MY YEAR OF PROUST
What most people know of Proust, if they know anything at all, probably has do with his now much-publicized reference to that wonderful rich cake-like cookie called a Madeleine. Proust is Marcel Proust of course, a French literary figure of the early 20th century who is known for writing autobiographical novels about his youth and his observations of the aristocratic life in Belle Epoch France. A key scene in one of the stories is when, as an adult, he is served a Madeleine, the taste of which allows him to remember and vividly portray to his readers the circumstances in which he had enjoyed the delectable cakes in his childhood. He describes how just one taste made him so happy and how he recalled details about visits to his aunt and her house, the room and garden where he last experienced the taste of a Madeleine cake.
I came to Proust a little differently, and with no knowledge or experience with madeleines. I came to him by way of an Adult Education course catalog listing which said “Reading Proust”. The course description included the name of the book that was currently being read, the fact that the reading was aloud, and that there was discussion on the reading. What a luxurious idea! I had never read Proust, but it seemed to me that to read him would be the ultimate in basic and cultural literacy. As an English Literature major I was familiar with the works of Shakespeare, and Chaucer but it had occurred to me that my education was not completely rounded out. That I could do with some other influences. Spanish or French writers for example.So I signed up and showed up, ready to learn at the appointed time and location. The city of Santa Barbara has adult ed. classes in various locations throughout the city. This one was at a beautiful little Spanish style center which had its start as an elementary school but was probably deemed to be too small to be effective for that purpose now. The campus had nice lawns and large stately pepper and olive trees. A gorgeous setting and an auspicious beginning for a new literary adventure, I thought.
Finding my classroom I walked in and saw a collection of interesting and distinctive looking individuals, most over 60 years of age None fit any particular mold or look, particularly if I had a stereotyped image of older people. They all looked comfortable with themselves, and in particular did not appear to be of the“beautiful people” style that many associate with a place like Santa Barbara. The dress style was casual and in some cases carried to sloppiness. But then there were the casual elegant women who wore scarves and shawls and interesting hats. The teacher had all the markings of an ex-hippie from the 6o’s, longish hair, camouflage shirt worn over an emblem t-shirt and Birkenstocks worn over socks on his feet. I later learned that he was, in fact, much older than I thought, but of the type just the same. Amazingly, this particular class had been going for 35 years and quite a few of the people in the class had been there for most of it, coming and going over the various seasons. Apparently the reading was on-going, one book giving way to the next, in the way Proust had written them. I learned that even though there are several separate books, Remembrance of Things Past, In search of Lost Time, Swann’s Way, The Germantes Way, and others, they are essentially like one continuous story.
I came in, gave my name, signed the roll sheet and took a seat, making sure to not be too close to the front, lest I be called upon. After the formalities of the new season and roll-taking, the teacher started right in, assuming, rightly in most cases, that the attendees were up to speed with the current story, and familiar with Proust in general.
It seemed that only I was not. The teacher himself started in reading. The stories had to do with our main character in the book which, I was to learn, was Proust himself in literary disguise.. From time to time the teacher would stop reading to explain or comment on something just read. After a while, he would pass the task of reading to a volunteer, who would also pause to comment from time to time. Proust’s stories, like all good literature, did not exist or stand alone, but reflected the society at the time. History, politics and especially social mores were all revealed in his words.
The class was two hours long, with a short break in-between hours. The time flew.The readers pronounced the French impeccably and in their added commentary frequently gave more detail than was apparent, or even called for. They knew that stuff inside and out. Many recalled their own visits to France over the years and the places mentioned in the book. They drew parallels between the past as depicted in the story, and the present that they themselves had observed. I felt, looking at some of them and their ages, they might well have visited or inhabited Paris in the authors’ time so listening to them was magical transport from the everyday.
Ultimately, I am unsure what was more compelling for me; the stories in the book or the other “students”. The stories were, in my opinion, stilted flights of fancy. I found Proust’s character to be somewhat tiresome but of course greater intellects than mine would energetically disagree. Nonetheless, I came away from there feeling that I had had a very unique experience because of the others in the class and my exposure to their perspective. If the purpose of a school is to educate, I did get an education, just not the expected one.
These days it’s easy to indulge in those tasty little cakes that evoked such poignant memories and so inspired Proust without going all the way to France. They are as close as your local Starbucks or Trader Joe’s, available in tidy cello packages. But for those purists who would have the real thing, this version of the recipe is rumored to be the closest to Proust’s “squat, plump little cakes”. You can make your own and your own memories.
Madeleines
Makes about 20
2 large eggs
2/3 cup sugar
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
½ teaspoon lemon peel
pinch of salt
1 cup all purpose flour
10 tablespoons (1 ¼ sticks) unsalted butter, melted, cooled slightly
powdered sugar
Preheat oven to 375. generously butter and flour pan for large (3 X 1 ¼”). madeleines
(A metal mold with scallop-shaped indentations)
Using electric mixer, beat eggs and 2/3 cup sugar in a large bowl just to blend. Beat in vanilla, lemon peel and salt. Add flour; beat until just blended. Gradually add cooled melted butter in steady stream, beating just until blended.
Spoon 1 tablespoon batter into each indentation in pan. Bake until puffed and brown, about 16 minutes. Cool 5 minutes. Gently remove from pan. Repeat process, buttering and flouring pan before each batch. (Can be made 1 day ahead.)
Dust cookies with powdered sugar
Monday, March 23, 2009
Saturday, March 14, 2009
Simple Gifts
I have a recipe for memories. At least for my memories. You probably have one for yours. Mine is one I found a while back that seemed close to something I remember my mother making, though not from any recipe. She just called it fideo and this recipe calls it fideo soup. Fideo is a thin noodle and calling it soup sounded different, but the preparation seemed similar so I made a copy of the recipe, intending to try it someday.
Well, the someday came unexpectedly. We had been away on an overnight “getaway” to Coronado Island, which is an hour and a half’s drive away from us so easy to get to. I say getaway but observe to myself that we really have nothing that must be gotten away from. Nonetheless, we did. Coronado is a small island linked to the city of San Diego by a large bridge but has a separate and distinct identity. The town area is small and walkable, with all the necessary amenities for a nice visit. For me that includes a place to have coffee, a nice glass of wine or cocktail, a bookstore, appealing restaurants and a few clever shops for browsing. Coronado has all of that in spades. The place to have a nice drink is the bar at the venerable Hotel Del Coronado, a place we do not stay at, not being inclined to want to part with the amount of money they require for those historic lodgings. But we can have entrée to the feeling of being there for the price of a drink, and be there to watch the sun set, since the bar is perfectly sited for that.
But no matter how entertaining it is to go away, it’s always nice to return and slip into the comfort zone that is home. And with that, the enjoyment of other things like simple food, frequently the opposite of what was enjoyed while away. Not having cooked or even thought of cooking while we were gone, now it sounded like a nice idea. And I happened to have what seemed like the ultimate comfort food recipe, one like mom used to make. I was set. After checking to be sure I had the ingredients required, I started cooking. I was pretty confident I could do it because after all I had seen my mother make this a million times. That’s all I really needed to know. Or so I thought.
The recipe tells you to break up the fideo into small pieces. I recall seeing her do that in one or two easy steps. So I started breaking up the little pasta “nests”. They don’t break tidely, I found. I had fideo scattered all over the stove, counter and floor of the kitchen. Then once it was broken, I had to sauté it in olive oil. No problem. I had seen her do that too. I did not reckon with the sheer volume of pasta, however. There was a lot! All confined in a small space - which was actually a pretty good sized pot. It was a lot trickier than I thought, getting it all browned but not burnt – as cautioned.
The rest went pretty smoothly. The tomatoes, garlic, onions made a nice sauce. The recipe calls for pureeing all the sauce but I recalled that mom did not puree her tomatoes but instead chopped them roughly before adding them to her pasta, so I reserved about a two tomatoes worth of chopped tomatoes rather than puree them all with the sauce, then added them to the mix with the pasta. I thought it made a more textured soup.
When all was done and the flavors melded, as the recipe states, I was transported back to my mother’s kitchen. This was not her exact recipe, I know. But close enough. It is comfort food of the best kind. Not just what it is, but all the wonderful feelings that came with it, both the making and the eating.
I may just have to rename this recipe Mom’s Fideo Soup.
Fideo Soup
Serves 4
Ingredients:
1/2 c Olive oil or 8 tablespoons
-unsalted butter
12 oz Fideo, vermicelli or angel
-hair pasta, broken into
-1-inch pieces
4 Dried or canned Morita or
-Chipotle chiles;
2 lbs Italian Roma tomatoes
8 Garlic cloves,; peeled
1 lg Onion,; roughly chopped
1/2 c Water
2 tbs Salt
6 cups Chicken or vegetable stock
1 bunch Cilantro, leaves only,
-chopped for garnish
In large saucepan or stockpot heat 1 tblsp oil, add onion and sauté 5 -10 minutes,add garlic, saute lightly and set aside. Add remainder of oil to the pan, add pasta and saute until golden, stirring frequently and being careful not to burn. Stir in chilis and cook for 2 minutes longer.
Meanwhile, combine tomatoes, garlic, onion, water and salt in a blender. puree until smooth. add tomato puree and stock to browned pasta. Cook over medium-low heat until the noodles soften and the flavors meld, about 20 minutes. Serve hot with cilantro as garnish.
Notes: This made a thick hearty soup or a soupy pasta, depending on how you look at it. I did not see fideo at my local Bristol Farms so bought angel hair pasta instead. Apparently the reason for sautéing the pasta has to do with keeping it from swelling up as much as it does for its more standard use so make sure it is all browned as noted. I think I did not brown mine enough and so it sort of grew. I suspect that it would be possible to make enough of this for the recipe with 8 ounces of the pasta which is actually a more typical packaging amount than the 12 ounces suggested here. I may try that next time.
I have a recipe for memories. At least for my memories. You probably have one for yours. Mine is one I found a while back that seemed close to something I remember my mother making, though not from any recipe. She just called it fideo and this recipe calls it fideo soup. Fideo is a thin noodle and calling it soup sounded different, but the preparation seemed similar so I made a copy of the recipe, intending to try it someday.
Well, the someday came unexpectedly. We had been away on an overnight “getaway” to Coronado Island, which is an hour and a half’s drive away from us so easy to get to. I say getaway but observe to myself that we really have nothing that must be gotten away from. Nonetheless, we did. Coronado is a small island linked to the city of San Diego by a large bridge but has a separate and distinct identity. The town area is small and walkable, with all the necessary amenities for a nice visit. For me that includes a place to have coffee, a nice glass of wine or cocktail, a bookstore, appealing restaurants and a few clever shops for browsing. Coronado has all of that in spades. The place to have a nice drink is the bar at the venerable Hotel Del Coronado, a place we do not stay at, not being inclined to want to part with the amount of money they require for those historic lodgings. But we can have entrée to the feeling of being there for the price of a drink, and be there to watch the sun set, since the bar is perfectly sited for that.
But no matter how entertaining it is to go away, it’s always nice to return and slip into the comfort zone that is home. And with that, the enjoyment of other things like simple food, frequently the opposite of what was enjoyed while away. Not having cooked or even thought of cooking while we were gone, now it sounded like a nice idea. And I happened to have what seemed like the ultimate comfort food recipe, one like mom used to make. I was set. After checking to be sure I had the ingredients required, I started cooking. I was pretty confident I could do it because after all I had seen my mother make this a million times. That’s all I really needed to know. Or so I thought.
The recipe tells you to break up the fideo into small pieces. I recall seeing her do that in one or two easy steps. So I started breaking up the little pasta “nests”. They don’t break tidely, I found. I had fideo scattered all over the stove, counter and floor of the kitchen. Then once it was broken, I had to sauté it in olive oil. No problem. I had seen her do that too. I did not reckon with the sheer volume of pasta, however. There was a lot! All confined in a small space - which was actually a pretty good sized pot. It was a lot trickier than I thought, getting it all browned but not burnt – as cautioned.
The rest went pretty smoothly. The tomatoes, garlic, onions made a nice sauce. The recipe calls for pureeing all the sauce but I recalled that mom did not puree her tomatoes but instead chopped them roughly before adding them to her pasta, so I reserved about a two tomatoes worth of chopped tomatoes rather than puree them all with the sauce, then added them to the mix with the pasta. I thought it made a more textured soup.
When all was done and the flavors melded, as the recipe states, I was transported back to my mother’s kitchen. This was not her exact recipe, I know. But close enough. It is comfort food of the best kind. Not just what it is, but all the wonderful feelings that came with it, both the making and the eating.
I may just have to rename this recipe Mom’s Fideo Soup.
Fideo Soup
Serves 4
Ingredients:
1/2 c Olive oil or 8 tablespoons
-unsalted butter
12 oz Fideo, vermicelli or angel
-hair pasta, broken into
-1-inch pieces
4 Dried or canned Morita or
-Chipotle chiles;
2 lbs Italian Roma tomatoes
8 Garlic cloves,; peeled
1 lg Onion,; roughly chopped
1/2 c Water
2 tbs Salt
6 cups Chicken or vegetable stock
1 bunch Cilantro, leaves only,
-chopped for garnish
In large saucepan or stockpot heat 1 tblsp oil, add onion and sauté 5 -10 minutes,add garlic, saute lightly and set aside. Add remainder of oil to the pan, add pasta and saute until golden, stirring frequently and being careful not to burn. Stir in chilis and cook for 2 minutes longer.
Meanwhile, combine tomatoes, garlic, onion, water and salt in a blender. puree until smooth. add tomato puree and stock to browned pasta. Cook over medium-low heat until the noodles soften and the flavors meld, about 20 minutes. Serve hot with cilantro as garnish.
Notes: This made a thick hearty soup or a soupy pasta, depending on how you look at it. I did not see fideo at my local Bristol Farms so bought angel hair pasta instead. Apparently the reason for sautéing the pasta has to do with keeping it from swelling up as much as it does for its more standard use so make sure it is all browned as noted. I think I did not brown mine enough and so it sort of grew. I suspect that it would be possible to make enough of this for the recipe with 8 ounces of the pasta which is actually a more typical packaging amount than the 12 ounces suggested here. I may try that next time.
Saturday, March 7, 2009
Life, the Universe and so on
Life has a way of slapping you every so often. I was going to say slapping you down but that’s not really true, in most cases. It’s more like “attention must be paid.” It can be relationships problems, family issues, money, car problems or any other type of thing that gets in the way of living the life that you think you should. In my case, right now, it’s health. Good health is one of those things I have been blessed with, for the most part, other than the usual stuff. But I have made the amazing discovery that when you get past a "certain age” which I suppose varies per person, health issues increase.
I have done my share of whining about this state of affairs with those who might care. After a while I get tired of the subject and hearing myself and move on. My mother’s mantra was “adelante” or “go forward” and that’s what I always strive for, and mostly succeed.
And, I have happy news to share; I have discovered the secret of life. I won’t keep you waiting, the secret is, drumroll please – upbeat music and cooking. What, you expected something more complicated or mystical? But that’s good news people, it can be that simple. I emphasize “can be” because I am fully aware that for some it won’t be.
But, here it is. It is a sunny Saturday afternoon. (It is California after all.) I am listening to an old Joe Jackson Body and Soul CD turned on loudly because I am the only one around. I am roasting potatoes and parsnips I just bought this morning at the Farmers Market. Roasting vegetables always smell wonderful, in my opinion, and I sample as I go, dancing in between tastes and tasks.
I am happy.
The process is the fun part but I am also anticipating the eating part which comes later – with a nice Pinot Gris. Yum yum.
I don’t guarantee results but I know happy music, dancing and cooking nice food go a long way towards making almost anyone feel good. Even more so when there’s no one watching, you can let it all out.
So go find music that makes you want to sing or dance along. I’ll provide the recipe.
See, that simple.
Roasted Vegetable Galette
Ingredients
One 9-ounce sheet of puff pastry, chilled *
6 plum tomatoes, halved lengthwise
Salt and freshly ground pepper
2 1/2 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil
4 leeks, white and tender green parts only, halved lengthwise and thinly sliced crosswise
Six 1-ounce fingerling potatoes, halved lengthwise
1 1/2 teaspoons chopped thyme
8 oil-cured olives, pitted and chopped
DIRECTIONS
Preheat the oven to 325°. Line a cookie sheet with parchment paper. On a lightly floured surface, roll out the puff pastry 1/16 inch thick. Cut out a 12-inch round and transfer it to the cookie sheet. Refrigerate for at least 20 minutes.
Arrange the tomatoes on a rimmed baking sheet, season with salt and pepper and bake for 1 hour.
Meanwhile, in a large skillet, heat 2 tablespoons of the olive oil. Add the leeks, season with salt and pepper and cook over low heat, stirring occasionally, until tender, about 10 minutes. Let cool to room temperature. In a bowl, toss the potatoes with the remaining 1/2 tablespoon of olive oil and season with salt and pepper. When the tomatoes are done, slide them to 1 side of the baking sheet and scatter the potatoes on the other. Bake at 350° for 20 minutes, or until the potatoes are tender and golden and the tomatoes are lightly browned. Let cool.
Turn the oven up to 400°. Spread the leeks on the puff pastry round to within 1 inch of the edge. Top with the tomatoes, potatoes and thyme. Bake for about 30 minutes, or until the edge is puffed and golden. Scatter the olives over the galette, cut into wedges and serve.
make ahead
The recipe can be prepared ahead through roasting the toppings stage. Refrigerate the pastry and toppings overnight. Bring the toppings to room temperature before assembling and baking.
* I use a 10-oz. regular galette dough for this recipe. I frequently have one in the freezer since when I make them my recipe makes two.
ps. The recipe doesn't call for parsnips but since I like them and found them at the FM today I added 2, cut in rougly 2" cubes and roasted with the potatoes. You could probably do this with turnips too if you like.
Life has a way of slapping you every so often. I was going to say slapping you down but that’s not really true, in most cases. It’s more like “attention must be paid.” It can be relationships problems, family issues, money, car problems or any other type of thing that gets in the way of living the life that you think you should. In my case, right now, it’s health. Good health is one of those things I have been blessed with, for the most part, other than the usual stuff. But I have made the amazing discovery that when you get past a "certain age” which I suppose varies per person, health issues increase.
I have done my share of whining about this state of affairs with those who might care. After a while I get tired of the subject and hearing myself and move on. My mother’s mantra was “adelante” or “go forward” and that’s what I always strive for, and mostly succeed.
And, I have happy news to share; I have discovered the secret of life. I won’t keep you waiting, the secret is, drumroll please – upbeat music and cooking. What, you expected something more complicated or mystical? But that’s good news people, it can be that simple. I emphasize “can be” because I am fully aware that for some it won’t be.
But, here it is. It is a sunny Saturday afternoon. (It is California after all.) I am listening to an old Joe Jackson Body and Soul CD turned on loudly because I am the only one around. I am roasting potatoes and parsnips I just bought this morning at the Farmers Market. Roasting vegetables always smell wonderful, in my opinion, and I sample as I go, dancing in between tastes and tasks.
I am happy.
The process is the fun part but I am also anticipating the eating part which comes later – with a nice Pinot Gris. Yum yum.
I don’t guarantee results but I know happy music, dancing and cooking nice food go a long way towards making almost anyone feel good. Even more so when there’s no one watching, you can let it all out.
So go find music that makes you want to sing or dance along. I’ll provide the recipe.
See, that simple.
Roasted Vegetable Galette
Ingredients
One 9-ounce sheet of puff pastry, chilled *
6 plum tomatoes, halved lengthwise
Salt and freshly ground pepper
2 1/2 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil
4 leeks, white and tender green parts only, halved lengthwise and thinly sliced crosswise
Six 1-ounce fingerling potatoes, halved lengthwise
1 1/2 teaspoons chopped thyme
8 oil-cured olives, pitted and chopped
DIRECTIONS
Preheat the oven to 325°. Line a cookie sheet with parchment paper. On a lightly floured surface, roll out the puff pastry 1/16 inch thick. Cut out a 12-inch round and transfer it to the cookie sheet. Refrigerate for at least 20 minutes.
Arrange the tomatoes on a rimmed baking sheet, season with salt and pepper and bake for 1 hour.
Meanwhile, in a large skillet, heat 2 tablespoons of the olive oil. Add the leeks, season with salt and pepper and cook over low heat, stirring occasionally, until tender, about 10 minutes. Let cool to room temperature. In a bowl, toss the potatoes with the remaining 1/2 tablespoon of olive oil and season with salt and pepper. When the tomatoes are done, slide them to 1 side of the baking sheet and scatter the potatoes on the other. Bake at 350° for 20 minutes, or until the potatoes are tender and golden and the tomatoes are lightly browned. Let cool.
Turn the oven up to 400°. Spread the leeks on the puff pastry round to within 1 inch of the edge. Top with the tomatoes, potatoes and thyme. Bake for about 30 minutes, or until the edge is puffed and golden. Scatter the olives over the galette, cut into wedges and serve.
make ahead
The recipe can be prepared ahead through roasting the toppings stage. Refrigerate the pastry and toppings overnight. Bring the toppings to room temperature before assembling and baking.
* I use a 10-oz. regular galette dough for this recipe. I frequently have one in the freezer since when I make them my recipe makes two.
ps. The recipe doesn't call for parsnips but since I like them and found them at the FM today I added 2, cut in rougly 2" cubes and roasted with the potatoes. You could probably do this with turnips too if you like.
Friday, February 20, 2009
Just Good Food
Well, Valentine’s Day has passed and also our celebration. Funny how we all feel compelled to note the date somehow. A few years ago Steve and I started including Steve’s mom and sister along on our VD dinners out. We have many opportunities for just the two of us and, if the occasion is about people you love, it seemed appropriate to share it with his mom, who is widowed and elderly, and single sis Therese.
The first year we did that we went to a restaurant associated with a then new hotel in Laguna Beach called The Montage. The hotel is located on an oceanfront bluff and the restaurant, named Studio, is sited so it takes full advantage of the fabulous view. We went for lunch since there seemed no point in going for the view at dinnertime in February when it’s already dark. The food was a prix fixe menu, not my favorite thing, but it was a special time and place so we bought into it. The food was I admit pretty special and with portions just enough without being too much. But, really, it doesn’t matter how the food was, what made that lunch spectacularly memorable was the company. I like to tell people I had lunch with Pierce Brosnan there. Okay, he was seated at the next table having lunch and yes, his wife was there with him, but still-Pierce Brosnan! It made all of our day, or at least the women’s’. I suspect Steve wasn’t quite as elated as we were since he is of the opinion that Pierce was miscast as James Bond. And don’t even get him started on the subject of Pierce’s singing in Mamma Mia – a movie he was dragged to against his will.
This year there were no celebrities. We went to a place called Savannah in Costa Mesa which features sort of a California version of southern style cooking- think buttermilk fried chicken and the like. Given the state of the economy, I wouldn’t have been surprised to see it empty but it was pretty busy, even with a 5:30 p.m. reservation which we do when taking mom out since her hearing isn’t what it used to be. Unfortunately, even though they advertised a regular menu it was not. Yes, some of the selections were there from the regular menu, but not all- deceptive, I thought. Nonetheless we managed to have a really good meal, once we got past the disappointment of having limited choices. And, then there were the brilliant desserts, two of which we selected to share. Chocolate soufflé and crème brulee rate high on the happiness meter with just about everyone.
But, if any compensation was needed I received it the next evening. We stayed home and Steve made one of his specialties, Baked Penne. There is a longer name for it but we always just call it baked penne for obvious reasons. This is one of those dishes that always surprises just a little bit, it’s so good. And, like so many good recipes, it becomes so much more than the sum of its parts. And all its parts are excellent, in my opinion. Even though some years ago one of our dinner guests meticulously picked out all the Kalmata olives and pushed them to one side of his plate, which we discovered when we cleaned up later. I mean, what adult man picks out all the olives from his pasta?
This is a dish I love. It’s rich and not so rich. It’s a satisfying sort of Mac n' Cheese, but more special. I highly recommend it. And, I’m not saying that just because it’s something that I don’t have to make.
Paired with a nice glass of Pinot Noir, what can I say but “Mamma Mia!”
Baked Penne with Tomatoes, Olives and Two Cheeses
Serves 4-generously.
Ingredients
• 6 tablespoons olive oil
• 1 1/2 cups chopped onion
• 1 teaspoon minced garlic
• 3 28-ounce cans Italian plum tomatoes, drained
• 2 teaspoons dried basil
• 1 1/2 teaspoons dried crushed red pepper
• 2 cups canned low-salt chicken broth
• 1 pound penne or pennette
• 2 1/2 cups packed grated Havarti cheese (16 oz)
• 1/3 cup sliced pitted Kalamata olives
• 1/3 cup grated Parmesan cheese
• 1/4 cup finely chopped fresh basil
Preparation
Heat 3 tablespoons oil in heavy large Dutch oven over medium-high heat. Add onion and garlic; sauté until onion is translucent, about 5 minutes. Mix in tomatoes, dried basil and crushed red pepper. Add broth & bring to boil. Reduce heat to medium; simmer, breaking up tomatoes with back of spoon. Thicken mixture to chunky sauce and is reduced to 6 cups, stirring occasionally, about 1 hour 10 minutes.
Season with salt and pepper.
(Can be made up to 2 days ahead. Cover and chill. Rewarm over low heat before continuing.)
Preheat oven to 375°F. Cook pasta in large pot of boiling salted water until tender but still firm to bite. Drain well. Return pasta to same pot. Toss with 3 tablespoons oil. Pour sauce over and toss to blend. Mix in Havarti cheese. Transfer pasta to 13x9x2-inch glass baking dish.* Sprinkle with olives, then Parmesan.
Bake until pasta is heated through, about 30 minutes. Sprinkle with basil.
*Note:
When making this for two of us, Steve uses two 8" X 8" X 2" glass pans. One to have and one to freeze for later use. The freezer one should not be baked until ready for use.
Well, Valentine’s Day has passed and also our celebration. Funny how we all feel compelled to note the date somehow. A few years ago Steve and I started including Steve’s mom and sister along on our VD dinners out. We have many opportunities for just the two of us and, if the occasion is about people you love, it seemed appropriate to share it with his mom, who is widowed and elderly, and single sis Therese.
The first year we did that we went to a restaurant associated with a then new hotel in Laguna Beach called The Montage. The hotel is located on an oceanfront bluff and the restaurant, named Studio, is sited so it takes full advantage of the fabulous view. We went for lunch since there seemed no point in going for the view at dinnertime in February when it’s already dark. The food was a prix fixe menu, not my favorite thing, but it was a special time and place so we bought into it. The food was I admit pretty special and with portions just enough without being too much. But, really, it doesn’t matter how the food was, what made that lunch spectacularly memorable was the company. I like to tell people I had lunch with Pierce Brosnan there. Okay, he was seated at the next table having lunch and yes, his wife was there with him, but still-Pierce Brosnan! It made all of our day, or at least the women’s’. I suspect Steve wasn’t quite as elated as we were since he is of the opinion that Pierce was miscast as James Bond. And don’t even get him started on the subject of Pierce’s singing in Mamma Mia – a movie he was dragged to against his will.
This year there were no celebrities. We went to a place called Savannah in Costa Mesa which features sort of a California version of southern style cooking- think buttermilk fried chicken and the like. Given the state of the economy, I wouldn’t have been surprised to see it empty but it was pretty busy, even with a 5:30 p.m. reservation which we do when taking mom out since her hearing isn’t what it used to be. Unfortunately, even though they advertised a regular menu it was not. Yes, some of the selections were there from the regular menu, but not all- deceptive, I thought. Nonetheless we managed to have a really good meal, once we got past the disappointment of having limited choices. And, then there were the brilliant desserts, two of which we selected to share. Chocolate soufflé and crème brulee rate high on the happiness meter with just about everyone.
But, if any compensation was needed I received it the next evening. We stayed home and Steve made one of his specialties, Baked Penne. There is a longer name for it but we always just call it baked penne for obvious reasons. This is one of those dishes that always surprises just a little bit, it’s so good. And, like so many good recipes, it becomes so much more than the sum of its parts. And all its parts are excellent, in my opinion. Even though some years ago one of our dinner guests meticulously picked out all the Kalmata olives and pushed them to one side of his plate, which we discovered when we cleaned up later. I mean, what adult man picks out all the olives from his pasta?
This is a dish I love. It’s rich and not so rich. It’s a satisfying sort of Mac n' Cheese, but more special. I highly recommend it. And, I’m not saying that just because it’s something that I don’t have to make.
Paired with a nice glass of Pinot Noir, what can I say but “Mamma Mia!”
Baked Penne with Tomatoes, Olives and Two Cheeses
Serves 4-generously.
Ingredients
• 6 tablespoons olive oil
• 1 1/2 cups chopped onion
• 1 teaspoon minced garlic
• 3 28-ounce cans Italian plum tomatoes, drained
• 2 teaspoons dried basil
• 1 1/2 teaspoons dried crushed red pepper
• 2 cups canned low-salt chicken broth
• 1 pound penne or pennette
• 2 1/2 cups packed grated Havarti cheese (16 oz)
• 1/3 cup sliced pitted Kalamata olives
• 1/3 cup grated Parmesan cheese
• 1/4 cup finely chopped fresh basil
Preparation
Heat 3 tablespoons oil in heavy large Dutch oven over medium-high heat. Add onion and garlic; sauté until onion is translucent, about 5 minutes. Mix in tomatoes, dried basil and crushed red pepper. Add broth & bring to boil. Reduce heat to medium; simmer, breaking up tomatoes with back of spoon. Thicken mixture to chunky sauce and is reduced to 6 cups, stirring occasionally, about 1 hour 10 minutes.
Season with salt and pepper.
(Can be made up to 2 days ahead. Cover and chill. Rewarm over low heat before continuing.)
Preheat oven to 375°F. Cook pasta in large pot of boiling salted water until tender but still firm to bite. Drain well. Return pasta to same pot. Toss with 3 tablespoons oil. Pour sauce over and toss to blend. Mix in Havarti cheese. Transfer pasta to 13x9x2-inch glass baking dish.* Sprinkle with olives, then Parmesan.
Bake until pasta is heated through, about 30 minutes. Sprinkle with basil.
*Note:
When making this for two of us, Steve uses two 8" X 8" X 2" glass pans. One to have and one to freeze for later use. The freezer one should not be baked until ready for use.
Saturday, February 14, 2009
Valentines Day
Valentine’s Day invariably brings out thoughts of romance and love. These ideas of romance and love are sometimes associated with luscious foods, like chocolate which is thought to have aphrodisiacal qualities. Oysters are sometimes mentioned too, but less so and I suspect the reason is that most people don’t find them as attractive in concept. Local restaurants will suddenly develop a “special menu” which is double the cost and double the amount of food that you normally would have there. Granted, the menus are sometimes inspired and very appealing. But I personally always feel like I would be a sucker for falling for such an obvious marketing tool.
For me, the most romantic dinner in recent memory did not occur at Valentine’s Day at all but was admittedly, a part of a romantic getaway. Steve and I had never been as far south as Cabo San Lucas in Baja California, in spite of living in Southern California, but had heard about it through friends and through advertising. As a warm place a short plane ride away from home it seemed just right for a three day weekend.
The plane ride was easy but when we got to our destination airport we found that from there we still had to take a shuttle for another 1 ½ hours before arriving to our hotel. The roads were narrow and in some places precariously placed on mountain sides so it made for a longer-feeling ride than it probably was. We could see new and beautifully landscaped condominiums and hotels along the way, fronting onto drop-dead water views; all very large and glitzy looking. We finally arrived at our hotel, which was similarly placed, and also large and imposing. After getting settled in, we went out to explore.
We are walkers, feeling that walking is the best way to get familiar with a new place, and so we set out on foot. It was an inauspicious beginning for what we had anticipated being a relaxed and lovely vacation. Most of the streets were not paved, and were dry and dusty. Other than at the hotels, for the most part there were not the plants and landscaping that is so ubiquitous in private and public places we were used to up north.
But we continued on, determined to see what there was to see. The little town consisted of just a few blocks which we covered quickly. There was a main street that had some restaurants, the most prominent of which were American in origin and had a “chain” feel to them. There were also some local places that looked a little too “native” for our comfort level, being a little dustier and more cluttered. Additionally, there were small jewelry and craft stores with some very beautiful and reasonably priced objects and art. With the warm weather, we felt a need for a light snack and on a street corner found just the perfect thing. Fresh fruit in juicy and colorful piles, either juiced to your order, or cut up and put into small take-away paper cone container. Mango, papaya, pineapple, melon and berries, all fresh, sweet and prepared when ordered. The flavors were grand and I have never encountered anything quite like that anywhere else.
After spending time finding our way around and being a little disappointed at the dreariness of our surroundings, we went back to the hotel to recoup. The hotel was placed to take full advantage of the view of the sea, and had two luxurious swimming pools facing that way as well. The weather was warm, so hanging out by the pool was an easy way to spend time.
That evening, we cleaned up and prepared to go off on a walk on the beachfront by our hotel, where we had spotted what looked like a couple of casual restaurants. We stepped down onto the sand from the patio of the hotel and commenced to walk in the direction that seemed to have the most activity.
There were in fact several places along the way, some associated with our or other hotels. The one that caught our fancy though, had nothing of the formality of the hotels.
It was placed right on the sand, and was loosely constructed with palm fronds overhanging the roof, reminiscent of Hawaii. The first area we entered held a small bar and some tables and from there it was possible to see a patio beyond which extended almost to the water’s edge. We looked at the menu, agreed it had promise and were seated.. We noticed a bit of bustling around, and had seen some men in costume which we took to be a group of Mariachis. We asked our waiter what was going on. He was very conversational and informed us that that night was the owner’s birthday and there was going to be a party for him. We were welcome to stay but it might be quite noisy and not what we might have expected. We thought it sounded fun, so we stayed.
It turned out to be a good decision. The wine they served was a local Baja wine, quite acceptable even to our California palates. We had a glass or two and listened to the musicians playing for the party. In time we ordered our meal, which was not clichéd Mexican food. It was, as might be expected in a waterfront town, seafood. In this case, freshly caught lobster and shrimp, grilled in butter to perfection, and served simply with rice and accompanied by fresh tomato salsa. The servings were generous but the food so delicious we were unable to exercise any portion control. We just ate and ate and drank the lovely wine. And as if we had ordered it especially, the background sound consisted of the gentle lapping of the nearby surf with the music offering the counterpoint.
When the birthday party began winding down, the musicians, who had apparently been booked for the evening, came to us and asked if we had any musical requests. We were able to come up with a couple of Spanish language songs we were familiar with like Cielito Lindo and Paloma, which they knew and were able to play with style and enthusiasm.
As the guests left, the host, who was the owner and the birthday person, came by our table and we wished him a happy birthday. He was obviously in an expansive mood, stopping to chat; he treated us to a couple of after-dinner brandies, which he was also having. He seemed gratified that we would know some words in Spanish although his slightly accented English was flawless.
After that we pretty much had the place to ourselves and finished off our after-dinner drinks while basking the glow of the evening, the amazing food and the serene surf sounds. The evening ended with an easy walk along the beach back to our hotel just a short distance away. The restaurant, the evening and the food were all so memorable that I would hesitate to attempt to recreate the event. Some things should be regarded as once in a lifetime experiences.
Valentine’s Day invariably brings out thoughts of romance and love. These ideas of romance and love are sometimes associated with luscious foods, like chocolate which is thought to have aphrodisiacal qualities. Oysters are sometimes mentioned too, but less so and I suspect the reason is that most people don’t find them as attractive in concept. Local restaurants will suddenly develop a “special menu” which is double the cost and double the amount of food that you normally would have there. Granted, the menus are sometimes inspired and very appealing. But I personally always feel like I would be a sucker for falling for such an obvious marketing tool.
For me, the most romantic dinner in recent memory did not occur at Valentine’s Day at all but was admittedly, a part of a romantic getaway. Steve and I had never been as far south as Cabo San Lucas in Baja California, in spite of living in Southern California, but had heard about it through friends and through advertising. As a warm place a short plane ride away from home it seemed just right for a three day weekend.
The plane ride was easy but when we got to our destination airport we found that from there we still had to take a shuttle for another 1 ½ hours before arriving to our hotel. The roads were narrow and in some places precariously placed on mountain sides so it made for a longer-feeling ride than it probably was. We could see new and beautifully landscaped condominiums and hotels along the way, fronting onto drop-dead water views; all very large and glitzy looking. We finally arrived at our hotel, which was similarly placed, and also large and imposing. After getting settled in, we went out to explore.
We are walkers, feeling that walking is the best way to get familiar with a new place, and so we set out on foot. It was an inauspicious beginning for what we had anticipated being a relaxed and lovely vacation. Most of the streets were not paved, and were dry and dusty. Other than at the hotels, for the most part there were not the plants and landscaping that is so ubiquitous in private and public places we were used to up north.
But we continued on, determined to see what there was to see. The little town consisted of just a few blocks which we covered quickly. There was a main street that had some restaurants, the most prominent of which were American in origin and had a “chain” feel to them. There were also some local places that looked a little too “native” for our comfort level, being a little dustier and more cluttered. Additionally, there were small jewelry and craft stores with some very beautiful and reasonably priced objects and art. With the warm weather, we felt a need for a light snack and on a street corner found just the perfect thing. Fresh fruit in juicy and colorful piles, either juiced to your order, or cut up and put into small take-away paper cone container. Mango, papaya, pineapple, melon and berries, all fresh, sweet and prepared when ordered. The flavors were grand and I have never encountered anything quite like that anywhere else.
After spending time finding our way around and being a little disappointed at the dreariness of our surroundings, we went back to the hotel to recoup. The hotel was placed to take full advantage of the view of the sea, and had two luxurious swimming pools facing that way as well. The weather was warm, so hanging out by the pool was an easy way to spend time.
That evening, we cleaned up and prepared to go off on a walk on the beachfront by our hotel, where we had spotted what looked like a couple of casual restaurants. We stepped down onto the sand from the patio of the hotel and commenced to walk in the direction that seemed to have the most activity.
There were in fact several places along the way, some associated with our or other hotels. The one that caught our fancy though, had nothing of the formality of the hotels.
It was placed right on the sand, and was loosely constructed with palm fronds overhanging the roof, reminiscent of Hawaii. The first area we entered held a small bar and some tables and from there it was possible to see a patio beyond which extended almost to the water’s edge. We looked at the menu, agreed it had promise and were seated.. We noticed a bit of bustling around, and had seen some men in costume which we took to be a group of Mariachis. We asked our waiter what was going on. He was very conversational and informed us that that night was the owner’s birthday and there was going to be a party for him. We were welcome to stay but it might be quite noisy and not what we might have expected. We thought it sounded fun, so we stayed.
It turned out to be a good decision. The wine they served was a local Baja wine, quite acceptable even to our California palates. We had a glass or two and listened to the musicians playing for the party. In time we ordered our meal, which was not clichéd Mexican food. It was, as might be expected in a waterfront town, seafood. In this case, freshly caught lobster and shrimp, grilled in butter to perfection, and served simply with rice and accompanied by fresh tomato salsa. The servings were generous but the food so delicious we were unable to exercise any portion control. We just ate and ate and drank the lovely wine. And as if we had ordered it especially, the background sound consisted of the gentle lapping of the nearby surf with the music offering the counterpoint.
When the birthday party began winding down, the musicians, who had apparently been booked for the evening, came to us and asked if we had any musical requests. We were able to come up with a couple of Spanish language songs we were familiar with like Cielito Lindo and Paloma, which they knew and were able to play with style and enthusiasm.
As the guests left, the host, who was the owner and the birthday person, came by our table and we wished him a happy birthday. He was obviously in an expansive mood, stopping to chat; he treated us to a couple of after-dinner brandies, which he was also having. He seemed gratified that we would know some words in Spanish although his slightly accented English was flawless.
After that we pretty much had the place to ourselves and finished off our after-dinner drinks while basking the glow of the evening, the amazing food and the serene surf sounds. The evening ended with an easy walk along the beach back to our hotel just a short distance away. The restaurant, the evening and the food were all so memorable that I would hesitate to attempt to recreate the event. Some things should be regarded as once in a lifetime experiences.
Monday, February 2, 2009
Fueling Philosophy
The other day I read in my local paper about an enterprising woman who has started a cottage industry with bottled water. Knowing that huge corporations pretty much have that market segment sewed up you wouldn’t think anyone would venture into it on a small scale but apparently this isn’t actually just water - this is inspiration!The idea is that inspiring words like joy, peace and harmony are part of the name on the water bottle. Presumably then when you drink it you feel joyful, peaceful or harmonious.
Is it that easy? Is consuming things with pretty names the way to The Way?
By this example it would appear to be the case. Consumers of the water swore by it, saying they felt more...whatever the message on the bottle called for.
A few months ago on a visit to daughter Bonnie I had a related experience, only with food. This is nothing new of course. Over the years Bonnie has frequently introduced me to new places which include new food experiences. A few years ago, Graduate school took her to Berkeley, home of famous chef Alice Waters, who has gained fame for her fresh, local-food approach to cooking. The area in Berkeley in which Waters’ much-lauded Chez Panisse restaurant is located is known as the “gourmet ghetto”. This locale is several blocks long and is dotted with wonderful places to eat in and/or take out: pizza which sets a benchmark to which the likes of even upscale California Pizza Kitchen could never aspire; cheeses from small local cheese makers and dairies; bakeries with breads and pastries unique, beautiful and tasty. Great coffee, or tea. All the multi-cultural and just plain great food experiences available are too vast to list. Suffice it to say, whatever you may want or are looking for, it will be available there.So many great places and people in the Bay area seem to take them for granted. It’s only we visitors who gawk in wonder and delight. However even someone like me who is interested in such experiences can, at times, be dumbfounded by the occurence. On that visit, Bonnie thought that our group, which consisted of partner Jeff, daughter Nicole and me, should visit the latest food phenomenon to arrive at the gourmet ghetto. So after a lovely lunch of goat cheese/wild mushroom crostinis and soup, from a place whimsically spelled SOOP, we walked on down the street for some dessert.
The destination was a restaurant named Café Gratitude. Their self-declared intention is, and I quote. “We invite you to step inside and enjoy being someone who chooses; loving your life, adoring yourself, accepting the world, being generous and grateful everyday, and experiencing being provided for.” Call me judgmental but right away I knew this was not a place for the Claim Jumper crowd.
I am - Befuddled. The whole concept behind the food at Café Gratitude is that of “live food” that is to say, it is uncooked, or only heated to 115 degrees, and is organic and vegan.
I am - Uneducated. How do you have food, beyond the obvious like salads, uncooked? Ingeniously though, they did have a menu that covered a spectrum including pizzas, burgers and Mexican and other ethnic dishes, to name only a few.
I am - Amused. But as if the vegan, “live” food concept wasn’t enough departure from the usual café experience, the folks at Café Gratitude took it just a step further. Every menu selection has its own name, each one starting with “I Am”, as in I Am Accepting - stir-fry consisting of steamed Bhutanese red rice tossed with marinated raw vegetables, shitake mushrooms, pine nuts, teriyaki almonds and scallions. Or, I Am Cheerful - live sun burger which was sprouted pumpkin seed and walnut burger served on a buckwheat-sunflower flatbread with sliced tomato, onion, smoky tomato sauce, cucumber pickles and sprouts. Our group found it impossible not to make fun, although we may have been the only people in there who didn’t take it seriously.
I am - Under whelmed. We decided on and ordered three desserts by their description, only to have the server call out the order by each one's given name, to our great amusement. What was described as a mudslide pie (raw chocolate crust filled with a creamy raw chocolate and almond butter filling, rippled with cashew whipped cream, was named “I am Heavenly” as in “oh you want, I am Heavenly”. A cheesecake style concoction was called I Am Cherished and a layered cake which was described as strawberry shortcake was called I Am Rapture. Rapture, by the way, was two layers of some substance that looked and felt more like a pumpkin pie, but unfortunately didn’t taste like it. It was layered with yes, sliced live strawberries, or what are more commonly known as fresh strawberries. I don’t know why but I still, against all odds, had expected to see my “live” strawberries intersected with spongy white cake and whipped cream.
To say these desserts were not up to expectation would truly be an understatement. I believe the folks at Café Gratitude have failed to grasp the concept of dessert. Dessert is supposed to be rich, succulent, appetizing and even beautiful to behold. The one thing it is not intended to be is good for you. That’s why we call it dessert and not, say, broccoli.
That said,
I am - Fortunate. I am living this life that has given me such singular experiences with the capacity to enjoy them and the ability to depict them in writing. As a Chinese philosopher once observed, “when you write things down you live them twice”.
While the concept of a live food restaurant has no real relevance in my life, I understand that is not true for some others. Therefore, I am grateful – again. Café Gratitude, with its interestingly named dishes, karma, philosophies, and approach is worth revisiting, at least anecdotally.
The other day I read in my local paper about an enterprising woman who has started a cottage industry with bottled water. Knowing that huge corporations pretty much have that market segment sewed up you wouldn’t think anyone would venture into it on a small scale but apparently this isn’t actually just water - this is inspiration!The idea is that inspiring words like joy, peace and harmony are part of the name on the water bottle. Presumably then when you drink it you feel joyful, peaceful or harmonious.
Is it that easy? Is consuming things with pretty names the way to The Way?
By this example it would appear to be the case. Consumers of the water swore by it, saying they felt more...whatever the message on the bottle called for.
A few months ago on a visit to daughter Bonnie I had a related experience, only with food. This is nothing new of course. Over the years Bonnie has frequently introduced me to new places which include new food experiences. A few years ago, Graduate school took her to Berkeley, home of famous chef Alice Waters, who has gained fame for her fresh, local-food approach to cooking. The area in Berkeley in which Waters’ much-lauded Chez Panisse restaurant is located is known as the “gourmet ghetto”. This locale is several blocks long and is dotted with wonderful places to eat in and/or take out: pizza which sets a benchmark to which the likes of even upscale California Pizza Kitchen could never aspire; cheeses from small local cheese makers and dairies; bakeries with breads and pastries unique, beautiful and tasty. Great coffee, or tea. All the multi-cultural and just plain great food experiences available are too vast to list. Suffice it to say, whatever you may want or are looking for, it will be available there.So many great places and people in the Bay area seem to take them for granted. It’s only we visitors who gawk in wonder and delight. However even someone like me who is interested in such experiences can, at times, be dumbfounded by the occurence. On that visit, Bonnie thought that our group, which consisted of partner Jeff, daughter Nicole and me, should visit the latest food phenomenon to arrive at the gourmet ghetto. So after a lovely lunch of goat cheese/wild mushroom crostinis and soup, from a place whimsically spelled SOOP, we walked on down the street for some dessert.
The destination was a restaurant named Café Gratitude. Their self-declared intention is, and I quote. “We invite you to step inside and enjoy being someone who chooses; loving your life, adoring yourself, accepting the world, being generous and grateful everyday, and experiencing being provided for.” Call me judgmental but right away I knew this was not a place for the Claim Jumper crowd.
I am - Befuddled. The whole concept behind the food at Café Gratitude is that of “live food” that is to say, it is uncooked, or only heated to 115 degrees, and is organic and vegan.
I am - Uneducated. How do you have food, beyond the obvious like salads, uncooked? Ingeniously though, they did have a menu that covered a spectrum including pizzas, burgers and Mexican and other ethnic dishes, to name only a few.
I am - Amused. But as if the vegan, “live” food concept wasn’t enough departure from the usual café experience, the folks at Café Gratitude took it just a step further. Every menu selection has its own name, each one starting with “I Am”, as in I Am Accepting - stir-fry consisting of steamed Bhutanese red rice tossed with marinated raw vegetables, shitake mushrooms, pine nuts, teriyaki almonds and scallions. Or, I Am Cheerful - live sun burger which was sprouted pumpkin seed and walnut burger served on a buckwheat-sunflower flatbread with sliced tomato, onion, smoky tomato sauce, cucumber pickles and sprouts. Our group found it impossible not to make fun, although we may have been the only people in there who didn’t take it seriously.
I am - Under whelmed. We decided on and ordered three desserts by their description, only to have the server call out the order by each one's given name, to our great amusement. What was described as a mudslide pie (raw chocolate crust filled with a creamy raw chocolate and almond butter filling, rippled with cashew whipped cream, was named “I am Heavenly” as in “oh you want, I am Heavenly”. A cheesecake style concoction was called I Am Cherished and a layered cake which was described as strawberry shortcake was called I Am Rapture. Rapture, by the way, was two layers of some substance that looked and felt more like a pumpkin pie, but unfortunately didn’t taste like it. It was layered with yes, sliced live strawberries, or what are more commonly known as fresh strawberries. I don’t know why but I still, against all odds, had expected to see my “live” strawberries intersected with spongy white cake and whipped cream.
To say these desserts were not up to expectation would truly be an understatement. I believe the folks at Café Gratitude have failed to grasp the concept of dessert. Dessert is supposed to be rich, succulent, appetizing and even beautiful to behold. The one thing it is not intended to be is good for you. That’s why we call it dessert and not, say, broccoli.
That said,
I am - Fortunate. I am living this life that has given me such singular experiences with the capacity to enjoy them and the ability to depict them in writing. As a Chinese philosopher once observed, “when you write things down you live them twice”.
While the concept of a live food restaurant has no real relevance in my life, I understand that is not true for some others. Therefore, I am grateful – again. Café Gratitude, with its interestingly named dishes, karma, philosophies, and approach is worth revisiting, at least anecdotally.
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