Dave's Not Here

Hit the wrong switch on the radio and there were those same people, my dearly beloved would be-friends, happy as ever to tell me exactly how the world should be (with half my favorite people left out). Said the version of "No, thank you" suited to the occasion, hit a different switch, and whaddya know, the magic station* with not just Cheech and Chong (Welcome back, boys!) but "Hey, hey, hey, it's Fat Albert," courtesy of one Bill Cosby. Was lucky enough to see him with my friend Larry at a benefit for Back on Track a year or two ago. And a lot more years ago, I saw Cos at the Felt Forum in Madison Square Garden. You could learn more just from watching how Bill Cosby uses his face, how he moves, than you would in half a dozen classes.

I could tell the Rockin' Green Bean Salad (a cousin of the Rockin' Romano, ask me about that later) would take too long, so I decided to make that new black bean I've been thinking about, especially given that both cilantros in the fridge were looking so tired.

Red and Green and Yes, Black Bean Salad:

For the salad:

1 can organic black beans**
1 green bell pepper
2 roma tomatoes
1 cippoline onion

For the dressing:

4T extra virgin olive oil with zip (I used Spanish oil and also broke out the LA "Intenso" for the occasion)
Juice and zest of one lemon
Handful of fresh Italian parsley
1 clove garlic
1/4 teaspoon celery seed
Smidgen stone-ground mustard
Pinch salt
Pinch freshly-ground black pepper

Rinse and drain black beans. Seed the tomatoes, then chop the vegetables and mince the parsley and garlic. Whisk the oil and lemon juice together with the rest of the dressing ingredients. Add the vegetables and toss. Then add the black beans, toss again, add a splash of cider vinegar, and serve.

Had a chance to catch up with some folks and meet some new ones over at Mary and Ray's, and just about everybody had a great story to tell. Good thing we had plenty of time to talk before we sat down to dinner--and what a meal it was: Slow-cooked, silky leeks, red pepper marmalade, olive salad, two kinds of stuffing, pecans on the yams, and potatoes au gratin, along with the turkey and green beans one might expect. Oh, and homemade pumpkin pudding. Yes, indeed. And I had small bites of everything, for once, so I didn't have to lay on the bed face down when I got home, and could also skip the online first aid for the usual.

As those radio people are always saying (the rest of us save it for when people actually sneeze), God bless you. Everyone.

*This time, the magic station was KUSF.

**Yes, yes, I know I should make my own black beans. I have lentils on the stove this very minute. But remember, I was supposed to be there at 3.

©2010 Laynie Tzena.

Me Need Miso, or Mrs. Piggle-Wiggle to the Rescue

Yes, those mini-cupcakes were delicious at Iron Cupcake tonight (and some of my favorite bakers won!), but after all that sweet stuff it's definitely time for miso broth with dulse, brown rice, maybe a French breakfast radish at 10 p.m., and then a serious talk with my pillow. New recipes very soon.

Not To Mention That Foghorn . . .

Oh, children, life is sweet: It's apple season (is there anything more beautiful than a slice of Pink Pearl apple?), Lucero's spaceship squash is back, the San Francisco Street Food Festival is Saturday (http://www.sfstreetfoodfest.com), and for dessert, Charles Chocolates is opening its flagship store here in the city (http://us1.campaign-archive1.com/?u=6158b9175add5fbfb0c515375&id=7b49f2fe55&e=b16662e756).

What's that? Fog? Yes. It is August in San Francisco. There is fog. Wear layers. I know, I know. I don't love the cold, either. But Herb Caen was right: The fog is pretty darned gorgeous over those hills. Sandburg said so, too.

Also, one of my favorite movies from the Jewish Film Festival (hard to choose, really, with so many great ones this year), Robert Guediguian's Army of Crime, about French-Armenian poet Missak Manouchian and other members of the French Resistance, is showing at the Kabuki. Brace yourself for some tough scenes (we are talking about the Vichy), but do not miss it.

©2010 Laynie Tzena.

Take a Bow, Part Three

Part Three: Something In The Air

So the Red Bird was wonderful--full of flavor, and all that--but I was still thinking of tea-poaching when I walked into Whole Foods and their air-chilled bone-in chicken breasts were on sale. I had seen the air-chilled chicken around but had yet to buy it, thinking it was just overpriced chicken.

Wrong.

(Ginger) Tea-Poached Chicken:

1 bone-in chicken breast, skin and fat removed
4-5 slices fresh ginger, peeled
1 cup water
1 teaspoon sesame oil

Place ginger and water in saucepan, heat to boiling, cover and simmer 10-15 minutes. Strain tea and combine 1/4 cup of tea and 1 teaspoon sesame oil in skillet, bring to boil. Rinse chicken, add to pan and cover. Reduce flame to low setting and simmer for fifteen minutes (ten if you're using air-chilled chicken), then turn off burner and let chicken sit in the pan for another ten to fifteen minutes or until done. Remove chicken to heated plate, strain poaching liquid and spoon over chicken.

This was great with jasmine rice and green beans.

As to the air-chilled chicken: Word. I'm going to use that for the Sopa di Lima next time (see "Cluck, Cluck") and not reduce the chicken stock, since the chicken is--you should excuse the expression--so chicken-y. Why? Must be something in the air. I'm not asking.

But don't worry, Mollie Stone's: I still love your chicken.

©2010, 2014 Laynie Tzena.

Take a Bow, Part Two

Part Two: Now That Is A Red Bird.

It was getting a little crowded in my freezer, and so a chicken breast migrated to the fridge. The next day I was all ready to poach it when I remembered I was out of chicken stock. Or, rather, I read the writing on the wall (er, the container) and thought that since said chicken stock had poached a bird or two, been strained and frozen, poached some more birds, then gone back to the igloo, chances were, it had sung its last song.

My virtual friends assured me there were other options. Nothing really grabbed me, but then I remembered how much I liked tea-smoked scallops (don't tell my rabbi), and I decided to poach it in tea.

Then I opened the wrapper. Skin? Oh, this was the breast from the whole chicken I had bought way back when.

Yes, I know chicken skin is not nutritionally correct, but I happen to love it. So this bird was going to be baked, not poached.

I often use paprika in my scrambled eggs, among other things. But I don't use that much of it, and last time I opened the jar it had seemed a little pale. I had read somewhere that heating spices releases more of their flavor.

Red Bird, or Paprika Chicken:

1 bone-in chicken breast
1 lemon, quartered
2 tablespoons (or more) sweet paprika
Pinch kosher salt

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Rinse and dry chicken. Squeeze lemon on top and bottom of chicken, and under the skin, then rub the lemon into the skin, top, and bottom of the chicken. Heat a skillet on medium heat, add paprika, and warm till just starting to smoke. Cool paprika till safe to handle, then rub into skin, top, and bottom of chicken. Use a lot. (The bird will be red.) Sprinkle chicken with kosher salt, cover with foil, and bake in a glass dish for about 20 minutes, then remove foil and cook about another ten minutes. (Leave foil on if you used a skinless breast.) Test with fork; when the juices run clear, it's done.

Next Time: Gilligan Sent Me.

©2010, 2014 Laynie Tzena.

Take a Bow, Part One

Part One: Green is Good.

Lucky me, to stumble on the Bay Bass Band a few years ago at Old First Church. All these years I'd loved the bass, but never questioned its role as the often invisible anchor of an ensemble. Suddenly here was a band of basses, playing music written or adapted just for bass. And the music was great: the first time, I got to hear Francois Rabbath; the second, Ray Brown. But it was more than that. It was finding amazing music in a place you hadn't thought to look. God bless Barry Green.

I thought of that recently as I noticed a fine bunch of Italian parsley lounging on the top shelf of my refrigerator. Sure, I'd used parsley before--in green drinks, in Joyce Goldstein's wonderful Sephardic eggplant salad. Parsley has graced the top of that miso-soba soup we talked about a while back, and many other things, too. But like the bass, it had never been front and center.

Until now.

Parsley Salad:

For the salad:

Small bunch or 1/2 large bunch Italian parsley

For the pesto:

2 tablespoons chopped Italian parsley
1-2 garlic scapes, 1 stalk green garlic, or 1 garlic clove
Drizzle walnut oil*
Healthy pinch lemon zest
Pinch of salt
Pinch of freshly-ground black pepper

For the dressing:

1 to 2 teaspoons olive oil
1 teaspoon walnut oil
1 teaspoon freshly-squeezed lemon juice
Zest of 1/2 lemon
Pinch of salt
Pinch of freshly-ground black pepper

Rinse and dry the parsley. Mince garlic of choice. Pound pesto ingredients using a mortar and pestle, or blend in a food processor, adding enough oil to achieve desired consistency. If you want to be more traditional, use grated Asigao, Parmesan, Romano, or Dry Jack cheese instead of the oil; you could also add toasted walnuts. I just used the parsley au naturel because I wanted it to be the star for a change, to take a bow.

Whisk together oils, lemon juice and zest and seasonings, add parsley and toss, topped with parsley pesto.

*Yes, I know pesto usually has more oil. But remember, this is served on top of a salad with a dressing on it. If if will make you happy to use more oil, be my guest.

Next Time: Red, I said!

©2010, 2014 Laynie Tzena.

Remember That Steak?

My parents often claimed, after eating a certain steak, that it was good, yes--but not as good as that one steak. Remember that steak?

Ridiculous, I thought.

So, since we all become our parents, I do the same things now:

"I miss pizza with sauce. What do they have against sauce out here?"

"We don't have bagels. We have steamed dinner rolls with a hole in the center."

"Don't get me started about egg rolls." (To which a friend recently replied, "Yes, but we have potstickers." Which is a bit like saying, "Yes, Bobby started seeing Susie/moved to Outer Mongolia/became a Moonie. But look, there's always Sammy. What's wrong with him?")

I still remember the egg rolls at Aisin Goro in Boulder in 19-never mind. The restaurant served just two things: Enormous, wonderful egg rolls and jasmine tea. True, they went out of business--maybe people wanted oolong or lapsang souchong.

Your example here.

But really, life is as much about variation as theme, no? The magic is in the things you discover precisely because you can't create the exact replica of something you tasted.

Maybe. If you don't count Mrs. Craig's brownies.

Mary Craig hailed from Glasgow and, in addition to making Scotch Broth and teaching us the people were Scots and the whisky was Scotch, she made the greatest rum brownies on the face of the earth. I remember my mother asking her to use the flavoring instead of the real stuff, but that's about it. The recipe and everything else but the memory of how delicious they were is gone. I have tried a few times, but haven't found the flavor of hers among my little squares.

Once I told my friend Simone I'd had a great encounter with a guy, the kind where you talk about everything under the sun and leave feeling elated. But we never connected like that again, however much I tried.

"Ah," she said, "The search for the lost conversation."

So was it Mrs. Craig's stories that made the brownies better than anything since?

And what exactly was it about that steak?

©2010, 2012 Laynie Tzena.

Cheers for Kale, or The Amazing Venice

When I met the amazing Venice at the farmers' market on Saturday, her proud papa was asking the Green Gulch folks about kale and chard she might like. I volunteered my old friend Dino kale, explaining to Bill that the leaves were like relief maps and to Venice that this particular item was not to be missed as it was both beautiful and scrumptious. I offered a recipe or two, Bill handed me his card and of course*, he works on Macs and PCs (and would later, when I called him, assure me that my other geek friends were right and the Facebook worm was in fact gone from my computer and no, it was not lurking in some random folder waiting for a second chance). We said our goodbyes, Venice came back to say she was now five, and we sang happy birthday.

Turns out Venice likes kale. Smart girl. When I asked that day what her favorite vegetables were, I learned that the green bean was a popular dinner companion at their house. So I offered a great kale and green bean recipe I'd found online, but as it happens Venice prefers to commune with one vegetable at a time.

Papa Bill eats lots of things, but lamb is not one of them. Meanwhile, Chris at the bank liked the idea of the black bean salad, except for the black beans. No reason you couldn't substitute strips of beef, I told him. Later I realized we could turn that around for le pere de Venice (that's Bill), and substitute beans for the lamb in the tagine we were just talking about (see "Identical Cousins," Part Two). I might have to try that myself, seeing as I have a half-can left of those mystery beans.

*Why "of course"? Because you can find everything at the farmers' market. But you already knew that.

©2010-2014 Laynie Tzena.

International Relations

On the way to make black bean salad at my friend Pam's the other night, I asked if she had any chiles. Nope. And I had forgotten to bring some. So, since the black bean salad we'd had in mind was of the cilantro-jalapeno variety, the question became how to get the heat the chile would normally provide into the salad. I decided to use a healthy pinch of paprika (same family) and some extra black pepper (extended family). And we'd already decided to have soy chorizo with the salad, so that would add some firepower.

Tasting long beans at the Civic Center farmers' market last week, I thought their great, slightly chewy texture would make them a good substitute for corn in a black bean salad. So I brought those along to see. (Pam had corn in the house, so we used that, too.) Also in the bag: purslane, a lemon, a lime, an orange, a red bell pepper, a couple of scallions and a torpedo onion. Oh, and a can of Whole Foods' organic black beans.

Lucky me: Pam turned out to be the Herb and Spice Queen, with an impressive array of dried varieties on hand--a real break since neither of us had fresh cilantro.

She made a strawberry smoothie, which fueled us while she whipped up some yummy mashed potatoes and I got to work on the salad. Here's what greeted us at the finish line.

Long Black Bean Salad:

For the salad:

1/2 can black beans
1 ear of corn or equivalent amount cooked corn
1/2 bunch long beans
1/2 red bell pepper
3-4 stalks (with leaves) purslane
1 scallion, minced, including the greens
1 small clove garlic

For the dressing:

2 tablespoons plus one teaspoon olive oil
1 tablespoon plus one teaspoon lemon juice and lime juice, combined*
Zest of 1/2 lemon
Zest of 1/2 lime
Smidgen Dijon mustard
Healthy pinch dried cilantro
Healthy pinch crushed dried coriander
Healthy pinch paprika
Freshly-ground black pepper
Pinch of salt

Drain beans. (You could reserve the liquid for soup.) If you're starting with fresh corn, shuck, rinse, and cook, then shave kernels off the cob. Steam long beans, then chop into one-inch pieces. Chop purslane and dice red pepper. Mince onion and garlic. Whisk oil, lemon and lime juice, mustard, zests, herbs, and spices together. Add black beans and toss. Add remaining ingredients, toss again, and taste. (I added another squeeze of lime here.)

Pam had mentioned having spinach on hand. So we decided two salads were better than one.

Spinach Meets Orange:

For the salad:

1/2 package baby spinach
1 small head radicchio di Treviso
A few leaves of ancho cress
1/2 orange
1/2 torpedo onion or small amount other red onion

For the dressing:

2 tablespoons plus one teaspoon olive oil
1 tablespoon balsamic vinegar
1 teaspoon fresh orange juice
Healthy pinch orange zest
Smidgen Dijon mustard
Healthy pinch dried mint
Healthy pinch dried basil
Freshly-ground black pepper
Pinch of salt

Rinse, dry, and loosely tear greens. Slice half-orange; remove white pith and seeds; separate into segments. Whisk together oil, vinegar, orange juice, mustard, herbs, and spices. Add spinach and other greens with onion, toss; then add orange segments, toss again, and serve.

Remembering that long black bean salad later, I decided to recreate it. But this time I had a serrano chile along for the ride. I've been roasting them over a gas flame lately. So I did that. And the cilantro? Out of stock. And no dried cilantro flakes, either. So into the mortar and pestle went dried whole coriander, accompanied by some cumin seeds. I used stone-ground mustard this time around for an earthier feeling, and lemon since I was out of limes.

One more thing: Don't use Progresso black beans. Or, at least, not here: When I opened the can I found the wrong baby in the crib. Were they black beans? Some other variety, I suppose. Certainly not what I usually think of, which I suppose is Mexican black beans. But I made the salad anyway, and it tasted just fine. I had a corn tortilla and a bit of yogurt on the side--and a solution to Lamb Tagine au Pere de Venice. Stay tuned.

*Why lemon and lime juice combined? Because I just had one lime on hand.

©2010 Laynie Tzena.

Identical Cousins, or That Reminds Me (Part Two)

Part Two: Don't I Know You From Somewhere?

When I tasted Vesta Flatbread's melt-in-your-mouth lamb sandwich the other night at Porchlight's "Kitchen Confidential" (where I also got to meet one of my heroes, Nikki Silva of the Kitchen Sisters), I immediately thought of my favorite lamb tagine.

Lamb Tagine with Fennel:
(from Hilaire Walden's North African Cooking)

2-1/2 lb. lean shoulder of lamb, cut into 1-1/2 inch cubes
1 onion, grated
2 garlic cloves, crushed
2 tablespoons chopped cilantro
Pinch crushed saffron threads
3/4 teaspoon ground ginger
1/2 teaspoon freshly-ground black pepper
1 cup water
3 fennel bulbs, thickly sliced
2 tablespoons lemon juice
Salt
1 preserved lemon in salt, quartered, rinsed*
1/2 cup kalamata olives

Mix the lamb, onion, garlic, cilantro, and spices together in a heavy, flameproof casserole. Pour the water over the lamb and herbs, bring to a simmer, then cover and cook gently for about 1-1/4 hours until the lamb is almost tender.

Add the fennel, lemon juice, and salt, cover and cook for another 20 minutes or so, until the lamb and fennel are tender. Transfer the lamb and fennel to a warm serving dish. Scatter the preserved lemon and olives over the lamb, cover and keep warm.

If necessary, boil the cooking juice to reduce and thicken it, then pour it over the lamb and fennel and serve.

And go straight to heaven. Do not pass Go, do not collect $200.

Well, it turns out the reason the sandwich put me in mind of the tagine was that it contained lamb, fennel, and kalamata olives.

And speaking of olives: When I saw Dirty Girl's gorgeous radicchio family the other day I realized the Hickory Dickory Chicory salad** had a cousin.

Hickory Dickory Chicory Goes Green:

For the salad:

1 head radicchio di Traviso (the long maroon and green one)
1/2 to 3/4 lb. Castelvetrano olives

For the dressing:

2 tablespoons Spanish or Portuguese olive oil
1 tablespoon fresh lemon juice
Healthy handful grated lemon zest
Small handful chopped lemon basil (optional)
Smidgen of Dijon mustard
Healthy pinch of freshly-ground black pepper
Even tinier pinch of salt than last time

Cut off the very bottom of the treviso, and pull the leaves off the base. Rinse and pat dry, then pile the leaves one on top of the other and slice into strips. Slice strips in half and set aside.

Slice the olives into half-moons.

Whisk the oil, lemon juice and zest, lemon basil, mustard, and pepper together, and taste the dressing. Now add the treviso and toss; add the olives, toss again, and taste, adding salt if necessary. Toss again and serve.

You could also top this with toasted sunflower seeds, for a slightly more distant relative of the "Hickory Dickory Chicory."

*Walden says to discard the preserved lemon flesh, if you want. I include it in the dish--the more preserved lemon, the better, if you ask me.

**See "Identical Cousins, or That Reminds Me, Part One:  How Sweet It Is," http://cookwithlaynie.blogspot.com/2010/06/identical-cousins-or-that-reminds-me-in.html

©2010, 2013, 2014, 2015 Laynie Tzena.

Identical Cousins, or That Reminds Me

Part One: How Sweet It Is

Like most of the human race, I tend to think my noodle works pretty well. So how was it that I didn't bat an eye at Patty Duke's identical cousin? Was it just the power of that jingle?

Perhaps I accepted the notion of identical cousins so readily because I had a pretty magical childhood, in general. Far from perfect, but certainly magical. When I wasn't strolling on the roof or building houses in the eaves, I would climb down from the attic and right over there, inside that box, Jeannie would demonstrate how to travel by blinking, and Samantha worked wonders with her nose. Not to mention the Batman, Superman, the Green Hornet, Casper the Friendly Ghost, and My Favorite Martian. Identical cousins? Come on down!

Recently we had some hot days here in San Francisco, and one of them found me at the farmers' market. I asked if I could put my bag down for a minute so I could get my hair out of my face.

The fellow said fine. Then he said, "Do you want these cherries?"

"Sure," I said.

Soon I was home with two pounds of Bella Viva cherries, and two potlucks on the horizon. I started thinking about what a beautiful color those cherries were, and that got me thinking about other food in that color family, and next thing you know . . .

Hickory Dickory Chicory:

For the salad:

1 head radicchio di Chioggia (the roundish red one)
1/2 to 3/4 lb. bing or other fresh red cherries

For the dressing:

1 tablespoon plus 1 teaspoon extra virgin olive oil
1 tablespoon plus 1 teaspoon toasted walnut oil (my favorites are La Tourangelle and Glashoff)
1 tablespoon port vinegar (I love O vinegar for this; if you can't find that, sherry vinegar is fine)
Smidgen of Dijon mustard
Healthy pinch of freshly-ground black pepper
Tiny pinch of salt

Cut off the very bottom of the radicchio, and pull the leaves off the base. Rinse and pat dry, then pile the leaves one on top of the other and slice into strips. Slice strips in half and set aside.

Rinse the cherries. If you have a cherry-pitter, this would be a good time to use it. If not, you're in luck anyway, because as you slice the cherries into half-moons you have those wonderful bits of cherry that stick to the pit for a nosh. If you used the smaller amount of cherries, slice them in half again.

Whisk the oils, vinegar, mustard, and pepper together, and taste the dressing. Add salt as needed. Now add the radicchio and toss; add the cherries, toss again, and serve.

Next time: Going Green

©2010, 2011. 2015, 2016 Laynie Tzena.

Clock and Refrigerator Conspire; Cook Wins.

Thirty minutes before that client meeting across town. No time for breakfast, right?

Wrong. Time for some fresh strawberries and millet flakes (which take about ten minutes to cook).

Oh, really? Notice anything about those strawberries? Yes, you did put them too close to the back of the refrigerator, and they are--

Frozen???

Nooooooooo!!!

(And then just a bit of the vernacular, which we will leave out of our story since this is a family operation.)

Suddenly a friend comes to the rescue. On the phone yesterday, he had used a word you hadn't been thinking about much lately.

The word is "smoothie."

So you reach for the smoothie cookbook* to get the proportions of some of the recipes, remember that almond milk you haven't opened and yes! Silken tofu in the cupboard!

To be used by 2006.

Well, fine. Into the blender go the strawberries. (Most of a pint. Eclair strawberries from Yerena Farms, which is why there is no way we are throwing them out.)

Chop.

Pour a cup of almond milk into the little measuring cup. Put half of it into the blender.

Puree.

Taste.

Add a tablespoon of lowfat yogurt and a pinch of cinnamon.

Taste again.

Add a half-teaspoon (yes, of course that means half a regular teaspoon, there's no time to get out real measuring spoons) of that wonderful lemonade marmalade Michele gave you from her trip to McCutcheon's.

Taste. Drink happily. While you're at it, heat the oven to 350 degrees and move a slice of sprouted rye bread from the freezer to a piece of parchment paper on the baking sheet that has become your favorite cooking equipment ever.

Drink your smoothie. Turn over the toast. Now spread it with a spoonful of almond-hazelnut butter, drink the rest of the smoothie and the rest of the almond milk from the measuring cup, and eat your toast on the way to the bus.

*To be exact: Barber, Mary Corpening and Whiteford, Sara Corpening. Super Smoothies (San Francisco: Chronicle Books, 2000). From the late, lamented, Cody's Books, which fortunately gave out magnets so you can look at your refrigerator and remember a local treasure.

©2010 Laynie Tzena.

Alert My Mother

Hey kids, guess what? We are in the news!

http://www.examiner.com/x-12392-SF-Easy-Meals-Examiner~y2010m4d30-Laynie-Tzena

By the way, I made the Zesty Spring Salad again the other day with some of that minneola we were just talking about.

New recipes very soon.

What a Little Minneola Can Do, Part Three

Part Three: Bringing It All Back Home, or
There's Got to Be A Recipe Here Somewhere

Thought for the day: Why not approach preparing food as you would getting dressed? Choose the combination you like best this time around.

Remember that orange you were about to toss? (See “Hello, Gorgeous!") Say you've also got some spinach and leftover roast chicken on hand.

Here's what I'd do:

Ze oil: A teaspoon canola or safflower oil, a teaspoon sesame oil (sesame oil has a strong flavor, so the canola or safflower mellows it out a bit).

Ze acid: A teaspoon of Minneola juice.

Ze supporting actors: A smidgen of stoneground mustard, a pinch of salt, a pinch of freshly-ground mixed peppercorns, a bit of minced onion (shallot, scallion, purple onion--just make it very little pieces so it doesn't dominate your salad). And a splash of sherry vinegar. Whisk together.

Slice the orange and add to the bowl with the dressing. Toss, and refrigerate.

Warm the chicken a bit. Leave the skin on and decide to eat one less cookie tonight.

Now carve slices of the roast chicken, or just cut it into chunks. Rinse and dry the spinach. Take the marinated orange out of the refrigerator and let it sit for a minute so it's not ice cold. Add the chicken and spinach and toss. (Idea for next time: Toss it with asparagus and pasta or basmati rice and fresh peas, instead of making a salad.) Arrange on a nice plate, especially if you're eating solo. What is this leaning over the sink? Please sit down. Put on some music.

 

©2010, 2014, 2015 Laynie Tzena.  All Rights Reserved.

What a Little Minneola Can Do, Part Two

Complete This Sentence: _______ is the Spice of Life.

A few years ago I was introduced to the Santa Rosa plum. We hit it off immediately.

What I love about the Santa Rosa plum is that it's not just sweet. It has sweetness, to be sure, but its flavor is also deep, full-bodied.

And the kumquat! I'd only seen kumquats on the edges of plates, looking pretty, but one day I was curious and bit into one. Yowza! The outside is sweet, the inside, tart. It's a vacation for your mouth.

Food surprises you. The best artists do that. Like some of my favorite musicians--Bela Fleck, for example--who don't just play one kind of music. Check out what Mark O'Connor is doing for music education: teaching kids to play violin in all different genres, from Day One of their studies. Hats off! That's what'll save us in the end: the people who can see there's more than one way to do things, more than one way to see things.

And what's the best laboratory for this experiment, this question of, "What else tastes good to me? And what do I mean by 'tasting good'? What else could I try?"

Where did I taste my first Santa Rosa plum?

The farmers' market.

No, I don't get a commission. As I may have mentioned, life is unfair.

But come to think of it, my commission is the opportunity to taste, week after week, all over town, flavors I've never tasted before (along with some old favorites).

Tasting blackberries last year, the tartness of some didn't seem odd or wrong, something to be rejected, but just a different flavor--a different note on the scale, you could say.

Fast forward to the other night. I wanted a nosh. Had a minneola in the fruit bin. Cut it open, and boy, was that tart! (It was probably following a cookie. And I later remembered minneolas come from a mixed marriage and looked it up: half grapefruit.) But my first thought, after "What?" was "That's a really bright flavor." And I started thinking of ways to use it.

So back to your orange. Taste it. Is this really a bad orange, or just an orange that's heavier on texture than juice?

Let's assume this orange is a fleshy orange. Use it. Work it. We all know how to highlight the best qualities in something and camouflage the less-than-fabulous. Women do it with makeup. Men do it with facial hair.

Next time: Where Does Salad Dressing Come From?

©2010, 2014, 2015 Laynie Tzena.

What a Little Minneola Can Do: A Hymn in Three Parts

Hello, Gorgeous!

Tragedy has struck. The orange you've just sliced open is a bit dry. I see someone reaching for it and heading to the garbage.

But what's this? At the last minute, the orange is rescued. Because the cook (that's you, standing at the sink or in front of your refrigerator, making decisions) realized that that is the absolute perfect orange--for a different dish.

I came to understand this last year when I had some romano beans that were a bit down on their luck. End of the season. Kind of dry.

Suddenly I saw my tall, good-looking blender, and realized that romano beans + some of the water from steaming them (excuse me, "vegetable broth") + sauteed onions and garlic . . .

The same texture that made the beans less than thrilling on their own gave the soup a wonderful body. The new soup was like split pea on steroids. I can't wait to make it again.

But the credit really goes to the Santa Rosa plum. And the kumquat.

Stay tuned.

Next Time: A Vacation for Your Mouth, or What Is This, Anyway?

©2010, 2014, 2015 Laynie Tzena.

Presto, Change-O

Happens to the best of us: Somebody snubs you. Maybe a couple of buses pass you by. Or something worse. And then comes that one more thing. You were okay until then, but now you have had enough. You're not sure whether you want to scream, curl up in a ball, curl a certain yo-yo up in a ball, or hide under the covers. You stand in your kitchen, thinking, "I do not feel like cooking."

Sure you do.

Nothing restores us faster than rinsing, measuring and mincing, a sip of tea, singing along with a favorite song on the radio--especially the radio, because it's that song you love and who knew it'd be playing right now, and you crank it up, just a little, and before you know it, who cares about what happened a few minutes or even a few years ago? Here, in this kitchen, you are making magic.

Extra points if you happen to find new combinations--like the words you suddenly discover in those last few Scrabble letters. Today the lox got chevre and mustard greens in a whole wheat pocket pita. Yum. And the other day, when I had sliced open an extra lemon by mistake, I decided not to offer it up to the refrigerator where, as Baba Dave Barry has taught us, it was destined to become a science project.

http://www.miamiherald.com/2009/02/01/861087/housecleaning-tip-dont.html

Not this time around. I juiced it, zested it, and next thing you know--

Zesty Spring Green Salad:

For the salad:

A healthy handful of fava leaves
A healthy handful of pea shoots

For the dressing:

2 teaspoons olive oil
1 teaspoon lemon juice
A very generous pinch of lemon zest
A smidgen of stone-ground mustard
A pinch of salt
A pinch of freshly-ground pepper

I wanted to add anchovy, but I was eating this with "Rockfish in Indonesian Sauce" (coming up soon), which is a bit salty, so I decided instead to add a splash of cider vinegar.

And it was good.

©2010, 2013, 2014 Laynie Tzena.

Try the House Salad

Well, it certainly has been a while. Let me be the first one today to wish you a Happy New Year. And do remind me to tell you about the Fancy Food Show. (For starters: I am still madly in love with Santander chocolate. And Charles Chocolates' almonds. I could eat them for days. And I have a new love, Harry London, including their flavored chocolate. I am usually eager to avoid flavored chocolate, but I brake for their raspberry dark chocolate. Plus, while I've loved Valrhona for years, I just discovered a little item of theirs called Guanaja [which is apparently how you say "heaven" in el idioma de la comida]).

In the meantime, the tatsoi at Heirloom Organics was irresistible yesterday at the market, and after talking with Mary about something she had tasted with a green that sounds like kamasutra and was served with gomasio and bonito flakes and something else I can't remember, I suddenly saw a salad in my head with sesame oil, tatsoi, and tangerines.

Of course the sesame oil has vanished and even though I love tangerines deeply, the navel oranges are simply amazing right about now and so the original plan went sailing out the window and we have something even better.

Tatsoi Salad with Oranges and Sherry-Walnut Vinaigrette:

For the salad:

Healthy handful of tatsoi (about the size of a head of romaine or butter lettuce)
1/2 orange
1/4 Shallot, 1 scallion, or equivalent amount of red onion (optional)

For the dressing:

2-3 teaspoons walnut oil
1 teaspoon sherry vinegar
Pinch stoneground mustard
Black pepper
Pinch of salt

For extra credit:

Sesame seeds (This did start out as a sesame salad, after all.)

Rinse and drain tatsoi. Slice oranges and remove peel and white pith. Mince onion of choice. Whisk together dressing ingredients. Add tatsoi and other salad ingredients and toss. Top with toasted sesame seeds.

If you have cold chicken on hand, add that to the salad before tossing it and topping it with the sesame seeds. If you don't have cold chicken on hand, invite a friend over and ask her to bring the chicken. (It's only fair, after all you've done for her.)

©2010, 2014 Laynie Tzena.