Chocolate snickerdoodles, and another houseguest

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

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

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.