The Hungry Dog

Lidia's chicken, plus a really good day

2012-01-28T16:46:00.000-08:00

Friends with recipes: Besides stealing from other people's blogs, I like to borrow recipes from friends. They accumulate in my email with a special green label and then, sadly, are often forgotten about. Nevertheless, there are some good ones in there: chocolate chip banana bread from Julie; Gina's lasagne; and Thomas Keller's Moules au Safron by way of Nicole. I've even hounded my friends for their parents' recipes: the file contains Neal's mother's plum cake and Liz's mother's chicken tagine. (Incidentally, Neal and Liz are married and I think that entree and dessert would be a nice combination for a dinner party, to which they should invite me.)

I did get around to one from the folder a few weeks ago--Lidia's pan roasted chicken with olives and pine nuts, another from Liz, who is probably reading this thinking, I gotta get some new friends that don't talk about me on their nerdy blogs.

Anyhow, to the point. The chicken is the point, and the chicken was delicious! Whenever you've got pan-roasted anything with white wine and garlic, you know you're going to be happy. The fact that the recipe calls for those lovely, briny, bright green Castelvetrano olives was a total bonus.

One thing, though: the recipe needs more of a sauce, an opinion voiced by even the sauce-averse husband. In fairness to Liz, she did tell me this at the outset, but I decided to make the recipe as printed the first time around. Next time, I would definitely sauce it up with more wine and some chicken broth.

In any case, the chicken emerged from the pan sticky and flavorful. The pine nuts were crunchy and unexpected and perfect with the olives. The husband noted the recipe could stand a little bacon; he has a point, but then again, most things could.

***

Fried egg Tuesday: Though I claim to be largely non-fussy in the food department, I am rather finicky when it comes to breakfast. I have two things every morning: coffee and grapefruit juice, both of which I am basically addicted to. When it comes to the eating part, mostly I just want bread or other baked goods. I force a yogurt down once in awhile, which is improved by the husband's homemade granola but which I find otherwise gag-worthy, no matter the flavor or type. Can't get on board with oatmeal. So, it's usually toast.

One day this last week, I popped the toast in the toaster. Business as usual. But then I started feeling froggy. Hell, I'm going to have a fried egg, I decided.

As a recent convert to eggs, I don't have much of a track record with cooking them, particularly fried, but I decided to give it a go. Since we don't have a non-stick skillet I knew there could be issues with getting the egg out of the pan, so I added a few drops of canola oil to the melting butter. And wouldn't you know, that was just the trick. Sunny-side up, please!

***

No complaints: Today I am hopelessly in love with San Francisco. It's January, blue skies, and 60 degrees. To take advantage of the good weather, we piled in the car with Soph and headed to the Presidio, where we took a bit of a walk, winding up at this nice little vista.

I'm not saying this is a great picture, or even a good picture--you know my forte is unleashing the macro setting on something I'm about to eat. About panoramic views I am clueless. But, I like this one. You've got two major San Francisco icons--Alcatraz, and the domed top of the Palace of Fine Arts, constructed in 1915 for the Panama-Pacific Exposition and now home to the Exploratorium. And then there's the Pacific Ocean. Any view that includes the ocean is a winner.

After our walk, we hit up Hukilau, where we scored an outdoor table and ate Ahi poke, teriyaki short ribs, and mac salad, washed down with some cold Hawaiian beers. It only occurs to me now, hours later, that I could have taken a photo of lunch, but at the time, I wasn't thinking about it. Sometimes it's good to forget about what you should be doing and just be.

These kinds of days are my favorite--nowhere to get to, enjoying being in the sun, close to the ocean, and with my little pack. Throw in a good lunch and I'm in heaven. What about you, what constitutes your favorite day?

Gougeres!

2012-01-21T10:16:00.000-08:00

Bonne idee: If you're looking for something lovely, simple, and light to serve as a little snack or starter, you may want to try gougeres.

Gougeres is French for cheese puffs (I think), which is exactly what these are--delicate puffs of air with a faintly cheesy background. Not heavy, not gooey, just right.

They require a pate a choux dough, a savory version of what you might use for their sweet cousin, the cream puff. If you've never made this dough, it's surprisingly simple. Bring some milk and butter to a boil, add flour, then eggs, and beat the life out of it (or into it, perhaps). Having a stand mixer is awfully nice for this recipe but you could do it with a hand mixer too.

I made gougeres once before, from a different cookbook, but which used pretty much an identical method. They also turned out wonderfully. I have a vague memory of that recipe calling for a bit of fresh thyme; that was a nice addition. That's one thing about gougeres: you can tweak them with herbs and cheese to get just the combination that suits your taste.

But Dorie's recipe, which is the one I used this time around, was simple and perfect. I opted for sharp cheddar, but next time I'll use Gruyere--I think that flavor might be a bit stronger, and I felt myself craving a cheesier essence.

In any event, give these a go--they're easy, delicious, and just a little bit impressive. Oh, and Dorie recommends you serve them with Champagne. Who am I to argue?

Gougeres

From Around My French Table

Makes about 36 gougeres

1/2 c. whole milk

1/2 c. water

8 T. unsalted butter, cut into 4 pieces

1/2 t. salt

1 c. flour

5 large eggs, at room temperature

1 1/2 c. coarsely grated cheese, such as Gruyere or cheddar (about 6 oz.)

Position the racks to divide the oven into thirds and preheat the oven to 425. Line two baking sheets with silicon baking mats or parchment paper.

Bring the milk, water, butter, and salt to a rapid oil in a heavy-bottomed medium saucepan over high heat. Add the flour all at once, lower the heat to medium-low, and immediately start stirring energetically with a wooden spoon or heavy whisk. The dough will come together and a light crust will form on the bottom of the pan. Keep stirring--with vigor--for another minute or two to dry the dough. The dough should now be very smooth.

Turn the dough into the bowl of a mixer fitted with the paddle attachment or into a bowl that you can use for mixing with a hand mixer or a wooden spoon and elbow grease. Let the dough sit for a minute, then add the eggs one by one and beat, beat, beat until the dough is shiny and thick. Make sure that each egg is completely incorporated before you add the next, and don't be concerned if the dough separates--by the time the last egg goes in, the dough will come together again. Beat in the grated cheese. Once the dough is made, it should be spooned out immediately.

Using about 1 T. of dough for each gougere, drop the dough from a spoon onto the lined sheets, leaving about 2 inches of puff space between the mounds. (You can also use a pastry bag or ziploc bag with the corner trimmed off to get fancier puffs, which is what I did before--this time around, I just spooned and dropped.)

Slide the baking sheets into the oven and immediately turn the oven temperature down to 375. Bake for 12 minutes, then rotate the pans from front to back and top to bottom. Continue baking until the gougeres are golden, firm, and, yes, puffed, another 12-15 minutes or so. Serve warm, or transfer the pans to racks to cool.

Note: Dorie says that although the dough must be spooned out immediately, you can freeze the gougeres on a pan, unbaked, then bake the off at the last minute. No need to defrost, just give them a minute or two longer in the oven.

Duck with red-wine sauce and candied kumquats

2012-01-05T17:31:00.000-08:00

Duck, two ways: Up until Christmas Day 2011, I had only cooked duck once in my life, with moderate success. Looking back, I can't recall the recipe I used, only that I overcooked it. Overcooking duck a little bit is not the worst thing, as it's still edible. But it's disappointing, because duck isn't cheap.

I decided to give it another go this holiday season, combining two recipes for Christmas dinner. I used the heavenly marinade and cooking method described here but made the fig and port sauce described here which happens to be one I've made a few times to go alongside roasted pork. Well, let me tell you. This duck turned out exactly as I had hoped, medium-rare with a crispy skin, and served with a wild mushroom risotto, it was perfection.

Flying high (get it?) on my Christmas duck success, I opted to try it again for New Year's Eve. In case you hadn't noticed, when I get into something, I get into it. But I wanted to try a different recipe and method. Whereas the first recipe called for slowly rendering the fat, then crisping the duck, the second threw caution to the wind and just went straight for the crisping.

This recipe was courtesy of Ms. Greenspan, another hit from her seemingly endless supply. I found it in her cookbook, Around My French Table, which you know I adore, but I also found it here for you, in slightly increased proportions. When I don't have to type out a recipe I'm a happy girl.

Dorie's duck recipe rivaled the first, no question. It would have been hard to beat the flavor from the first marinade, but this recipe was so elegant with the wine sauce and the whimsical kumquats, I had to claim the competition a draw. It would have been excellent with polenta but as I was running late and we were both a little full from an enthusiastic snacking session, we opted just for sauteed chard. And you know, it was enough.

One thing: I took these pictures and then realized I had forgotten to drizzle the sauce over, which looked rosy and gorgeous. But once I remedied this, I wanted to eat. Photographing food will never supersede eating food in my book. So, you'll have to use your imagination on this one.

***

And now I'm a movie critic too: We've been watching a lot of movies recently, and I thought I'd share with you three recommendations: one old, one newish, and one still in the theaters.

Klute (1971): Klute has three major things going for it: 1) Donald Sutherland (I'll watch DS at any age but it's fun to see him with a shock of dark hair) 2) Jane Fonda, in a performance that earned her an Oscar and 3) New York City in the 1970's, a setting so iconic it deserves its own screen credit. The plot is this: a man disappears, and, when the police fail to find him, his friend, played by Donald Sutherland, takes matters into his own hands. His search for his friend leads him to a prostitute in New York City (Jane Fonda), who claims not to know the missing man but clearly has some connection to him. I happen to find movies of this period interesting: gritty films emerging on the heels of a more innocent time. I think you'll find it worth watching; whether or not you enjoy it maybe another issue. Death, prostitution, and junkies rarely make for a bundle of laughs.

Super 8 (2011): Even if this didn't have Kyle Chandler in it (you know I love me some Coach Taylor), I'd still recommend it. Set in a small town, Super 8 is reminiscent of both E.T. and Stand by Me: a group of young boys shooting a horror movie on their, yes, Super 8 camera, witness a bizarre train accident in the middle of the night, which is only the beginning of a series of strange events. Chandler plays the Deputy Sheriff and father of one of the boys.

The movie is set in 1979 and anyone who was alive in that year will appreciate the careful attention to period details: the appearance of the first Walkman, "My Sharona" blaring in the background. We really enjoyed this movie: it was exciting, well-acted and written, and satisfying. Plus Elle Fanning is in it and I think she's great--she was also in Somewhere, another solid film, but not the subject of this review.

The Descendants (2011): I loved this and not only because it's set in Hawaii and stars a weathered but foxy-as-ever George Clooney. I found it smart, funny, and touching (no surprise as the director, Alexander Payne, also made Election and Sideways.) While the events of the movie are small (an accident, infidelity, father-daughter strife), their impact is large, something which is often true in real life. Few of us have truly unique experiences: love and loss are universal, yet they are, to the individual, monumental. And yet, even in moments of great joy or sorrow, one's tiny life is always set against the backdrop of something infinitely larger. In the case of Clooney's Matt King, the background is slightly more specific: the acres of pristine property his ancestors have owned on Kauai for decades, which are now to be sold to the highest bidder, at least if his cousins have their way. While muddled in the details of his failed marriage and his weaknesses as a parent, Matt also holds the power to preserve something that will outlast them all.

I thought the movie was fantastic and look forward to rewatching it at some point. I'm giving it an A, no reservations. A friend of mine ranked it a B+; I can't imagine what she found lacking. (Note to self: grill LD about her stingy movie rating system).

I hope you check out some of these films. I think you might enjoy them.

That's a wrap

2011-12-29T09:00:00.000-08:00

You probably thought I was done for, but here I am, trying to resuscitate this thing before we shut down 2011. The year has flown by--for all of us, I'm sure. I remember an older cousin once saying to me that life just went faster and faster as you got older. I didn't entirely understand how that was possible, or why it was a worrisome thing, but now I appreciate it in full. Life spins along with or without you; if you're lucky, you can steer a little and take snapshots along the way.

Overall, it's been a great year. It started off rough--we lost Frances in January, which broke my heart. But, the thing about life propelling forward is that eventually the hard or sad things get further away and you start to pick up happy and even fantastic things to focus on. Like traveling to wonderful places, or welcoming new members into your family.

Now, all of a sudden, the year is coming to a close. I generally feel neither excited nor melancholy about the holidays; however, this year was a little bit special. Someone I love very much had a serious health scare in the months leading up to the holidays, the kind of situation which demands that you be optimistic while quietly steeling yourself for the unknown. I am delighted to say that good news has prevailed, lending a true sense of joy to the the season. Whether you thank a god or a lucky star, these are the times one simply surrenders to the deepest feelings of gratitude.

To wrap up the year, I've put together a little highlight reel of the past year, food and otherwise.

1) We went to Paris and Barcelona, where we ate, drank, walked, and marveled for two weeks.

First day in Paris, jetlagged and happy.

2) I made a very average strawberry shortcake, which turned out to be my most popular post of all time.

Pretty but boring.

3) We found Sophie.

Puppy!

4) The husband ventured into the kitchen and made clam chowder, giving me a run for my money.

Not bad, even if it was from Esquire.

5) I spent a fabulous day with my sister in New York and ate the famous Momofuku Ssam Bar pork buns, the thought of which still sends me into a dreamy little daze.

Porky pork belly, I'll take two please.

6) We celebrated the husband's birthday on a beautiful, not-foggy day in August at Delfina.

Prosecco to ring in the next year!

7) I became obsessed with both Dorie Greenspan and sardines.

Dorie's sardine rillettes.

8) I had a blogging crisis and started talking about non-food things, which overall seemed to be met positively.

The subject of one of my ramblings.

9) I overcame my dislike of eggs. Sorry, cholesterol!

I ate eggs at home and abroad.

10) We went to Maui and began seriously considering a permanent move to the island.

If you don't want to live here, something is wrong with you.

I hope you all have enjoyed a happy and healthy year, and I wish you the same for 2012!

Love,
Hungry Dog

Me and my girl at Pizzetta 211.

Persimmon and apple crostata

2011-12-07T11:30:00.000-08:00

All of a sudden we have a pile of persimmons. We got some in the produce box and someone gave the husband a nice-looking one at work. They're in season, you may know. We had some recently in a salad at Ragazza, and they've been popping up on blogs.

I like persimmons, although I doubt I would buy them. However, once they enter the house, I do my best to use them.

There's always the question of what to do, though. And I know for a fact I am not the only one contemplating this exact question! In the last month, my post about spiced persimmon chutney from two years ago has been the most popular one on my blog.

Incidentally, for fellow bloggers, don't you love looking at your blog stats? They never fail to surprise me. My all-time most popular post to date is strawberry shortcake (a bit unfortunate, since that recipe wasn't any good), followed upside-down plum cake, vanilla bean bundt cake, and crazy mango bars (which I love to read and be reminded of my beloved Frances--RIP baby girl!) I also like to see the searches that lead people to my blog. In addition to the expected recipe key words, I get a lot of dog-related questions, such as, "Can my dog eat olives?" and "Are dogs allergic to cabbage?" and a strangely popular one, "What happens if my dog eats persimmons?" (no joke). Apparently a lot of dogs out there are gobbling these odd little tannic fruits and sending their owners into frenzies. Perhaps I should add a canine diet and health page to my blog.

I myself will occasionally search for recipes (thus the chutney) and have come across persimmon bread, persimmon cake, persimmon preserves, etc. In the end, this week I fell back on an old basic recipe I've used a hundred times for a crostata. I've done it with blueberries, pears, and apples, among other fruits. The crust is very simple and since crostatas are free form I don't have to fret about my poor pastry skills.

This time I decided on a combination of apples and persimmons, and contrary to my usual method of just dumping all the fruit in a pile over the crust, I Martha-Stewarted the hell out of this thing and arranged the fruit into elegant little rows (elegant by my standards, sloppy by Martha's).

The result was lovely indeed, with one caveat, which is that although I sliced the persimmons rather thinly (I thought), they didn't quite cook enough. So while the apples were perfectly soft without being mushy, the persimmons were a shade al dente.

It was more than edible, though, the first night with vanilla ice cream and for the next couple of days for breakfast. The husband informed me from his cube at work that the mid-morning combination of the crostata with a latte was "dope." Indeed!

While I can't vouch for whether or not they are dog-safe, persimmons are a perfect fruit for humans to enjoy this time of year. They look like bright little jewels, have a curious texture employable in either a salad or dessert, and bear a distinctive, sweet flavor at home in a crumble, crisp, or this homey little crostata.

Pasta with bacon and eggs (plus bacon and eggs)

2011-11-30T07:45:00.000-08:00

Something's going to kill you eventually: I could probably eat pasta every day of the week. I know there are people out there who can resist the siren song of the noodle but I am not one of them. To be honest, I don't even try. I'd rather swim a few extra laps and enjoy a good bowl of pasta when the whim strikes me, which is often and irresistible.

I frequently fall back on old favorite recipes but recently I made this luxurious pasta carbonara, another hit from Firehouse Food.

I'll be the first to admit, carbonara is not healthy, unless you have an alternative doctor that has told you to get fatter, increase your cholesterol, and up your sodium intake. This is certainly not something I would eat too often. But you may as well make the most of your indulgences. Life is short, after all.

I've tried a lot of carbonara recipes in my day, some with as many as six eggs, some without cream, some with garlic. This one has three eggs, cream, mushrooms, and a whopping half-pound of bacon. They're not kidding around, and neither am I: this is good.

Rigatoni alla carbonara
From Firehouse Food

8 oz thick-cut pancetta or bacon, sliced crosswise into 1/4" strips (I used bacon)
1 T. olive oil
8 oz. mushrooms, sliced (I used crimini)
Dash of red pepper flakes
1 c. whipping cream
2 eggs
1 egg yolk
1 c. grated Pecorino Romano or Parmesan, plus extra for serving
1 lb rigatoni (I used penne)
2 T. chopped Italian parsley
1 t. freshly ground black pepper

Cook the bacon in a large, heavy skillet over medium-low heat until it is browned (but not crispy), about 5 minutes. Remove the bacon, using a slotted spoon; drain on paper towels and set aside.

Discard all but 1 T. of the rendered fat in the skillet. Add the oil and heat the skillet briefly over medium heat; add the mushrooms and red pepper flakes and saute until the mushrooms are golden, about 4-5 minutes. Add the cream and increase the heat to medium-high. Cook until the cream has thickened slightly, about 4 minutes. Keep warm.

In a bowl large enough to hold the pasta, beat the eggs and yolk with the cheese. Cook the penne in boiling salted water. Reserve 1/2 c. of the pasta water and drain the pasta in a colander.

Immediately add the hot pasta to the bowl with the egg mixture, tossing to combine. Stir in the warm mushroom mixture, bacon, parsley, and pepper. If the pasta seems dry or the sauce too thick, add a few tablespoons of the reserved pasta water. Serve immediately with additional grated cheese at the table.

***

Speaking of eggs: I now like them. I'm not sure what happened, but I now eat eggs in all different forms: poached, hard-boiled, baked on pizzas, and even fried on a sandwich. I order them in restaurants! I make them at home!

I've always eaten them sporadically when scrambled and that remains the way I am best at preparing them. I think I make good scrambled eggs. For one thing, they are never dry. My clever trick for this is "not overcooking them." Also, cooking them over low heat seems to result in creamier eggs that don't get watery. And adding a dash of milk, just a tablespoon or two, to the beaten eggs keeps them fluffy. An old friend told me that once and I remembered it. She ended up being a professional cook, so I guess she knew what she was talking about.

Here are some pretty eggs I made a few weeks ago, served with buttery toast and thick bacon. Not too shabby for a former egg-a-phobe.

***

Happy birthday to me: Today, my friends, I turn one year older. Wiser? Dubious. Happier? Yes!

While I don't love getting older, I have never been one to dwell on it. I have a lot of friends who, in their late thirties or early forties, talk about how old they are. I think this is ridiculous, and frankly, doing that actually makes you seem kind of old. Sure, you're aging. And, you don't get the past back, so hopefully you did some good stuff with those years. But getting older means you have had more experiences--hopefully, most of them good. And at its most basic level, it means you're still around, and that's kind of the point, right?

The way I see it is this: whatever age you are turning, it is the youngest you will be for the rest of your life. Say you are turning 50 and feeling a little blue about it. Well, when you are turning 60 or 70, you will probably find yourself longing for the days when you were a 50-year-old spring chicken. You'd better enjoy yourself now!

We celebrated my birthday this past Saturday exactly as I wanted. It was a beautiful sunny day and we kicked around the Mission for a bit, supporting Small Business Saturday by hitting some of our favorite stores (the huz wrote about our escapades here), then grabbing a cozy lunch at The Monks Kettle. Home for a little nap and Sophie time, plus a long walk to the top of Buena Vista Park. Then dinner at Cotogna (fresh papparadelle with braised oxtail, anyone?) I couldn't ask for anything more.

I also want to give a shout-out to my niece, Emily, with whom I share my birthday. She is turning 11 today, which is infinitely more exciting than turning 38. Happy birthday, little E! I love you!

Chocolate snickerdoodles, and another houseguest

2011-11-17T12:26:00.000-08:00

Strikeout: After Nestle Tollhouse chocolate chip, snickerdoodles may have been the first kind of cookie I learned to make. They're so simple it's no wonder that little kids can master them. And who doesn't like a sweet mouthful of cinnamon and sugar?

When I recently saw a recipe in Food & Wine for chocolate snickerdoodles, I knew I had to make them. Because while I always liked the original recipe, they can be a little boring. Chocolate seemed like a fantastic idea.

I regret to say that this recipe was terrible and I vehemently recommend you do NOT make it. The baking time was way off and the cookies turned out hard as rocks and as bland as can be. I choked down two, the husband one, and the rest hit the compost bin.

Too bad, because they were pretty as a picture, as the husband might say.

But I can't eat pretty. Recipe: fail.

***

Sophie's BFF: A few weeks ago, Sophie's friend Ruby came to stay with us for a few days. The two pups are about a year apart in age and have developed a rapid little dog friendship. They wrestle and romp until they collapse, exhausted, for about five minutes. Then they're at it again.

Seeing them reminded me of the time we took care of Django, who was Ruby's older brother. He and Frances didn't play together--at that point, Frances was 14 and Django was probably 13--but they did seem to enjoy each other's quiet company, much like a contented old couple. Neither one of them could hear much by that point, which meant they could easily ignore anything we said. They did, however, seem to have a sliver of hearing reserved for the clinking of pots in the kitchen, which always brought them running for scraps. Our friends lost sweet Django a few months ago, and while their world and the animal kingdom still suffer his absence, there is always hope in the next generation.

There's also tug-of-war...

Gazing into each other's eyes...

Watching TV together...

And straight-up snoozing.

We had the best time with Ruby. She is, like her name, a little gem and welcome any time!

***

Be thankful, be generous: Given my rate of posting these days, I suspect this will be my last post before Thanksgiving. We're not hosting this year (going to Ruby's house!) but I will be doing some cooking: cauliflower gratin, pumpkin chiffon pie, and, if I'm feeling froggy, stuffed mushrooms.

Although I would like to think I am the kind of person who spends each day being thankful for everything I have and never feeling fussy or greedy or envious, I know in my heart that this is not true. So, around Thanksgiving, I do try to really appreciate what I have. This year, I am deeply thankful for: my husband, my dog, my family, my friends, my health, my work, and my home, not necessarily in that order.

I wish you all a wonderful holiday! May it be filled with delicious food in outrageous proportions and spent with those you treasure. Also, I encourage you, if you have anything to spare, to give to your local food bank. If you're in the Bay Area, here are links to food banks in San Francisco (now merged with the Marin Food Bank), San Mateo/Santa Clara, and Alameda. I'm sure I don't need to tell you about the staggering need. And, as someone who fundraises professionally, I can tell you that whatever you're able to give, either in money, groceries, or volunteer time, will make a difference.

Happy Thanksgiving to you all!

Pizzetta 211 and my secret list

2011-11-08T16:45:00.000-08:00

Oh, Pizzetta: We've got a few favorite weekend lunch spots in rotation these days, and at the top is Pizzetta, located in the outer Richmond (23rd & California). We usually show up for a late-ish lunch with Sophie and grab a table outside. I absolutely adore this place, from the cozy setting to the friendly service to the innovative and carefully executed pizzas.

We invariably begin with whatever the special starter is. Sometimes it's a simple beet salad, sometimes braised Romano beans with tomatoes, sometimes a fiery hot bowl of melting crescenza cheese, served with crostini. Then we get two pizzas.

Now, before you judge, understand that these are small-medium pizzas, with a rather thin crust. We're decadent but we're not totally insane. (We are a little insane though, now that I'm thinking about our lunches there, which tend to involve several glasses of wine...each. Moving on.)

Last time we went, we got pepperoni (see above), which I usually don't like, but I do like at Pizzetta, and this one, with potatoes, pancetta, greens, and two sunny eggs. I'm overcoming my aversion to eggs. Will wonders never cease?

Their pizzas are perfectly-crusted (crispy and chewy), well-balanced, and imaginative. Just thinking about them now is making me hungry.

After we do a number on the pizzas, we get dessert. They have a fantastic upside down cake, as well as a delicious ginger cake with a pear compote. Last time, we got a berry galette. Now, I know this picture is horrible (hipstamatic can be finicky). But the reason why I am posting it is to show you one of the lovely things about their desserts, which is that every single one comes with, as the husband says, a "hamster-sized" dollop of heavenly whipped cream. True story:

And of course there's cappucino to be had.

Then a stand-off on who gets stuck driving home, followed by a lengthy nap. The end.

***

About those good ideas: Awhile ago, a friend of mine gave me a little blank book to use for whatever I like. There were three nice things about this gift. The first is that it was for no occasion, she just showed up with it one day. The second is, it's pretty. And third, I'd been thinking that it would be useful to have a small notebook I could carry with me to jot down my brilliant ideas when I wasn't near my laptop.

The rather painful thing is, it turns out I don't have brilliant ideas. Instead, I have started using the book to jot down words or concepts that either come up in conversation, or in whatever book I'm reading, that I don't know or understand, as a reminder to look them up later. So, instead of being a record of my intellectual gems, it's a running list of my ignorance. I would share some of it with you, but I don't want to get ridiculed.

The older I get, the more I realize how little I know. Every day, I'm confronted with innumerable things on which I should but don't have a strong grasp: world events (some current, some past); economic principles; scientific concepts. I should really issue an apology to all the wonderful teachers I had growing up; it seems I've retained very little.

Why is this? Is my brain overloaded with dull but necessary things, like work and errands (two inescapable hallmarks of adulthood, no?) Can I no longer read, listen, and remember things? Is my mental agility actually getting worse, in spite of my compulsive crosswording?

I think my secret list should help, even if it's only in baby steps. But please tell me I'm not the only one who isn't keeping up.

***

And finally: I regret that this is not a more photogenic dish, but really and truly, this chicken curry is to die for. It's thickened with yogurt and ground cashews, easy to make, great with rice, and improves overnight. I've been making it for years but have somehow never posted about it. You can find the recipe here, and for once, I have no changes to it!

Beef teriyaki, round #1

2011-10-29T16:35:00.000-07:00

If at first you don't succeed: In Hawaii, as you may know, teriyaki is a big deal. Nearly every menu has something grilled and brushed with this sweet-and-salty glaze. (Even McDonald's has a McTeri Sandwich!) Yet strangely, we almost never eat teriyaki when we're there. This may be because it's most commonly paired with chicken or beef, and generally we just eat fish when we're in Hawaii.

When we returned from Maui, I felt like I had failed to consume sufficient teriyaki. A homemade effort was in order. I happen to have a number of Hawaiian cookbooks and plucked a recipe from Sam Choy's Island Flavors. Sam had steered me right in the macadamia nut chicken, so why not beef teri?

The recipe calls for marinating thinly sliced beef in an enchanting mix of soy sauce, ginger, and sugar (among other ingredients) for 4-6 hours before grilling it quickly, then topping it with a teriyaki glaze. Doesn't it look fantastic?

Unfortunately, both the marinade and the glaze (two separate concoctions) were horribly salty. I didn't even end up serving the teriyaki glaze because it was beyond edible. What a debacle!

In the end, good old mac salad saved the day. I LOVE Hawaiian mac salad. The husband and I can really put it away, too. So we ate a little beef teri and a lot of rice and mac.

In one way, I'd like to fiddle with the recipe and tweak it to make it just right. In another way, I'd like for someone to just give me a better recipe that I don't have to fix. I think that way wins. Anyone have a good one to share? I'm ready for beef teri, round #2.

***

A new acquisition: I recently came to acquire this painting*, done by my father at an unknown date, but most likely before I was born. It made its way to me through my cousin, who was clearing out his late parents' house to prepare it for sale. My dad was a fairly prolific painter, ceramicist, and jeweler, and periodically things of his will sort of reappear in my life.

Although I am fortunate to have several of his other works, this painting has quickly become one of my favorites. I'm not sure why, exactly. The reason why we prefer certain pieces of art over others has always been a mystery to me, but one which I enjoy contemplating. This is a quality passed on to me by my dad, who died nearly 16 years ago.

At the time, because I was on the young side, losing a parent at 22 seemed like a great injustice. Now, with some years on me, it's clear to me that there are far, far worse things to have happen to you in your life, chief among them getting stuck with a crummy parent to begin with. I am fortunate that I lucked out and got two good parents, one of who I am grateful to still have with me.

My dad instilled in me several things which shaped my life:

1) Family is the most important thing, and to have a sibling to whom you are close is a great gift.

2) Food is a source of joy.

3) Art is important.

Some of my best memories of my dad are strolling through museums with him--in San Francisco, Washington DC, Mexico City--and talking to him about art. We started doing this when I was very young. He was never didactic, though when I asked him, he would gladly tell me what he knew about the artist, the period in history, and the significance of the piece. These memories are still very vivid for me. Just recently, I had the opportunity to see an excellent exhibit of Picasso's work, on loan from the Picasso Museum in Paris. As I moved through the galleries, I thought a great deal about my dad, and of how much of the way I see the world--what is beautiful or interesting-- is because of him.

In a few weeks, my dad would have turned 77. Right after his death, I remember people saying, in some form or another, "He'll always be with you." Hearing this was baffling to me and sometimes made me angry, even though people meant it to be comforting. In the moment, it seemed like the most ludicrous thing to say. With me was the absolute thing he was not.

I understand it a little better now, even though I still miss him. I think once you are over the really sad part of losing someone, you can think back more easily on the good things. And if you're lucky, like me, that person left you with something--an imprint of their perspective, an alternate framework for understanding the world--that you can carry with you the rest of your life.

*Please excuse the poor quality of the photograph...turns out taking good pictures of paintings is rather difficult.

Penne with shrimp and herbed cream sauce

2011-10-19T18:06:00.000-07:00

Add this to your repertoire: I've been making this for awhile, but for some reason have neglected to post about it. It's very simple and comes together fast, especially if you get shrimp that is already peeled and deveined. When I do the peeling and deveining myself, I like to leave the tails on, because I prefer the way they look. However, this means you often have to twist off the tail by hand mid-meal, much to the husband's chagrin. He doesn't like to get his fingers shrimpy whilst eating a bowl of pasta. Doesn't bother me. Who am I, Emily Post? I suppose a more civilized household might employ what are known as "knives" to trim off the tail; not so here.

The one addition I have made to this recipe, which was at the husband's suggestion, was adding asparagus. This is reminiscent of a dish I am wildly fond of at Pasta Pomodoro (egads! a chain!), which is pasta shells in a spicy, creamy tomato sauce studded with shrimp and asparagus. I've been known to eat this dish at 10:30am while everyone else is ordering brunchy fare, like poached eggs and French toast.

Giada's sauce is not as delightfully spicy as Pasta P's; I'll have to bump up the red pepper flakes in the future. But in most other ways, it is similar. Here's the link to her recipe. As for the asparagus, I trimmed it, cut in into one-inch lengths, blanched it in the pasta water, then added it to the sauce along with the shrimp at the end.

I'm pretty sure whoever you make this for will fall in love with you (unless they have a shellfish allergy, which would make it a tragic lovestory), so be strategic. Don't say I didn't warn you when you're fighting off someone's unwanted amorous, shrimpy paws.

***

Gimme your money, then beat it: The other day, the husband and I had a spectacular afternoon: lunch at Out the Door (daikon rice cakes with spicy soy sauce and shitake mushrooms/vermicelli bowls with five spice chicken and imperial rolls/a carafe of wine--perfection!) followed by some leisurely book perusing. We weren't near my favorite bookstore, Green Apple, but fortunately, San Francisco does not hurt for bookstores, and we were a stone's throw from Browser Books.

We each picked out three books. I brought the stack to the counter where the store owner? employee? grunted at me, flipped over the books, scanned them, then barked out the total. Once I'd paid, he shoved them in a plastic bag and literally swung them on the counter at me. When the bag slapped the counter, it sent a little puff of air into my face.

Why are people who work at bookstores so often surly, second only to record store employees? I don't need a standing ovation, but is it so old-fashioned to want a, "Hi, how are you? Did you find everything you were looking for?" or, upon leaving, "Thank you!" I mean, let's be honest: it's easier for me to order through Amazon. I choose to go to bookstores because I feel, in my heart, that they make a community warmer, richer, and better. This guy was not supporting this theory.

Anyway, I'm excited about the books. Here is what we got. Can you guess which three I chose and which three the husband picked out?

***

Crazy Town: Two odd things happened today. Not to me, but near me. The first was this morning, around 8am. I was just sitting down to work when I heard a commotion out front.

I peered through the slats of my shades and saw six people pour out of a cruddy looking car, right into my driveway (lucky me!). They were all yelling and taking swings at the other ones. Men and women both. It was like a big free for all! The car was stopped halfway in the street so traffic was having to go around them.

I was about to call the police when I saw one of the men winding up to smack one of the women, when all of a sudden, they abruptly shut up, piled back into the car, and drove away. The only trace they left behind was, disturbingly, a pair of bright pink underwear. Stranger still, when I looked out a few minutes later, the underwear was gone.

Then, this afternoon, while depositing some checks at the bank, all of a sudden I heard a man loudly cursing at some of the bank employees, hollering about having to wait. Like any longtime city dweller, within seconds I expertly assessed how close this lunatic was to me without actually appearing to look at him. (The last thing you want is eye contact.) Then, I surreptitiously identified the nearest exit.

To my surprise, this foul-mouthed character was not what I expected. He looked like a hipster, younger than me, conceivably someone I could be connected to on Facebook. He had a nifty little driving cap on and super stylie sneakers. The bank manager tried to placate him, which wasn't working out too well. The man was on a roll, a furious, expletive-chocked roll.

"That guy was in here earlier," the teller said to me softly as she finished my transaction. She looked at me with wide eyes. "I tried to help him and he yelled at me too. I'm not sure what's wrong with him. Wouldn't you be embarrassed to be yelling like that? If I were him I'd be so mortified."

"I'm pretty sure he's not embarrassed," I said to the teller, who looked about 12. She had her nails painted black and orange for Halloween. "I do, however, think he's a grade-A asshole."

I guess that's what you get from living in a city for a long time. You don't always feel sorry for people the way maybe you should, or consider the reasons that might cause them to act strangely or dangerously. You just want them to get the hell away from you.

Maui Zowee

2011-10-10T10:05:00.000-07:00

Returning from vacation is full of lies. You tell yourself that you're happy to be in your own bed, with all your stuff around you. You say you're tired of eating out all the time. Maybe you claim to miss your friends. The most outrageous lie is that you're fully refreshed and ready to go back to work. Honestly, these things are only, at best, half true. I can put up with a mediocre bed if each morning I'm getting up and within an hour I'm swimming in the ocean. I can tolerate eating at restaurants three meals a day if it's a steady rotation of the freshest Ahi, mahi mahi, and opakapaka I've ever had--grilled, in tacos, as sushi, or straight-up sashimi. And, I love my friends, but I don't miss them when I'm on vacation. (I'm not even addressing the work lie.)

Thank goodness for Sophie, otherwise we wouldn't have returned. I mean, why would I want to leave this?

We spent nearly the entire trip in the water or on the sand. Of course, there was eating. Hawaii may not be known for its food, and that's certainly not the reason we go there, but that doesn't mean there isn't good food to be found. Like Star Noodle in LaHaina, where they pull their own noodles. I got the Hapa Ramen, since I'm a Hapa and all.

It was delicious. I especially liked how they brought out a tiny set of sauces to doctor it up.

Miniature seemed to be a theme, based on the teeny glass the husband got for his beer ("Bikini Blonde" by the Maui Brewing Company).

The husband was very pleased with the beer, the noodles, and his new Star Noodle hat.

OMG, he's cute!

We also had a stand-out lunch at Mama's Fish House. Ok, let's just get it out of the way: this place is expensive. My sandwich was $38. But it was beyond worth it. The menu changes every day and includes the name of the person that caught the fish you are about to eat. That's how local it is.

The food was fantastic and the view from our table was:

We had a gorgeous trio of sashimi to start.

For an entree, I had a panko-battered mahi mahi sandwich on a homemade onion roll with creamy, tangy tartar sauce, accompanied by coleslaw with pineapple and edamame and light-as-air taro chips. I forget what the husband had, fish of course, I think with ratatouille. I don't have any good pictures of these, so you'll have to use your imagination.

We were too full for dessert but they brought us some haupia which I enjoyed in spite of my anti-coconut stance. When in ~~Rome~~ Maui...

Tragically, vacation can't last forever. Leaving felt like a kick in the stomach. But, we'll be back. In a year if not sooner.

Aloha and Mahalo, Maui!

***

As you might expect, engagements, weddings, and honeymoons are big in Hawaii. We saw a few weddings just by chance, including this intimate one which occurred one evening at sunset right in front of us.

Also, while on a boat trip out to Molokini, we met a lovely couple who were to be married a few days later in Wailea. What a beautiful place to get married! we said and wished them well.

They asked us if we were on our honeymoon, which I thought was cute, since we're six years into marriage and 11 years plus together. That actually happened a few times on the trip, which probably isn't unusual--like I said, people (including us) go there on their honeymoon. But I'm glad to know we could still be mistaken for newlyweds. We really do have fun together, I have to say, both on vacation and at home. Every day I thank my lucky stars we bumbled across each other on this big old planet.

***

In case you're interested, the title of this post is a pun on one my favorite albums--Wowee Zowee--by one of my favorite bands, Pavement.

Recently I've been wondering what the hell happened to my interest in music. I mean, I like music. But I never seem to discover new stuff, unless the husband turns me on to something. The last time this happened was with Broken Bells. That was probably about a year ago.

Other people are always discovering music. It comes up all the time. People asking if I've heard this or bought that. I'm always like, uh, no. I'm still listening to music from the mid-90's, when I graduated from college. It's like my music growth got stunted when I entered adulthood. Even the husband is discovering bands --when, I'm not sure. I guess people secretly search for music while I'm watching TV, spacing out, or eating--my primary at-home hobbies.

I'm going to rectify this situation. I can't be 65 years old and still talking about bands I loved in college. I at least need to add to the list of favorites. Seriously.

Skillet trout

2011-09-25T08:42:00.000-07:00

I guess I'm not ready to give up on blogging entirely. I am thinking, though, of morphing The Hungry Dog into something broader, posting less frequently but about more things, not all food-related. Don't worry, nothing too heady--just stuff occupying my brain.

The first is trout. While grocery shopping a week or so ago, I stopped to admire the whole butterflied trout in the fish case. They were very lovely, with that silver-iridescent skin. Also, cheap. I got one wrapped up to go.

Once home, I had to decide what to do with it. Sometimes I can be very creative; sometimes I'm a total blank. What I decided on was a little on the blank side: lemon slices and rosemary. But actually, it was lovely! I opened up Mister Trout, stuffed him with the goods, and baked him in a skillet at high heat for 12 or 13 minutes. Delicious!

I only have a "before" picture because the after ones didn't look that different and I was in a hurry to eat it.

A few nights later I was talking to my sister on the phone about trout and we started reminiscing about this dish my dad would make sometimes, pan-fried whole trout with brown gravy, Chinese-style. I have no idea what was in that gravy, except I do remember green onions being part of it, which I confirmed with my mother. However, none of us know where the recipe came from.

I've have been mulling over how I might recreate this trout. I'm actually hoping some of my cousins that read this might chime in if their parents--my dad's sibs--ever made something along these lines. Pete, Carole, Tracey: I'm talking to you guys.

***

The second thing that's been on my mind for a couple of weeks is The Catcher in the Rye. While at my favorite bookstore a few weeks ago, I picked up a used copy of the classic. I found one with a cover I liked, a real old-school edition.

Now, of course I have read this book. I read it before high school, in high school, and quite possibly at some point afterward. But, reading it now, as a fully formed adult, was a totally different experience. Man, this book killed me. I just wanted to cry every 5 pages. I mean, it's funny, too--there's a lot of stuff that made me laugh out loud. But reading it from an adult perspective, I just felt like I wanted to save Holden. His depression is so clearly linked to the death of his younger brother Allie...and isn't this crazy, I didn't even remember he had a brother that got leukemia and died.

The book made me think about all kinds of things: Are there singular events that determine what kind of an adult you will be? How do you learn to face the future? Why are some people able to let the sadnesses of the world slide off them, while others find them debilitating?

One thing that I ended up really thinking about in the end was how glad I was the book was written, published (in 1951!) and that it is/was taught in schools. Sometimes I get so frustrated with the conservative dive this country is taking, it makes me worry that books like this won't get taught anymore. (Re)read it awhile you have the chance, before all the phonies have it banned.

***

The third thing on my mind is something I've been doing recently. One of my clients is a wonderful organization called Family House. They provide free, temporary housing to low-income families whose children are being treated at UCSF for life-threatening illnesses. They are a fantastic organization and I am honored to work for them.

I recently started volunteering there with Sophie, as part of their therapy dog program. Once a month, we visit the kids, who range from infant to teenager. Many of them are undergoing chemotherapy; for some of them, this is not their first round. Some are part of exciting but exhausting clinical trials. All of them--and their parents--need a bright spot now and then, between treatments, appointments, and test results.

Here's Sophie about to go into her first day of therapy. Family House is located right next to Golden Gate Park, so I took her for a long walk first to get some energy out. Now she's getting focused.

The kids really love Sophie. There was a teeny girl there the other day--only two--whose father told me she was generally very afraid of dogs and would cry when she saw them. Not so with Sophie. She's extremely docile, you know. The little girl petted Sophie's head, fed her a biscuit, and even let Sophie lick her face.

Another boy, about 13, who was rather shy, hung out with us for the whole hour. He told me that Sophie reminded him of his four dogs at home, who he missed very much. He just wanted to be around her.

There's something about this experience that makes me happy, in spite of it being rather difficult. Not for me--I don't mean to imply that I'm suffering. But, you know, I wish I could fix these kids. No one should have to go through this kind of pain when they are so young. But, I'm glad I can do this one thing for them. It's not a lot, but it's something.

Buttermilk spice cake with cream cheese frosting

2011-09-16T08:35:00.000-07:00

I'm a sucker for a good piece of cake. But sadly, like a decent man, this can be tough to find. Some cakes are absolutely gorgeous but underneath dry or flavorless. Some taste fantastic but look homely. Others lack frosting. Worse, some have bad frosting.

So when I come across a good cake--one that's moist and delicious, pretty to look at, easy to make, keeps well, and requires no special equipment--I get pretty excited. This lovely cake, courtesy of The Hungry Mouse, is all that and more. It's super simple and comes together in a snap. Inside, there's buttermilk (sheer magic), and loads of spices, like cinnamon, cloves, nutmeg, and two tablespoons of ground ginger. Swoon!

I pretty much followed the recipe, even though the order of assembling ingredients was strange (mix the dry stuff together, then cream in the butter and buttermilk, then the eggs and vanilla...weird, right?)

I did bake it in an 8-inch round pan instead of a square one, 'cause I think round cakes are cuter than square ones. And I skipped the spraying-with-oil-and-parchment business. I just buttered and floured the pan, old-school-style, and the cake popped out perfectly. And the third change is that I reduced the baking time. Hungry Mouse recommended 50-55 minutes, and I started checking mine at 40. At 46 it was borderline, and I made the mistake of putting it in for another 3 minutes. At 49, it was a little on the dry side.

So, as always, adjust the timing for your pan and oven, and, most of all--pay attention.

The cake turned out pretty rockin', though, even being a shade on the dry side. This was entirely my fault, not a reflection on the recipe. And you know, dry cake is an instance where frosting can play a practical role, adding a little (buttery) moisture.

Would you like a closer look? I have limited photography skills but I know my way around the Macro setting. Check it:

On a different note, you may have noticed I took a little hiatus from The Hungry Dog. It wasn't exactly intentional, it just sort of happened. I've had a lot of work to do, plus other stuff--fun stuff. I also haven't been cooking new and wonderful things, or even new and terrible things, which often make better posts. But basically, I sort of forgot about my blog. And when I remembered it, I didn't feel like posting anything. Sad, right?

And then I came across this post by good old cookiecrumb, and it really resonated with me. I'm starting to wonder if blogging isn't working for me anymore. It's starting to seem kind of repetitive, and sometimes like, well, a chore. As a result, my posts aren't as good. As a result of that, it appears my readership has really dropped off. If no one's reading this, what's the point?

I don't imagine The Hungry Dog will shut down overnight. But, I think I'm ready for a change.

As I ponder this and what the hell I'm doing with the rest of my life, I do have one problem you might be able to solve, which is what to do with an excess of cream cheese frosting. This cake made waaaaaaaaay too much, and that's from someone who slathers frosting like Ina Garten on steroids. Seriously, I have a ton left over. Is it freezable? Help me.

I'm a believer again

2011-08-31T09:45:00.000-07:00

My faith has been restored.

In what? you ask. God? Politics? The kindness of humans?

No. My opinions on those subjects remain the same as ever: non-believer; very, very liberal but very, very cynical; frequently disappointed but surprised often enough that I can't quite give up on our species. No, I'm talking about my faith in Dorie Greenspan.

Dorie, I forgive you for the weirdly bland chicken and couscous. I never should have doubted you. The sardine rillettes, after all, were absolutely addictive. And now that I've made your mussels and chorizo, I promise never to sully your name again.

As I've described on occasion, periodically I get a bee in my bonnet about a recipe and can think of nothing else until it's bubbling on the stove. This happened most notably with the root beer cake, which turned me into a robot, and which I have actually been thinking about quite a lot recently. It might finally be time for another go with that gorgeous, rooty cake. I have long dreamed of turning it into cupcakes and piping whipped cream into the center of each, a la Hostess. Not forgoing the root beer fudge frosting of course, nor the flecks of sea salt.

Wait, what was I talking about?

Oh yes, mussels and chorizo. Saw the recipe, became obsessed. Had to make it immediately.

Simple as can be, really. Dorie says to serve it as you like, with bread or fettucine. I went the noodle route, which was very good, although fettucine is tough to eat with a soupy sauce. There was a lot of splattering going on; bibs would not have been out of place. The husband wasn't digging it. He doesn't like to get dirty when he eats, which is why he's not much for gnawing on ribs or plucking crab meat from the shell. I can understand this, but I'm willing to pull out the Stain Spray for something delicious and messy.

Anyhow, I adored this recipe. The tomato sauce had the perfect amount of spice without overpowering the mussels. As for the chorizo, although the recipe calls for the cooked kind, they didn't have that at Falletti's. Instead I purchased their housemade stuff which was raw and therefore needed to be browned up, an extra but quick step. This also meant I had to drain off a little of the oil but no worry, that took about 10 seconds.

Now, next time I might make a revision or two. For one thing, four pounds of mussels was a lot. For two people, even wanting leftovers for another dinner, three pounds would have been plenty.

Second, I might just serve it with some hunks of good bread. The fettucine seemed to be a bit of a dealbreaker with the husband, although he was a fan (I think) of the dish as a whole. And even if the husband isn't a total fan...well, she who does the cooking decides the menu.

That's it, though. I really loved this recipe. It's definitely entering the repertoire. Another winner from the divine Miss Greenspan.

Mussels and chorizo, with or without pasta
Slightly adapted from Around My French Table

Serves 6 with pasta or 4 without

2 T. olive oil
1 red bell pepper, cored, seeded, and finely chopped
1 medium onion, finely chopped
4 garlic cloves, finely chopped
2 thyme sprigs
2 14 1/2-oz cans diced tomatoes, drained
1/2 lb. cooked chorizo, cut lengthwise in half and sliced 1/4-1/2-inch thick OR uncooked chorizo, crumbled, and browned in the pan as the first step, then removed, and readded along with the tomatoes
4 lbs. mussels, scrubbed and debearded
3/4 c dry white wine

Fettucine or bread for serving

Warm the olive oil over medium heat in a large Dutch oven or casserole that will hold all of the ingredients. Add the bell pepper, onion, garlic, thyme, 1 teaspoon salt, and some pepper and cook, stirring, until the vegetables are soft, about 5 minutes. Mix in the tomatoes and chorizo and cook and stir for another 5 minutes or until they are warmed through.

Turn the mussels into the pot, pour in the wine, increase the heat to high, and give the pot a good stir. Cover and cook for 3 minutes more. (You can stir the mussels once during this time or shake the pot, but it's really not necessary.) Turn off the heat, keep the lid on the pot, and let the mussels rest for another minute (or more, if need be) so they finish opening.

Once they are open, the mussels should be served immediately (with or without pasta or bread) in big bowls to catch all of the delicious broth.

Note: If you've got leftovers, remove the mussels from the their shells to store.

The Pioneer Woman's rasberry crisp

2011-08-27T09:52:00.000-07:00

It's about time I posted something sweet, isn't it?

Truth be told, I haven't been baking much recently. Part of it is being a little busy; part of it's the fact that two people can't (or shouldn't) eat a whole batch of cookies, or even half.

There's also our upcoming trip to Hawaii. Oh, did I neglect to mention that? Well, five weeks from today we are jetting to Maui. You know of my deep love of Kauai. Well, Maui isn't too shabby either.

Anyhow, with the impending prospect of lolling around on a beach every day for a week wearing little clothing, I've pushed desserts to the back of my mind. Not totally off my plate, though, as evidenced by the raspberry crisp I made the other day.

This was my first occasion using a Pioneer Woman's recipe. I don't look at her site too much--I find it a bit overwhelming--although I enjoy her writing style and think her photographs are off the hook. But when I Googled "raspberry crisp," her recipe popped up.

I ended up buying too many raspberries and using them all--probably close to 4 cups as opposed to the 2 1/2 her recipe calls for. But frankly, my pie plate would have been pretty skimpy without those additional berries. However, I should have increased the cornstarch--the crisp ended up a tad on the watery side.

Overall, a success, though. And you can't beat that color...

And the topping was, well, downright crisp.

Would I say this was the crisp recipe to beat all crisp recipes? No. Hands down, my favorite is still Baking Illustrated's apple crisp, which I have adapted to all kinds of fruit, including this blackberry apricot crisp. I'm fairly sure that's a little piece of heaven. Or, for those of us not religiously inclined, a little piece of Hawaii, my version of eternal happiness.

Chicken and couscous

2011-08-21T10:18:00.000-07:00

After my good results with the sardine rillettes, I decided to give Dorie another go, this time with her chicken and couscous.

Although I'm not always in love with couscous--I sometimes find it a little mushy, lacking the bit of resistance I prefer in perfectly cooked pasta or rice--the recipe appealed to me, largely for its method. I like doing the following things: chopping up vegetables; browning chicken; and then letting the chicken simmer in broth and its own savory juices until tender. I am also a fan of dishes that come together in one (ok, two) pots.

This was indeed a pleasure to make. And it turned out fairly flavorful, thought not as much as you might think, with the cumin, ginger (fresh and powdered), turmeric, saffron, and cinnamon. It looked hearty, with homey chunks of carrot, celery, leek, zucchini, and turnip running through it. Chickpeas gave it a little delicacy, and garnished with golden raisins, it had a nice sweet balance.

It wasn't overwhelmingly photogenic, but stews usually aren't.

But somehow, although there was nothing technically wrong with this dish, I wouldn't make it again. After my rip-roaring start with Dorie's book, I was slowed in my tracks.

The recipe also confirmed that I don't love couscous, nor do I love chickpeas --both opinions I suspected prior to making the dish.

What a moron, you're thinking, she could have glanced at the ingredient list and known she wouldn't like it. True. I am a moron. Anyone who knows me could tell you that. But not because of giving the recipe a go. I like to re-try things that I have previously decided against. Sometimes your tastes change. I wouldn't want to live my life not eating, say, olives, just because I didn't like them as a little kid. I came around to them in college and now I am an olive fiend. Olives with chicken! Olives in tomato sauce! Olives sitting next to a hunk of delicious cheese as a pre-dinner snack. Yeah!

Incidentally, I also decided that if I'm going to eat turnips, I want them roasted, not boiled. Boiled turnips seems like something Laura Ingalls would have had to eat during the lean years on the prairie. I'm not living on no stinking prairie.

Since I wasn't in love, I'm not going to bother typing out the recipe for you guys. I do have a life beyond this blog, you know. I need to sit on my couch and space out for awhile before taking a nap with the dog.

Sweet Sophie, waiting patiently for me to put my silly computer away.

Time for my mid-morning nap.

A little bite of Paris

2011-08-15T17:34:00.000-07:00

Among the many foods I fell in love with in Paris was one rather simple dish that seemed omnipresent on every menu: rillettes. Sometimes it was salmon rillettes, sometimes tuna. I'm sure there are infinite varieties. All I know is, I ordered them as my first course at least twice (salmon here) and tuna here) and loved them in both places.

Rillettes are a creamy spread...made with meat. (This may either delight or appall you--you know which camp I'm in.) Historically, rillettes were made with goose or duck. Now, fish rillettes seem popular on Paris menus, at least in my extremely limited experience. Basically, you mix up the fish with some herbs and something to make it creamy, pack it into a bowl, chill it, then serve it with bread or crackers, or wrapped in impossibly thin cucumber slices, if you happen to be eating at Le Petit Bofinger.

I forgot about rillettes until the other day when my copy of Dorie Greenspan's Around My French Table arrived in the mail. This book has quickly catapulted to the top, or at least near the top, of my list of favorite cookbooks. For one thing, I want to make every single recipe. For another, the pictures are stunning. And third--well, this maybe should be number one--it's extremely well written. Dorie has a great voice, but more than that, she writes in a way that makes you want to read each word. She also has all sorts of nice touches--how you might want to serve a dish, or little twists in a section she calls Bonne Idee ("good idea").

The first thing I decided to make from this tome was sardine rillettes. Yeah, sardines. If you don't like them, what can I say? If you do, jump in and give this a try. It took about 10 minutes to throw together (less if you didn't fillet the little guys, which I did myself) two hours to chill, and before I knew it, the husband and I were diving in. It was fantastic.

What to serve it with? Dorie says bread or crackers are fine, or, if you dare--Pringles! (How can you not love this woman?) I chose Triscuits, which I have to say, made the perfect crunchy vehicle for this mouthful of fishy, French goodness.

Sardine Rillettes

Two 3-3/4 oz. cans sardines packed in olive oil, drained
2 1/2 oz. cream cheese or Neufchatel cheese
2 shallots or 1 small onion, minced, rinsed, and patted dry
1-2 scallions, white and light green parts only, halved lengthwise and thinly sliced
Juice of 2 limes or 1 lemon or to taste
2-3 T. minced fresh herbs, such as chives, cilantro, parsley, and/or dill
Pinch of piment d'Espelette or cayenne
Salt and pepper

If you've chosen sardines that have not been boned, use a paring knife to cut them open down the belly and back and separate the fish into two fillets. Lift away the bones and, if there is a little bit of tail still attached to the fish, cut it off.

Put the cream cheese in a medium bowl, and, using a rubber spatula, work it until it is smooth. Add everything else except the sardines--holding back some of the lime or lemon juice until the rillettes are blended--and mix with the spatula. Add the sardines to the bowl, switch to a fork, and mash and stir the sardines into the mixture. Taste for seasoning, add more juice, salt, and pepper if you'd like.

Scrape the rillettes into a bowl and cover, pressing a piece of plastic wrap against the surface. Chill for at least 2 hours, or for as long as overnight.

Coconut fish stew, and Slim's new blog

2011-08-06T07:59:00.000-07:00

I've been a fan of Melissa Clark for awhile now--I always look forward to her column in the Times and even went so far as to buy her book. But I've had a few missteps with the book--recipes that fell short and didn't make it to the Hungry Dog.

Happily, my faith in Ms. Clark has been restored with this beautiful and simple fish stew that I made last week. It's quick, versatile, and incredibly flavorful. Within a few bites, the husband and I were already imagining it with scallops or chicken, and other kinds of vegetables.

Oh, yeah--the vegetables. I added the green beans. I wanted the dish to have more color, and it's ingrained in me to have a vegetable with dinner. So I threw in a handful of green beans, cut into one-inch pieces. Next time, I would blanch them first and throw them in at the end. Since I cooked them in the soup, they turned a little grey. Still tasted good, though.

Next time I won't finely chop the lemongrass-it remains too fibrous, so I'll leave it in large enough pieces to eat around. And, the recipe is oddly-sized--it's only meant to serve two. Luckily I had bought a pound of snapper so we had a little extra, and in the end, we each got a dinner and a moderate lunch out of the deal. The rice helped bulk it up, too, in a good way.

One more thing. The husband has started a blog, which you can find here. It's about travel, dogs, style, food, drinking beer, life. In case you're wondering, Slim is a nickname leftover from his Kentucky days, on account of him being very tall and rather, uh, slim. Jump on over and give him a shout!

Coconut fish stew with basil and lemongrass
Adapted slightly from In the Kitchen with A Good Appetite

1 T. vegetable oil
2 shallots, thinly sliced
1 small garlic clove, minced
2 1/2 c. chicken stock
1 (13.5 oz) can coconut milk
1 lemongrass stalk, cut into a few chunks
1 jalapeno pepper, seeded and minced
2 T. rice vinegar
1 T. fish sauce
1 T. light brown sugar
3/4 t. salt
Finely grated zest of 1 lime
1 lb. seafood, such as snapper (which is what I used) or other firm fish, cut into 1 1/2-inch chunks, peeled shrimp, scallops, or a combination
2 T. chopped cilantro
2 T. chopped basil
Handful of chopped green beans, zucchini, or other vegetable, blanched
Freshly squeezed lime juice to taste
Cooked rice, for serving (optional)

Heat oil in a medium pot over medium heat. Add the shallots and garlic and cook, stirring, until the shallots are softened, 3-5 minutes. Stir in the stock, coconut milk, lemongrass, jalapeno pepper, vinegar, fish sauce, sugar, salt, and lime zest. Simmer for 10 minutes.

Stir in the seafood, herbs, and vegetables. Cook 2-3 minutes. Stir in the lime juice.

Place a scoop of rice at the bottom of each serving bowl and ladle stew over the top.

4 medium-sized servings.

The husband, the chowder, and the Great White Shadow

2011-07-25T16:53:00.000-07:00

Yesterday, the husband and I were enjoying a lazy Sunday morning, each reading a guilty pleasure (me, In Style, him, Esquire), when he said,"Clam chowder, doesn't that sound good?"

"Mm hm," I murmured, not really listening. I was busy reading about the fall trends. Color blocking! Side braids! Peep-toe booties!

"This one isn't really a New England or a Manhattan version," he continued. "No cream or tomatoes."

"Oh yeah?" I said, half listening now. Was he talking about types of clam chowder?

I almost fell out of my chair when he began listing off ingredients. That's what I do when I'm considering making something. "Littleneck clams, bacon, smoked paprika, fingerling potatoes..."

I put down my magazine. "What exactly are you saying?" I asked him in a neutral voice.

"I want to make clam chowder," he replied evenly. "Will you help me?"

It is very rare that the husband does any cooking. It's not that he can't--the man can fry an egg and make perfect French toast. He also turns out an excellent amatriciana sauce. But generally, the kitchen is my thing. However, I do like the idea of him cooking now and then. So we shopped together, chopped together, crisped the bacon, checked the clams, fried the potatoes. It was a slightly strange recipe (remember the provenance was Esquire) but we rolled with it.

As the soup simmered away, we doted on Sophie. She's very beautiful--except for her dark golden face and ears, she is extremely light, giving her a rather dramatic look. Because of her coloring, she gets all sorts of nicknames involving the word "white," depending on what's going on in the house. For example, if we're sitting around talking about, oh say, the time we went to Hawaii and spotted some dolphins, one of us might glance over at Soph and say casually, "Hey, White Dolphin." Or, if she's snuck up behind us, which she does sometimes --she's rather stealthy--we may say, "Hey, White Shadow."

Last night, while the clams steamed, it was, "Hey, White Clam."

Over your pet's life, you end up calling them all sorts of nicknames, but only a few of them stick. Frances had a lot of names over 15 years but the one that survived was Baby Dude. This was because in one apartment we lived in, she would put her paws on a chair at the front window, stick out her burly chest, and yell at passers-by, mostly those of the canine variety. We started calling her Little Brown Dude, on account of her toughness and her chocolate coat. But then after some angry shouting, she would go back to being a floppy, happy puppy--a total baby. So, Baby Dude was born.

We don't know yet what will stick for Soph. Right now she's just Soph. You can't rush these things. Although, I think the White Shadow has staying power. It sounds wise and benevolent, which fits her, with a noirish undertone, a reminder of her earlier life, which apparently was rather gritty, spent jumping six-foot fences, living on the streets, and being a teen mom. The dog has had a life in just two short years.

Anyway, back to the clam chowder. It turned out fairly well although we agreed that next time we would add either tomatoes or cream--these things do improve a chowder. The recipe was a good start, but I'm not going to post it here--it needs too many revisions. Stay tuned. I think a rendition with spicy sausage and tomatoes is coming shortly down the pike.

And that is the story of the husband, the chowder, and the Great White Shadow.

Chocolate chip cookies with brown sugar and pecans

2011-07-18T17:53:00.000-07:00

I keep thinking I don't need any more cookie recipes, but who am I kidding? There's always room for one more.

Awhile ago, I came across this recipe for chocolate chunk cookies with macadamia nuts. I liked lots of things about it. In addition to the obvious (hello, chocolate chunks?) it also called for dark brown sugar and browned butter, both of which I thought would give the cookies a nice, deep flavor. I liked the idea of all the ingredients stirred into one fragrant batch of cookie dough, studded with dark chocolate and salty macadamias.

When I finally got around to making the cookies, it turned out my macadamia nuts had spoiled. However, I had some buttery little pecans snuggled into the freezer, which I thought would do just fine.

I was also lacking good chocolate that I could cut into chunks. I did, though, have some great Guittard chocolate chips. Acceptable, no? And a tad easier for the lazy cook (me).

The only thing about this recipe is that it does require a little patience. After you brown the butter and mix in the brown sugar, you have to let it cool in the fridge for 45 minutes. I don't know what this does, but I did it. Maybe it kept the cookies from spreading too much in the oven? They turned out rather pudgy and cute, not flat and elegant. But, that's sort of the way I like my cookies.

They were very soft on the inside, too, with a good nutty taste from the browned butter. Honestly, a few weeks later, when I think about these cookies, I can't believe I haven't made them again.

You really ought to give them a go. Like, tonight. And if you're local, please bring me some. It's the least you could do.

Shrimp curry with coconut rice

2011-07-12T08:34:00.000-07:00

I so wanted to love this dish.

I was so pleased with the chicken kebabs with nectarine salsa I made from Cooking Light recently that I wanted to throw myself into another recipe from the magazine. If eating lighter can taste as good as that chicken, sign me up. We are planning a Hawaiian getaway in a few months, after all--dropping a few pounds couldn't hurt.

Unfortunately, this one was a dud. I'm not even going to give you a link to the recipe--that's how boring it was. I will confess that I was missing one of the ingredients--mustard seeds--which I did not realize until too late. Perhaps that single component could have saved the dish. But, I doubt it. The curry turned out rather bland and thin, not creamy the way I like it. The coconut rice, which I was excited about because the husband loves coconut (and which I desperately want to like), was flat, in spite of adding a few extras of my own invention (a cinnamon stick and bay leaf).

As an aside, I'm a little turned off by some of the Cooking Light tactics. For example, this recipe called for instant rice. I guess I'm a snob, or maybe I'm just half Chinese, but who makes instant rice? I feel like in every recipe there is a shortcut I find off-putting. With the kebabs, it was bottled garlic. Why would I buy bottled garlic? Should I pick up some Mrs. Dash while I'm at it? It just seems so dated.

Maybe I'm just not part of the target demographic. And anyway, I know the solution: ignore the parts of the recipe I don't like and do what I want. Yeah. I guess ultimately I am still (pointlessly) mourning the loss of Gourmet, the only food magazine I have ever really loved, which, in spite of being a little over the top at times, was nearly always on point with its recipes and current in its approach to cooking. I can't seem to get on board with Bon Appetit (don't like the format and have had middling results with the recipes), Food & Wine is fine but doesn't really light my fire, and while I love the idea and look of Saveur, I never end up using the recipes.

So while the curry turned out quite photogenic (here's another shot, its last moment in the spotlight)...

it was dull, dull, dull. Not what anyone wants in a curry.

So, all kvetching aside, who has a good curry recipe for me?

Warm summer pasta with tomatoes, olives, ricotta, and zucchini

2011-07-07T07:45:00.000-07:00

One of the best things about cooking in the summer is that the ingredients you have lying around the house are especially delicious.

A few weeks back, both of us were too lazy to go to the grocery store but wanting to eat at home since we'd been going out a lot. With minimal rustling in the kitchen, I pulled together some heirloom tomatoes (a pound or so) and a couple of zucchini, both from our CSA box the week before; half a container of ricotta that needed to be used up; some pitted kalamata olives that had been hanging around the fridge for awhile; and a few kitchen staples (garlic, olive oil, parmesan, penne).

While the pasta cooked, I sliced up the zucchini into half moons and sauteed it very quickly in olive oil and garlic. I just wanted to take the raw edge off of it--I didn't want it soggy. I roughly chopped the olives and tomatoes (with skins and seeds intact--I was keeping the effort to a minimum) and tossed them into the pan with zucchini for one minute, just to warm them. A dash of salt and pepper and they were done.

When the penne was al dente, I tossed it with the ricotta until the pasta had a silky coating, then folded in the vegetables and a good handful of parmesan. A spoonful of starchy pasta water brought the dish together.

I dished it up and presented it to the husband.

"Warm summer pasta with tomatoes, olives, ricotta, and zucchini," I announced solemnly.

In spite of his claim to not be very fond of vegetarian pastas, this was a hit with the husband. I resisted revealing that many of the ingredients had been sitting around a bit and needed to be used up. While I revel in finishing things off, this translates to him as "old food" and would have surely taken the luster off this pasta he was inhaling, which, for the record, made an excellent lunch the next day, served at room temperature.

Little coffee cakes with cardamom sugar

2011-07-01T13:56:00.000-07:00

These little coffee cakes are just right for a weekend brunch. They're simple and delicious, moist from the sour cream, and fragrant from cardamom. Oh yeah, that's not part of the original recipe, but I thought it might be a good idea, and what do you know, it was. Every once in awhile I come up with a good one.

Since I'm a little pressed for time (and don't have anything clever to say anyway), I'll just point you in the direction of the recipe but also note my changes:

1) I added 1/4 t. salt to the dry ingredients. I think all baked goods need salt.

2) I added about 1/2 t. cardamom to the batter. Next time I'll add more, but I'm a cardamom fiend.

3) I mixed up a little cinnamon-cardamom sugar to sprinkle on top.

Hope you like them. And, happy Fourth of July! I'm spending part of the weekend in Sonoma, wine tasting and celebrating my friend Amy's birthday. We will also be eating here, which I will be sure to report back on.

Chicken kebabs with nectarine salsa

2011-06-25T09:39:00.000-07:00

Since I'm generally an optimist (unless it comes to politics, although, occasionally I am surprised by good things happening), I would argue that there are lots of upsides of getting older.

For one thing, when I was younger, I never liked other people being the boss of me. While I was a fairly obedient child, I always itched to be an adult and not have to live by someone else's rules. Being an adult-- especially one who is self-employed--gives you a fair amount of freedom that you just don't enjoy as a kid.

Also, as trite as it is, in your teens and 20s you're still evolving into who you are. Yes, it's an ongoing process (I do live in San Francisco--of course I believe that life is a journey!) but in my case, my 20s were a little too drifty. My 30s have been a much more confident and happy decade in every sense. I believe my 40s will be even better, full of more professional success, time with those I love, and world travel.

However, I'm not gonna lie to you: aging pretty much sucks from a physical standpoint. The metabolism slows. I have to work harder just to stay the same size. Tiny lines appear and don't leave. I buy things with "anti-aging" in the name. I've yet to get a grey hair, but I'm sure it won't be long. And, since I hope to live a long and happy life, occasionally I have to forego my decadent nature in favor of moderation. You can't stop time but you can try and slow the clock with some good habits.

Enter chicken kebabs with nectarine salsa, courtesy of Cooking Light. I pretty much followed the recipe, which you can find here, with minor exceptions--I don't go for bottled garlic, and I used a mix of white and dark meat. But I have to say, as skeptical as I was (I'm hard-wired to scoff at healthy recipes), this was really delicious. The marinade would also be good on shrimp or pork (here I go, tweaking the recipe away from healthy) and the salsa would be fantastic with either of those things, or on grilled fish. And since the kebabs are broiled not grilled, they were hassle-free.

The dish was also colorful beyond belief and fun to eat (skewers always seem like a party), almost making me forget about eating healthy and hurtling toward death.

The Hungry Dog, east coast style

2011-06-20T07:45:00.000-07:00

A week or so ago, I voyaged to the exotic and mystical land of New Jersey to visit my sister and her family.

In spite of everything I'd heard about it, it turned out to be a very lush and beautiful place, full of flowers...

And cotton-tailed bunnies...

And some pretty excellent food, most of which, I must admit, was found in New York, not New Jersey (with the exception of a delightful ice cream joint called The Bent Spoon, which itself is worth a trip to Princeton.)

In one spectacular day that possibly shortened my life, my sister and I ate at both Eataly, Mario Batali's city block-sized Italian food emporium, and David Chang's Momofuku Ssam Bar.

Eataly boasts four restaurants; we chose La Piazza, a wine bar, for a late morning "snack." We started with crisp glasses of rose...

and a gigantic salumi e formaggi plate.

I forget all the meats, although there was prosciutto (two kinds, I think), speck, ham, salami, and mortadella (little cubes hidden under the salami).

The cheeses were divine and included, from left to right, a sweet and mild ricotta, parmigiano reggiano, something I can't remember, taleggio, and a creamy gorgonzola. Alongside were candied orange peel, honey with almonds, and a delicious fig marmellata.

We also shared smoked bluefish with asparagus and chives.

After finishing this hefty snack, we walked about 100 blocks or so (perhaps I exaggerate--I like to imagine I walked off that salumi plate), chatting and shopping. It was sweltering, so when we stumbled across this sunny yellow truck, it only made sense to get a cone.

I got mint chip, my sister got ginger. No photos, though--who can balance an ice cream cone in 97 degree heat as well as a camera? Not me.

After more walking and shopping, we found ourselves at Momofuku Ssam Bar. It was earlyish, probably around 6, and though we expected a wait, we were able to nab a spot at the bar right away. Over ice-cold cocktails, we decided on our menu, which somehow ended up being rather large in spite of both of us claiming not to be that hungry on account of our ice cream cones.

There was the famous Momofuku pickle plate, which included kimchee, sunchokes, rhubarb (!), beets, mushrooms, tomatillos, carrots, cucumbers, celery, and a few other things I can't recall.

And there were the pork belly buns, quite likely one of the best things I have eaten in my life.

There was also some very thinly sliced raw geoduck in a pale green gazpacho; spicy pork sausage with rice cakes and Chinese broccoli (an outstanding dish, I highly recommend it if you find yourself there); and poached chicken with sticky rice, morels, and spinach, shaped into a galantine with a creamy sauce I could have eaten--and did, let's admit it--by the spoonful. By the time these dishes showed up, I'd abandoned the camera. You'll have to use your imagination.

I really loved this place; I wish there was one in San Francisco so I could be a regular.

In addition to eating out, during my short stay my sister and brother-in-law made all kinds of delicious and summery things for us to enjoy at home, including a warm pasta salad with tomatoes and olives, grilled sausages, garlicky pesto, and strawberry scones for breakfast.

Food, of course, wasn't the only great thing about the trip. I got to hang out with my nieces, a major treat. Mischievous Pug and I got a few hours to ourselves to sit on the couch and gossip...

And I enjoyed watching Scrappy take down a sizeable piece of pizza.

I miss you all so much, I can't wait to return!

xoxo,

Hungry Dog

Crumbly strawberry-rhubarb crumble

2011-06-13T18:59:00.000-07:00

I made this a few weeks ago, but between work, Sophie, and a trip to the East Coast (where I had the opportunity to eat here and here in one gluttonous day--no one can say I don't seize the moment!), I had trouble getting it into a post. But it was too good to be forgotten. So, although it's belated, and rhubarb may have vanished from the grocery store, let me tell you about this strawberry-rhubarb crumble. If you can't make it now, you can make it next year. And you can certainly steal the secret to the crumbly topping and use it on any kind of fruit.

I myself nabbed the entire recipe from smitten kitchen who borrowed the idea from the divine Nigella Lawson. What's the great concept? Leavening in the topping. As in: baking powder.

Yeah, I was skeptical too, but believe me when I say, this is worth trying. It results in big crumble-y crumbs--no little pesky tidbits masquerading as topping. It's perfect and delicious.

Oh, and there might have been some Madagascar vanilla ice cream involved...

Strawberry-Rhubarb Crumble

From smitten kitchen

Yields 6 to 8 servings.

For the topping:
1 1/3 cup flour
1 teaspoon baking powder
3 tablespoons sugar
3 tablespoons Demerara sugar (or turbinado sugar aka Sugar in the Raw)
Zest of one lemon
1/4 pound (1 stick or 4 ounces) unsalted butter, melted

For the filling:
1 1/2 cups rhubarb, chopped into 1-inch pieces
1 quart strawberries plus a few extras, hulled, quartered
Juice of one lemon
1/2 cup sugar
3 to 4 tablespoons cornstarch

Pinch of salt

1. Heat oven to 375°F. Prepare topping: In a mixing bowl, combine flour, baking powder, sugars and lemon zest and add the melted butter. Mix until small and large clumps form. Refrigerate until needed.

2. Prepare filling: Toss rhubarb, strawberries, lemon juice, sugar, cornstarch and a pinch of salt in a 9-inch deep-dish pie plate.

3. Remove topping from refrigerator and cover fruit thickly and evenly with topping. Place pie plate on a (foil-lined, if you really want to think ahead) baking sheet, and bake until crumble topping is golden brown in places and fruit is bubbling beneath, about 40 to 50 minutes.

Winter weather, summer food

2011-06-06T07:29:00.000-07:00

It's been cool and rainy here, kind of a drag. While the rest of the country is lighting BBQ's and donning sundresses, we're biding our time in raincoats until summer arrives...which means straight-up fog and wind for three months. Oh, joy.

Sometimes you just have to live in a bit of denial. Like last night, I opted for a summery dinner, in spite of the grey skies and the fact that we were both walking around in sweaters. Scallops over a quick saute of zucchini, corn, and tomatoes, a combination of vegetables that to me says nothing but summertime.

I've accepted the fact that I will never cook scallops to look good--check out the photo--one is like the cool suntanned friend next to the three pale duds trying desperately to get some color. Oh well. I have to say they tasted fabulous. I cooked them in a cast iron skillet over high heat, three minutes a side. That's just right for our taste, which runs toward the slightly rare. Plus, overcooked scallops are just a waste of money, and these little things were not cheap.

I love how scallops, more than some other foods (though not as much as oysters), smell just like the sea. Sophie, who has shown remarkable restraint in the kitchen, turned into a bit of a hound dog, her nose going wild, as soon as I pulled them out of the fridge. I am positive had I looked away they would have slid quickly--raw, one after the other, absolutely whole--down her gullet. Good thing I was on to her. I'm not new to this labrador thing, you know, and what they will do for food. We're kindred spirits in this regard.

In any case, it was a badly-needed glimmer of summer--no substitute for actual sunshine and warmth, of course, but I'll take what I can get.

Adventures with Sophie

2011-06-01T07:43:00.000-07:00

Since losing our beloved Frances a few months back, the house just hasn't felt right. Although we eventually were able to enjoy some of our newfound freedom (that we would have traded in a heartbeat to have our girl back), and of course were able to take a guilt-free trip to Europe, we were both anxious to bring a new pup into our lives.

Enter: Sophie.

The husband encountered her out on a walk with her foster mom on Stanford's campus last week. She was wearing a cheery little vest that said, "Adopt me!" So, we did.

We know a little about her. The basics, of course: yellow lab, two years old. From Idaho. Has had a litter of puppies. She is remarkably well-trained, so must have had a caring owner at some point. She's absolutely gorgeous, with a cream-colored coat and "toasted" face and tip of her tail.

The rest we have learned in the few days we have had her: she is incredibly affectionate and friendly; good with people (including children), other dogs, and cats. She does not bark at the doorbell or howl at sirens (yet). She makes happy clucking noises when you get her leash or put out her kibble. When you pull on socks, she associates it with going for a walk, and she nibbles your big toe, gently, for about two seconds.

We have been having the best time with her, which partly explains my lack of posts for the last week. And I suspect she'll be making more than than a few appearances in this blog; while we're actually feeding her dog food (in contrast with Frannie's daily hamburger and weekend roast chicken), I anticipate some food adventures with her.

So, everyone: meet Sophie, our new hungry dog.

Brown butter raspberry tart

2011-05-26T08:28:00.000-07:00

While I'd argue that the best things about blogging are 1) being creative and 2) the free cookbooks you get for review, following closely at third is giving the world a glimpse of your perspective on food and life. And, in turn, getting a snapshot of other people's angle.

When I first started The Hungry Dog, it wasn't intended to be about food. However, it quickly became apparent that I had nothing else to talk about. At the time, I didn't read food blogs, but once I got sucked in, I began reading a lot of them. Too many, in fact, and I got overloaded. Now I just read a handful that I really like. Some I read because they have beautiful photography, or great recipes. Some are friends of mine. Most I read because I like the voice behind the blog. Perhaps because my background is as a writer and not a cook, this seems to be the most compelling reason to pluck one blog from the millions.

One of my favorites is Cook, a oui chef journal. I like the look of Connie's site, which is elegant and more artful than mine. As a trained chef, she often has useful professional advice (like how to go about choosing knives). And, I think she strikes a nice balance between writing about food in a general sense and giving a peek into her specific world.

When I saw that she made this gorgeous brown butter rhubarb tart last month, I put it immediately on my to-make list. But by the time I got around to it, I had raspberries on hand, so I decided to go with the original recipe, which is from Bon Appetit.

This is a lovely tart, extremely simple, and worth making while either berries or rhubarb are in season. It's truly not difficult: even the crust you just press into the pan. For those of you who are as crust-impaired as I am, this is a dream come true. And for something so easy, it looks more than a little bit impressive.

Fancy spaghetti and meatballs

2011-05-22T18:10:00.000-07:00

As you may know, I have a love-hate relationship with Giada de Laurentiis. I use and like many of her recipes, as evidenced by this blog (I'm sure a search of The Hungry Dog would result in at least 15 of her recipes, maybe more). However, I dislike her for being so much better than me in every single way. This is a good example of my immaturity.

Usually, though, she makes stuff I want to eat. Hunger trumps pettiness in this house. So when I saw her make a fancy version of bucatini alla amatriciana during an episode she filmed with her Aunt Rafi (who, incidentally, I'd like to be related to), I knew it was going on my to-try list.

Giada took a basic recipe amatriciana recipe (a staple in our house, though I use a Marcella Hazan recipe, tweaked) and as my little niece Scrappy would say, "kicked it up a nacho." She put together some delicious and simple meatballs, stuffed them with mozzarella, and served them alongside the pasta amatriciana.

This is a very good idea. While I did make some minor adjustments--I swapped pork for the veal; doubled the amount of crushed tomatoes; and used plain mozzarella instead of smoked--the overall concept is spectacular. And although it's a little more work than just making amatriciana, it's a whole lot more exciting.

The only other adjustment I'll make next time is to use spaghetti--or rigatoni maybe-- instead of bucatini. Although it's traditional with this sauce, I've always found bucatini hard to eat. The husband agreed, although he seemed happily distracted by the savory little meatballs oozing mozzarella into the spicy tomato-and-bacon sauce.

Clearly, this is not a sauce for the vegetarian. Or even for those who don't eat pork. While I think the meatballs would be delicious with ground chicken or turkey, I can't imagine a good amatriciana without pancetta or bacon. I mean, that's just tomato sauce.

It'd be hard to not to love a big bowl of this pasta, especially if you're enjoying it on a windy friday night with your sweetie and a good bottle of Chianti. In fact, I'm certain nothing trumps that.

Cobb Salad, discovered

2011-05-15T09:35:00.000-07:00

While generally I don't consider using recipes for salads--who needs to be told how many radishes they like or what type of lettuce they prefer?--once in a blue moon, I'll do it.

Such an occasion arose last Sunday, which you may recall was Mother's Day. While considering what to make for the celebratory lunch, I contemplated and nixed a variety of ideas: a savory tart; a light-ish seafood pasta; a creamy soup with some kind of fancy sandwich.

None of these seemed quite right, and as I dithered about what to make and the hours slipped away, I eventually came across this appealing recipe for Cobb Salad over at Smitten Kitchen.

Since I'd already determined the lunch would include dessert (the so-so strawberry shortcake), I wanted an entree that was satisfying but not heavy. We had the rest of the afternoon to soldier through, after all, during which I planned on torturing my mother with hundreds of photographs from our trip. I wanted an alert audience! (For the record, she sat through them patiently, even asking questions and oohing and aahing at all the right moments. What a mom!)

Cobb Salad was just the ticket. And while I've eaten many in my lifetime, I've never made one. Turns out they are spectacularly easy, though do require a number of steps and quite a bit of chopping.

I made a few minor adjustments: adding more lemon juice to the vinaigrette (my taste nearly always runs to the bitter or sour; I hate to think what this might say about my personality?); and ditching the watercress for some green leaf lettuce I had on hand (watercress would have been excellent, but I'd already purchased two kinds of lettuce for this salad, and for some reason, this was my self-imposed limit).

Although the original recipe called for serving the salad in one magnificent bowl, I knew this was not the way I would want to be served a main-course salad. I imagined all of us trying to delicately serve ourselves while trying to ensure we got some of everything. Meanwhile, I envisioned wasted crumbles of blue cheese and bacon bits overflowing onto the tablecloth. Instead, I opted to dress all the greens together, then dish up the salads separately, with the toppings arranged on each one as artfully as I could manage. I brought extra dressing to the table, which we all used.

I have to say, the salad was an indisputable hit. Quality ingredients make the difference, of course, since there's little skill involved in assembly. I had just roasted a chicken the day before was able to use that rather than a simple poached breast (which I would have done otherwise but would not have been nearly as flavorful), we had a perfectly ripe avocado on hand from our CSA box, and the husband had chosen a heavenly blue cheese from Marin. With crusty bread and glasses of Prosecco, it was a lunch more than worth the (minimal) effort.

Strawberry shortcake

2011-05-10T09:31:00.000-07:00

I have to confess that when I think of strawberry shortcake, the first thing that pops to my mind is this:

What can I say? I was a kid in the 80's. Actually, more specifically, I think of these dolls:

Yes, Strawberry Shortcake and her band of smelly friends, each one scented to match the fruit in their name: Huckleberry Pie, Apple Dumpling, Raspberry Tart. My parents were very kind to let me collect these (in retrospect, hideous) dolls, which made my room smell like a bowlful of Jolly Ranchers. Just thinking about it makes me gag a little.

In any case, after these images run through my head I am also reminded of another strawberry shortcake. You know, the dessert. Made in the peak of strawberry season--I think that's now!--it's a lovely, homey, delicious dessert. I decided to make it for Mother's Day, as it is one of my mother's, and her late mother's, favorites.

In the past I've used a shortcake recipe I really liked: sweet and super buttery, somewhere between a cookie and cake texture. I couldn't find it this time around and was relegated to Googling. I ended up picking out this recipe (well, just the biscuit part. Who needs a recipe for sugared berries?)

I have to tell you, although part of it was my fault in overworking the dough, yielding a slightly tough shortcake, I also decided I am not a fan of the biscuit-as-shortcake. It wasn't nearly sweet enough.

The dessert looked pretty, though, topped with overzealously whipped cream (just a few minutes away from butter--yikes!):

My mom seemed to like it, or at least said she did. Perhaps this is only further evidence of her good mothering. The husband wolfed it down in under two minutes, also meaningless, as he is generally Godzilla-like in his consumption of sweets, swallowing cookies and cakes practically whole.

While I wasn't overly pleased with the outcome, it did whet my appetite for more shortcake, of any variety. Berries are wonderful, of course, but in the summer a stone fruit would be perfect. So, I ask you: any good shortcake recipes to pass along? If you do, and you're local, I'll share my efforts.

The Hungry Dog goes abroad

2011-05-04T16:16:00.000-07:00

Hello, dear friends! Did you miss me? I missed you, although I confess it was tempered by consuming pain au chocolat along the Seine, sipping wine at cafes and watching the endless fashion show that is Paris, shopping for Iberian ham at La Boqueria, spearing bits of salt cod and smoked sardines at Barcelona's favorite tapas and champagne bar, devouring brightly-colored and exotic macarons (cassis! yuzu! genmaicha!), and eating way too much foie gras. (I'll pay for that one in karma, I suspect.)

We returned on Monday, and I've been trying to figure out how to write about the trip without boring you to pieces, while sharing some of the loveliest bits. It was a whirlwind of eating, walking, seeing. The apartments were both great, although the one in Barcelona turned out to be in the seedier side of El Raval and unfortunately close to the Ramblas, which was pretty touristy and junky. But once we got out of our neighborhood, we were amazed by the city's beauty. The apartment in Paris, located in Saint-Germaine-des-Pres, was ideally situated among all kinds of shops and restaurants, very comfortable, and a stone's throw from the river.

We got around both places largely on foot and by metro. Coming from San Francisco, where the subway system is a big piece of garbage, we were amazed by the efficiency and breadth of both systems. In Paris, we saw all the major sites and museums, our favorites of which were Musee d'Orsay and L'Orangerie (where we encountered Stanley Tucci admiring Monet's Water Lilies), but mostly we enjoyed walking along the Seine, taking in the sights, and whiling away hours, yes hours, at cafes, people-watching. (How French women navigate cobblestone streets and ride bicycles in four-inch heels I will never know nor replicate but I surely admired them, as did the husband, naturally.) In Barcelona, we saw as much Gaudi as we could, including Parc Guell, the stunning Casa Batllo, and La Sagrada Familia, which we both found deeply moving and magnetic, in spite of being unreligious. We were also struck, and impressed, by the Catalan pride we encountered at nearly every interaction.

And the food! In Paris, we were in awe of the breads, pastries, and cheeses and were surprised (I don't know why this should be, but we were) by how excellent the fish was. We had wonderful meals at Le Comptoir de Relais (which more than deserves its cultish devotion), Fish la Boissonerie (so good we went twice), L'A.O.C., Les Fines Gueules, and slurped two dozen oysters at Huitrerie Regis. Our most formal meal was lunch at Le Petit Bofinger (we laughed about the name but were not laughing while consuming rillettes of tuna, Norwegian salmon with shaved cucumber, duck and ratatouille, and grilled salmon with, hands-down, the finest mashed potatoes I have ever laid fork to.) We also enjoyed surreptitiously watching the elderly and elegantly-dressed French couple next to us, particularly when the woman slipped her uneaten roll into her purse for later and the man ordered a large beer to go with his chocolate mousse.

While I did not take too many photos of our food, I got a few shots. This was our very first snack in Paris: wine and charcuterie at a little cafe across from Notre Dame. I like how snacks in France simply must involve some kind of cured meat (or two) and a large wine.

Another highlight of our time in Paris was meeting Croque Camille and her husband Nick at Restaurant du Marche in the 15th arrondissement (where I had foie gras to start, then shoulder of lamb, followed by one of the stand-out desserts of the trip: madeleines served with a little jar of lemon curd and a small scoop of heavenly raspberry sorbet), then heading back to their place for cognac. Thank you, Camille, for welcoming us to your beautiful city!

In Barcelona, we had the best seafood of our lives, as well as incredible hams, olives like none I'd ever tasted before, and outstanding wines. We ate endless tapas: salt cod fritters, braised chickpeas with sobrasada and leeks (this was discovered at a small place near our apartment, Bar Raval, and was one of the finest dishes we had on the whole trip), fried sardines with red grapes, and croquettes of all types.

As we also did in Paris, we had a few missteps, including an expensive and stuffy (though admittedly delicious) dinner at Comerc 24 and one or two average lunches. But we also enjoyed an impromptu and delicious lunch at the crowded Bar Central in La Boqueria...

where we had calamari with crispy potatoes, and perfectly grilled vegetables with flakey sea salt.

We had a wonderful dinner at Pla (a cozy restaurant tucked in the back of the smallest, darkest alley) and a leisurely session at Bar Zim, a tiny wine bar we stumbled across in La Barri Gotic, where we ate a bowlful of heavenly olives and inhaled a fabulous cheese plate, explained to us in detail by the bar's cheerful owner. We also pushed our way into El Xampanyet, a local favorite, which in addition to selling cava, makes their own champagne.

We stood at the bar and drank glass after glass of their home brew while eating anchovies, smoked sardines, roasted peppers, cured salmon, and raw salt cod with olives.

One evening, we popped into our neighborhood bar, Bar Aurora. It happened to be the night Barcelona played Madrid in soccer. The crowd went wild when Barcelona sealed the win, cheering and singing. I was hugged by an elated stranger. At that moment, we fell in love with the city and its warm people.

We returned to Bar Aurora the next evening and chatted at length with Claudia, the Italian owner, no small feat given that she speaks Italian, Catalan, and French, but no English. The husband muddled through in Spanish and I bumbled about in French. Not only did we enjoy the company of this lovely woman, she helped arrange for a cab to pick us up before dawn the morning of our departure. Apparently, calling for cabs in advance in Barcelona is very difficult if you don't have a Spanish phone number.

After saying adios to Barcelona, we returned to Paris for one final day, which was a quiet one, being both a Sunday and May Day, a national holiday in France. Many places were closed, but we found a place bustling for lunch--or le brunch, which seems to be a big deal in Paris, based on the crowds. The husband ordered le brunch traditionel which arrived in its outrageous glory:

while I, breaking all Hungry Dog precedent, ordered something with a fried egg: a croque madame. When in Paris...

We spent our last day walking around, taking final stock of this charming city, and wrapped it up with a delightful dinner at Cafe Constant, not far from the Eiffel Tower. Over tartar of salmon, scallops, and oysters, more foie gras, and roast chicken with crispy potatoes and grilled Romaine hearts, we recounted our trip in full bliss. Post apple tart and profiteroles, we rolled homeward, stopping for one last glass of Bordeaux on the way.

These are just snippets of our trip--suffice it to say, we had a wonderful time. There were minor disappointments--we found the Louvre, Sacre Couer, and Parc Guell so jammed with tourists it was impossible to enjoy any of them. But there were infinitely more pleasures. The food, clearly, was outstanding, but more than that, this experience opened our eyes about traveling, languages, art, history, architecture, fashion, and national identities.

While we are pleased to be back in most ways (who can argue with sleeping in your own bed, drinking coffee made exactly the way you want it, and being able to speak without opening a dictionary?) we are already anxious to plan our next trip abroad. And, without a doubt, we plan to return to each of these beautiful cities.

On the roof of Gaudi's Casa Batllo in Barcelona.

P.S. Are we the last people on Earth to discover how awesome Air France is? From the moment we arrived at the airport in San Francisco, we were amazed at how helpful the staff were (and foxy, too, by the way: every single person Air France employs could double as a model), how civilized the whole experience was, how decent the food. We sipped champagne, helped ourselves to ice cream sandwiches mid-flight, and were surprised to be offered brandy at the end of our meals. Further proof, though none was needed, that the French know how to live. It seems their motto for flying is, "It doesn't have to suck." American airlines, take a cue.

Shaved asparagus salad with walnuts and parmesan

2011-04-13T07:56:00.000-07:00

Well, my friends, this will be my last post before we hop on an airplane Sunday for our European dream vacation. While I would have liked to leave you with something French or Spanish, instead I have this simple shaved asparagus salad. Pretty, isn't it?

Unfortunately, my execution was lacking. I didn't shave the asparagus thinly enough, and the husband and I confirmed that largish pieces of raw asparagus are not to our liking. The thin pieces softened with the vinaigrette were quite nice; but I had trouble getting all the stalks skinny enough. Should have used my mandoline but for a weeknight salad, I'm loathe to pull out special equipment.

In any case, I do recommend you check out the recipe, if you are willing to go the extra mile and get your asparagus stalks papery thin.

I'll be back in early May, hopefully with some good photos and tales of eating in Paris and Barcelona. If I were a different type of person, I would have pre-written some blog posts to auto-post while I'm gone, or I'd be blogging live from my travels. But, in addition to looking forward to experiencing each of these cities, I am also looking forward to a break from my weekly routine, which includes writing at the Hungry Dog. My posts in recent months have been a little flat--sorry about that, guess I've been on autopilot this year. I hope, and expect, to come back inspired. It seems to me that gaining a fresh perspective on your life is one of the greatest promises of traveling abroad.

Until then, au revoir and adios!

Drewes' bacon-wrapped scallops with romesco sauce

2011-04-05T16:59:00.000-07:00

On Saturday, the husband and I ran a few errands, ending up in our old neighborhood, Noe Valley, which is where we still like to grocery shop.

There's a wonderful bodega-type market, which has nearly everything you could want for very little money, all the more impressive given that it's about the size of our living room. They have a mind-boggling array of produce (fresh green almonds? check. kumquats? check. cardoons? check.), as well as a tidy assortment of cheeses, breads, olives, oils, baking supplies (from flour to almond paste), and canned goods. For years we lived within two blocks of this delightful place, and five years later, I still miss it. When I need dried porcini or oil-packed Italian tuna at the last minute, there's no place to go that doesn't require a drive or an uphill trek.

The other reason we really miss this neighborhood is that one block from the produce market is Drewes Brothers Meats, which I've written about before. We used to shop there nearly every day, when we would walk Frances together after work. The ongoing joke was that we never had any food in our refrigerator, except half and half, beer, and a few leftovers, because every night we shopped for dinner, depending on our mood.

In addition to having an excellent selection of naturally raised meat, sustainable seafood, and free-range poultry, Drewes will always hold a special place in my heart because the guys who work there were always very kind to Frances. When one of us would go inside to order, the other usually stood outside with the dog, and nearly every time, one of the butchers would come out with a piece of turkey, or on really good days, a whole hot dog. Gulp. Frannie said her thank yous with licks, but we said ours by being loyal customers, and we still try to, even though it requires getting in the car.

When we went on Saturday, we ended up talking to Josh, the owner, who we have known for a long time. He seemed a bit discouraged about business. We wondered aloud if the declining sales had to do with the monstrous Whole Foods that opened last year not too far from the shop. Surprisingly, he said it was less Whole Foods (although that didn't help), and more the change in the way people live. It used to be that neighborhood residents took the Muni train, which runs up and down Church Street and right by Drewes, to work downtown. People would get off the train after work and stop in to buy groceries. Now, Josh told us, more and more people living in the neighborhood are working on the peninsula--for Google, Yahoo, Facebook. Each of these companies has shuttle buses that pick up employees at designated points and drive them to work. So, fewer in-city commuters, less foot traffic, dwindling revenues for small businesses.

The husband and I both felt sad. We try to do our part in supporting the local businesses we cherish, and we know many others who do the same. Yet, somehow, even in progressive San Francisco, the little guys are having a trouble making a go of it.

That day, we bought pretty white snapper, sweet Italian sausage, thick-cut bacon, and some plump little scallops. I saved the sausage for the next night (this old favorite) and decided to pan-fry the snapper with some capers and lemon. The scallops were to be an appetizer: wrapped in bacon, broiled, and placed carefully on a bed of romesco sauce, which turns out to be good on practically everything.

The scallops (and the snapper, for that matter) were delicious. I don't make scallops too often--I tried a similar method in Santa Cruz last year with poorer results and had trouble browning them when I served them atop a sweet pea risotto. This time, they were an unexpected treat.

I'm glad we got to Drewes on Saturday to see some old friends and pick up such lovely ingredients. We'll keep shopping at Drewes for as long as they're open and as long as we live in San Francisco, both of which I hope are measured in decades.

Summer in the City

2011-03-31T08:00:00.000-07:00

In San Francisco, we take our summer where we can get it. Unlike the rest of the country, the months of June, July, and August are generally cold and foggy here. We run our heat and wear sweaters. Pictures in catalogs, or images on TV, showing people frolicking in bathing suits at the beach, or grilling on the patio because it's too hot to cook inside, seem like they're from another planet. It makes for a very grumpy city.

However, we do get sprinkles of summertime throughout the year: a few weeks in the fall, a couple in the spring, and sporadic days in the early part of the year, like now.

The thing is you never know when the warmth will arrive, or how long it will last. Sometimes the day starts out gorgeous and you're opening windows and unearthing flipflops. At 5:00, the fog and wind has rolled in, windows are clamped shut, and you're thinking about making beef stew for dinner.

What I do love about this is that it makes people deeply appreciate the nice days. When it's hot in San Francisco, everyone is out, riding bikes, walking dogs, picnicking, and even sunbathing (if you're at Dolores Park, at least). No one assumes tomorrow will be nice too, so they get out while they can.

Yesterday was in the high 70s and utterly breezeless. It was beautiful. For dinner, I thought it would be nice to skip the oven and minimize stove use. After watching a rerun of Ina Garten making pesto pasta salad, that's what I decided on, although with a few twists.

For one thing, I didn't want to make a salad--i.e. I didn't want to use mayo the way she did. I'm not anti-mayo but it didn't sound good to me with pesto. I did, however, like the idea of something creamy balancing out the pesto, which I often find harsh. Here's what I did, call it a recipe if you like, although it was more making it up as I went.

I made pesto. I don't follow a recipe for pesto, so I have no measurements. This was garlic (two cloves is plenty for me), basil, walnuts, olive oil, salt, and--this I stole from Ina--defrosted frozen spinach to hold the green color, and a few tablespoons of lemon juice.

When the pasta was cooked I set aside a few spoonfuls of pasta water and tossed the hot pasta with 2-3 ounces of goat cheese to give it that creamy base I was looking for. Then I added the pesto, a little pasta water to get it to the consistency I wanted, some grated parmesan, about a cup of defrosted peas, chopped toasted walnuts, and a cup or so of halved grape tomatoes.

We opened up the windows along with a nice bottle of wine, and voila, a summer's dinner.

Triple chocolate walnut cookies

2011-03-24T08:41:00.000-07:00

I first had these cookies a few weeks back, when I met my cousin Pete for lunch. He had just baked a batch and when we sat down at Out the Door, he presented me with a lovely little bag of them. Even amidst the restaurant's strong and heady aromas of lemongrass, chili, fish sauce, and five spice, I could smell those cookies in all of their chocolatey goodness. Throughout lunch, it was all I could do to keep from diving into that bag.

Once I got home, I went for it. You know, nobody is around during the day. Being alone for large chunks of your life can lead to bad habits, like, um, standing silently in the kitchen, zoning out, and eating a stack of cookies?

These are even better than these chocolate chocolate chip cookies which I also think are great. The new ones, though insanely chocolately, are a little bit less sweet. Plus, I think melted chocolate adds a dimension you just can't get with cocoa powder. The final result is somewhere between a cookie and a brownie, with that perfect cracked top and velvety interior.

I emailed my cousin immediately for the recipe, which he promptly sent. He also told me about his edits to the recipe, which I agreed off the bat were smart. For one, he ditched the milk chocolate chips for semi-sweet. Then, he added walnuts to the batter. Normally, I'm on the fence about nuts in cookies, and truth be told, I never would have thought to do that. But the walnuts added the perfect crunch and ever so slight bitterness, a nice foil to a rich cookie. So, that's how I made them yesterday.

I drummed up the excuse of making them for my friend Deborah, who is literally about to have a kid any day now. The husband and I had planned to visit Deborah and her husband Richard in their new house last night. I figured an edible housewarming gift is always welcome (who needs another vase from Crate and Barrel?), and pregnant or no, people like cookies.

These people did like these cookies, as did the husband, who enjoyed two back to back in the car on the way over. He had just gotten off the train and was ravenously hungry. When I'm really hungry, I don't tend to want sweets--my taste runs to the savory. But at the end of the work day, the husband has a powerful sweet tooth. (Had we been at home, he would have washed the cookies down with a Sierra Nevada--a version of another sweet-and-boozy combination he swears by: Reese's peanut butter cups and Guinness.)

Anyway, I digress. Here's the deal. These cookies are ridiculous--ridiculously good. And even more ridiculous is the fact that you're supposed to make them into ice cream sandwiches and then roll them in candied almonds or coconut. That's for the next round.

Here's a link to the original recipe, but I've also included the recipe with the variations Pete made below. Mine baked for 15 minutes, and, like Pete, I baked one sheet at a time in the center of the oven, and mid-way through, took them out, banged the sheet on the counter, and rotated it when I returned it to the oven. Although they seem silly, I think all of these steps do make a difference--banging the sheet removes any air bubbles, ensuring a dense, chewy result, and placing the cookies in the middle of the oven and rotating them leads to even baking.

One final note: it is important to follow the step of removing the cookies from the sheet when they are done to a rack but leaving them on the parchment. With my final four cookies (a tiny third batch), I had run out of racks and so removed the cookies on parchment to a cooled baking sheet. When cooled, they had hardened quite considerably, whereas all the other ones remained soft and perfect.

Pete's Triple Chocolate Walnut Cookies

Adapted from Martha Stewart

Makes 24-28

1 cup all-purpose flour

1/2 cup unsweetened Dutch-process cocoa powder

1/2 teaspoon baking soda

1/2 teaspoon salt

1 stick unsalted butter

4 ounces semisweet chocolate, chopped

1 1/2 cups sugar

2 large eggs

1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract

1 cup semisweet chocolate chips

3/4 cup chopped walnuts

Preheat oven to 325 degrees. Sift together flour, cocoa powder, baking soda, and 1/2 teaspoon salt in a medium bowl. Heat butter and semisweet chocolate in a heatproof bowl set over a pan of simmering water until melted.

Beat sugar, eggs, vanilla, and melted-chocolate mixture with a mixer on medium speed until combined. Reduce speed to low, and gradually beat in flour mixture until just combined. Fold in chocolate chips and nuts.

Using a 1 1/2-inch ice cream scoop, drop dough onto parchment-lined baking sheets, spacing about 2 inches apart. Bake, rotating and tapping sheets on counter halfway through, until cookies are flat and surfaces begin to crack, 15 to 17 minutes. Transfer cookies on parchment to a wire rack, and let cool.

Mango-blueberry upside down cake

2011-03-20T09:58:00.000-07:00

Mangoes are in season. This is surprising to me--seems like they would be a summer fruit--but they've begun showing up in our produce box, which means, their time is now.

I searched the Hungry Dog to see what I did last time we got mangoes and was reminded of the crazy mango bars, a post which, although I like it, makes me sad, because it reminds me of Frances. Like about one million other things do. Today is two months without her, and while it's gotten easier on a day-to-day level--(after all, you must adjust to things about which you have no choice)--when I think about that dog, I realize my heart is still smashed into tiny pieces.

Anyway, that doesn't change the fact that I had a couple of rapidly ripening mangoes to use up and on friday I came across Barbara's post about a mango upside-down cake with basil ice cream--an intriguing combination, no? I decided that this (yet another) rainy weekend would be a good time to give it a whirl.

Unfortunately, I encountered a few challenges from the get-go. For one, I couldn't tell if my caramel had darkened or actually burned, and since it was screaming hot, I couldn't taste it. Also, the butter and sugar seemed to remain sort of separated, which I was fairly sure wasn't right. But after awhile, I figured that was as good as it was going to get and so I turned off the heat.

Then, one of my gorgeous mangoes was spoiled. Luckily, by chance I'd picked up a little box of blueberries at the store earlier. So I sprinkled the berries in to fill the holes between the mango slices.

The rest of the cake was simple and pleasant to put together, even if it involved a number of steps, including separating the eggs, whipping the whites, and folding them in. I like doing all those things, though, and I find satisfaction in a producing a lovely, light batter.

When the cake emerged from the oven and I flipped it onto a plate, it looked beautiful and weird. The blueberries had turned purpley-black and with the glowing orange mango, it was fit for Halloween.

When we dug into it later, although the flavor was good, it seemed a bit heavy, which I hadn't expected. I had beaten the whites to stiff peaks and folded them in ever so carefully, but somehow I must have over-mixed and lost some of the airiness the cake should have had. It sounds like Barbara's was ethereal. Mine was more like a cake-shaped brick.

So, overall, while not a failure, not exactly a success. I had better luck with the plum upside down cake I made from Alice Waters's cookbook last year. But, I trust Barbara and her cake turned out perfectly. So, give it a go. Just be more gentle with the folding step. And let me know if you try that basil ice cream--sounds like a winner.

I think I'm in love

2011-03-14T08:20:00.000-07:00

I've got a new favorite pasta.

It's not for the vegetarian, the purist, or the healthy. Anyone who classifies themselves as such, move along.

For the rest of you, I give you: penne with spicy tomato sauce, black olives, sausage, and burrata.

I absolutely adore this pasta. I found the recipe on Connie's blog (which I love) a few weeks ago, and knew it was going on my short list. I liked all of the ingredients, of course, but I also liked that it called for canned tomato sauce--nice shortcut! I know we're supposed to make our own tomato sauce but once in awhile it's nice to skip a few steps.

Of course, I made a few edits, all but two of which reflect my gluttonous nature.

For one, I used regular penne instead of farro penne--but only because I couldn't find farro penne, even at Whole Foods. Two, I omitted the fennel, because the husband swears he does not like it (although I slipped it into a dinner last week and he did not notice, which makes me suspicious of his claim). But I figured tricking your mate shouldn't become a regular occurrence so I let the fennel go for this one.

On the gluttonous end, I used a full pound of pasta, because I don't like to have a fraction of a box of pasta rattling around in the pantry--it's destined for the garbage. And, I used a full pound of sausage instead of a half, because, you know, why not? And, I used two cans of tomato sauce instead of one. I'm a sauce fiend, as we've discussed, so I knew one 15-ounce can wasn't going to do it for me.

It's a speedy, spicy, perfectly balanced pasta, just right for a mid-week dinner, although I would serve it without reservation to guests. The oil-cured olives add the perfect salty bite. The burrata....well, I feel the same way about burrata as I do about sauce: give me more.

I can see a lot of variations on this. If the husband ate eggplant, for instance, I would consider swapping the sausage for grilled eggplant to make the dish a shade healthier. You could leave out the cheese and it would still be delicious, add capers, making it more like a puttanesca, or skip the olives. The dish could handle any number of alterations without losing its deliciousness.

Give a try and make it your own.

In the winter, a spot of citrus sunshine

2011-03-09T07:28:00.000-08:00

Although we've had some nice weather here and there, it still feels like winter. I don't mind the cold too much but I dislike the gray skies. Day after day of that can wear a girl down.

While a real tonic for my winter blues would be a quick trip to Hawaii, we can't swing that this year, what with our upcoming international travel. So a much simpler (and cheaper) remedy was in order: a bright citrus cake, drizzled with a sugary glaze.

I used this recipe posted at Smitten Kitchen, although the original belongs to Ina Garten. It's very simple, although it does take awhile and have a number of steps: the cake, the syrup, the glaze. Instead of using just lemons I used lemons and tangerines and the combination was delicious.

The syrup-drenching process is a little funny, at least the way I did it. You set the cake on a rack over a baking sheet and drizzle the syrup over it. But so much ended up on the baking sheet that I kept having to remove the rack and cake, pour the syrup gathered on the sheet back into my little saucepan, and drizzle all over again. I did that at least three or four times so as to use as much of the syrup as possible, but I am glad I did: I ended up with a supermoist cake similar to a pound cake.

I am also pleased to report that my glazing experience was much improved since the last time I attempted it with the vanilla bean bundt cake. Maybe I let the cake cool longer, maybe the glaze was thicker. Either way, it looked quite a bit better. See for yourself. And don't you think the cake looks a bit other-worldly in this photo?

Of course I baked it in my bundt pan. I don't care for the look of cakes baked into loaves, which is what the original recipe calls for. This would also be mighty fine divvied up into cupcakes; who doesn't want their own individual cake?

So if you're in need of a little mid-winter pick-me-up, look no further. This citrusy cake is just the ticket.

A gorgeous gratin (with a secret ingredient)

2011-03-04T17:02:00.000-08:00

Is there anything that doesn't taste good smothered in bechamel sauce?

I'm sure I could eat anything wrapped in that creamy goodness. Include some sharp cheddar and a golden-crumbed topping, and I'd wager you could hide a tennis shoe underneath and I'd at least give it a try. Probably lick the sauce from the laces.

Last weekend, we were invited to a combo birthday/Oscar party potluck. I knew dessert was covered, it being a birthday celebration, and didn't want to bring the standard potluck salad, whether it be green, pasta, or potato. I decided on this divine cauliflower gratin, which, let's face it, is just a fancy name for casserole.

My friend Stephanie made this at Thanksgiving and it was the hit of the dinner. I bothered her for the recipe for a long time to no avail, and even tried this one in my desperation, which was very good. But it did not stand up to Stephanie's. When I finally wore her down (no friendship stands in my way of food) and got my greedy paws on it, I knew had to make it, soon. Heather's birthday bash seemed like the right opportunity.

"Why is it so good, Hungry Dog?" I can hear you clamoring. "Tell us!"

Well, there's the bechamel sauce I mentioned, which is fortified with loads of cheddar and a handful of scallions, giving it a mild oniony bite and a pleasant sprinkling of green. Then there's the topping, which is actually made from crackers instead of breadcrumbs, giving it both delightful crunch and a good dousing of trashiness, befitting its casserole roots. But what elevates this dish from delicious to divine is that the the topping is made from...wait for it...horseradish cracker crumbs.

What you do is, you melt some butter, and then stir in the horseradish, then toss it all with the crumbled crackers. So you've got yourself a buttery, peppery, crispy top layered over creamy, cheesy goodness. Oh yeah, there's cauliflower in there too. (Does anyone even care?)

I doubled the recipe and brought it to the potluck, where it was a great success. Heather emailed me the next day for the recipe, and although I considered playing it coy like Steph, in the end I decided, sharing is good. Plus, it's not like I made this one up.

I only made one edit to the dish, which was a concession to the husband. The recipe calls for Saltines -- you know, those flimsy salty little things. That's what I would have gotten if I'd been at the store alone. But the husband was with me, and he noticed that Saltines contain trans-fat. He batted his eyelashes a bit and said, wouldn't I consider some of the good fancy crackers we usually buy?

I was resistant at first--you know I can be a rule follower (a pointless characteristic, I'm realizing as I get older, as all it ensures is that I do the same thing as everyone else) -- but ultimately relented. And, although the crackers were quite a bit tougher to crumble, they yielded a better topping.

I guess after nearly 11 years together, I shouldn't be surprised that we've morphed into each other a bit. But, come on: the boy from Kentucky recoils at trans-fat while the California girl grudgingly agrees to use the rosemary and sea-salt crackers? Just goes to show, anything can happen if you give it time.

Simran's chicken biryani

2011-02-28T07:35:00.000-08:00

As you may have noticed, I'm crazy for chicken.

I know plenty of people don't like chicken: they think it's boring, or they have an issue with eating it on the bone, something I never understand, since it's usually claimed by people who I've seen gnawing on a pork chop or getting down on a turkey drumstick at Thanksgiving. They say there is something specific to chicken on the bone that gives them the creeps. Whatever. It is true that chicken is often poorly cooked (i.e. dry) or too often appears in boneless, skinless breast form, which greatly narrows the chances of it tasting good.

Anyway, I eat it pretty much any style. I like it roasted with honey and cherry tomatoes; simmered in coconut milk, soy, and vinegar, adobo-style; and encrusted with macadamia nuts in a Hawaiian plate lunch. I also like it fried, in a creamy salad for a weekday lunch, and of course I adore Marcella Hazan's roasted chicken with two lemons, which is on the menu once a week at my house.

But even with all this variety, sometimes you still need a new recipe to spice things up...literally.

Enter chicken biryani, courtesy of my friend Simran, who writes this lovely blog with my other friend Stacie. Last summer, Simran's mother came to visit her here in San Francisco, and shared a recipe or two with her daughter, who then kindly shared them with her friends and readers. When I saw her recipe for chicken biryani, I knew I wanted to make it immediately.

"Immediately" actually took about seven months...you know how things go. But I finally got around to it earlier this month, and it has officially taken its place in my repertoire.

One thing I was very interested in was that the dish is supposed to be layered, chicken - rice - chicken - rice, sort of like an Asian lasagne, Simran notes. I loved this idea, although you can't actually see the layers in the bowls that I used to serve it. However, it was fun to eat, digging through the layers of spicy chickeny goodness.

Making this recipe was delicious and satisfying and reminded me of yet another great chicken recipe, one which also turned into one of my all-time favorite blog posts: Country Captain/Captain Chicken. The two recipes share some similar flavors, and both are easy enough to make, although I do like that Simran's requires fewer ingredients. I suggest you give them both a try. After all, who couldn't use another chicken recipe (or two)?

Yellow cake, chocolate frosting (cheater-style)

2011-02-24T08:41:00.000-08:00

Last Saturday it poured all day long. Since we had all the necessities (food, coffee, food, wine, food, firewood), we opted not to set foot outside the house, something which in retrospect seems a little pathetic, but while it was happening was very nice indeed.

We ate cassoulet for lunch (which had improved overnight) and afterward I was in the mood for cake. But I had not adequately prepared: no softened butter, no room temperature eggs. Nor did I have any of those good cake ingredients, like buttermilk or sour cream, or high-quality chocolate.

I did, however, have this:

I don't think I've made a boxed cake since about 1983, when my friend Rebecca and I would experiment in the kitchen on summer days, making multi-colored (we were intrigued by food coloring) and multi-layered (four rainbow layers--hideous!) box cakes, which inevitably tasted terrible. Bless our parents who let us waste money and time in the name of being creative.

Cake mixes dropped off my radar a long time ago. I went for decades without thinking of them, until a few months ago I was in Trader Joe's and I spied their new line of cake mixes, as well as frostings, which bore the creepy yet riveting promise that all I had to do was:

I'm a sucker for cute packaging, who isn't? After all, that's why I liked the husband in the first place. It wasn't until later that I discovered how smart, funny, and sweet he is.

So, I made the cake. Putting it together took about 10 minutes. Baking it took 25 (in spite of the directions which said it would take 40-50 for two 9-inch layers--huh? Maybe if you want hockey pucks). I cooled the layers, made the frosting, and took to it with my offset spatula. I have to say, for someone without much cake frosting experience, I think it looked rather pretty.

How it tasted was another matter. Not terrible by any means -- we each put away a good-sized hunk of it (and were then incapacitated for the next hour or so) -- but through each bite we were both aware of a distinctly processed feel. It was also overly sweet, not a big surprise.

We actually didn't eat any more of the cake, although I did enjoy looking at it over the next day or two. There's something iconic about yellow cake with chocolate frosting; it's the quintessential birthday cake. But after this experience, I'm willing to go the extra mile and skip the box. It may be easier, but it turns out there are two excellent reasons people make cakes from scratch: taste and texture.

On one final note, I failed to brag on my last post that it was actually my 200th!! Pretty amazing, to me at least. I started this blog two years ago and somehow it's still going. I like to think I would do this in a vacuum, but like most everyone, I need public validation. I'm insecure that way. So thanks for reading, and thanks especially for commenting. You make the blog world go round. Now go get yourself a piece of (homemade) cake.

"Cassoulet"

2011-02-19T08:32:00.000-08:00

After more decadent eating out this week (roasted duck with rabbit consomme here and a fabulous cheeseburger here), I finally decided it was time to get back into the kitchen. Since I've had all things French on my mind these days, I decided to try cassoulet.

Or shall I invoke scare quotes and say, "cassoulet"? Because I'm sure that any genuine French person would scoff dismissively at my attempt.

I couldn't blame them. There's nothing truly authentic about it. For one thing, the recipe belongs to Mark Bittman, who I like very much, but who is quintessentially American in his approach to food: cook what you like, the way you like it, however that might be. He's no slave to tradition, which I think may be one of the defining French characteristics when it comes to food. It's also probably why so many of us Americans are Bittman fans.

Anyway, I liked the look of this recipe, because it leans more on vegetables than meat (another Bittman hallmark), and as evidenced by my recent eating escapades outlined above, I'm doing fine on the protein side. That said, I did enjoy choosing the meat for the cassoulet, of which I needed one pound, and which according to Bittman could be "Italian sausages, bone-in pork chops, confit duck legs, or duck breasts, or a combination." I settled on half a pound of sausage and two little pork chops.

So, here's the thing about it being "cassoulet" and not cassoulet, in addition to the recipe's provenance. I didn't really follow the directions all that well, some of which was intentional and some not. I changed a few small things on purpose, like using rosemary instead of thyme, and leaving out the cayenne since I didn't have it, although I think that would have been a nice addition. And I didn't add quite the full four cups of cannellini beans--too beany!-- I reduced it by about a cup.

But I made one big mistake not on purpose which is why my dish turned out more like a soup: I added all the broth at once, because I misread the recipe. Turns out you're supposed to add it a little at a time, as needed. I just dumped it all in, and it never really reduced to the right consistency.

I also noticed a mistake just now that I didn't even realize I had made last night, which is that I forgot the bay leaves entirely. Oh, my. I was really out to lunch.

It looked and tasted pretty nice, though, definitely worth a repeat performance, but this time following the directions a bit better. It wasn't really cassoulet--more like pork chop soup, which, when I think about it, doesn't sound too bad either.

World's best cookies, plus a trip

2011-02-13T17:36:00.000-08:00

I suppose calling these the world's best cookies is a bit of an exaggeration. I mean, I have some other pretty good cookie recipes (like these, these, and these). But, for dramatic effect, I'm going to stick with my claim. I believe in the power of embellishment.

I actually made these a few weeks ago. In fact, I posted about them a long time ago, probably before any of you read this blog. But I didn't include the recipe. So I thought maybe I could squeak by with a repeat.

Plus, I haven't cooked that many new things recently to merit blog posts. We've been eating out a lot, hitting some of our favorite spots multiple times over the last few weeks (like Starbelly, Out the Door, and Nopalito). I guess right now, being out is a little more comforting than being in.

We've also been very busy, and shopping for groceries has taken a back seat. What we have we been doing? you ask. Well, planning a trip, my friends.

Toward the end of Frances's life, we were worried about taking an international trip and being far away in case something happened with her health. I'm sure any of you who are parents to either humans or animals might relate. No one can convince you that anyone could take as good care of your loved one as you. But now that things have changed, we are finally taking a long postponed trip to Europe: two weeks, split between Paris and Barcelona.

Since we're going in April, we've been scurrying to get things in order, like plane tickets and reservations and passports. It's been lots of fun. We're constantly buzzing about what we want to do, whether or not the amount we plan to walk will justify the amount we plan to eat, what to wear so that we don't stand out as tacky tourists, how quickly one of us can get a handle on some basic Catalan (this is largely in the husband's court as he knows Spanish. They're similar...right?). I can hardly wait to get there and unleash my terrible high school French on any number of horrified Parisians.

So if you have any recommendations on where to go or what to eat in either of those cities, please share them. We welcome any and all recommendations.

In the meantime, I give you (one of the) world's best cookie recipes. They really are the perfect chocolate chip cookie--sweet but not too, chewy, and packed with chocolate. And if you can bear to take a few extra minutes to follow the assembly instructions, you won't regret it. They produce the most attractive chocolate chip cookies I've ever seen.

Thick and Chewy Chocolate Chip Cookies
From Baking Illustrated

Makes about 18 large cookies.

2 c. plus 2 T. flour
1/2 t. baking soda
1/2 t. salt
12 T. unsalted butter, melted and cooled to warm
1 c. packed light or dark brown sugar
1/2 c. granulated sugar
1 large egg plus 1 egg yolk
2 t. vanilla extract
1-1/2 c. semisweet chocolate chips

Adjust the oven racks to the upper and lower-middle positions and heat the oven to 325. Line two large baking sheets with parchment paper or spray them with nonstick spray.

Whisk flour, baking soda, and salt together in a medium bowl and set aside.

Either by hand or with an electric mixer, mix the butter and sugars until thoroughly blended. Beat in the egg, yolk, and vanilla until combined. Add the dry ingredients and beat at low speed until just combined. Stir in the chips to taste.

Roll a scant 1/4 cup of the dough into a ball. Hold the dough ball with the fingertips of both hands and pull into two equal halves. Rotate the halves 90 degrees and, with jagged surfaces facing up, join the halves together at their base, again forming a single ball, being careful not to smooth the dough's uneven surface. Place the formed dough balls on the prepared baking sheets, jagged surface up, spacing them 2 1/2 inches apart.

Bake until the cookies are light golden brown and the outer edges start to harden yet the centers are still soft and puffy, 15-18 minutes, rotating the baking sheets from back to front and top to bottom halfway through. Cool the cookies on the sheets. Remove the cooled cookies from the baking sheets with a wide metal spatula.

A surprising salad

2011-02-02T07:31:00.000-08:00

A couple of weekends ago, the husband and I skipped town. We were reeling from the loss of our beloved Frances and hoped a change of scenery might provide a bit of peace.

Not in the mood to do a lot of research--we just wanted to leave--we settled on this ridiculously posh spot for our destination. While a jaw-dropping setting can't mend a broken heart, it certainly doesn't hurt. And 70 degree weather and sunshine wasn't bad either.

Half Moon Bay is less than an hour from the city but feels like a sandy, sleepy little beach town. The hotel itself is perched on the ocean and there are walking paths that lead around the golf course (which, surprisingly, is public), and down to the ocean. Both mornings we walked down to the beach and sat with our feet in the sand and the sun on our faces, admiring countless dogs frolicking in the surf, as healing an activity as anything.

Half Moon Bay's main street ("Main Street") is devoid of any chain stores and manages to feel charming without being cutesy. We spent an afternoon strolling around a bit aimlessly, not a bad thing to do, and about all we could manage. After awhile, we ended up at the locally famous Pasta Moon for lunch.

If there were a place like this in San Francisco, I would eat there once a week. Their homemade pasta was absolutely divine--the husband had a gorgeous lasagne and I had delicate pappardelle with prosciutto, wild mushrooms, porcini cream, and white truffle oil. It was all I could do not to lick the bowl.

Just as captivating, though, was my salad--a surprisingly delicious blend of roasted brussels sprouts, butternut squash, pancetta, baby cannellini beans, frisee and a vinaigrette with white balsamic vinegar.

I knew I wanted to make my own version of this delightful salad one day soon, and I tried it this week. I swapped watercress for frisee, and bacon for pancetta. And, I couldn't find baby cannellini beans, which I have to say were the perfect miniature addition to the dish. I did, however, cook cannellini beans from scratch, which I have never done before. Usually I open a can. They were good, but I'm not sure worth the effort.

But overall, the dish was a great success. Since we had been eating pretty heavily in the previous days, I served it as sort of a main course alongside creamy polenta. This is what it looked like.

I don't have a recipe, but the idea is: roast some brussels sprouts. Roast some butternut squash, which you've cut into small dice. Fry up some bacon or pancetta and at the end add a little minced garlic and the beans to warm them through. Toss everything with a green of your choice and a simple vinaigrette.

All of the proportions are up to you. At Pasta Moon, the brussels sprouts were the main attraction, with all of the other ingredients acting as careful accents. But you could tweak it any way you like. I do think the white balsamic, which I had never used before, added a lush and sweet flavor to the dish--also, being clear, it did not darken the salad.

So, give it a whirl.

I also wanted to say thank you for all of your kind comments about losing Frannie. It has been a very difficult few weeks but we are adjusting, slowly. We are already looking forward to adopting another dog (or two!) in the near future. But first, a trip. I'll write more about that as our plans take shape.

In any case, thank you. You've softened a rough blow, and I am grateful.

My Hungry Dog

2011-01-25T08:04:00.000-08:00

Frannie in Santa Cruz, May 2010

Last Thursday, we lost our sweet Frances. She would have been 15 today.

I'm not sure I can convey exactly how heartbroken the husband and I are. We are devastated, numb, anchorless.

I have been trying very hard to think of how wonderful her life was, from the moment I picked her out of a litter of wiggly chocolate lab puppies in March 1996. She was eight weeks old. I was 22 and had just lost my dad. I was looking for something good to focus on.

In a rare moment of life giving you exactly what you need at the right time, I found Frannie. She was happy, curious, sweet, and instantly loving, all the things a puppy should be. She was also highly destructive, chewing shoes and insoles, table corners, remote controls, and computer discs. She ate everything in sight and was unstoppable at the beach, at the park, anywhere she could fetch, run, chase, or swim. She was the friendliest dog on the planet, introducing me to countless people throughout our life together. She was also fiercely loyal and protective. She made me feel safe.

I loved these things that were part of her from the very beginning. But as she got older, I discovered all of the other lovely qualities she had that were even better. She was extremely sensitive, and when I was sad, she would come sit next to me and just stay there quietly. She was generous, welcoming other dogs into the house by dragging out her toys for them to play with, letting them lie on her bed and drink out of her water bowl.

Perhaps above all, she was brave. When she was diagnosed with cancer the first time, she went through surgery and chemo with her tail wagging. The staff at the vet's office were amazed by her resilient spirit and cheerful nature. When she had vestibular disease, extreme vertigo which can last for days, she stayed courageously in the hospital for several nights, and afterward put up with wearing a little harness so we could help her navigate slippery spots in the house. Toward the end, we carried her up and down the stairs, which she also put up with, grudgingly.

When the cancer returned in July 2009, when she was 13, we knew we couldn't put her through any more and we decided to all live exuberantly together for as long as she had left. We thought maybe a few months. A year and a half later, she was still going strong.

In fact, Frannie propelled through life full-force until the very end. She enjoyed every single day, going on walks, visiting friends, eating roast chicken and hamburgers. Over the last few months, I started to feel like a short-order cook, frying up a little burger in our cast iron pan every night and then breaking it over her kibble. She would stand very close to me, waiting impatiently, and then wolf down her dinner the way only a labrador can.

And, in spite of how absolutely broken I feel now, I know that she had a wonderful life, and I am proud that we played a part in it. Not because of the surgeries or medicine or all the chickens we roasted for her, but because of the attention we paid to her. Every day of her life, and in particular in the last four and a half years, we showed her we loved her, by petting her soft head, talking to her, taking her places, helping her when she needed it, and letting her do things on her own when she needed that too. If there is one thing I am proud of, it is that I did not squander one single day I had with her. And ultimately, all you have with those you love is time. You cannot save or stockpile days to cash in later; you begin with the clock running, and no matter how valid your reasons or good your intentions, you are losing every second you're not with them.

So I guess I feel grateful, not just to have been with her for so many years--nearly half my life--but that somehow my little pea brain grasped early on that every day was special.

I don't believe in heaven, but I do like to believe that Frannie's essence is still somewhere in the cosmos, leaving a trail of happiness wherever she goes. She certainly left an indelible mark on this world and on me.

Thank you to my mom, my sister, our dear friends Liz and Neal, Stephanie and Scott, Kami, Amy, Claire, all of the guys at the office--Martin, Randy, Michael, and Earl the hound dog, and everyone at Mission Pet Hospital, not only for making these last few days bearable with your kind words and gestures, but for making Frannie's life so happy. Mostly, thank you to Alby, who just may have loved Frannie as much as I did, and who got me through the worst day of my life. I love you all.

Good soup, fussy cook

2011-01-19T07:31:00.000-08:00

Now here's a nice little soup for y'all, to get you through the workaday week. Who couldn't use a comforting soup right about now? January always feels long to me. Sure, some of you just had a long weekend. But for those of us punching our own clock, Monday was a work day like plenty of others.

I'm feeling beaten down a bit by the routine, in spite of the fact that my routine is not routine, that it's a heck of a lot better than a lot of people's day-to-day. But I still have to work to survive, a concept I suspect I will struggle with until the day I exit this world, seeing as I will probably have to work until I drop dead.

While I find this rather depressing, it's reality. Meanwhile, the husband and I continue to daydream about our inevitable our move to Hawaii, where we will develop a taste for poi, shiver in weather that dips below 70, have dogs with unpronounceable Hawaiian names, and flaunt year-round tans. Please don't tell me that people have to work in Hawaii, or that sometimes they are unhappy: I will surely cry.

So, yeah. I need a vacation. Big time. For now, though, I can take comfort in simple dishes like this one, which was stress-free to put together and delicious to eat. Despite its pedestrian ingredients and rather dull name (sausage, chickpea, and potato soup), this was a hit. I shall certainly make it again, although next time I plan to add some kale or chard; it cried out for a bitter green, both in taste and appearance. Even without it, though, it did the job of soothing my fussy nerves and getting me through another day.

Chicken adobo

2011-01-14T08:12:00.000-08:00

In keeping with my non-resolution for the new year, I made something brand new this week, something I have been meaning to make for ages: chicken adobo.

I got the tip-off about this article in the Times from my cousin Joaquin a few days before I saw it in print. By the time that rolled around, I was already committed to making the recipe.

I've made soy sauce chicken dozens of times, which I always think of as similar to adobo--both have that winning sweet-salty combination. But adobo leans heavily on the vinegar. While it does mellow a bit through simmering, you can still taste a little sharpness. I like it.

One thing I left out of this recipe was the chilies. I actually meant to include them--at least one or two--but the store I went to only had big chilies, like anaheims. I actually bought one of these, shrugging to myself in the grocery aisle that what difference would it really make (a lot? none? who cares? I was feeling cavalier), but strangely, when I got home, the chili had escaped my grocery bag. Ran for its hot little life, I guess. So I made the adobo chili-free, which, I have to confess, was fine for me and the husband, as neither of us really goes for the hot food too much.

I loved this recipe. It ended up being a combination of soy sauce chicken and fire and smoke chicken, another favorite. It was my first time working with coconut milk, if you can believe it, and I was a little appalled opening the can. I had neglected to shake it and it stared up at me in a giant clumpy paste. But I turned it out into a bowl and whisked it up a bit which helped considerably.

Not only did I enjoy the flavors of this chicken (marinating for a few hours does wonders), but I have to say it beat my soy sauce chicken in the texture department. After you simmer the chicken for 30 minutes or so, you pull it out and broil it while reducing down the sauce. You may notice that I got a little distracted and let the skin get a bit darker than I might recommend. I forgot how rapidly the broiler can take something from crispy to burnt.

In any case, the chicken was delicious served with plain rice and stir-fried bok choy. The next night it was even better, though, in part because the flavors had further developed, and in part because I made fried rice with the remaining rice, and it's hard to beat any dinner that contains homemade fried rice. I'm sure you'll agree.

Auntie Al's apple cake

2011-01-09T11:13:00.000-08:00

This morning, I woke up thinking about apple cake.

It was one of those good wake-up moments, where various good things converged: I'd had a great night's sleep, after several restless ones. I could tell that it was sunny outside, a welcome change from the recent gray skies. And third, I knew we had no plans for today.

I popped up, leaving the husband to sleep in, stepped over the snoring dog, and tiptoed out to the kitchen. Got the coffee going and set about making my Aunt Alice's apple cake.

Auntie Al, as we all call her, is one of my dad's four sisters. She is in her 80s and lives across the bay from me. She is smart, sensible, and practical to the core. But underneath is a deeply loyal and loving heart. I know this because I have seen it many times in my life. As the husband might say, she has a soft and chewy center underneath her tough, no-nonsense shell.

Auntie Al has been through a great deal, health-wise, in the last few years. She has persevered and survived, almost as if she just set her mind to it and made it so. She and my Frances have something in common (although I would not tell her this for fear it might offend her to be compared to a dog), which is a relentless spirit. I find the quality incredibly admirable, in part because it's something I'm not sure I possess.

Recently, Auntie Al made a remarkable gesture to me. I was shocked by the overture, and both in the moment and in the days following have found myself experiencing the simultaneous swelling of happiness and sadness that great generosity sometimes elicits in me. I can't explain the feeling any better than that. Perhaps you know it.

In addition to being very generous, Auntie Al is also a excellent baker. Her apple cake is golden-crumbed, sweet, and cinnamony, with just the right amount of crunch to balance out the pillowy cake. It's a classic, and one you should definitely consider adding to your weekend brunch.

Auntie Al's apple cake

Originally from Sunset, 1986

For cake

2 c. flour

1 c. sugar

2 t. baking powder

1/4 t. salt

1 large egg

1 c. milk

2 T. vegetable oil

2 large apples, peeled, cored and thinly sliced (recipe calls for Golden Delicious, I had Galas on hand)

For topping

1 c. brown sugar

1 t. cinnamon

1/3 c. butter, melted

1/2 c. chopped walnuts (or whatever nut you prefer)

Preheat oven to 350. Butter and flour a 9x13 baking pan.

Whisk dry ingredients together in a large bowl.

In a smaller bowl, beat egg to blend, then whisk in milk and oil. Add to dry ingredients and stir until combined, but don't overmix. Spread batter evenly in pan. Arrange apples in rows on top of batter.

To make the topping, in a small bowl, stir together brown sugar, cinnamon, and butter; distribute evenly over apples. Sprinkle topping with nuts. Bake for 45 minutes, or until the cake begins to pull away from the sides of the pan and a skewer comes out clean. Let cool at least 10 minutes in pan before cutting. Serve warm or at room temperature.

Four cheese penne, and a year without resolutions

2011-01-04T07:55:00.000-08:00

I'm not one for resolutions, but that doesn't mean I don't set out to do things. To me, resolutions, at least the ones I've tried to make (do sit-ups, write a novel, learn a foreign language), start out as proclamations far too lofty to be achieved by someone like me. In addition to being lazy, I chafe against expectations. Saying I resolve to do something makes me feel anxious.

The things I really want to do I simply end up doing. The biggest decisions in my life so far-- adopting a puppy, shacking up with the husband (when he was the boyfriend) after a very brief courtship, getting married, starting my own business--have been easy for me. I guess I have a strong will, underneath my laziness.

Anyhow, that's all a digression from the point of this post which is to say, I have one thing I want to do this year which is to cook some new things. I am in a food rut, and there is no reason for it.

The rut became clear when I realized I hadn't posted in a little bit, in part because of the holidays, and in part because I haven't been cooking much. When I have cooked, it's been the same old suspects: roast chicken, simple pastas. I only had one new recipe to post about, something I made a few weeks ago, which was very delicious, but seemed kind of like a lot of other things I make: four cheese penne with wild mushrooms and thyme-scented breadcrumbs.

This was a recipe I got from the baking class I took last month; in addition to the sweets, we also enjoyed a savory lunch, including this pasta as well as a fennel and persimmon salad. I thought the pasta was divine and since I'm a mushroom fiend, I added even more mushrooms, an extra half pound on top of the original pound.

Admitting this now, it seems ridiculous. I'm not sure what got into me. But I remember eating the pasta during the class and thinking how wonderful it was and wouldn't it be even better with more mushrooms? Liz, my partner in crime for the day, agreed, as did the husband, when I ran the idea by him, so blame them for my madness.

Although the husband and I enjoyed the dish overall, my revised version left us each with a pile of mushrooms at the bottom of our bowls. So, too mushroomy. But don't let that dissuade you from the actual recipe, which was perfectly proportioned. I couldn't find one of the cheeses--Crescenza--but our teacher had warned us this might be tough to locate and mentioned Fontina would be a good substitute. The resulting pasta is creamy but not heavy or gooey--you would almost be surprised to learn that it contains four cheeses.

The breadcrumbs, of course, are what brings the dish home. Crunchy, golden, and infused with thyme--brilliant.

So hopefully this will be my last pasta recipe for a bit; I really do want to branch out. I won't resolve to do it, though, which just might increase the odds of it happening.

Four cheese penne with wild mushrooms and thyme-scented breadcrumbs

From Tante Marie

2 T. butter

2 T. olive oil

1 lb. mixed wild mushrooms, sliced

1/4 c. sliced shallots

1 T. minced fresh thyme leaves, divided in half

coarse salt and freshly ground pepper

1 lb penne or pennette

1/3 c. fresh breadcrumbs

1/2 c. mascarpone (4 oz)

1/4 c. Gorgonzola ( 2 oz)

1/4 c. Crescenza (2 oz) (can sub Fontina)

1/4 c. freshly grated Parmigiano-Regiano

Heat a large saucepan over medium heat. Add butter and 1 T. olive oil. When the butter has melted, add the mushrooms with a pinch of salt and cook, stirring occasionally, until they begin to soften, 6-8 minutes. Add the shallots and half the thyme and continue cooking until the mushrooms release their liquid and the liquid evaporates, 4-5 minutes more. Sprinkle the mixture with salt and pepper and set aside.

Meanwhile, bring a large pot of salted water to a boil. Cook the pasta until al dente, 8-10 minutes. Reserve 1 cup of pasta water, then drain the pasta.

In a small saute pan, heat the remaining olive oil over medium heat. When hot, add the breadcrumbs with a pinch of salt and pepper. When the breadcrumbs begin to lightly brown, stir in the remaining thyme. Remove the pan from the heat and set aside.

Add the pasta to the pan with the mushrooms and place the pan over medium-low heat. Add mascarpone, Gorgonzola, and Crescneza and stir until the cheeses begin to melt and coat the pasta, adding a bit of the reserved pasta water as needed if the mixture is dry.

Transfer the pasta to a warm serving dish and sprinkle with the breadcrumbs and grated Parmigiano. Serve immediately.

Profiteroles for the new year

2010-12-26T21:07:00.000-08:00

I don't know why I got it in my head that I wanted to make profiteroles for Christmas; they are in reality a dessert I have enjoyed with varying frequency. Sometimes they can be too soft, lending little to no contrast to the ice cream within. On the other hand, I find hard profiteroles to be the absolute worst: hacking away at a tough shell, and watching your perfect scoop of ice cream shoot out the side is beyond frustrating. I always feel like pastry chefs should know better than to send out a crunchy profiterole.

However, when done well, profiteroles can be delicious and very elegant. So I decided to give them a go.

First I was going to use the detailed recipe from Baking Illustrated. But then I found Ina Garten's recipe which seemed even easier, and the lazy side of me (which is rather dominant, you may have noticed), won out.

Well, friends, this is probably not news to you, but profiteroles are ridiculously easy. I'd made pate a choux dough before, for gougeres, so I knew that in theory it shouldn't be difficult. But what a relief to find that profiteroles are even simpler than gougeres--no grating of cheese or chopping of herbs. Just butter, milk, flour, salt, and eggs. The dough takes 10 minutes.

In lieu of a pastry bag I used a ziploc with the corner snipped off, and it worked just fine to pipe the dough onto my baking sheet. I ended up with 20 puffs of medium size; in the future I'm going to make them smaller, because I like miniatures. I suppose you could also make several humongous puffs the size of hamburger buns.

I served the profiteroles with coffee and vanilla ice cream and good chocolate sauce. Of course, you could go the extra mile and make your own ice cream and sauce, but I like to keep things simple around the holidays. Really, this is the ideal dessert for entertaining: simple, quick, tasty, and while they look impressive, they require no skill or special equipment. Plus, you can make them ahead of time. In short, I suggest you ring in the new year with a batch of homemade profiteroles.

Pierre Herme's salty chocolate sables

2010-12-19T10:08:00.000-08:00

This is most likely my last post before Christmas, and since I know you all are as busy as I am, I'll keep it short. These little beauties are another takeaway from my Tante Marie class, and boy are they a bestseller: buttery chocolate sables.

"Big deal, Hungry Dog," you're scoffing. "We can't throw a rock without hitting a buttery chocolate cookie this time of year. Next!"

I know. Me too. And no one thinks they need another cookie recipe. But these are different. They've got tons of bittersweet chocolate plus dark cocoa and brown sugar. And the piece de resistance--fleur de sel.

My rendition of these cookies did not turn out as nicely as the ones my classmate produced a few weeks ago. His were cut into the perfect thickness and held their shape while baking. Mine spread too much and did not look as fine and architectural as his.

The husband said, as he enjoyed a short stack of them, "Who cares what they look like?"

I suppose this is where the eater and baker diverge a bit; I actually do care what they look like. I suspect my cookies, once sliced, should have gone back in the fridge to re-chill before sliding the cookie sheets into the oven. Oh well, next time I'll know better.

In any event, they are delicious plain, or with coffee, tea, or wine. They'd be dynamite nestled alongside some good ice cream, or used for little sandwich cookies.

So no matter what you say, how much you protest, I am 100% certain you can find room in your repertoire for one more (very) good cookie.

Pierre Herme's Chocolate Sables
Makes about 3 dozen

1 1/4 c. flour
1/3 c. Dutch processed cocoa powder (unsweetened)
1/2 t. baking soda
1 stick plus 3 T. butter, room temperature
2/3 c. powdered sugar
1/4 c. brown sugar
1/2 t. fleur de sel (or 1/4 t. fine sea salt)
1 t. vanilla extract
5 oz. best quality bittersweet chocolate, chopped into small bits

Sift together flour, cocoa, and baking soda and set aside. Put the butter in the bowl of an electric mixer and beat with the paddle attachment until very soft and creamy. Add the sugars, salt, and vanilla and beat for another 1-2 minutes. Reduce the mixer speed to low and add the sifted dry ingredients. Mix only until the ingredients are just incorporated (it will look a bit crumbly). Work the dough as little as possible. Toss in the chocolate and mix to incorporate.

Turn the dough on to a smooth work surface and divide in half. Working with one half at a time, shape the dough into a log that is 1 1/2 inches in diameter (as you're shaping the log, flatten it once or twice and roll it up from one long side to the other, making sure you get all the air out of the center). Wrap the logs tightly in plastic wrap and chill the in the refrigerator for at least 1 hour. Logs, wrapped airtight, can also be frozen for up to one month.

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees and place the rack in the center. Line 2 baking sheets with parchment paper.

Working with a thin, sharp knife, slice rounds 1/2-inch thick from the logs. Turn the logs a quarter turn after each slice to keep the cookies round (or make the log square, like I did.) Place cookies on the prepared baking sheet, 1 inch apart. (If possible, refrigerate sliced cookies for another 15- 30 minutes to guard against spreading.) Bake 1 sheet at a time for 12 minutes. The cookies will not look done nor will they be firm but this is okay. Transfer the sheet to a rack and let the cookies rest on the sheet, about 10 minutes. Remove cookies from the sheet and let cool completely on a rack. Repeat with second sheet of cookies.

Caramel-dipped pecan shortbread

2010-12-14T08:07:00.000-08:00

A couple of weekends ago, my friend Lizzy (of the romesco sauce) and I took a baking class at Tante Marie. I've been obsessed with Tante Marie ever since I toured it five years ago when I was considering going to pastry school. While I decided against school, I've never been able to shake the feeling that spending multiple hours a day at this cozy little school would have been one of the best things in the world.

However, the life of the professional pastry chef is not for me. But that doesn't mean I can't take a class now and then.

We signed up for a Holiday Baking class, which promised that we would learn to make all kinds of delicious things, like layered chocolate peppermint cake and Thomas Keller's nutter butters.

The class was comprised of 14 people and for the actual baking we split off into pairs. Liz and I were in charge of gingerbread cupcakes with lemon cream cheese frosting, caramel-dipped shortbread, and a fennel and persimmon salad to be eaten as part of our savory lunch. When everything was done, we admired a spread of more than a dozen treats.

It was easy to pick out my favorites--Pierre Herme's chocolate sables with sea salt, which I will be posting about soon, and these gorgeous little shortbreads. In fact, these were the two kinds of cookies I chose to make for our family's annual baking day this past weekend.

The shortbreads are very simple to make, especially because our teacher told us not to bother rolling out the dough but instead to pinch it into pinkie-sized sticks. Easy peasy! This was also my first time making caramel, and why I was ever intimidated by it before I shall never know.

So if you're looking for a new holiday cookie, look no further. This one's a crowd pleaser.

Caramel-dipped pecan shortbread
From Tante Marie

Shortbread:
1 1/4 c. flour
1/2 c. butter, room temperature
1/2 c. pecans, toasted and ground
2/3 c. powdered sugar
1/2 t. salt

Caramel:
1/2 c. dark brown sugar
1/4 c. butter
2 T. heavy cream
pinch salt
1/4 c. powdered sugar
1 c. toasted ground pecans

For the cookies: In the bowl of an electric mixer, combine the flour, butter, pecans, powdered sugar, and salt. Mix until the dough just comes together when squeezed in your hand.

Shape the dough into a disk, wrap in plastic wrap, and refrigerate until firm, about 30 minutes.

Preheat the oven to 350 and set the racks in the top and bottom thirds of the oven.

Remove the dough from the refrigerator. Pinch off pieces of dough and roll to form little sticks about the size of your pinkie. Place the sticks on baking sheets, 1 inch apart from each other. Bake until barely golden, about 15 minutes, swapping the sheets on the oven racks halfway through. Place the baking sheets on racks to cool for 5 minutes, then take the cookies off the sheets and cool them completely on a rack.

For the caramel, combine the brown sugar and butter in a medium saucepan and bring the mixture to a boil. Let cook for 1 minute, then remove the pan from the heat. Stir in the cream, salt, and powdered sugar. Dip one end of each cookie into the caramel then immediately roll the caramel-covered end in the pecans. Transfer the cookies to waxed paper to let the caramel set.

Makes 3-4 dozen.

Flank steak with romesco sauce

2010-12-08T08:24:00.000-08:00

The husband and I, while we share many interests and affections, have one area in which we diverge drastically: the sauce.

No, not sauce as in booze. We're both on board with that, silly! I mean sauces I make to go with food--tomato, cream, cranberry, fig-port, and now romesco.

He likes sauce. But I love it. I'm often at risk of drowning my food in it, if it's one I'm particularly fond of. I wonder if this is a very American tendency; I imagine the French and Italians use sauce sparingly, as a purposeful accent. Me, I sometimes return to the kitchen for another spoonful.

Awhile ago, we had dinner at our friends' house. Liz and Neal live down the street from us, which makes for easy and last-minute organizing, and even the occasional mid-week dinner party. We had grilled steak with romesco sauce, salad, bread, and cauliflower. I went a little nuts for the sauce, putting it on the steak and everything else. Nobody seemed to think that was weird, but maybe they were just being polite.

Liz might laugh that I still remember the menu, which we enjoyed at least six months ago, but my brain is a steel trap for food. Ask me what I read in the newspaper this morning and I have no idea, but I can tell you what I ate for lunch last Wednesday (leftover leftovers).

Anyhow, after a bit of of badgering on my part, she kindly provided me with the recipe for the romesco sauce. Or rather, she sent me a list of ingredients along with the singular instruction: "Dump it all in a food processor and let her rip."

And so I did. Aside from toasting the nuts and sauteing the garlic, it couldn't have been faster. I even had some bread crumbs I'd made the day before. The sauce turned out nearly as good as when we had it at Liz and Neal's house, but a little runnier than I would prefer. As I was dumping the entire jar of roasted red peppers in the food processor, I mused pointlessly, I wonder if I should have drained these. Well, yes. That would have been better. But the sauce still turned out gorgeously and it's the kind of recipe you can fiddle with and fix with oil, salt, pepper, bread crumbs, and vinegar as you prefer. Just my type of thing.

I'm also fairly sure it will last a little while in the fridge. So far, I've only dipped some crackers in it, but I think it would be great on pork or chicken, or in place of mustard in a sandwich, with green beans, or simply on crostini, garnished with a crumble of goat cheese. The options are endless.

Liz's romesco sauce

(ingredients are approximations; revise to suit your taste)

1 14-oz can fire-roasted tomatoes
1 12-oz jar roasted red peppers, drained
3-4 cloves garlic, thinly sliced
1/4 c. olive oil
1/2 c. almonds, toasted and coarsely chopped
1/3 c. fresh bread crumbs
2-3 T sherry vinegar, or to taste
salt and pepper

Cook garlic in the olive oil until golden brown.

Dump all ingredients into a food processor and let her rip. Season to taste.

Penne with braised short ribs

2010-12-03T07:28:00.000-08:00

I thought when I started working for myself, back in May, that I would be spending a lot more time in the kitchen. I had visions of rolling out pie crusts in the middle of the day, braving puff pastry from scratch, and at least once a week filling the house with the smell of good, yeasty bread.

It hasn't panned out like that at all. While I still spend more time in the kitchen than probably many people do during the week, I've always done that. Even when I was working in an office full-time, it was not unusual for me to roast up a pork loin to serve atop creamy polenta and a bitter green on a Tuesday night. I like to be in the kitchen, so it rarely feels like a chore to me. Few things relax me more than cooking leisurely while listening to the radio and drinking a glass of wine, with the husband and the other hungry dog periodically wandering in to check on me. It's the perfect mix of being alone and not being alone.

But now I'm busier during the day, with less time to daydream about what to make for dinner. And since I am working harder, sometimes I actually feel a little tired out by the end of the day.

The one way in which my new schedule has changed my cooking is that now I am able to make things that take a long time during the week--provided they are largely unattended. The kalua pig is a great example of this. It took five minutes to put together, and four hours later, dinner was served.

Yesterday I decided to make Giada's penne with braised short ribs. I'd seen her make it on TV awhile ago and had not forgotten how delicious it looked. The browning of the ribs and chopping the onion and garlic took a total of about 20 minutes; then, into the oven it went for two and a half hours.

The pasta was rich and deep in flavor, a result from long cooking as well as the fattiness of the short ribs. The recipe is a total hit, one which I will definitely repeat, although I must warn you, this is not for the delicate eater. If you aren't that into meat, or are squeamish about fat, skip it. Unfortunately, neither of these things bother me, so I dug right in.

A little goes a long way--as the husband pointed out, it's basically pot roast over noodles--not exactly light fare. But I really enjoyed it, especially on a rainy night, with the heat turned up and a bottle of Cabernet alongside. As you might have predicted, Frances also had the opportunity to sample some of the short ribs and she too deemed the recipe a blazing success.

The only change I made was that it called for fresh Roma tomatoes, which are nowhere to be found in December, at least not good ones. So I used whole canned tomatoes, and threw in an extra one or two, which turned out just to my liking.

Turkey tetra-what?

2010-11-30T09:01:00.000-08:00

While America may be divided between red and blue, rich and poor, east coast v. west coast, there is one thing that has bound many of us in the last few days: Thanksgiving leftovers.

I'm a friend to the leftover (you know I am thrifty as all get-out), but Thanksgiving always seems to leave one with far too many to remain animated about. For one thing, you eat the best leftovers up first, in our case, the cauliflower gratin Stephanie brought, Claire's chocolate tart, and my mom's famous pumpkin chiffon pie. Then you good-naturedly devote yourself to the other items which were just as delicious but more plentiful so therefore less fought-over: the stuffing, the mashed potatoes, and the highly addictive cheese pennies and Earl dip. And then there's the turkey.

Every year I am reminded that I don't actually like turkey that much. It's vastly inferior in flavor to the plump little chickens I roast, requires special tools (thermometers, basters, cheesecloth!), and demands serious upper body strength to hoist it in and out of the oven.

But the turkey is the thing you always end up with too much of. And what to do?

Yes, sandwiches. But then what?

You learn exactly what from your parents. Growing up in our house, the end of the turkey, after the cranberries and gravy were gone, was turned either into jook or turkey tetrazzini, a choice that in itself is a good example of my dual heritage: Chinese and mid-western.

I like jook fine but am not wild about it. Truth be told, I have mixed memories of turkey tetrazzini too. I liked the flavor fine, but for some reason my parents always made it with spaghetti or linguine, which didn't sit right with me as a kid and still doesn't as an adult. I like baked pastas with short tubes or shells--much easier to eat.

I decided to make up my own recipe, with the goal that I wouldn't buy any new ingredients for the dish. This led to mixed results. I made a white sauce, but only had low-fat milk, and so it turned out a little runny, though with good flavor because I also used stock. I set it aside to see if it would set-up, which it did a bit, then tossed it with sauteed turkey, onions, sage, and spinach. Then the noodles, buttered breadcrumbs, and parmesan, and into the oven it went.

The finished product looked like this, which I dished up like a nice little housewife and served to the huz.

He nodded his approval although with the caveat, "It's good, but it doesn't taste like food we usually eat."

I knew what he meant. I haven't really ventured into the casserole genre, and this dish, as decent as it was, screamed casserole, with its faintly-dried out turkey lumps and pale creamy sauce that could have easily been cream-of-mushroom soup. Still, I sort of liked it. But the leftover turkey tetrazzini? I may have to draw the line at leftover leftovers.

Pork chops for three

2010-11-24T08:05:00.000-08:00

Yesterday I completed what I hope is the last of my Thanksgiving shopping. While we did the bulk of our shopping at a big (though locally-owned) grocery store, I decided to do the end of it at a couple of our old haunts in Noe Valley: Church Street Produce, and of course Drewes, my favorite butcher in town.

While it's a bit easier in some ways to shop at the Whole Foods-type places (after all, who wants to make five stops? well, sometimes I do), the husband and I try to stick to the trendy but also deeply-held belief we share that supporting local businesses is important. But of course it's not enough to just say it's important. If you want a place to survive, you have to buy things there. A lot.

With this in mind, although we no longer live in Noe Valley, we do make semi-frequent trips over there to shop at Church Street and Drewes. And we always order our turkey there.

I had arranged to pick ours up yesterday afternoon. The place was humming but not crammed, and there were coffee and warm pastries to distract me while I waited briefly for my number to be called.

Having shopped at Drewes for many years, we know many of the employees. They know us too and they always remember Frances. Everyone from Drewes is indelibly marked in her brain, of course, as each visit culminates in a hot dog or slice of roast beef for her.

This time Jerry waited on me. After a brief catch-up on his recent trip to Spain, he went to find my turkey and some other items on my list for the big day. Meanwhile, I mulled over dinner options for that night. I wanted something quick to make that would produce no leftovers. Refrigerator space is at a premium now.

I decided on pork chops.

"How many?" Jerry asked

"Three," I found myself saying, thinking of a certain someone who is very fond of pork chops.

I guess it's come to that. No longer does Frances "just" get a hamburger, or the scrappy bits of roast chicken. Now I'm literally shopping for dinner for three?

That night I threw together the chops, using a chicken recipe I wrote about here, with apples and sage. I finished the chops in the oven though, since they were double-cut and I figured that might work best for even cooking. While they roasted, I sauteed chard and carrots to form a little bed for the pork chops to sit on.

We ate them, drinking wine and watching something silly on the TV, while the other Hungry Dog gazed at me in anticipation with loving, shiny pork chop eyes. Moments like these, as mundane as they sound, make my heart sing.

This year, I am thankful for the husband, the dog, my family, my friends, my health, my warm home, my work, and that I have the luxury and freedom to enjoy them all, every single day. Happy Thanksgiving!

Thanksgiving test-run: stuffed mushrooms

2010-11-17T08:26:00.000-08:00

Like a lot of you, I've got Thanksgiving on the brain, 24-7. It's been that way for about a week or two, ever since we got the wonderful news that our L.A. friends, Claire and John, plus their two kids and one dog, will be joining us for the holiday. We've also got some other fabulous friends coming (and their dog) plus my mom, of course. So in a matter of a few days, our Thanksgiving went from a small, maybe-no-turkey affair to seven adults, two children, and three dogs.

I know some of you host much larger dinners, but for us, this is big. And exciting!

I've mentioned Claire before; she's an old friend. We've been through a lot together but these days are bound primarily by our shared ridiculous sense of humor and our mutual love of food. If there are better things to adhere a friendship, I can't imagine what they would be.

We've been having a grand time planning the menu. Appetizers have been a great topic of discussion. I originally asked Claire, who is from Texas, if she would make her famous cheese pennies, which she agreed to do, in two flavors (plain and smoked paprika). She then suggested another dish which I can't help but think of as uniquely Texan: pink onion Earl dip served with Fritos and gherkins.

"Or midget pickles," she mused thoughtfully as I stared at the phone in disbelief. I was still mentally digesting Fritos as part of a recipe. Midget pickles?

She's also making Cajun pecans, and something she keeps referring to as a Pickle Plate. My understanding is that this is not simply a plate of pickles, midget and otherwise, but various vegetables, pickled. It's actually a good idea to have something tart and briny next to the richness of sweet potatoes and gravy.

Lest you think I am simply pretending to host Thanksgiving while forcing my friend to cook everything, I am indeed going to cook a few things, though not a lot in the way of snacks. My meager contribution to the appetizer table is going to be stuffed mushrooms. I had the idea that this was something fun and festive and simple to make; plus they can be served at room temperature. After a little searching, I decided on this recipe from Ina Garten.

I tested it last night, subbing chicken-garlic-basil sausage for the pork sausage, since Claire and her family aren't huge meat eaters.

The mushooms turned out nearly perfect. I am definitely going to make these for Thanksgiving, only I won't stuff them as full as Ina suggests. It made them a little tough to eat. And, I may opt for smaller mushrooms. Although big ones are easier to work with on the front-end, little ones are better for eating.

I hope you all are having fun planning your Thanksgiving dinner. There's much to think about, even just when it comes to the turkey: Organic or free range? Stuffing or dressing? To brine or not to brine? However, in the midst of all the chaos, I think even the fussiest cooks are usually able to lighten up and appreciate the real centerpiece of the holiday: being together. And pie.

The Hungry Dog meets the Kalua Pig

2010-11-09T17:29:00.000-08:00

Ever since I made my Hawaiian plate lunch with macadamia nut chicken, I've been dreaming of other things that would be equally good sitting next to a couple of scoops of mac salad and sticky rice. There's always chicken adobo, similar to the simple soy sauce chicken I like to make, but what I decided on was the husband's favorite plate lunch: kalua pig.

Usually this involves a whole pig roasted in a pit for hours and hours. I have neither pit nor patience, so when I came across a simple, oven-based recipe that called for a mere four hours of roasting time, I knew my search was over.

It's so simple I'm not sure it really counts as cooking. There are three ingredients and only a handful of steps, which take a total of about five minutes. Then you stick the whole thing in the oven for four hours. Don't check it, don't turn it, don't baste it. Just roast it.

What you end up with is super tender, smoky pork that is easily shredded with a couple of forks. You can serve it plain, but me, I like it with cabbage, which is traditional. I happened to have a big head of Napa cabbage, which I cut up into chunks and cooked over low heat with garlic and ginger. I've seen other recipes where the pork ends up with a soy-based sauce, which you then cook the cabbage in. I like this idea, but I kept it old school. And it was downright delicious.

I'm completely in love with this recipe, and you will be too. Next up for the plate lunch: teriyaki ribs.

Kalua Pig
From Firehouse Food

1 boneless pork butt (about 4 lbs.)
2 T. liquid smoke
2 T. kosher salt

Adjust the oven rack to the center position and preheat the oven to 400.

Cut several slashes in the pork, about 1/2 inch deep and 1 1/2 inches long. Do not trim off the external fat. Brush the surface of the meat with the liquid smoke. Pat the salt evenly over the pork. Wrap the meat tightly in several layers of aluminum foil and put it in a heavy casserole dish or Dutch oven with a lid. Cover and bake for 4 hours.

Remove from the oven and carefully cut open the foil. The meat should be moist and falling apart. Allow it to cool slightly, then shred it with 2 forks.

Serves 6.

For the cabbage: Slice or chop coarsely a head of Napa or green cabbage. In a wok or wide frying pan, heat a few tablespoons of vegetable oil over medium heat. When hot, add two minced cloves of garlic and a few slices of ginger. Let sizzle briefly. Add the cabbage, sprinkle with salt, and toss to coat. Cook over medium-low until soft, about 20-30 minutes. Keep the heat low so cabbage gets soft, not crispy. Serve with pork.

Dorie Greenspan's Brown Sugar Bundt Cake

2010-11-04T07:23:00.000-07:00

Oh my. Where has the last week gone?

It's been a bit of a roller coaster, with unusual highs and lows, as well as all the normal bits of fun and dullness. There's been work, of course, a lovely evening of wine and pizza with good friends, stupid errands, vet and dentist appointments, Halloween, the election (sob!), and what was that other thing...

Oh yes, the World Series.

Now, as you know, I'm not a sports fan. But it's kind of a big deal when your hometown team makes it to the World Series--and then wins! Go Giants!

So the last week has been a bit of a blur--an orange and black blur, to be precise.

Yesterday I had a little time to catch my breath and in spite of the wacky warm weather we're enjoying (75 degrees in November?) I decided to bake a cake.

The recipe is originally from Dorie Greenspan, who I understand is beloved by all who bake. I have never made a Dorie Greenspan recipe, but her brown sugar cake had a number of things to recommend it: buttermilk, which makes everything wonderfully moist; brown sugar, of course (a whopping two cups!); and pears, of which I had a few languishing in the fruit basket. And the clincher: the recipe called for using my bundt pan, which I'm crazy about.

I did skip the prunes: why ruin a perfectly nice cake?

The cake was fragrant, delicious--and surprisingly not sugary. I had diced the pears very small so they practically melted into the batter. The cake would be fabulous with a simple icing or frosting (what wouldn't?) but I left it unadorned. So far, I have eaten it for dessert, breakfast, and an afternoon snack. It suited each of these occasions, and improved overnight. It traveled neatly with the husband to work, and its mild sweetness helped sooth my raw election wounds. What more could you ask for in a humble dessert? The country may be crumbling, but I've got cake.

Brown Sugar Bundt Cake
From Dorie Greenspan's Baking: From My Home to Yours

2 1/4 cups all purpose flour
1/2 cup ground hazelnuts or walnuts (or 1/4 cup more all purpose flour)
1 tsp baking powder
1/2 tsp baking soda
1/4 tsp salt
225 g / 8 oz unsalted butter, at room temperature
2 cups lightly packed light brown sugar
3 large eggs, at room temperature
1 1/2 tsp pure vanilla extract
1/4 tsp pure almond extract (only if you're using the ground nuts)
1 cup buttermilk, at room temperature
2 medium pears, peeled, cored and diced (or substitute apple)
1/2 cup prunes, cut into 1/4 inch pieces (or substitute 1/2 cup raisins)

Preheat the oven to 350F. Butter and flour a 9- to 10-inch Bundt pan.

In a medium bowl whisk together the flour, nuts (if using), baking powder, baking soda and salt.

Working with a stand mixer fitted with the paddle attachment, or in a large bowl with a hand mixer, beat the butter and sugar together at medium speed until light and fluffy, about 3 minutes. Add the eggs one at a time, beating for 1 minute after each addition. Beat in the vanilla and the almond extract (if using). Reduce the mixer speed to low and add the flour mixture and the buttermilk alternately - add the flour in 3 additions and the buttermilk in 2, beginning and ending with the dry ingredients. Mix only until the ingredients are incorporated and scrape down the bowl as needed. Turn off the mixer, and with a rubber spatula, stir in the pears and prunes. Scrape the batter into the pan and smooth the top.

Bake in the center of the oven for 60 to 65 minutes (mine was done in 53--check the cake early!), or until a thin knife inserted deep into the center of the cake comes out clean. If at any point the cake is browning too fast, cover the top loosely with a piece of foil. Transfer the cake to a rack and cool for 10 minutes before unmolding, then cool to room temperature on the rack. Finish the top of the cake with icing sugar or a simple brown sugar glaze.

Pumpkin apple streusel muffins

2010-10-27T19:14:00.000-07:00

Although both apples and pumpkin--canned, at least--are available year-round, I never use them as much the rest of the year as I do in the fall. In October, I start getting a hankering for pumpkin bread and apple crisps. There are other things, too--I've been dreaming of this upside-down pear cake since last November (though I'll have to be sneaky, since the husband doesn't like maple--what's wrong with him?) and this gorgeous applesauce cake. All of these recipes have the sultriness of autumn: cinnamon, cloves, nutmeg. If summer can be summed up in a perfect juicy tomato, I'd argue that the essence of fall can be found in a rich, dark gingerbread, full of molasses and spice.

Coming in at close second are these pumpkin apple streusel muffins I made last Sunday. Not only was the day hopelessly grey, but a light, steady rain drizzled from start to finish. It was the kind of morning that needs a cozy, homey breakfast, preferably something with a little sweetness to balance out the dreary world outside.

I found the recipe for these pumpkin apple streusel muffins and decided they looked just right--with a few adjustments, of course! Since I did not have pumpkin pie spice, I substituted cinnamon, ginger, cloves, and nutmeg. I also skipped the raisins, because I think raisins both look and taste hideous, and I shortened the baking time to 27 minutes. Also, I would consider using a different streusel topping. This one was fine, but melted a bit into the muffin. I prefer a distinct crumbly topping. Ina Garten has a great recipe for blueberry streusel muffins from which I'll steal the streusel next time.

The muffins were a hit with the husband and other hungry dog, who has developed a strong preference for baked goods. It's become apparent that coaxing her to eat dog food is pointless; we have accepted that she will live the rest of her days feasting on roast chicken, plain hamburgers, muffins, and snack cake. She eats like a toddler. It's a terrible model for dog-raising, I know. But when your pup is on the verge of turning 15 and has survived two bouts of cancer, you do what keeps a spring in her step and hope that someday, when you, too, are old and and must rely on someone to balance being kind with what is best for you, they will do the same.

Roasted chicken with bacon, figs, almonds, and thyme

2010-10-22T08:40:00.000-07:00

Some of my best ideas I've stolen from other people.

Take this chicken I made the other night. I cobbled together two recipes other people made up, added a few of my own twists--and ta da! a Hungry Dog classic enters the repertoire. Cribbed, but a classic.

Like so many dinners, this one emerged out of necessity, and leftovers. I had some chicken to use. I also had a few random figs lying around, some thyme, and a couple slices of bacon. It didn't take long for my pea brain to realize these ingredients could be dynamite together, especially since they reminded me of two other recipes I'd recently made.

Here's the source material: there's this recipe--a classic I've been making for years, which provided me with the method. And then there was a recipe I made a few weeks ago from Melissa Clark's new book, for chicken roasted with figs and bacon, which I mostly liked but didn't love. (I do, however, love the book, and recommend you check it out.) I decided to combine the cooking method of the first recipe with some of the ingredients of the second, throw in some thyme and sliced almonds and see what happened.

What happened was delicious. Bacon, figs, honey, and almonds are a divine combination, almost dessert-like, except for the bacon. Although, who am I kidding? I wouldn't run from a bacon dessert. Anyhow, I'd really like you to try this one--I think you'll like it--but you'll have to do it fast as figs won't be in season much longer. Feel free to add your own twist and say you invented the whole thing--who am I to judge?

Roasted chicken with bacon, figs, almonds, and thyme

2 chicken breasts, boneless but with skin
2 T. olive oil
1 T. honey
2 cloves garlic, thinly sliced
4 figs, quartered
2 slices bacon, chopped
2 sprigs thyme
2 T. sliced almonds
salt and pepper

Preheat oven to 425.

While the oven is heating, turn the chicken breasts skin-side down, drizzle half the honey over them and season with salt and pepper.

When the oven is hot, place the garlic slices in a shallow baking pan that can later accommodate the chicken and toss with 1 T. olive oil. Roast until the garlic just begins to sizzle, about 5 minutes.

Remove pan from oven, push the garlic to the sides, add the chicken, skin side up, and drizzle with remaining honey, salt, and pepper. Scatter bacon, figs, and thyme in pan, and drizzle last tablespoon of olive over the top. Return to oven and roast for 15 minutes.

After 15 minutes, scatter sliced almonds over the top and return to oven for 10 more minutes.

Serve with mashed potatoes or polenta.

Serves 2.

Raspberry almond snack cakes

2010-10-18T18:48:00.000-07:00

What's the difference between a muffin and a cupcake? Sugar content? Delicacy of crumb? The time of day you enjoy it?

Compelling arguments can be made for each of those points, but I say a cupcake absolutely must have frosting, icing, or, in a pinch, a little glaze dribbled on top. Without any such enhancement, a small, individually-wrapped, even rather sweet baked good might be able to squeak by calling itself a muffin. It could absolutely call itself a snack cake, and snack cakes can be eaten whenever, wherever.

That was my reasoning behind these raspberry almond snack cakes I made recently, when I was looking for something to make for breakfast using some raspberries I had on hand. I was originally thinking about raspberry muffins, but when I found this recipe for Raspberry-Yogurt Cake, I thought with a few adjustments, it could make charming little snack cakes. That way I could get away with eating them in the morning.

So I halved the recipe and dropped the batter into the tins. The cakes seemed to need some kind of dressing up, and since I had already decided to skip the glaze, instead I sprinkled some sliced almonds on each one. Into the hot box they went.

Small things are cute, aren't they?

In addition to being cute, they were soft, delicious, and super moist, perfumed with almond extract and dotted with sweet-tart raspberries. The almonds added a perfect crunch.

So what makes a snack cake a snack cake, and not a muffin or a cupcake? According to me, it should be sweeter than a muffin, but you must be able to consume it without lamenting its lack of frosting. It should be simple to throw together--nothing requiring layers or sifting--but slightly more refined than the plain old muffin. And, perhaps most importantly, you must be able to be eat it any time of day: in the morning with coffee, after dinner as a humble dessert, or in the middle of the afternoon, when no one is around to see you eat one, or two.

And the winner is...

2010-10-11T08:14:00.000-07:00

Simran, who said her go-to quick dinner was Curried Chicken Drumsticks with Carrots--which I am totally going to make. I especially like the lime zest and juice to brighten up the rice.

Congratulations, Simran--don't forget to send me your email address, so I can get you the prize info. And thanks to everyone else for playing!

Cowboy cookies

2010-10-08T08:13:00.000-07:00

Next time I'm in New York, I would really like to go to this bakery.

My obsession started a few weeks ago when I received a copy of the new cookbook from the guys behind Baked, Matt Lewis and Renato Poliafito. Once the book arrived, I disappeared. I poured over every page. I pictured myself making every recipe. Salt 'n' Pepper Sandwich Cookies. Orange Creamsicle Tart. And the piece de resistance: Burnt Sugar Bundt Cake with Caramel Rum Frosting. I'd like to bake myself right into that cake and eat my way out.

The husband would wave his hand in front of my eyes, looking for signs of life. Then he gave up when he realized he could watch baseball without me trying to change the channel. I was focused, but oblivious.

I decided to start small, with the humble Cowboy Cookie. They sound a little junky but I figured everything would work in harmony. They have chocolate. And pretzels. And brown sugar, coffee, oats, and vanilla. The only thing they don't have that I think could make them even more crazy-good would be toffee. But then, I'm a toffee fiend.

The day I planned to make the cookies, I got all the ingredients ready. I whisked the dry ingredients; creamed the butter with the sugars; blended in the egg and vanilla, the chocolate and pretzels.

"Cowboy cookies coming up shortly!" I shouted to the husband, who was blissfully watching a game, having decided I was a lost cause, and to the other hungry dog, who sniffed the air approvingly.

Then I noticed this sly line: Cover the bowl tightly and refrigerate the dough for at least four hours.

Come on, now! Don't sneak game changers into recipes like that. When I make a drop cookie, I expect to eat it within 20 minutes. I like burning my mouth on chocolate chips.

I figured that chilling the dough was an important step, though, and I decided to play by the rules.

Unfortunately, because of the way the day worked out, it was a full 24 hours before I got around to baking these little buggers.

The wait was worth it, though. The cookies are sweet, salty, soft and chewy, with a little crunch. I think chilling the dough for that long softened the pretzels too much--it would have been better to bake them earlier. In any case, the cookies were awesome. I suggest you wrangle some up for yourselves. May as well buy the book while you're at it.

Cowboy cookies

From Baked Explorations

1 3/4 c. flour

1 t. baking soda

1 t. baking powder

1/2 t. salt

2 c. rolled oats

14 T. unsalted butter, cool but not cold, cut into 1-inch cubes**

3/4 c. granulated sugar

1 c. firmly-packed dark brown sugar

1 large egg

1 large egg yolk

1 t. vanilla extract

1 t. espresso powder

2 c. semisweet chocolate chunks (about 12 oz)

3/4 c. thin salty pretzels (about 1 1/2 oz), broken into tiny pieces but not crushed into dust

**About the "cool but not cold butter," the authors recommend removing the butter from the refrigerator, cutting it up in cubes, and using it within 15-20 minutes.

In a medium bowl, whisk together the flour, baking soda, baking powder, and salt. Add the oats and stir to combine.

In the bowl of a standing mixer fitted with the paddle attachment, beat the butter and sugars together until smooth and creamy. Add the egg and egg yolk, beating until the mixture looks light and fluffy. Scrape down the sides and bottom of the bowl, add the vanilla, and beat for 5 seconds. Dissolve the espresso powder in 1/4 c. hot water and add it to the bowl, mixing until combined.

Add half of the dry ingredients and mix for 15 seconds. Add the remaining dry ingredients and beat until just incorporated. Scrape down the sides and bottom of the bowl and fold in the chocolate chunks and 1/2 c. of the pretzel pieces.

Cover the bowl tightly and refrigerate the dough for at least 4 hours.

Preheat the oven to 350. Line two baking sheets with parchment paper.

Use a small ice cream scoop with a release mechanism to scoop out dough in 2-tablespoon-size balls (or use a tablespoon measure, which is what I did) and place the dough balls onto the prepared baking sheet about 1 inch apart. Sprinkle the remaining pretzel pieces over the dough balls. Use the palm of your hand to press the dough down lightly; don't smash the cookie--you just want to slightly flatten the ball and push the pretzel pieces into the dough.

Bake for 11-13 minutes, rotating the pans halfway through the baking time, until the edges of the cookies are golden brown or just start to darken.

Set the pan on a wire rack for 10 minutes to cool. Use a spatula to transfer the cookies to the rack to cool completely. They can be stored in an airtight container for up to 3 days.

Makes about 36 cookies.

Roasted salmon on a heap of veggies and, oh yes, another giveaway

2010-10-03T17:20:00.000-07:00

The funny thing about these giveaways is that you often have an odd phrase to work with. The point is to drive traffic to the sponsoring website, of course, and I'm sure they have a calculated way of determining what the magic words are. But it takes a little effort to gracefully work in something about floor lamps or organic cotton comforters or upholstered dining chairs.

Hm, like how I did that? I'm not sure what CSN will say about that one. This just might be my last giveaway. But I hope not, because I think they're fun to do, plus I think you guys like them. I mean, free stuff? And CSN owns a bunch of websites, including cookware.com. Tell me you couldn't find something there to spend some of your not hard-earned dollars on!

Since I like to make you work a little bit for it, to enter to win a $65 gift certificate to any of CSN's websites, tell me what your go-to, speedy dinner is. And don't say something like a bowl of cereal and a martini. I mean real food, that you cook, that takes little time but satisfies in a big way.

Mine is roasted salmon on a heap of vegetables.

Here's my method:

Heat oven to 425. In a small oven-proof frying pan, heat a little canola oil. Salt and pepper a fillet of salmon. Place skin-side down and let cook for 2-3 minutes. Transfer to the oven and cook until your liking--for me, about 4-5 minutes, for the husband, about 7-8.

While the salmon is roasting, heat some olive oil in another pan over medium-high heat. Add a smashed clove of garlic and let sizzle. Quickly rinse and tear up some leafy greens, preferably some that wilt rapidly, like swiss chard or spinach. But you can use any vegetables you like, as long as they cook fast. Snap peas work nicely, as does does zucchini. If you have a carrot, skip the peeling, chop it up, and toss it in, just for variety. Everything will be done by the time your salmon is ready. Place the fish artfully over the heap of veggies, pour yourself a large wine, and enjoy.

Deadline is Friday, October 8, with the winner announced Monday the 11th.

The Hungry Dog's Hawaiian plate lunch

2010-09-29T12:22:00.000-07:00

Anyone who's been to Hawaii probably knows about the plate lunch, which, in my mind, is as iconic and ubiquitous there as the beautiful plumeria flower. When you spend the day in and out of the ocean, breathing good, salty air, you work up an appetite quickly. The plate lunch is the perfect solution to your growling stomach.

The plate lunch generally consists of some kind of meat (chicken adobo, kalua pork, teriyaki ribs), along with two scoops of starch: one of fat-grained, sticky rice and one of creamy, cool, mayonnaise-laden macaroni salad.

If you are wondering where the vegetables are, they're not, save for the soft, wilty cabbage that sometimes comes with the kalua pork.

While eating this kind of stick-to-your-ribs food makes no sense at all when you are running around in a bathing suit, you can't help but eat it anyway, because it's so damn good, and as we all know, vacation is a time for decadence, not diets.

For many years, our favorite place to get a plate lunch was Hanalei Mixed Plate, a takeout joint on the North Shore of Kauai, my favorite place on earth. While sadly this place crumbled along with so many other local businesses during the economic downturn, the husband and I are fortunate to have spent many a day perched on the beat-up stools in front of the Mixed Plate takeout window, sandy and damp from the beach, eating the Hawaiian version of comfort food on paper plates with plastic forks. Heaven, I tell you.

With our recent heatwave, I got the idea of making some Hawaiian food. I decided to make macadamia nut chicken, a recipe I had long admired in Sam Choy's Island Flavors cookbook.

It's very simple. Marinate the chicken in a sweet-salty, soy-based blend for an hour, then bread it in crushed macadamia nuts and bread crumbs and pan-fry. The chicken is supposed to go with a tropical marmalade, which sounds dynamite, but I didn't have the ingredients on hand.

I made the mistake of using chicken breasts that were too fat, so they took much longer than the eight minutes the recipe indicated. If you make this, and I hope you do, either get thinner breasts or pound them a little. I might go for boneless, skinless chicken thighs next time.

In spite of having to cook the chicken for nearly 25 minutes (you have to keep the heat at medium so as not to burn the coating)--every piece turned out perfectly, thanks to the marinade. Hey, chicken, let's lean in for your close-up so I can show off how moist and juice you were.

I threw together a mango-ginger salsa to go with the chicken and blew the husband's mind with his favorite Hawaiian dish, a traditional mac salad.

There was also the requisite scoop o' rice and some stir-fried boy choy, which got largely forgotten in our hot, happy, eating frenzy.

The next day, I opted for a cold plate lunch, just chicken with salsa and a mound of mac salad. Although it was no substitute for being in Kauai, it certainly was delicious.

Macadamia Nut Chicken with Tropical Marmalade
From Sam Choy's Island Flavors

6 boneless, skinless chicken breast halves
Chicken Barbecue Marinade (below)
1 cup macadamia nuts, finely chopped
3/4 c. fine dry bread crumbs
1/2 c. all-purpose flour
3 eggs, lightly beaten
2 T. oil
1 T. butter

Marinate the chicken in Chicken Barbecue Marinade for 1 hour, turning occasionally. Remove the chicken, and allow to drain.

Combine the macadamia nuts and bread crumbs. Dredge the chicken in flour, dip in beaten eggs, and coat with the macadamia nut mixture.

In a heavy skillet, heat the oil and butter over medium heat. Saute the chicken for about 6-8 minutes, turning once. Add a little oil if necessary, since the nuts may absorb oil. Serve with tropical mamalade (or mango salsa).

Chicken Barbecue Marinade
(makes about 3/4 cup)

1/2 c. soy sauce
1 1/2 T. brown sugar
1 T. mirin
1 T. olive oil
1 t. minced fresh garlic
1 t. peeled and minced fresh ginger

Combine all ingredients.

Tropical Marmalade*
(makes about 1 cup)

2 c. diced fresh pineapple
1 c. diced fresh papaya
1/2 c. gooseberries (ground cherries) (optional)
6 T. sugar, or to taste
Fresh mint or spearmint, chopped
1/8 t. prepared horseradish or to taste (optional)

In a saucepan, combine all ingredients except the mint. Bring to a boil, then simmer--stirring every 5 minutes to avoid scorching-- for 1 hour or until the mixture reaches jam consistency. Cool. Last, fold in the fresh mint to taste. Horseradish may be added if desired.

* As noted above, I did not make this, but I plan to!

Nectarine golden cake

2010-09-24T08:16:00.000-07:00

The first thing I wrote about on this blog was how I am the progeny of packrats. My dad isn't around to dispute this, although I doubt he would -- he was the man who saved nearly everything either out of frugality (busted appliances he swore he would fix); superstition (a jar of dried wishbones); or the idea that he would someday use whatever it was in his art (leftover wood to fashion a little creature; plastic toys to turn into jewelry. This is no joke; my sister and I each own a necklace with a tiny Barbie hanger cast into silver. Hers has a silver Barbie shoe dangling from it, of which I was, and still am, fiercely jealous.)

My mom's a packrat, too. She can comment on that if she wants--she's still alive and kicking (and saving stuff), but I doubt she'll dispute it beyond saying she has a "system." Whatever. To each her own.

Me, I do not like to save things.

Weird, right? Based on this blog, you'd think I am a very nostalgic person, constantly looking back to my childhood, holding on to bits and scraps for posterity. There's a little truth in that. But, I don't care so much about things, unless someone made them for me. So chances are, if you've given me a birthday card, unless you drew it by hand, it stuck around for a few days, max. I give away books I'm done with, clothing I don't wear. And--this one is probably going to be a little controversial -- I don't save photos. I mean, I save some. But not many.

The husband is like me in this regard and we help each other in moments of weakness. When one of us pauses over a particular thing-- a holiday card featuring a friend's baby wearing reindeer ears--and murmurs uncertainly, "Should I save this?" the other immediately replies with a stony glare, "Forever?"

That's the thing. Are you going to keep everything you ever acquire forever? If not, why not get rid of it now, if you're done with it?

Frequently, the husband and I go through our place and purge. Lest you think we are total jerks, we make every effort to recycle or donate stuff and minimize our (immediate) impact on the landfill. Last weekend, I got around to a giant stack of Gourmets. My goal was save a few and recycle the rest.

In addition to streamlining (although, has anyone reading this who has been to our house wondered why it's not tidier, if we so resent clutter?), I also came across numerous recipes I wanted to make.

Here is the first one: nectarine golden cake.

This recipe was good but not a knockout. Just a basic cake really, and I think sprinkling the nutmeg over the top was a weird touch. So, what are you gonna do with a mediocre recipe?

In my house, recycle it.

Caldo de Res

2010-09-19T10:11:00.000-07:00

I think I've got my cooking and blogging mojo back, thanks to you all, who left such wonderful comments after my last post. I suppose I'm not alone in wanting to be missed, and in garnering momentum from the enthusiasm of others. After all, who writes a blog and doesn't hope it will be read by someone else, maybe even someone on the other side of the world?

This week I've been combing through my cookbooks and old issues of Gourmet (more on that in my next post), looking for new ideas. One of my favorite cookbooks is Firehouse Food. I've posted about numerous recipes I've made from this simple paperback, including chile verde, beef barley soup, and tortilla soup, all excellent additions to anyone's repertoire. And a few days ago, I made caldo de res.

Although I've flipped through this book dozens of times, I never noticed this recipe before. Perhaps because I don't speak Spanish, and had no idea what res meant. It turns out it means beast or animal.

A quick skim of the ingredients and method confirmed that this hearty peasant soup was right up my alley. When I chatted with the husband over gmail later, eventually the conversation turned to dinner (naturally).

WFD? he wrote, our shorthand for What's for dinner?

I considered my phrasing. Animal soup sounded strange, and unnecessarily vague. Beast soup sounded downright scary.

Mexican soup, I wrote.

Surprisingly, that elicited no further questions from the husband, who seemed disinterested in what the primary ingredients of said Mexican soup might be, if it was going to be spicy, or if we would eat bread or tortillas with it, all things I might have asked.

Sounds good, he wrote. And that was that.

The soup was exactly the kind of thing I like to make when I have a few hours to cook but am not in the mood to make multiple dishes or spend a lot of time over the stove. You begin by browning the beast (in this case, beef chuck) in a big pot. Then you chop up some aromatics and throw those in, along with some broth and tomatoes. Put the lid ajar and simmer for an hour and a half. Then add some vegetables and simmer some more. Finally, serve with warmed tortillas and garnish with limes, chopped onion, or cilantro. Next time I'll add a little avocado on top.

I made a few changes to the recipe, although I've copied the recipe below pretty much as printed in the book so you can decide for yourself what to do. For one thing, I used four cups of beef broth and two cups of water. I'm not a fan of store-bought beef broth--I feel it can be a bit strong-- but I do think it deepens the flavor of whatever you're making. Second, I cut the corn kernels off the cob and added them with the cabbage toward the end. The idea of big hunks of corn cob floating around in my soup bowl put me off and it was guaranteed the husband wasn't going to dig it. And third, I had to add a little more water as it was cooking as it was getting too thick.

The soup turned out absolutely delicious--somewhere between a soup and a stew, full of bright color and flavor. We ate it in white bowls with big wedges of lime.

If you don't eat red meat, or are simply looking for a variation, the authors suggest substituting chicken broth and boneless, skinless chicken thighs. In this case, call it Caldo de Pollo.

Caldo de Res
From Firehouse Food

Serves 6.

2 T. vegetable oil
2 1/2 lbs. beef chuck steak, cut into 1/2" cubes
1 medium white onion, diced
3 cloves garlic, chopped
1 can (14.5 oz) diced tomatoes
6 c. beef broth
1 bay leaf
1 T. dried Mexican oregano
1 lb. red potatoes, diced
1 carrot, peeled and diced
2 ears corn, shucked and cut into 1-inch-thick rounds
1 zucchini, cut into thick matchsticks, 1 inch long
1/2 head green cabbage, cored and thinly sliced
1/2 c. chopped cilantro
salt and freshly ground pepper

Accompaniments: finely diced white onion, cilantro sprigs, wedges of lime, warm tortillas

Heat the oil in a large, heavy pot over medium-high heat; add the meat and brown on all sides, about 5 minutes (I did this in several batches so as not to overcrowd the pan). Add the onion and garlic and cook for 3 minutes. Add the tomatoes, broth, bay leaf, and oregano. Bring to a boil and reduce the heat to a simmer. Cook for 1 1/2 hours, partially covered.

Stir in the potatoes, carrot, and corn; continue to cook for 30 minutes. Add the zucchini, cabbage, and cilantro; cook for 15 minutes. Discard the bay leaf and season to taste with salt and pepper. Ladle the soup into warm bowls and pass the accompaniments at the table.

I want to move to Los Angeles

2010-09-15T16:19:00.000-07:00

Oh, hey there.

In case you hadn't noticed, it's been a little quiet around here recently. Part of the reason is that we were gone all last week, living in the 'burbs at my mom's place while the windows in our flat were replaced. Although both the husband and I worked the whole time, I took a bit of a cooking and blogging vacation.

Then, last Friday I went to Los Angeles. I think you know of my affinity for L.A. It has not subsided. In fact, I think I'd like to move there. So, if you know of anyone down there looking to hire someone with very few talents but a winning personality, send them my way. While I may lack actual marketable "skills," I have a strong affinity for animals (and they for me), I am surprisingly good at crossword puzzles, and I do possess a college degree, if that means anything these days.

While in L.A., I spent my time in beautiful, beachy Venice with my lovely friends Claire and John. You know how there are friends that you enjoy seeing, but you don't mind if you only see them once in a long while. And then there are friends--and it always works like this--that you are pretty sure you could see all the time, but they live far away. These are that kind of friends. I wish we lived next door to each other. Although, Claire and I would get nothing done but talk about and eat food all day long. She's from Texas and a very good cook. I credit her for introducing me to creamy grits and cheese pennies.

Anyway, I'm back in San Francisco where it's cold and people are peevish about it, including me. In addition to being fussy, I've had a whole pile of work to get to. So, I haven't cooked or baked anything of note since I returned. When I'm busy, I rely on old faithful recipes--roast chicken and pasta with broccoli rabe--to get me through the week.

I was starting to wonder if I was ever going to post again, or if by the time I did, anyone would even be checking this old thing. So, in a last ditch effort to retain my readership, I've got a cute salad to post about that I made a couple of weeks ago.

I know, salad is boring--sometimes to eat, nearly always to read about. I can't guarantee that this is any different in regard to the latter. But what is indisputable is that this was a very delicious salad.

One thing I've decided is that often I prefer lettuceless salads, and this is one such salad. It was thrown together right around when we were leaving for our week away, and I wanted to use up a few things. This included cherry tomatoes, some roasted asparagus, raw fennel, and an avocado. Would you believe me if I told you this was a heavenly combination when tossed with a light vinaigrette? Well, it's true.

Anyway, please come back again soon. I promise to post something much more bloggy--a good cake or something with porchetta--next.

A delicious pasta, by way of a good friend

2010-09-02T08:26:00.000-07:00

My friend Stacie and her husband used to live in the flat upstairs. In many ways, it was an ideal arrangement: for one thing, they own the building, and so not only were they able to rent to friends, we had our landlords nearby in case of the inevitable homestead crisis.

Second, and more importantly, we got to enjoy that kind of perfect friendship that is easiest when you live in a city, in close quarters. We could, on a whim, walk down to Cole Street and grab sushi; share the overflow from baking projects; or have an impromptu glass of wine on a weeknight. Plus, Stacie and I have known each other since we were born. Our dads were friends since they themselves were young, so we grew up together. It was like having family around.

Sometimes I would encounter her in the evenings, around 9 or 10, on the back stairs as I made my way out to the recycling bin or to get the last of the laundry. Usually I would have just put away a sizeable dinner, a glass or two of wine, and was headed for bed after hoisting myself weakly off the couch.

"What are you up to?" I'd say, knowing the answer would make me feel more like a lump than ever.

"Oh, just working on a few projects," she'd reply casually. Painting something for her little dollhouse, or sewing a purse out of cool fabric scraps that I would eventually covet.

It's doesn't seem fair that some people get piles of talent on top of mountains of motivation, does it?

A couple of years ago, Stacie and her husband moved to a bigger house, on account of having a kid and needing more space. I like to think that this decision was difficult for them, that they knew they would miss our perfect, symbiotic living arrangement, two couples connected by a rickety staircase and almost four decades of friendship.

I'm pretty certain this isn't true, though, and I can't blame them. They found a great place not too far from here, and a few weeks ago, they threw a wonderful party. In addition to a magazine-worthy array of roast chicken sandwiches, risotto, and tomato salad, there was a heaping bowl of gorgeous creamy pasta, full of butternut squash and flecked with basil, of which I proceeded to eat many, many helpings.

As I threw down on my second or third bowl, it occurred to me that this recipe seemed familiar, although I was sure I'd never eaten it before. I then realized I'd come across it a few months earlier on Stacie's blog that she writes with her friend Simran. (And in case you're wondering, yes, Stacie is responsible for the groovy drawings on the site.)

She'd written this post about a delightful penne with roasted butternut squash and creamy goat cheese, courtesy of Giada de Laurentiis. The recipe floated around in my brain for awhile, but like so many, got lost in the shuffle.

I finally got around to making it this week. And I am happy to say, it did not disappoint.

I'm a little bothered that I didn't think of this combination myself, because it's really fantastic. The squash and onions get roasty and sweet; the goat cheese tangy; the walnuts crunchy; the basil bright and licoricey.

So, thanks, Stace, for doing not only doing a test-run of this recipe, but letting me sample it first. I suppose I should thank Giada, too. In any case, I highly recommend the pasta. It takes a little time for the squash to roast, but otherwise is extremely simple. I suggest you give it a go, and invite a good friend over to enjoy it together.

Apricot walnut bars, and a houseguest

2010-08-28T21:56:00.000-07:00

Did you forget about me, friends?

There's been lots of work to do this week, plus we've had a houseguest. Our little buddy Django came to stay with us, and Frances quickly schooled him in the way things go around here.

First, if you hear the clang of a pot or pan lid, vegetables being chopped, or the refrigerator door swing shut, run as fast as you can to the kitchen and assess the situation.

Once you determine the source of the sound, get underfoot and don't move until something drops.

As soon as something hits the floor, it's every dog for him/herself.

When you've scrounged whatever you can, repeat from the beginning.

It's been a joy to see them together. Makes us think of getting Frances a full-time sidekick.

Anyway, today I had the itch to do something with some dried apricots I picked up recently. Apricot bars seemed a natural fit, but I have found mixed luck with bar cookies. Remember when I made the crazy mango bars? They weren't bad but they weren't...good.

These apricot bars I whipped up, though, they were swell. I even included the walnuts, which is unusual for me. Usually I abhor nuts in baked things.

In a way, they almost seemed like less of a bar and more like a little cake sitting on shortbread. The top is cakey and delicate, and as I bit into it, I imagined eating one for breakfast the next day. But then you get down to the crumbly cookie base, and it's hard to persuade yourself that these really belong in breakfast territory.

Although, if people can eat steak and eggs for breakfast, why can't I eat a layered cake-on-cookie?

Give me one good reason.

Farro salad with roasted tomatoes and shaved parmesan

2010-08-23T18:29:00.000-07:00

I've been obsessed with farro ever since it started turning up in restaurants. First I had it at too-cool-for-school Beretta in the Mission. Then I had it at the only semi-hip (but extremely delicious) Gialina in Glen Park. It even trickled down to plain old Pasta Pomodoro in Noe Valley, where we sometimes end up for weekend brunch.

Then I read about Thomas Keller's buttered farro over at Connie's blog, and I pretty much haven't stopped thinking about it since.

If you haven't had farro, it's a bit like barley, only slightly chewier. Farro can take nearly any flavor, be served hot, cool, or at room temperature, and either grace the side of a roast or stand up on its own. In short, it's exceedingly versatile.

When I finally got around to buying some (which turns out isn't cheap-possibly its only downside), I decided to make something that felt like summer, which to me means tomatoes and basil. Grilled vegetables or peppery arugula would work well in it too, as would curls of salty prosciutto or velvety black olives. What would have really blown me to bits was if I'd had some burrata on hand. But I suppose you can't have everything.

Farro salad with roasted tomatoes and shaved parmesan
Another Hungry Dog original

1 c. farro
2 T. unsalted butter
1 T. olive oil
3 c. water
1 pint cherry or grape tomatoes
handful of basil, julienned
parmesan for shaving
vinaigrette made to taste (I used olive oil, balsamic vinegar, one clove of minced garlic, a little honey, salt and pepper)

Preheat the oven to 425.

Heat the oil and butter over medium high heat in a medium saucepan. Once the butter has melted, foamed, and subsided, add the farro and toast, stirring frequently, for 3-5 minutes. Add water, stir well, bring to a boil then reduce heat so that the water is simmering but not boiling. Let cook, uncovered, for 20 minutes. Farro should still be chewy when it's done cooking, not overly soft.

While the farro is cooking, toss the tomatoes with a little olive oil, salt and pepper, and spread out on a baking sheet. Roast for 8-10 minutes, until the tomatoes split. Remove from oven and let cool slightly.

Make vinaigrette. I made about, oh, 1/3-1/2 c. and kept it separate from the salad mixing bowl so I could add it gradually. I'm not including directions here, because I never measure when it comes to vinaigrettes, which may explain why sometimes they are good and sometimes they are not.

When the farro is done, either pour it into a large mixing bowl, or if there is still some water that hasn't been absorbed, drain the farro and place it in mixing bowl. (I just estimated how much water to use and 3 cups turned out right--the farro is boiled, not steamed, so err on adding more water rather than less). Toss with vinaigrette, and taste for seasoning. The farro will keep absorbing the vinaigrette, so add as much or as little as you like. Then add the tomatoes, with any juices that have accumulated. Mix gently, then add basil, and mix again. Season to taste and serve warm or at room temperature, garnished with shaved parmesan.

I guess I don't like catfish after all

2010-08-18T18:42:00.000-07:00

Isn't this pretty?

Catfish panfried until golden, then topped with a tomato, basil, and olive sauce.

Too bad I didn't like it very much.

Well, I liked the sauce part. After I cooked the fish, I melted some butter and oil in the same pan, threw in cherry tomatoes, kalamata olives, and garlic and cooked it until the tomatoes broke, about two minutes. Stirred in some basil for an herby finish.

The sauce would be good on pasta. Or bruschetta. Or over chicken. Or with a different kind of fish. Just not catfish. I decided, with this recipe, that I don't like catfish after all. I've eaten it many times in my life and each time, I think to myself, "Do I like this?"

Sometimes I've overcooked it. Surely that hasn't helped. Catfish already learns toward the tough side--overcook it and it's a rubbery mess. But I've also undercooked it. That's no good either. Unlike tuna or salmon, catfish needs to be done all the way through or it gives me the heeby jeebies.

There's a secret to cooking catfish, but I don't know what it is. And I think I'll devote myself to unlocking other mysteries of the kitchen. Because even if it were cooked perfectly, I'm not sure I would love it. The sauce, however--that's a keeper.

Quick tomato and olive sauce
A Hungry Dog original

1 pint cherry tomatoes
1-2 garlic cloves minced
1 T. olive oil
2 T. butter
1/4 c. pitted olives, chopped
2-3 T. chopped basil

Melt butter and oil in a saute pan over medium high heat. After the butter has foamed and subsided, toss in tomatoes, olives, and garlic. Let cook for a couple of minutes over lively heat, until the skin on the tomatoes splits. Turn off the heat. Add salt and pepper to taste, and basil.

Serve over anything but catfish.