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.
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
Friday, May 14, 2010
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.
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.
Friday, May 7, 2010
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.
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.
Wednesday, May 5, 2010
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.
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.
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.
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.
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
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.
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.
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