dirty and they must taste terrible!" "Nope," she smirked. "They taste like chocolate!"<br /><br />So these were the two little devils that entered the little store. Two candy junkies looking for a fix whose mother had no idea what they poured down their throats four times a week. Laura immediately went for the chewy, fruity stuff like Starbursts, Now and Laters, and Skittles, while I stuck to the Red Hots, Fireballs, Skor bars (AMAZING!) and Lemon Heads. Our choices certainly revealed our personalities: one child sweet and bizarrely malleable, and the other, a rare combo of a sour and spicy. We walked back home in a sugar haze, almost blinded by the effects of sucrose coursing through our veins. Once home we promptly got into a fight and usually had to be separated. (See what happens when you have too much Yellow #5? I remember reading labels even back then and thinking, "Eating something with a number on it can't be good for me.")<br /><br />As the years went by we became experimental, like when our babysitter Jessica Woodcock (P.S. I just recently realized the hilarity of her last name) showed us how to soften a jolly rancher stick in the microwave and wrap it around a blow pop to make the largest lollipop ever! We'd throw our multi-colored sucker monstrosities into the freezer for a quick cooling then eat them over the next few hours until our mother got home. Unfortunately, the ginormous lollipop factory shut down only after a few months when Laura turned the microwave on high and cooked the jolly rancher until it liquefied and almost caught fire.<br /><br />I don't know when we stopped going to the little store. We got older, our tastes changed, and eventually our family moved from the neighborhood. Of course, now in my chosen profession as a whole foods crusader, it's shocking to think I was ever such a sugar fiend. Who knew it would come to this! Thank goodness Laura still keeps the little store flame alive by keeping mini snickers bars in her purse and hard candies in the car. My younger sister has never forgotten her roots, and holds on to them as tightly as I now grasp my kale. Ah, the candy queen lives on! She says it's her duty to make up for all the candy I'm not eating.<br /><br />Well, I guess someone's got to do it.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_urtYzt6xL_E/TI_0gZHclVI/AAAAAAAAAVU/9pH4Utanui8/s1600/IMG_0863.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_urtYzt6xL_E/TI_0gZHclVI/AAAAAAAAAVU/9pH4Utanui8/s320/IMG_0863.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5516896905887257938" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Balsamic and Butter Glazed Frittata</span><br />Served 4<br /><br />Adapted from <span style="font-style:italic;">Vegetarian Cooking for Everyone</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_urtYzt6xL_E/TJDtTlN90XI/AAAAAAAAAVc/EWiMfPxlQS0/s1600/IMG_0864.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_urtYzt6xL_E/TJDtTlN90XI/AAAAAAAAAVc/EWiMfPxlQS0/s320/IMG_0864.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5517170464192844146" /></a><br /><br />For those of you expecting a "healthy" candy recipe, I'm sorry to disappoint. I'm actually working on a relatively healthy toffee recipe which I will post as soon as it's ready. Promise! In the meantime, when you need something sweet, try this frittata. Eggs, you say? Absolutely. The caramelized red onions give it a nice smoky sweetness and the reduced buttery balsamic glaze just puts it over the top. SO GOOD! <br /><br />2 large red onions, peeled and thinly sliced<br />2 tablespoons olive oil<br />2 tablespoons balsamic vinegar, <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Bariani-Balsamic-Vinegar-16-9-oz/dp/B000WK3F9Q">Bariani </a>is the best<br />Salt to taste<br />1/8 teaspoon ground cloves<br />6 eggs<br />2 tablespoons chopped parsley<br />1 tablespoon plus 1 teaspoon organic butter or ghee<br />¼ cup walnuts, toasted and chopped<br /><br />Warm the olive oil in a 10 inch skillet and add the sliced onions. Cook over medium heat until they are golden, about 30 minutes. Add half the vinegar, let it reduce, and add in the cloves and a touch of salt. Preheat the broiler.<br /><br />In a large bowl whisk the eggs. Season with salt and add in the onions and parsley. Melt 1 tablespoon of butter in the skillet (you do not need to clean it out from the onions) until it is sizzling. Add the eggs and lower the heat. Scatter the walnuts on top and cook until the eggs are set and browned on the bottom, about 8-10 minutes. Slide the pan 6 inches under the broiler to finish cooking the top, about 2 minutes. Take care not to burn the walnuts.<br /><br />Loosen the frittata and tilt it onto a serving plate. Return the skillet to the stove and raise the heat. Add the remaining teaspoon of butter and when it melts, add the remaining vinegar. Slide the pan back and forth to combine the two then pour the mixture over the eggs. Enjoy!Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-730838650720704210.post-72752561790942477642010-09-02T15:39:00.000-07:002010-09-07T13:39:17.358-07:00Figs, figs, a wonderful fruitI adore figs. Green, black, brown, Turkish, I don't care! Just give me sweet, seedy, jammy figs and I am a happy girl. Today I don't eat many foods from my childhood, but figs for some reason have always possessed staying power. I grew up in a small craftsman-style house built in the early 1900's. It was a sweet little home with two beds and built-in cabinets, perfect for a young couple, which is exactly what my parents were when I came into the picture. Our backyard was not huge but it did have a few good fruits to bare, one of which was an enormous Haas avocado tree that dropped fruit the size of my head. Rich, thick and creamy, we ate them every chance we could, usually as guacamole, though sometimes I caught my mom sticking tablespoonfuls directly into her mouth. There was also a tangerine tree, a peach tree, a Meyer lemon tree and wild mint that we mashed with sugar and hot water to make "mint tea" (though in reality it was more like warm simple syrup with mint essence. Ah kids!) <br /><br />My favorite however was the fig tree. Placed right next to our rickety (and definitely dangerous) swing set, it was in a prime location for me to swing over and grab an unsuspecting fig any time I wanted. I waited all year for that tree to bloom and when it did, I went crazy! I averaged a good 12 figs a day. At first I went for the ones at eye level, but as the summer progressed and those thinned out, I needed help getting my fig fix. I begged my Dad to come help me grab the luscious ripe ones that stared down at me from their high perch. "I'll get you my pretty!" I thought as I glared back at them. But one sunny Summer afternoon, I found myself in the middle of a major fig meltdown with no one to help me. I needed a fig bad and I simply couldn't wait for parental assistance, so I bravely decided to climb the tree. This was an emergency after all! It wouldn't have been so bad had there not been copious amounts of sap and ants lining the tree. I'd hated ants ever since my 6th birthday when I accidentally swallowed one that decided to take a nap on the lip of my 7-UP can. EEEEWWWW!!! <br /><br />The ants had multiple trails going up and down the trunk and on every branch of the precious fig tree. Apparently, they <span style="font-style:italic;">too </span>were all about figs. As I climbed the tree I kept thinking, "No ants in my mouth, just not in my mouth!" I gingerly picked as many figs as my left hand could hold as my right tightly gripped a sturdy-looking branch. However, the tricky part was not the climb or even picking the fruit, but getting down with two handfuls of sticky, split figs. I awkwardly descended, trying not to cause any accidents among the many ant highways. But wherever my hands touched the tree, eager ants assumed they were other branches and immediately hopped on. They seemed to have no problem with detours. With hands full of melty figs and arms covered with ants, I simply couldn't take it any more. I took a deep breath, said a quick prayer, and jumped. The ground was not as springy or soft as I'd imagined, and I hit the grass with a decided thud. Granted, I'd jumped down maybe 2 1/2 feet but it seems pretty dangerous at the time. I actually managed to save most of the figs though some were greatly damage by my now tightly closed fist. I rolled onto my back and looked up at the fig tree. "That's right fig tree," I yelled. "Who's the boss now?!" I rested my head on the grass and popped a glistening fig into my mouth. It somehow tasted sweeter than it ever had before. Perhaps it was my brush with death, or the simple fact it had had more time to ripen. Either way that fig was amazing and it felt good to have risked life and limb for it. I was a food hero! And there I stayed, spread out on the grass, feeling wonderful about myself and barely feeling the ants navigating their way up and down my arms. <br /> <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_urtYzt6xL_E/TIFM_GqpWfI/AAAAAAAAAVM/3HC-g06crLA/s1600/IMG_0244.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_urtYzt6xL_E/TIFM_GqpWfI/AAAAAAAAAVM/3HC-g06crLA/s320/IMG_0244.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5512772065883150834" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Best ways to eat figs</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_urtYzt6xL_E/TIFM-f-cl7I/AAAAAAAAAU8/0Ager0VBsfU/s1600/IMG_0941.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_urtYzt6xL_E/TIFM-f-cl7I/AAAAAAAAAU8/0Ager0VBsfU/s320/IMG_0941.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5512772055497217970" /></a><br /><br />1) Throw them on the grill until the jammy center begins to caramelize<br />2) Stuff with a small piece of goat cheese and fresh thyme<br />3) Stuff with a thin piece of prosciutto, and top with mint and drizzle with a bit of balsamic vinegar<br />4) Split them open and smear with almond butter<br />5) Thinly slice and lay them over an arugula and basil salad with shaved Parmesan<br />6) Slice and put on a pizza with goat cheese, shaved fennel, and caramelized onions<br />7) Place them directly in your mouth a chew (My favorite!)Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-730838650720704210.post-68750000030318785052010-09-01T08:52:00.000-07:002010-09-03T16:20:55.550-07:00Grilled corn and tomato salad"Just pick it up and eat it!", she said in an exasperated tone. I stared down at the glistening corn cob. Laurie was already half way through hers, chomping down so hard that with every bite she shot out a bit of yellow corn juice. I just sat there looking back and forth from the buttered cob to her. I wanted to be her as much as I wanted to eat the corn off that cob, but I knew neither was truly possible. Laurie was my idol, a goddess among awkward 12 year olds. Honestly, this girl never had an awkward faze. Though only 11 months older she had been blessed early with long legs, beautiful black hair, and a pert little All-American nose house on a lovely heart shaped face. With my uncontrollable Jew-fro and Streisand-inspired nose I knew I could never look like her. That left my only other hope...to eat like her. <br /><br />Unfortunately what stood between me and my desire to be Laurie's corn companion was a mouth full of metal. That's right! I was a serious brace face, a gift from my orthodontist Dr. Saint (yes, his real name) that was to last three very un-cool years. I was only in year one and still fearful that the wrong food might blow the braces right off my teeth. Dr. Saint had sternly advised again gum, candy, and definitely corn on the cob. I couldn't go against my orthodontist. He was a Saint for goodness sake! "Nothing is going to happen to your teeth," Laurie said, as if listening in on my mental anguish. "It's physically impossible for your face to explode from one bite of corn," she said in between buttered lip smacking. "She's right," I thought. "Stop being a wuss and don't let Dr. Saint run your life. Just do it!" And with that I opened my mouth, bared my shiny imprisoned teeth and crunched down. <br /><br />Now, what I should have done was stop at the first bite. However, I hadn't crunched on anything in months so once I started, I was not about to look back. Bite after bite I filled my mouth with the intense, sweetly rich flavor of fresh corn. I didn't come up for air until all that was left was a thoroughly abused cob. I looked up at Laurie who had put down her own cob to watch me inhale mine. "Oh my god, Jamie!" she laughed. "You've got more corn in your teeth than actually went down your throat!" I knew it was true before she even said it. My teeth felt oddly heavy and tight, being weighted down by a good 2 cups of stuck corn. I raced to the bathroom to rinse my mouth and get some relief. Water didn't do anything. The kernels just smiled back at me as if to say, "Best of luck gettin' us out. We aren't moving!" Tooth brush, toothpicks, floss; I hammered at my teeth with all sorts of oral hygiene accessories but nothing worked. I picked corn out of my teeth for the next three days, always thinking I was done until another hidden kernel appeared. It took 4 years before I ate corn again and only after my braces were long gone. <br /><br />OK, let's tell the truth. I still don't eat corn on the cob and haven't since wrapping my metal mouth around that fateful corn cob so long ago. With a sharp knife I now cut off all the sweet kernel goodness and ladle each bite in with a spoon. So painless and easy! My husband calls me a wuss but I really don't care. I'm still scarred from the lodged corn conundrum 18 years ago. Granted, I no longer have braces but corn in the teeth is still a valid concern. Of course, all of these old emotions are coming up because I've been surrounded by corn for the last two months. I know people eat corn morning, noon, and night when it's at the market but honestly, this is the first year I've EVER had corn at my dinner table. Why, you ask? Because I still harbor resentment (how Jewish AND motherly of me!) towards corn and haven't felt like inviting it into my kitchen, that's why! <br /><br />However, that all changed a few weeks ago during a dinner party. I decided on a theme of summer salads and headed off to the market for some much needed inspiration. I loaded up my bag with crisp green beans, gorgeous orange and red cherry tomatoes, and a giant head of red leaf lettuce that I scored for $1. I initially ignored the giant wooden bins piled high to corn until I heard an elderly man, elbow deep in the bin, exclaim, "This is the best corn I've had in years!" Well, I may hold a grudge but if I can get my hands on the "best" of any type of food, all bets are off. I quickly grabbed a few good-looking ears, threw money at the cashier, and headed off home wondering what I had done. <br /><br />I decide to make a roasted corn and cherry tomato salad with fresh basil. An easy representation of summer's bounty with a clincher that the corn could be off the cob. Let me just say this, the gentleman was not lying! The corn was smoky, sweet, and juicy with a just touch of crunch. Perfection! The salad was by far the most popular at the party and the only one with ZERO leftovers. (DARN!) Since then I've made a few variations, one with a cup of kidney beans, the other with a bit of farro, but always the same foundation of fresh corn, tomatoes, and basil. <br /><br />It is safe to say that yes, my struggle with corn has finally been laid to rest. And the best part is, we both won in the end. <br /> <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_urtYzt6xL_E/TH_naJLZ5RI/AAAAAAAAAUk/QBVNFeQW17E/s1600/IMG_0929.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_urtYzt6xL_E/TH_naJLZ5RI/AAAAAAAAAUk/QBVNFeQW17E/s320/IMG_0929.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5512378905251144978" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_urtYzt6xL_E/TH_naQavG4I/AAAAAAAAAUs/xro0g1hSAHc/s1600/IMG_0931.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_urtYzt6xL_E/TH_naQavG4I/AAAAAAAAAUs/xro0g1hSAHc/s320/IMG_0931.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5512378907194497922" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Grilled corn and tomato salad </span><br />Serves 4<br /><br />Grilling the corn is not necessary though it adds a lovely flavor. If you don't want to heat up the grill, simply sauté the corn in olive oil with a bit of onion then add it to the tomatoes and dress accordingly. If adding beans or grain, add a few more tablespoons of dressing.<br /><br />2 ears of corn, grilled and shucked <br />1 1/2 cups cherry tomatoes, washed and halved<br />3 scallions, washed and chopped<br />1/4 cup fresh basil leaves, torn into bite size pieces<br />2 1/2 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil<br />1-2 tablespoons white wine vinegar (you can also use lemon juice or balsamic for a sweeter taste)<br />salt and pepper to taste<br /><br />Grill the corn until tender and segments have a nice dark char, about 8-10 minutes. Remove from the grill and once cooled, cut the tip off one end and stand the cob up in a bowl. With a sharp knife cut downward, removing the corn from the cob.<br /><br />In a separate bowl add the tomatoes, scallions, and basil. Toss in the warm corn and dress with olive oil, vinegar, salt and pepper to taste. Enjoy!Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-730838650720704210.post-80023581083922728192010-08-04T15:03:00.000-07:002010-08-18T14:44:48.836-07:00Whole Lotta Yogurt LoveEvery time I hear Led Zeppelin's "Whole Lotta Love" I think of frozen yogurt. An odd pairing I know, but growing up in a house filled with both food and music, bizarre combinations were bound to occur. My father was a musician, a die-hard 60's rocker whose claim to fame was as bassist and singer for a Vegas lounge act called <span style="font-style:italic;">The Sister's Love</span>. Though forced to attend law school by his unsatisfied parents, he never let go of his musical passion. Throughout my childhood (and even now), our house bled classic rock, complete with my father's weekly rants on how this music, <em>his music</em>, was influential beyond comparison. The Who, The Doors and Led Zepplin screeched and howled from our record player at a constantly-growing pitch and soon I had a thing for every long-haired boy in my 2nd grade class. Classic rock was the glue that bound my father and me together. Though the pair of us often used our short-sparking tempers to fight most days, we could always re-connect over a dose of Eric Clapton. It actually took me years to enjoy Neal Young after my father deemed his whiny, high-pitched voice "unlistenable". <br /><br />For a good decade of my childhood, my family went down to the Oxnard docks several nights a week to enjoy post-dinner frozen yogurt. In a brightly-lit and grungy food mall, with sushi on one end (the site of my first raw fish experience) and Buster's Ribs at the other, stood our family shrine: the frozen yogurt mecca we frequented far too often to ever tell anyone. With my father leading the pack, we ran to the yogurt machines, mouths agape, tongues wagging, to fill our Styrofoam cups. That's right, it was a shop that charged by weight! It was a great competition to see who could pack the most yogurt into their unfortunately small-sized cups, and with at least six flavors to choose from, all our containers ended up as bizarre amalgamations of lopsided peanut butter, pistachio and chocolate swirled hill. At least those were my top choices. My sister often dove into the fruit flavors, finishing hers with vanilla dollops. My father was allowed to get a medium-sized cup, a perk of being the "grown-up", which easily fit almost every flavor. I say almost because he usually dropped a bit of each flavor into his cup to taste before committing to an entire swirl (not that he hadn't already tasted them all before). A genius move I thought, though Mom called it "stealing". The second best part of these excursions was the music. No matter what day or time we went, there was always a seemingly stoned, Classic rock-blaring teenager manning the cash register. Occasionally a bit of Bob Marley crept in, but more often than not I served myself to Robert Plant and his crew. It seemed appropriate at the time. I certainly did have a whole lotta love for that frozen yogurt and with my Dad's everyday uniform of a tie-dyed Grateful Dead t-shirt, it seemed apropos. The songs spoke of love, longing and sexual desire...emotions, at least the first two, I felt deeply when eying my cup of sweet creamy goodness. <br /> <br />Frozen yogurt was, for many years, the joy of my life. When I broke my arm as a kid, I requested Campbell's chicken noodle soup and frozen yogurt as my recovery meal. But honestly, it was a healing force for us all. No matter what happened in our respective days, when we piled into the car, destination yogurt, our troubles melted away. Worried about money? Let's go for yogurt. Kids driving you crazy? Yogurt time. Michael Shuman has a crush on Michele Lenear (how could he do that to me!)? Give me frozen yogurt!!! The cold sweetness and repetitive dipping and licking motions cooled our overheated systems and quickly promised our brains, with a sugar-induced serotonin surge, that everything was going to be okay. Eventually our habits changed, and we released frozen yogurt to embrace Healthy Choice's Low Fat Cappuccino Chocolate Chunk, a green and white colored carton (colors obviously chosen to evoke health) that consistently appeared in my family freezer up until my mid-twenties. <br /><br />Two weeks after my 22nd birthday (and right after my last traditional Thanksgiving splurge), I gave up dairy. Cold turkey! Letting go of butter, cream cheese, milk and sour cream was easy. Almost too easy. But it was the frozen dessert delicacies that cut deep. Ice cream had brought my family together and kept us from tearing each other apart. With my renunciation of "all things yummy" as my sister put it, I divorced myself from the only activity that gave us collective joy. Never again was there something we all shared in the same way. 2002 was the year it all changed, the year I broke from the family ritual to embark on my holistic eating journey that was set to rip me apart and make me whole again. And though frozen yogurt never made it onto the scene again, there were to be many nights of cooking brown rice with my classic rock companions.<br /><br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Homemade yogurt</span><br />Makes 1/2 gallon <br /><br />Four years later, dairy reappeared in my life in one of the most beautiful locations. The Greek isle of Santorini! We were on our honeymoon and I decided to let loose and eat whatever I wanted, which included a few tablespoons of homemade yogurt drowning in local honey. I can't even begin to tell you how good it tasted. Rich and thick with a hint of tang, oh goodness, I though I had died and gone to heaven. The best part about it was my body liked it! No gurgling, no gas, no bloating, nothing. It took me another two years to muster the strength and make my own, but it was worth the wait. <br /><br />(**Look for the bowl of yogurt to the right)<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_urtYzt6xL_E/TGxO6sgARwI/AAAAAAAAAUM/quGemONTq2o/s1600/DSCN0139_1.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_urtYzt6xL_E/TGxO6sgARwI/AAAAAAAAAUM/quGemONTq2o/s320/DSCN0139_1.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5506863214652049154" /></a><br />Here is an easy recipe for homemade yogurt. I have a <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Yogourmet-104-Electric-Yogurt-Maker/dp/B000N25AGO/ref=sr_1_8?ie=UTF8&s=home-garden&qid=1282152734&sr=1-8">yogurt maker</a> but if you don't want to buy one, here is a <a href="http://www.makeyourownyogurt.com/make-yogurt/what-you-need">quick guide</a> to explain what you need. <br /><br />1/2 gallon organic whole milk (I use Strauss)<br />1/2 cup organic whole yogurt (again, Strauss)<br /><br />Place the milk in a large pot and turn the heat to medium. Place a clip-on thermometer on the side of the pot to keep tabs on the heat. Once the milk has reached 180 degrees, turn the heat off and allow the milk to cool to 105-110 degrees. (This can be done quickly if the pot is placed in an ice bath.) <br /> <br />In the meantime, place lukewarm water to the line indicated on the inside of your yogurt maker. Add the organic yogurt to the yogurt container and set aside. (The container that comes with the maker is plastic, which I don't love. I bought a large glass jar to use instead that works beautifully.) Once the milk has cooled, pour a few cups of milk into the yogurt container, making sure to stir well as you go. Add the remaining milk and stir thoroughly. Put the lid of the yogurt container, place the container in the yogurt maker, and leave it alone for at least 8 hours. <br /><br />Now, the longer you let the yogurt sit the more tangy it will become. I like mine very tangy so I let it sit for almost 24 hours. However, 24 hours is the longest you want your yogurt to sit.<br /><br />Once the yogurt is done, place it in the fridge overnight to set. Serve and enjoy! <br /><br />**If you want to make Greek yogurt, before you put the yogurt into the fridge to chill, line a colander or fine mesh strainer with tightly woven cheese cloth or a clean dish towel. Spoon the yogurt on the towel and use the loose ends of the towel to cover the yogurt. Let the yogurt drain for about 3 hours or until it has reached the desire consistency. Once done, scoop the yogurt back into the original container and put it in the fridge to chill. What is left in the bowl is whey, which can be used to ferment vegetables, soak grain, or to add to soup. Don't throw it out :)Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-730838650720704210.post-81971875109935251432010-07-29T15:11:00.000-07:002010-08-10T14:27:03.403-07:00Such a Mama's girlThere I sat on the lip of the tub, watching while she looked at herself. Her eyes flicked up and down, stopping at certain body parts that caught her eye. "You know," she said, without pulling her eyes from her reflection, "When I was younger, I made up a rule about my thighs: if they touched, I knew I had put on some weight. If they didn't, I was OK." I looked at her with adoration, thinking that if this perfect woman thought she was so flawed, I had no chance in the world. <br /><br />My mother was the kind of woman who wouldn't enter the kitchen without her "face" on. Though a bit of a hippie earth mama (she did, after all, make all my baby food from scratch), she never quite got into the whole "natural" thing. "I just always liked to shower and smell good too much," she explained. In fact, she's still angry that my Dad didn't wash his hair the morning of their wedding. My mother actually smelled like a shower. A clean, moist shower with delicate floral notes. Every morning I found her in the kitchen wearing her decidedly short silky kimono robe while floating from one counter to the next making us breakfast and packing lunches. Though I never offered to help, I watched her intently. She toasted sourdough bread with butter or poured bowls of Kix cereal on most weekday mornings and whisked together cornmeal pancakes on the weekends. I mimicked her movements in my mind as she packed carrots into little baggies, cut PB&J sandwiches into adept triangles with the crust left ON, and wrote loving inscriptions on the crackled brown paper bags. "I love you :) Have a great day! Love, Mom". <br /><br />She was born a mother. The type of girl who dreamed of being a mommy before knowing how one becomes a mommy. I, on the other hand, had no desire for motherhood and nearly broke my mother's heart the day I told her so. As a child, she played incessantly with dolls, brushing their hair and putting them to sleep. She even claimed her next door neighbor as "her baby", though Michelle was only 2 years younger (kids aren't really interested in the math). My mother waited very impatiently for me, 32 years to be exact, and never missed an opportunity to regale me (and anyone else who would listen) with the tale of how she discovered her pregnancy. She was sitting in a large rocking chair in the room she hoped would one day be a nursery. All of a sudden she felt a shock go through her body. It was as if someone had taken her by the shoulders and screamed, "You are pregnant...and it's a girl!!" Of course my parents had been trying for a baby (I always avoid imagining this part of the story), however she had yet to experience any signs of pregnancy. Just this weird premonition. Off she went to the doctor's office to find that yes, she was indeed pregnant, and yes it was a girl. "I always knew who you were," she'd glow. <br /><br />This "knowing" kept me aggressively bonded to my mother. I always kept a close eye on her, attempting to emulate her delicate, womanly mannerisms, her deft mascara application while driving, or how she braided challah on Friday nights. So when she scrutinized herself in the mirror, weighed herself every morning, or worried about a few extra pounds, I did the same. <br /><br />Amidst all of her food love (she was a big advocate of ooohing and aahing during meals), she struggled with her eating. Though no one ever knew my mother to be overweight (not even voluptuous, she was always slender and fit), her "chubby", acne prone pre-teen years had left a devastating gash in her self esteem. Her struggle was less about poundage, but rather the fear of poundage and the unending mental berating that saddled up next to her eating adoration. Diets came in spurts. There were the months of weighing food on a little scale she kept in the cupboard, then the fat-free fiasco when the house swarmed with various Entenmann's cakes and ice cream. "It's healthy," she promised. "See, all fat free!" What the hell did I care? All I knew was that it tasted good and had enough sugar to power a small car. Then came the year she really committed to "losing a few pounds". She decided on "The Cabbage Soup Diet", a recent craze suggested by a neighbor. For two weeks I came home to what smelled like an elderly Eastern European couple's home. The sulfurous cabbage smell permeated the entire house...even my pillowcase smelled like bubbie's sweater. Let's also get one thing straight: this was not a soup. This was cabbage and tomatoes boiled in water. No flavor, no fat, no fun. And that is exactly what my mother became. No fun!<br /><br />This diet, like the many others, thankfully came and went. What ceased to disappear was my increasing anxiety over my mother's inability to be happy with her body and my own growing desire to be thin. To be the thin like my mother wanted to be, whatever that looked like. We were so much alike, my mother and I, that I often thought of us as the same person. I picked up her joys, her silliness, her coping mechanisms to different types of stress. When my mother openly worried about her figure, I took the cue and worried about mine. And yet, she too was influenced by her own mother's relationship with eating. My maternal grandmother loved crazy diets. Things like drinking water and vinegar while standing on your head. And the more gimmicky, the better! And knowing all this, it's no wonder my mother thought the cabbage soup diet was a good idea. <br /><br />Children, especially girls, are like sponges soaking up each and every nuanced action or event in their surroundings. My mother's actions certainly influenced my perceptions of self in the world but she was not the only one. It takes a village to raise a child and mine was full of villagers with very odd food and body relationships. <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_urtYzt6xL_E/TGChsqwcxFI/AAAAAAAAAUE/pUAa_muki80/s1600/080210+Challah+2.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_urtYzt6xL_E/TGChsqwcxFI/AAAAAAAAAUE/pUAa_muki80/s320/080210+Challah+2.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5503576533410563154" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_urtYzt6xL_E/TGChsCNzMqI/AAAAAAAAAT8/G6VkL0LRXG8/s1600/080210+Challah+1.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_urtYzt6xL_E/TGChsCNzMqI/AAAAAAAAAT8/G6VkL0LRXG8/s320/080210+Challah+1.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5503576522527814306" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">My Mother's Challah</span><br /><br />This is the bread my mother still makes almost every Friday night. It is moist, doughy, and has just a touch of sweetness. Pure heaven! <br /><br />The recipe is adapted for use with a bread maker. If kneading the dough by hand, follow <a href="http://www.epicurious.com/recipes/food/views/My-Challah-235867">these instructions.</a> Start with "Mixing the Yeast Slurry" and stop at "Shaping and Proofing the Dough".<br /><br />1 packet or 1 tablespoon yeast<br />1/3 cup organic maple syrup (warmed)<br />2 cups plus 1 cup organic white flour <br />2 cups organic whole wheat flour<br />2 teaspoon Salt<br />2 eggs plus one egg<br />1/2 cup organic butter<br />1 cup warm water<br />sesame and poppy seeds<br /><br />Set your bread-maker for manual mode:<br /><br />Place the yeast and the warmed syrup in the bottom of the bread-maker loaf container. Add 2 cups of both the white and whole wheat flour, the salt, 2 eggs, butter and warm water. Start the bread machine. Slowly add the extra cup of flour to the mixture a little at a time, making sure that the dough doesn’t look too stiff. It should form into a ball that moves easily when being mixed. If the dough sticks to the side of the container, add a little more flour. If the dough forms a nice ball when being mixed before all the flour is added, don’t add the remaining flour. <br /><br />With the machine on manual, let the dough mix and then rise. This should take approximately 2 hours. Once the dough has risen, remove the dough and place it on a lightly oiled surface. Cut the dough into half. Take the two halves and separate into 3 balls of dough each. Roll each ball into a long tube about 10 inches long. Take 3 pieces and braid, making two loaves. Place the 2 loaves on an oiled baking sheet and cover with a cloth. <br /><br />Let the bread rise for another half hour then remove the cloth. Beat the remaining egg and brush it over the challahs. Sprinkle with poppy seeds, sesame seeds or a combination of the two. <br /><br />Bake the loaves in a 325 degree oven for 25 minutes or until golden brown. Enjoy!Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-730838650720704210.post-22452858574122857312010-07-15T12:05:00.001-07:002010-07-19T11:40:19.388-07:00Tahini's take on Tuna FishHigh school was tough for me, as it was for most people I assume. Within these bizarre four years I was completely inundated with unhelpful hormones that attacked my brain, making me at once a giggling, drooling horn-ball AND a Type A overachiever freak. Let's not even mention the everyday societal pressures of trying to be smart, pretty, and cool all at the same time. With all this swirling around in my 16 year old head, high school wore me out.<br /><br />I went to a very competitive private high school in the San Fernando Valley. My graduating class had 35 people making it cozy and definitely a place where everyone (including all the mothers) knew your business. I'd never been one for unnecessary conflict, so I tended to hang out with the boys in my grade to avoid girl drama. Even though I wasn't into the ladies daily emotional blood bath, I certainly created my own internal carnage by vowing to be both valedictorian and the hottest, thinnest girl in school. (Neither of which happened.) It all happened innocently enough. A month before starting my junior year I decided to lose 5 pounds. That's it, just 5 little pounds. However, being born with a nature heavily dosed with obsessive tendencies, I took it a little too far.<br /><br />By January of that school year, everything started to fall apart. I was class president, prom committee chair, cast in the school play, and I felt like I was in a padded cell. In four months I shaved 25 pounds off my 5'3" frame, putting me at 99 pounds. I had this bizarre notion that if I could control my weight I could control everything. My grades, the college I got into, the boy I liked, everything. When people said I looked skinny, I took it as a complement. When the boy I loved picked me up and said I weighed "nothing", I could have died from sheer joy. Every day was a battle against my body and the gnawing hunger inside my belly. Instead of giving into the hunger I turn it into a game. I decided hunger pains meant I was doing well, on the right track and that all my sacrificing would pay off. My diet did not ever waiver. Grain in the morning, fruit (ie sugar) before lunch, and only protein and vegetables for dinner. For almost a year I ate:<br /><br />Morning: 1/2 cup of oatmeal with 4 chopped walnuts<br />Mid morning snack: 1 small apple or orange<br />Lunch: romaine lettuce with 1 can of tuna fish and fat free Asian dressing<br />Mid Afternoon snack: 1/2 cup cottage cheese<br />Dinner: steamed broccoli with turkey marinara sauce <br /><br />I sat in the breezeway at lunch watching my friends and teachers eat. I put on a happy face and cracked jokes, but every few seconds I'd sneak a glance at the forbidden morsels they all put into their mouths. "How could they eat that?", I thought. "Don't they know subway sandwiches and rice crispy treats will kill you!" The worst though was when Jacqueline sat with us. Entire rooms quieted when she walked in. With her long thin legs, blond hair, and unbelievable rack, everyone including teachers, couldn't help but watch her. I stared at her like I stared at food, with desire and hate. Jacqueline's favorite lunch was a veggie sandwich. This leggy vegetarian had the balls to sit in front of me with cheese, avocado, sprouts, and hummus squeezed between two pieces of, dare I even say it, BREAD. These were foods on my "DANGER, WILL MAKE YOU FAT!" list (minus the sprouts) and she ate them without gaining an ounce. To make matters worse, she took each bite with painstaking slowness. First she looked lovingly at her sandwich then finally took a long slow bite, making sure to gently push back in any renegade avocado. Then came the chewing! She chewed each bite somewhere around 30 times, making sure to let out a little squeal of joy at every 5th chew. I dreamt of eating like her. It baffled me how someone could take so much joy in their food without remorse or guilt. I on the other hand, ate a quickly as possible, with the thought that if I did it fast it was like it never happened. <br /><br />My actual anorexia only lasted a year. Pretty short as those things go. It finally ended when my mom sat me down and confessed she hadn't slept in months over my weight loss. I found a great therapist (after my first one told me to drink Ensure!) and began to unravel the pain and suffering I had created. Let's be honest, I still occasionally struggle with negative self talk, comparing, and jealousy. Old patterns die hard but I now have the perspective and tools to quickly get me out of that downward spiral. Life certainly is a delicate balance between holding tight and letting go. Of knowing that every experience, though sometimes painful, is a gift. It is my past experience that allows me to support and guide my clients the way that I do. My new thoughts also remind me how good it feels to be emotionally free and love my food for the nourishment it provides. I'll take that any day! <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_urtYzt6xL_E/TD-rlHG1ShI/AAAAAAAAATc/BQyh08sZT9g/s1600/IMG_0829.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_urtYzt6xL_E/TD-rlHG1ShI/AAAAAAAAATc/BQyh08sZT9g/s320/IMG_0829.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5494298724466510354" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_urtYzt6xL_E/TD-rkvJgnII/AAAAAAAAATU/I6SwVk7xICc/s1600/IMG_0828.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_urtYzt6xL_E/TD-rkvJgnII/AAAAAAAAATU/I6SwVk7xICc/s320/IMG_0828.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5494298718035287170" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Tahini Tuna Fish in Lettuce Wraps</span><br />Serve 1<br /><br />After eating canned tuna fish every day for an entire year, I was tunaed out! In fact it took me 8 years to come back around. I'm not a mayo fan so this is a delicious Mediterranean take on the mayo-based classic. Feel free to toss in a few kalamata olives or capers. So good! <br /><br />1/4 cup tahini<br />2 teaspoons lemon juice<br />1 garlic cloved, finely minced<br />1/2 - 1 teaspoon salt<br />2 tablespoons warm water<br />1 tablespoon freshly chopped parsley<br />1 can line caught tuna or boneless skinless sardines<br />4 large red lettuce leaves, washed and dried<br /><br />In a small bowl mix together the tahini, lemon juice, garlic, salt and warm water. If the sauce is too thick for your liking, at a little bit more water. Mix in the fresh parsley. In a separate bowl add the tuna or sardines. Break up the fish with the back of your fork. Begin to add in the tahini sauce, 1 tablespoon at a time until you've reached your desired consistency. Tear the lettuce leaves in half. Drop a few tablespoons of the tuna-tahini mixture into a lettuce leaf half, roll it up and enjoy!<br /><br />**If you want to be particularly decadent, top each lettuce wrap with shaved carrots, avocado, and <a href="http://jamieliving.blogspot.com/2009/06/that-added-crunch.html">tamari pumpkin seeds</a>. So good!Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-730838650720704210.post-21400538031290362662010-07-13T12:24:00.000-07:002010-07-14T10:40:19.975-07:00Lemon Barley and Mushroom Pilaf VIDEO!!<object width="400" height="300"><param name="allowfullscreen" value="true" /><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always" /><param name="movie" value="http://vimeo.com/moogaloop.swf?clip_id=13211061&server=vimeo.com&show_title=1&show_byline=1&show_portrait=0&color=&fullscreen=1" /><embed src="http://vimeo.com/moogaloop.swf?clip_id=13211061&server=vimeo.com&show_title=1&show_byline=1&show_portrait=0&color=&fullscreen=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true" allowscriptaccess="always" width="400" height="300"></embed></object><p><a href="http://vimeo.com/13211061">Wellness for Life with Jamie Dougherty (Episode 2)</a> from <a href="http://vimeo.com/user3265485">calico</a> on <a href="http://vimeo.com">Vimeo</a>.</p><br />Hello All. I wanted to pass along my latest Wellness for Life cooking class recipe. I have to admit, this recipe is amazing! The combination of meaty mushrooms with the chewy barley and tinge of lemon is to DIE FOR. I had 20 people in the audience and made 40 servings, to be safe. Well, was there anything left over for me to take to my hungry husband? NO! He will just have to come to my class next time to get any dinner ;) This dish is a definite crowd pleaser and perfect for meat-eaters and vegetarians alike. It also serves up beautifully cold, so feel free to take it to your next BBQ or picnic. Eat well, enjoy the video, and pass it along! <br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Lemon Barley and Mushroom Pilaf</span><br />Serves 4<br /><br />1 cup pearled barley, rinsed and soaked overnight<br />2 1/2 cups chicken or vegetable stock OR water<br />2 garlic cloves, minced<br />2 teaspoons extra virgin olive oil<br />1/2 teaspoon fresh thyme<br />2 cups fresh mushrooms, sliced (Trumpets are my favorite)<br />2 teaspoons fresh lemon juice<br />1 tablespoons fresh parsley<br />Freshly grated Parmesan cheese<br />1/4 cup toasted almonds, chopped<br />Sea salt to taste<br /><br />In a medium pot, bring broth or water to a boil and add the soaked barley and a pinch of salt. Reduce to a simmer and cook for 18-20 minutes, or until the barley is tender. (Cook for 40 minutes if the barley is not soaked.) Drain in a colander and place in a ceramic or glass bowl.<br /><br />Heat the olive oil in a medium sauté pan. Add the garlic and cook until fragrant, about 2 minutes. Add the fresh thyme, mushrooms, a bit of salt, and sauté until the mushrooms are soft and have a nice golden brown color to them. Squeeze in the lemon juice, mix thoroughly, and add to the barley. Sprinkle with parsley, Parmesan, and almonds and enjoy!Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-730838650720704210.post-51454457963136612302010-07-06T18:08:00.001-07:002010-07-08T16:09:46.356-07:00Baked Vegetables- Greek StyleFor all my love of Rome, and promises to move there, the food is actually not my favorite of the Mediterranean cuisines. WHAT!, you gasp. It's true. Though I am a fan of their artichokes, pizza napoletana, and prosciutto, most of the cuisine is too heavy for me. I'm also not interested in pasta or risotto, which is a cardinal sin in Italy. I actually once read an article where an Italian chef stated that he refused to serve anyone who did not eat pasta (save those with a doctor's note). I know what you are thinking. "OH, she doesn't eat that stuff because it's unhealthy". Not true. I simply don't enjoy the texture of pasta and am not a lover of creamy things (i.e. risotto). I think both pasta and risotto, when made with fresh ingredients, can certainly be enjoyed in moderation. <br /><br />Anyway the point, let it be revealed, is that my favorite Mediterranean cuisine is Greek. So my plan is to live in Italy and vacation in Greece. Sound good? Greek food is simple. Very simple. In fact that's the only condemning word I've heard against it. However, that's the beauty of the food, just like its islands. Clean, fresh, and perfect for enjoying the sun. I've eaten my way all around Greece but the dish that introduced me to Greek food is still one of my favorites. <br /><br />It was 4 years ago, and Gray and I had just arrived in Athens for our honeymoon. We landed at 10 am so instead of sleeping, which is what I really wanted to do, Gray dragged me around the ancient ruins of the city. We got back around 6 pm and promptly asked the concierge where to eat. Just FYI, when asking a concierge for a recommendation, always ask him or her where <span style="font-style:italic;">they eat</span>. You don't want any tourist trap restaurants. Our concierge recommended a lovely locals restaurant a few blocks away and off we went down the steep streets of Kolonaki to our first Greek culinary adventure. We arrived at about 7 pm to a completely empty restaurant. I would have walked out had it not been for a gigantic, tanned, cigar smoking man who begged us to take a seat. Before we even had a chance to open our menus he said, through a thick smile and yellow teeth, "Do you eat meat?" "I don't. But he does," I said, pointing a quick thumb at my new husband. I was just waiting for the waiter to say, "No meat! That's ok, I'll bring a lamb", a la My Big Fat Greek Wedding. Instead he replied, "A ha! I know exactly what to bring. No menus for you!" With that, he snatched our menus and tromped back to the kitchen. What he brought out was better than I could have imagined!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_urtYzt6xL_E/TDYbJ53K9JI/AAAAAAAAAS8/XavFcGAxbrI/s1600/DSCN0108_1.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_urtYzt6xL_E/TDYbJ53K9JI/AAAAAAAAAS8/XavFcGAxbrI/s320/DSCN0108_1.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5491606652589896850" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_urtYzt6xL_E/TDYbKVt80TI/AAAAAAAAATE/gV6UcacirMo/s1600/DSCN0110_1.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_urtYzt6xL_E/TDYbKVt80TI/AAAAAAAAATE/gV6UcacirMo/s320/DSCN0110_1.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5491606660067414322" /></a><br /><br />First of all, I could smell our food before it hit the table. With his giant hands, he placed two plates in front of us. Gray received a side of pork, glistening in unctuous juices with peeled and boiled potatoes. Before me lay a gorgeous pile of Romano beans, slow cooked in fresh tomatoes, oregano and a hearty Greek-dose of olive oil. Gray and I looked at our plates, then at each other, and immediately dove in. The beans were perfectly cooked, soft but not mushy. While the sweet acidity of the tomatoes balanced perfectly against the rich, silky oil. We both cleaned our plates, sopping up any remaining juices with crusty bread. When the waiter returned, he appeared quite startled at how we, two relatively small tourists, polished off the food. "You liked it, huh? You should come back!" We never did but I often think of my dish, and that man with his excited, loving smile, and eagerness to feed an American non-meat eater. That was my first taste of Greek food and hospitality. What can I say, it is mine kind of country!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_urtYzt6xL_E/TDULBePF0pI/AAAAAAAAASc/EnTvHvXwJZM/s1600/IMG_0799.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_urtYzt6xL_E/TDULBePF0pI/AAAAAAAAASc/EnTvHvXwJZM/s320/IMG_0799.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5491307440572322450" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Briam Fournou- Baked Vegetables</span><br />This is an adaptation of my Romano bean dish. Because I couldn't find Romanos, I used zucchini, potatoes, and bell pepper. Eggplant and green beans would also go beautifully. Experiment with different veggies and see which you prefer. Enjoy!<br /><br />Serves 6-8<br /><br />2 pounds potatoes<br />2 pounds zucchini<br />3 onions<br />2 green bell peppers<br />1 28 oz AND 1 14.5 oz can of fire roasted <span style="font-style:italic;">crushed</span> tomatoes (I use <a href="http://www.muirglen.com/products/product_detail.aspx?cat=5&upc=7-25342-29043-7">Muir Glen</a>) <br />1 bunch of parsley, washed and chopped<br />1 tablespoon dried oregano<br />3/4 cup olive oil<br />salt and pepper to taste<br />Feta cheese (optional)<br /><br />Clean and wash the potatoes, zucchini, onions, and bell peppers. Slice them into 1/4-1/2 inch pieces and place in a large baking dish. Mix in the tomatoes, parsley, oregano, salt, pepper, and olive oil. Stir until well combined and place in the oven for 1 1/2- 2 hours. Check at 45 minutes to stir. If necessary, add a little bit of water at this point. When the vegetables are done, remove from the oven and sprinkle with feta cheese. Serve and enjoy!Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-730838650720704210.post-39582819947195102802010-06-21T15:20:00.000-07:002010-06-30T08:50:28.239-07:00Ice Cream and the Freshman 15"I scream, you scream, we all scream for ice cream!" This was the Greenwood family chant every time we needed a cold hit of creamy goodness. Even mom, the health nut, would play along and down we'd go to grab a half gallon of our favorite low-fat flavor, Cappuccino Chocolate Chunk. That flavor was like crack to my family, I swear. We didn't even pull out bowls; we'd just hover around the carton taking turns digging out huge spoonfuls. Ice cream was always a staple in my life, basically one of the main food groups actually if you take into account how many chocolate and butterscotch chip ice cream balls I ate on my 8th birthday (I had banned birthday cakes years earlier). <br /> <br />However insane our ice cream ritual may sound, it only happened a few times a month. It wasn't until I went to college that I decided to take my ice cream devotion to the next level. I arrived at Lewis and Clark college, a wide-eyed freshman looking for a good education and great-looking boys (I believe honesty is the best policy). The education certainly was fantastic with the statistic of 12 students to every professor; however, the "boy" situation left much to be desired. Firstly, out of 3,500 students over 2,000 were female. I knew this stat before I enrolled but it didn't quite hit home until I saw it with my own eyes. Every one of my classes brimmed over with girls and then, if you looked hard enough, you could see a few boys peppered among the ladies. And these boys were prized possessions, let me tell you. Whether cute or not (and most of them were NOT), to get a man at Lewis and Clark was quite a feat. Boys I would have never even acknowledged in high school soon became attractive...very attractive. <br /><br />So after getting over my initial shock of NO MEN, I decided to channel my collegiate sexual angst into more productive avenues. I took an African drumming class, joined the school dance troupe and began eating an inhuman amount of ice cream. I ate it in the morning, I ate it in the evening, I ate it twice a day without batting an eye. I easily justified my copious consumption with the fact that I also ate salad twice a day. "They totally cancel each other out," I surmised. <br /><br />The Lewis and Clark cafeteria, ironically named "The Bone", always had a well-stocked ice cream bar. Now, I'm not talking about lame Souplantation all-you-can eat soft serve. It was more like being behind the case at a Baskin Robbins. Legend has it the long-time wish of a wealthy alumni was to always have ice cream available to the sugar-bereft student body and that his ample donations could go to nothing else. TAKE THAT, Women's Studies department! I honestly praised that man every time I wrapped my lips around a scoop of Maple Walnut sunk deep in a sugar cone. <br /><br />Then came Thanksgiving.<br /><br />I hadn't been home in almost 3 months and was excited to see my family. My grandmother soon arrived and made her usual grand entrance. "Jamie, darling, come here," she cooed. I kissed her lovingly on the cheek and then stepped back for her to greet my other siblings. As she brushed passed me to enter the kitchen, I felt a little tap-tap on my tush. "Someone's put on a little weight, haven't they?" I could have died at that very moment. Yes, I had been eating ice cream like a child at a church social, yes I had poured myself into my "skinny" jeans, and YES I had substituted food for the lovin' I was supposed to get as a new collegiate. But these facts didn't make her remark hurt any less. I walked into the kitchen, the emotional wind having been knocked out of me, and looked at my grandmother. She was completely oblivious of what she had said. Completely unaware of the impact of her words. I ate very little dinner that night and excused myself early to go to bed. I went back to school the next week and, upon arrival, said goodbye to the ice cream bar. I said goodbye to my beloved Maple Walnut, the only lover I had ever known. I never again indulged in the ice cream of Lewis and Clark and instead, begrudging, turned my sites to another lover...the gym.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_urtYzt6xL_E/TCpnTH3M8jI/AAAAAAAAASM/hp_759pmnyY/s1600/IMG_0239.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_urtYzt6xL_E/TCpnTH3M8jI/AAAAAAAAASM/hp_759pmnyY/s320/IMG_0239.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5488312674130129458" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Sweet Potato Fries</span><br />I know you were hoping for an ice cream recipe, but alas, I don't have one. Rather, this is a recipe that will help knock out those pesky sugar cravings. These fries are a great snack or accompaniment to any summer BBQ. And of course, you can have organic ice cream for dessert. (I found you a few good recipes <a href="http://www.elanaspantry.com/roasted-banana-coconut-ice-cream/">here </a>and <a href="http://www.davidlebovitz.com/archives/2008/09/quick_coconut_ice_cream_with_saf.html">here</a>!)<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_urtYzt6xL_E/TCpnTmFCwvI/AAAAAAAAASU/Tw9DOeJc0sA/s1600/IMG_0580.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_urtYzt6xL_E/TCpnTmFCwvI/AAAAAAAAASU/Tw9DOeJc0sA/s320/IMG_0580.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5488312682241245938" /></a><br /><br />2 large Japanese sweet potatoes, washed<br />3 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil<br />sea salt to taste<br />1/2 teaspoon turmeric or curry powder (optional)<br /><br />Preheat the oven to 425 degrees. Cut the potatoes into 1/4-1/2 inch thick strips, similar to steak fries. Place the potatoes in a large bowl and mix with olive oil, salt, and the optional spices. Lay the potatoes in a cookie sheet, making sure they do not touch each other. Bake for 25 minutes, stir once, and then bake for another 15-20 minutes. Fries should be golden brown and crispy. Enjoy!Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-730838650720704210.post-65533434277587139692010-06-08T15:35:00.000-07:002010-07-02T16:13:20.318-07:00Tasty Travels: First stop, ItalyI'm moving to Rome. That's it. Done! Goodbye house, friends, family. It's been swell, but I gotta go. This is how it plays out in my dreams anyway. Having been back from our Mediterranean vacation for 2 weeks now, reality has finally set in that I will not wake up in the Eternal City any time soon. We cruised to Sicily, Naples, Athen, Rhodes, Santorini, Mykonos, and Kusadasi and though they all offered amazing sights, sounds and culinary delights, Rome felt like home. Upon arrival I quickly picked up a few lovely words that seemed to fall out of my mouth every few minutes. If Gray stopped to look at a building or peer into a book shop I yelled, "Andiamo (Let's go)!!" Alternatively, if I saw any type of food store (which was about every 500 feet) I'd scream, "Andiamo", and dash inside to peruse the wares. I also had a sweet little habit of saying "Ciao" at every passing scooter. Just FYI, almost everyone rides a scooter in Rome. Gray claimed my Italian verbosity was annoying (granted) but it made me feel like a friendly local. Ciao, Ciao, Ciao! <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_urtYzt6xL_E/TA7dPNpbggI/AAAAAAAAARc/nihrBmvvpk4/s1600/Campo+Di+Fiori.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_urtYzt6xL_E/TA7dPNpbggI/AAAAAAAAARc/nihrBmvvpk4/s320/Campo+Di+Fiori.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5480561049987678722" /></a><br /><br />Our first morning in Rome I peeled open my jet-lagged eyes to the smell of freshly baking bread. I would soon find out it was not just any old bread, it was croissants. Hot, buttery croissants that arrived at our breakfast table in a shamefully overflowing basket every morning. Now I try not to eat bread very often (it puts me straight to sleep) but that first smell on that first day set the tone for the entire trip. Bread, Miss? YES PLEASE, and lots of it. When in Rome, right? We walked all over the city, stopping only to walk inside one of the million churches or grab a snack. My favorite stop however was the open air market at the Campo Di Fiori. This is<span style="font-style:italic;"> the market</span> in Rome and after walking down the first isle I was in tears for lack of a kitchen. The produce was absolutely gorgeous and I loved seeing all the Romans in their everyday shopping rituals. I walked around each stand, pretending I was there to pick up ingredients for my upcoming dinner. At one point I was actually asked for directions by an Italian, which created enough tingle in my toes that I completely forgot my burning desire to cook. <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_urtYzt6xL_E/TA7dP-OqbQI/AAAAAAAAARk/EiH0C4vH7zM/s1600/Campo+Di+Fiori+2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_urtYzt6xL_E/TA7dP-OqbQI/AAAAAAAAARk/EiH0C4vH7zM/s320/Campo+Di+Fiori+2.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5480561063028747522" /></a><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_urtYzt6xL_E/TA7dQr_p2CI/AAAAAAAAARs/jroz776DNeY/s1600/Campo+Di+Fiori+Artichokes.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_urtYzt6xL_E/TA7dQr_p2CI/AAAAAAAAARs/jroz776DNeY/s320/Campo+Di+Fiori+Artichokes.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5480561075313825826" /></a><br /><br />Almost all of the goods were recognizable, except one. While sweating over which olive oil to buy, I noticed an elderly woman and an equally elderly vendor vehemently haggling over the price of apples. Of course, I couldn't understand anything the woman was saying but her eyes, flailing arms and intonation said it all. After 5 minutes of back and forth the vendor abruptly changed course and convinced the woman that apples weren't the way to go at all. He quickly reached down and from behind the register produced a basket of mini strawberries. She stopped cold, grabbed at them immediately, paid full price, and scurried away. I walked behind the man to get a better look at the oddly recognizable fruit. They were definitely strawberries, just tiny. I wasn't sure how to get my hands on them, besides following the old woman's example of screaming at him in Italian. (Andiamo! Grazie! Ciao!) He seemed to be guarding the little red jewels for dear life, which of course made me want them more. I thought for a split second about miming the universal sign for "I want your berries", but upon reflection and envisioned embarrassment, I sadly moved along down the market. We soon went to lunch at a restaurant just off the Campo that had outdoor seating outside the front door. We were basically seated in the middle of the street, with waiters dodging scooters to serve us our cloud-like gnocchi. Man, I love Italy! For some reason I decided to look at the dessert menu first. Three lines down in the middle of page I read, "Fragoline di Bosco- Little Strawberries." Bravo! <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_urtYzt6xL_E/TA7dRGJgilI/AAAAAAAAAR0/jFloGH_hZKE/s1600/Campo+Di+Fiori+Strawberries.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_urtYzt6xL_E/TA7dRGJgilI/AAAAAAAAAR0/jFloGH_hZKE/s320/Campo+Di+Fiori+Strawberries.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5480561082334480978" /></a><br /><br />So, where am I going with this story? I can't really tell you. All I can say is that in Italy, just ask, and you shall receive. It is a beautiful, historic, luscious city that is filled with delicious foods, gorgeous sights, and gracious people waiting to share the love of their city. Go as fast as you can!<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Spring Pea and Pulse Salad</span><br />Serve 4<br /><br />I found this recipe in a beautiful Italian cookbook off Piazza Barberini. The recipe caught my eye immediately and I memorized it so as to give it a Jamie Living twist at home. The marjoram really makes the dish so do not leave it out. I also made two other revisions adding roasted potatoes and braised baby artichokes respectively. Both were to die for. Experiment and enjoy!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_urtYzt6xL_E/TBaX9koK_LI/AAAAAAAAASE/7mBaFJPZN98/s1600/IMG_0752.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_urtYzt6xL_E/TBaX9koK_LI/AAAAAAAAASE/7mBaFJPZN98/s320/IMG_0752.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5482736680430140594" /></a><br /><br />1 cup English shelling peas, shelled <br />4 scallions, chopped<br />2 handfuls arugula, washed<br />1 tablespoon fresh marjoram, chopped<br />1 tablespoon fresh sage, chopped<br />2 1/2 cups Ayecote Morado beans, <a href="http://jamieliving.blogspot.com/2009/06/perfect-pot-of-beans.html">cooked and patted dry </a>(you can also use kidney or cannellini beans) <br />2 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil<br />1 cup sugar snap peas, ends trimmed<br />Sea salt<br />Extra virgin olive oil and balsamic vinegar (my fav is Bariani as you know)<br /><br />In a sauce pan, boil 3 cups of water with a liberal dose of salt. Add the shelled peas and cook until tender, about 3 minutes. Remove from the heat, drain, and set aside.<br /><br />In a medium sized bowl, add the chopped scallions, arugula, and fresh herbs. Set aside. <br /><br />In a large saute pan add 2 tablespoons of olive oil and heat at medium. Add the cooked beans and allow them to crisp up (if the beans are not dried properly they will not crisp). After 5 minutes add the sugar snap peas and cook until the peas are just browned, about 2 minutes. Add a pinch of salt, stir well, and add the mixture to the arugula and scallions. Toss in the blanched shelled peas and drizzle with olive oil and balsamic vinegar. Season with salt and pepper and serve!Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-730838650720704210.post-86998065408578239492010-05-03T15:44:00.000-07:002010-05-05T09:32:35.665-07:00Love of a Lisp plus a Strawberry CrispHer name was Karissa Casserman and I loved her. Seriously. She was the most perfect 2nd grader in our class and I wanted to be just like her. Reflecting on this now, such a feat was truly impossible. Karissa's long thick toe-head hair shot straight down her back like a white waterfall. Every single hair was in place. The girl had never had a frizz a day in her life. Her eyes were crystal blue, a type of blue only found in the coloring box. To top off her unbelievable cuteness she had a brilliant speech impediment that turned her "r's" into "w's". "Hi, I'm Kawissa Caswwerman". Everyone ate it up. Parents, teachers, the school staff. They ate that crap up like kids at a dessert buffet. And so did I. Little 8-year old Jamie knew this verbal affect was nothing but a ploy, a ginormous trick "Kawissa" used to get her way. But I didn't care. I fell for it like all the other schmucks. Every time I heard, "Hey Jamie, do you wanna come ouvuew to my house?", I was in heaven. It's important to understand that throughout my childhood until my mid 20's I attached myself to girls I idolized. Women I wanted to be. Prettier, thinner, more feminine (though NEVER funnier) friends that I simultaneously adored and hated; a constant reminder I had to always strive for a unachievable and quite narrowly defined type of beauty.<br /><br />Karissa's perfection was topped off by the sandy location of her house. In the land of my birth, the strawberry capital of the world otherwise know as Oxnard California, there were two types of people. The happy, lucky, beautiful people who lived at the beach and the rest of us inland lame-os. I loved visiting Karissa for though her house was only 15 minutes from mine, if felt like a world away. A lovely, sun soaked community where bronzed blond mothers watched their equally tanned children frolic in the waves and served Lucky Charms cereal for lunch and sour apple Jolly Ranchers as a snack. Alright, fine, that's not completely accurate. Karissa's mother never actually <span style="font-style:italic;">served </span>us Lucky Charms, but when she gave us the run of the kitchen every weekend, that's certainly what we pulled out. Karissa would grab two huge white ceramic bowls from the wooded cabinet. Out came the non-fat milk (a staple in my house as well) and the loudly colored box of Lucky Charms. You know what I'm talking about. That magnificently colored cereal box which is housed exactly at eye level in ever grocery store. I was a Trix girl myself (loved that rabbit!) but I wasn't about to complain. If Lucky Charms was the cereal of this particular beach goddess, I was all in. "Kawissa" was in charge of both cereal and milk pouring, a job she took with painstaking precision. During the pouring procedure I tapped my foot nervously, praying to the soggy cereal gods that she wouldn't add too much milk. She always did! The second she stopped pouring, I'd dive into my cereal in an attempt to inhale each marshmallow before they formed their bizarre slimy coating. Karissa picked at her bowl like a lady, choosing each nugget to create the perfect spoonful of cereal to marshmallow ratio. If a golden strand of hair strayed during consumption, she gently lowered her utensil and smoothed back the hair, then flipped the lower half of the strand to land perfectly on her upper shoulder. There was no flipping or repositioning my hair during eating. Hell, my head looked like it had been through the tumble cycle by the time I finished my bowl. Think Tasmanian devil meets Fran Dresher's <span style="font-style:italic;">The Nanny</span> hairdo. I was certainly a sight next to that shining angel of femininity!<br /><br />My summers with Karissa didn't last long. There was only one actually. By the time we hit 3rd grade my curly Jew-fro and bionator (a cousin of the head gear) were simply too much for any popular blond bombshell to handle in a friend. And so the invites ceased as did our sugar shocked luncheons. By 4th grade Karissa had moved to a different school and I was on to another girl to admire and admonish myself for not being more like. However, I never forgot "Kawissa" (obviously!). I wonder where she is, what she's doing, and more importantly, what she looks like. Maybe she is sitting some where, right now, enjoying a bowl of Lucky Charms and pushing her non-existent fly-aways back into place. <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_urtYzt6xL_E/S99TkGWr2NI/AAAAAAAAARU/FOhdp3jX3oU/s1600/IMG_0728.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_urtYzt6xL_E/S99TkGWr2NI/AAAAAAAAARU/FOhdp3jX3oU/s320/IMG_0728.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5467180352297228498" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Strawberry Crisp</span><br />Serves 6<br /><br />As an homage to Oxnard, CA my hometown and strawberry capital of the world (if you don't believe me, look it up) I bring you a delicious strawberry crisp. I've also been eating this for breakfast the last few days so I thought it appropriate. Feel free to throw in other fruit with the strawberries if you like. Plums and apples work particularly well.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_urtYzt6xL_E/S99TjiX8goI/AAAAAAAAARM/SDaBb2mq-BY/s1600/IMG_0726.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_urtYzt6xL_E/S99TjiX8goI/AAAAAAAAARM/SDaBb2mq-BY/s320/IMG_0726.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5467180342638838402" /></a><br /><br />4-5 baskets organic strawberries, washed and thinly sliced<br />2 heaping tablespoons <a href="http://www.edenfoods.com/store/popup_image.php?pID=109630">kudzu root</a> (a natural thickening agent, like cornstarch)<br />1/4 cup plus 2 tablespoons water<br />1 teaspoon fresh lavender (optional)<br />1 cup whole rolled oats<br />1 cup shredded coconut<br />1 cup sunflower seeds, shelled<br />1/2 cup cashew pieces<br />1 cup walnuts, chopped<br />1/4 cup pecans, chopped<br />1 teaspoon ground nutmeg<br />1/2 teaspoon ground cloves<br />1/2 cup brown rice syrup<br />1/4 over-flowing cup maple syrup<br />1 teaspoon vanilla extract<br />3 tablespoons organic butter or coconut oil<br /><br />Preheat the oven to 350. Place the sliced strawberries in a 11x13 Pyrex baking dish. In a small bowl or mug combine the kudzu root and water and stir until the root is completely dissolved. Add to the strawberries and mix thoroughly. <br /><br />In a large mixing bowl combine oats, coconut, sunflower seeds, nuts, spices, brown rice syrup, maple syrup, and vanilla extract. Work the ingredients with your hands until everything is evenly coated. Add the butter into the bowl and combined so as there are no large lumps. Spread the topping on top of the strawberries and bake uncovered for 35-40 minutes or until the fruit has softened. Enjoy!Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-730838650720704210.post-2033325346880890352010-04-20T10:56:00.001-07:002010-07-13T12:24:11.424-07:00Roasted Kabocha Squash and Lentil Soup (Watch me in action!)<object width="400" height="300"><param name="allowfullscreen" value="true" /><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always" /><param name="movie" value="http://vimeo.com/moogaloop.swf?clip_id=13275897&server=vimeo.com&show_title=1&show_byline=1&show_portrait=0&color=&fullscreen=1" /><embed src="http://vimeo.com/moogaloop.swf?clip_id=13275897&server=vimeo.com&show_title=1&show_byline=1&show_portrait=0&color=&fullscreen=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true" allowscriptaccess="always" width="400" height="300"></embed></object><p><a href="http://vimeo.com/13275897">Wellness for Life with Jamie Dougherty (Episode 1)</a> from <a href="http://vimeo.com/user3265485">calico</a> on <a href="http://vimeo.com">Vimeo</a>.</p><br />Three years ago I mustered all the courage I had and called the marketing director at my local Whole Foods. "Hi!," I said, in an intensely perky voice. "My name is Jamie G. Dougherty, Health and Lifestyle Coach, and I would LOVE to provide wellness lectures and cooking classes for Whole Foods." "Really," he replied. "As it turns out we are working with the Alta Bates Summit Medical Center to create a wellness series and we are looking for a nutrition component, " he continued. "Let's set up a time to talk." And so it was that I became the co-creator of the Whole Foods and Alta Bates Summit Wellness for Life Series! Since its inception we have provided nutrition lectures, health food store tours, and cooking classes for Alta Bates employees and the general public. It's an amazing program that I am so very proud of. Every month I give a cooking class that covers a specific topic. The following video is from my February "Heart Healthy" class where I blew everyone's mind with a Roasted Kabocha Squash and Lentil Soup recipe. I made a triple batch, hoping to take some leftovers home for dinner. After ladling thirds and fourths to some participants, I was left with an efficiently cleaned out pot. Thankfully, my initial perturbation gave way to gratitude. What better compliment than to have all the soup slurped up?? Enjoy!<div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>Roasted Kabocha Squash and Lentil Soup</b></div><div>Serves 4</div><div><br /></div><div>1 red onion, diced </div><div>2 carrots, peeled and diced</div><div>2 stalks of celery, diced</div><div>2 cloves garlic, minced</div><div>7 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil, divided</div><div>2 cups French green lentils, picked over and washed</div><div>6 cups water, organic vegetable or chicken stock</div><div>3 cups Swiss Chard, washed and chopped (feel free to use spinach or kale in its place)</div><div>2 cups kabocha squash, peeled and cubed</div><div>1/4 cup fresh parsley, chopped</div><div>3 teaspoons sea salt</div><div><br /></div><div>Preheat the oven to 415 degrees. In a large stock pot over medium heat, sauté the onion, carrots, and celery in 3 tablespoons of oil until they are soft. Add the garlic and sauté for another 2 minutes. Toss in the lentils and water (or broth), bring to a boil, reduce to a simmer and cook for 40 minutes (cook for 20 minutes if the lentils have been soaked overnight.)</div><div><br /></div><div>While the lentils are cooking, roast the kabocha squash. Peel and seed the squash and chop it into 1-inch cubes. Mix with 2 tablespoons of olive oil and 1 teaspoon of salt, place in a Pyrex dish, and bake for 40 minutes. Stir once at the 20 minutes mark for even cooking. The squash should be golden brown and soft on the inside.</div><div><br /></div><div>Once the lentils are cooked, add the chopped chard and cook until wilted, about 5 minutes. Next, add in 2 cups of the roasted kabocha squash. (Place extra squash in the fridge for a quick snack.) Mix the soup thoroughly and add fresh parsley and salt to taste. Drizzle with remaining olive oil and serve with a big green salad. Enjoy!</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2