What a Cook Got!

It's a Christmas Miracle!
Dear reader, Santa came for me this year! My lovely sister Jen and friendly brother-in-law P.J. are avid readers of my blog (God bless them!) and live in the Boston area. When I waxed on about Formaggio Kitchen in Cambridge they went to check it out, and Hooray! sent me a fabulous selection of five French cheeses from the Western Loire Valley. They were divine; I had to use all my willpower to not polish them off before Christmas! And they arrived with smoked salt-- a few grains went a long way, and made each cheese really pop. The smoked salt was also superb on the roast beast I made for Christmas dinner (along with the fabulous spinach lasagna for the vegetarians!).
As usual, Brendan showed up early to work his magic with the green beans, and I pressed my dear friend LJ into service arranging the glorious cheese platter. That's some serious Christmas magic right there.

What a Cook Wants, 20

The Way To Cook
I spent a summer on Nantucket as a personal chef for a grumpy, demanding woman named Mrs. Bingham who had a marvelous house~ with an untouched tricked-out kitchen!~ tucked deep into the sand dunes with its own private beach. Our neighbor was the Kennedy compound (if only they'd dropped by!), and my housemates were two very spoiled but sweet Scottish terriers.
The only problem? I didn't really know how to cook. Sure, I'd worked as a short order cook at college, waitressed at a place where we made Caesar salad tableside (I still make the best, baby!), and I'd nearly perfected the microwave Egg McMuffin, but it turned out this lady was able to get tables at NY's most luscious restaurants and loved poached salmon and crème brûlée.

I had no idea what crème brûlée was.

I had never poached a salmon.

After we discussed the first menu I stood in the kitchen alone, my heart clanging against my ribs. I knew I was a good cook, knew I could channel my Pop-Pop's palette and read a recipe as well as anyone else, but I was beyond my skills. I was screwed. My throat began to tighten, but then I noticed the shelf. There were books on it, and one of them was Julia Child's The Way to Cook. That title held promise, and Julia delivered. She was precisely what I needed, and as the summer continued I grew more ambitious with homemade tarragon mayonnaise (there's a reason the French call it a sauce!) and an apple crisp that made Mrs. Bingham the toast of the dinner party circuit.
Her style was so accessible and friendly, she was fearless as she dismantled raw ducks and shucked oysters; she wasn't intimidated by the thought of poaching a huge 4 pound salmon fillet. I borrowed her courage.
I suppose I borrowed it again when I started this blog. My title is an homage, even though no one gets it. I realized I could help people find the joy and fearless pleasure in eating, just like Julia did for me with cooking.
Which is all a very long-winded way of saying this cookbook would make a great gift. For anyone.
$26 for this 512-page tome. It changed my life. How many books do that?

What a Cook Wants, 19

Exceptional Chocolate
One of the benefits of working with the Mean Girls was the obscene amount of fabulous chocolate sent to us. I now have a highly trained palette when it comes to good chocolate; I don't care much for sweets (give me salami any day), so my brain is not clouded with lust when I bite into a bar or truffle. Though with the good stuff, lust is often the result!
MarieBelle makes expensive and absolutely lovely chocolates. The artwork on the top is chic and fun, and the flavors! They're clean and intense, and the chocolate itself is powerful, rich and smooth. They're not meant to be gobbled, though I suppose you could, but savored. When I fantasize about being under a tree with a bottle of juicy red wine, runny cheese and a fine lover, this is the box on the blanket between us.
$24 for a box of 9 chocolates. Some flavors include Dulce de Leche, Champagne, Lavendar, White Kona Coffee, Caipirinha, and Cardamom.

What a Cook Wants, 18

Her Very Own Egg McMuffin Machine!!!
We didn't eat a lot of fast food growing up. My mom realized it was crap with no nutritional value so it was Cheerios with wheat germ for us! However, once or twice a year when we went on vacation there would be so much pandemonium getting 3 kids ready and 5 people's stuff packed in 1 small red car that my folks kept it simple: we'd hit the drive-thru on our way out of town. Egg McMuffins taste like freedom to me, the promise of adventure mingled with the delectable saltiness of orange American cheese and rubbery egg white. Yum.
My sisters and I devoted a lot of after-school time to microwaving eggs in the small bunny dish (we had no ramekins, sigh) and carefully toasting English muffins in our attempts to recreate that masterpiece. It was tasty, but we only had white cheese and finding Canadian bacon in the fridge was rare. We managed to gobble down the results though.
In my fancy grown-up foodie life I still like a drive-by at the golden arches on my way to the airport, but today I discovered this ingenius product that might be even better. The Back to Basics Egg & Muffin toaster and egg poacher times it so the toast pops precisely when the egg finishes steaming. There's a compartment for heating up sausage and bacon, and I read a veggie burger will fit there too (ewww). Hmm, Canadian bacon is already cooked so it would only require a quick reheat...
$30 for the Back to Basics Egg & Muffin toaster/poacher (though technically it steams). Apparently it also boils eggs, do you think it does the dishes, too? I haven't had a chance to try it yet, but Amazon readers gave it rave reviews.

What a Cook Wants, 17

A Serious Pepper Mill for All that Pepper!
I realized today that a million fancy peppercorns are no good without a way to crush them! Though a mortar and pestle are great when I feel angry, most days I'm pretty happy and don't need that outlet. You probably don't either... right, dear reader?
A good mill makes a difference. A few years ago the awesome electric one with a light (for all your midnight peppering needs) my sister Jen gave me finally up and died. I was feeling broke at the time and bought a manual one at Crate & Barrel for around $17. Well, you get what you pay for: my mill blows. The pepper doesn't want to come out no matter how full it is, and I can't adjust the grind so there are enormous chunks of pepper in my scrambled eggs. Gross.
So be smarter than I was, and get this excellent model from our friends at Penzeys. I wish I had one!
$34 for an 8-inch tall peppermill with the crucial adjustable grind from Penzeys. And they send it full of Tellicherry peppercorns. Nice.

What a Cook Wants, 16

Low and Slow is the Way to Go
Slow cookers, to paraphrase Mark Bittman, are basically super-braisers. I love mine with a passion that borders on weird. Most folks agree that slowly simmered stews and meat sauces, beans you cooked versus opening a can~ these taste much more delicious when made from scratch, but do you have 8 hours to spend stirring? Enter the slow cooker.
I make barracho beans, Cuban-style black beans, a pork and tomatillo stew, a Provencal chicken stew, Mung bean daal, and other fabulous dinners with very little effort. You can too.
Cook's Illustrated recommends an All-Clad slow cooker for $150; the one I have from West Bend is cheap and the folks at CI said stunk, but it's worked for me. They're all simple machines, I think the only thing that matters is how big they are: go with 5 quarts or more, that way you can easily fit an entire chicken. In the winter it's the most comforting experience to come home to a warm, fragrant house and know in the time it takes to make rice and a salad I have a homemade dinner for myself and any friends I invite last minute. It feels luxurious.
$150 for the All-Clad 6.5-qt. Slow Cooker with Ceramic Insert. It's programmable, has a stainless steel exterior, and will make you the envy of all your pot luck pals!

What a Cook Wants, 15

4,000 Different Kinds of Salt
If you are not a cook or foodie, this will not make sense. You may think, Why would anyone need 15 different kinds of salt? Don't they all taste, well, salty? In a sense you'd be right. But then I'd respond, Are all home runs the same? Does each Steinway sound the same? Does each Bush presidency cause the same damage?
Of course not.
Let me show you, I'll get out my salts now... hmmm, Korean sea salt is smooth with a delicate flake. Trapani sea salt from Italy is intense and tough. Utah Lake Salt is mellow, pale pink and crunchy. Dead Sea salt from Israel is bright, kind of melts in the mouth, and should really call its mother. See what I mean? Sure, they're all salty, but there's so much nuance in the variations.
It becomes a game: what salt goes best on top of my crispy tilapia? Which should I rub into my Christmas roast? Which shade of grey or pink or black completes the still life painting on this plate? We grown-ups need to play more. And to be practical, it's one of a few ingredients that never goes bad.
$70 for Chef Stefan: Salts of the World sampler. It has 15 salts in cute little tins. I've had it for 3 years and there's plenty left. The exterior packaging is a little 80's, but it's still a super-fun present.

What a Cook Wants, 14

Ridiculous Amounts of Exquisite Cheese
I find cheese to be one of life's better pleasures, both satisfying and revealing. A bite of great cheese tells its own story: a beginning that delights, a middle that surprises and an end that soothes, much like a sip of lush wine. It's a decadent, sensual experience that requires no lover and only a bit of money. When I've been lonely and broke I'd buy a small piece of phenomenal cheese, and it reminded me that I was still ok, there was still new pleasure to be had and decadence within my reach.
Formaggio Kitchen is one of the best online retailers of superb cheeses, oils, grains and pastas. They're the real deal, with a retail store in Cambridge, MA, and the internet for the rest of us. The offer a Cheese of the Month Club in 3-month intervals; maybe, just this once, some money spent can bring you happiness. Or your generosity will.
$180 (shipping included) for each 3-month stretch, delivered to your door with special packaging to keep it pristine and fresh. What they send is determined by what's in season, but it'll be about 1.75 pounds each time. Enjoy!

What a Cook Wants, 13

A Super-Expensive, Hand made Pie Server
Dear reader, I have a confession: I am writing this post inebriated. I've never done this before, but I had a bunch of martinis (some with rose petals and white tea!) at the holiday party for one of the super-nice magazines I do freelance work for, and now you're hearing from a drunk Tory. I was going to slack off entirely and not post at all, but my boyfriend, the love of my life actually, convinced me it was better to keept my commitment drunk than not show up. He's such a good man.
So anyway, if I were a rich lady, this is what I'd buy for myself. Janet Torelli is a real artist and, from my limited interactions with her, a truly nice lady. So if you have money to burn, why not? It's pretty.
$275 for the Catalpa pie server, sterling silver. If I were rich, I'd buy it.

What a Cook Wants, 12

Zee Schaschlik
This knife block is even more fun if you pronounce it like you're The Govenator; that's appropriate because it was designed by Martin Robitsch, a clever, free-spirited Austrian. It's made from European pine and bamboo skewers (how sustainably Gore-tastic!), and you can slide in your knives or other long tools whereever the heck you please. Which means all your venerable Santoku knives will finally have a home.
$125 for this handmade hipster conversation piece. And my goodness, it's functional too!

What a Cook Wants, 11

The Best Vegetable Peeler in the World
Leave it to the Germans. The Messermeister is sharp as hell and gets the job done with no complaints. I'd probably be nervous to let a kid use it, but Lord it'll have your cucumbers naked in about 10 seconds flat. The blade is serrated so it leaves pretty stripes on the vegetables.
You may be thinking, A vegetable peeler? Tory, that's a lame-ass gift. But you would be wrong. Any cook would be psyched to have such a well-made tool in her drawer. Who doesn't like using the best equipment~ it only encourages you to cook more.
$6 for the Messermeister vegetable peeler. You won't regret it.

What a Cook Wants, 10

The Sexiest Apron Ever!
I heard about the KitschN*Glam company just a month or two after Anna Michelle Wang got it started, and was so enamored by their sultry, flattering cuts and retro-cute patterns that I pitched it to the editor of the holiday gift guide at Bon Appétit magazine. A few months later their aprons had a national audience, and it's been uphill ever since. I don't want to take *full* credit for their success... and I can't, because these suckers sell themselves.
Each time I teach a class, cater a shindig, or make a video I wear one of these aprons with smashing results. I feel festive, foxy and fun, and it totally comes across!
$62 for the "Jubilee" apron~ be sure to check out other patterns and styles! They make them for kids, men and plus size ladies, because everyone should feel fabulous in the kitchen.

What a Cook Wants, 9

To Smell Like Cake?
Since I'm on a baking streak, who doesn't want to smell like a delicious vanilla cake in the shower? The Jaqua sisters up in Santa Barbara have made a Pink Buttercream Frosting soap with shea butter, palm oil and glycerin that has such an enticing fragrance the package comes with a warning label: Do not eat!
Often I don't have time to bake a cake, but it's somehow comforting to smell like one.
$10 for a bar of fragrant, delectable pink soap!

What a Cook Wants, 8

(I got sick of the Roman numerals.)


A Little Something To Go With The Vanilla Beans
Yes, dear reader, this would be the *perfect* accompanying gift for those lusty vanilla beans! Everyone wants a shiny KitchenAid on their counter, I don't care if you're Michelle Myers or Leona Helmsley (who only stomped into the kitchen to yell at the cook!), that gorgeous standing mixer makes all your gastronomic shenanigans legit, even if you've only got a packet of ramen boiling on the stove.
Furthermore, it turns out you don't have to get married to actually own one of these! I had no idea (the oppression of the patriarchy is so sneaky!), but it turns out the wedding police won't stop you at the store exit to check for a ring~ a week ago a bunch of us chipped in to buy one for our fantastic friend Nina's birthday. She's still working for the Mean Girls and is an amazing, exciting baker who wows our Cooking Club month after month. We got her a shiny red KitchenAid, it was awesome. And admittedly, a bit self-serving...
If you get one of these powerful workhorses for the baker in your life, what a fragrant and delicious new year awaits. Go on, get shopping!
$349 for the Artisan 10-speed Tilt-Head Stand Mixer in Empire Red. Comes with a flat beater, dough hook, wire whip, wide chute pouring shield and 5-qt. stainless steel bowl. It can make 4 loaves of bread, 9 dozen cookies, and 7 pounds of mashed potatoes... let me know if you need my number to invite me over :)

What a Cook Wants, VII

Real F***in' Vanilla
I am not a baker. Not even close. I can bake a chocolate cake with milk chocolate frosting for your birthday, the family brownie recipe, passable banana bread and this past Thanksgiving, God help us all, fancy pants biscuits that were nearly tender. But I am not a baker.
However there was a time in my life when I made crème brûlée once a week, during that Nantucket summer of love. I encountered a *real* vanilla bean during that first terrifying custard experience. It was weird. It looked like a shriveled up monkey finger a witch would throw into a smoky cauldron, but the scent! Totally different from my mom's small bottles of alcohol-drenched vanilla extract. The fragrance was creamy and rich, with a slight green vegetal note at the back and whispers of jasmine. I was shocked such a creepy object could smell suspiciously like the love of God. When I cut one open and scraped out the itsy bitsy flecks with the tip of a knife, I finally understood the value of the speckles in the "fancy" Breyer's French vanilla ice cream of my youth. Ahhhh.
So if you love a baker, spend the $7 for three beans at Penzeys (check out all their spices while you're there, they rock). Tahitian beans are on the fruity/spicy side, Madagasgar beans have creamy, orchid notes and Mexican vanilla beans are darker, woody and very mysterious. You really can't go wrong, and you might be rewarded with ambrosial delights!
$7 for 3 beans, or $27 for 15 beans. Be sure to take a sniff before you hand them over!

What a Cook Wants, VI

Bacon Wrapping Paper
No seriously. Hear me out. This is so fantastically silly, who could argue? For all your freaky pork-obsessed friends (you know, the ones who wax on about speck versus guaciale), for the aspiring butcher in your life, for the cop you love, or if you're Jewish and feeling aggressive, what could send a better message than a gift wrapped in bacon? The only bummer is it doesn't smell like it too. But really, what in this life is perfect?
$8 for a set of two packages of 4 pages each. But can we put a price on gift-giving silliness? Do you hate the baby Jesus? I hope not.

What a Cook Wants, V

To Go Nuts!
The Fastachi Nuts folk make delicious, fresh tasting nuts and mixes. You're probably thinking, Nuts? Who cares? Nuts are just nuts! But that only proves you don't know nuts, my friend. My grandmother always put out bowls of nuts for the holidays... I'm not sure what pistachios and walnuts and those awful Brazil nuts that take 8 hours to crack and then don't even taste good have to do with the life of Christ, but I'll tell you this much: I see a bowl of nuts, and all I think is "Christmas. Sweet."
$100 for the Epicurian Gift Tower shown, and then price varies according to type of nut or mix. If you're thinking, That's a lot for some freakin' nuts! well, I assure you Fastachi makes some of the tastiest in the business.

What a Cook Wants, IV

A Happy Hanukkah!
Who doesn't love the story of Hannukah? The Maccabee brothers, who were small in number, fought for freedom from the big army of Greco-Syrians who had controlled them and put an idol of the Greek God Zeus in their Holy Temple in Jerusalem. Against all odds, the small but scrappy army defeated their oppressors after three long years of battle. At the end of the fighting there was only one small jar of undefiled oil left in the temple, enough to light the ner tamid for one day. But a miracle occured: in the seven days it took to purify new oil, the light continued to burn brightly. That's why Hanukkah is known as the "Festival of Lights" and the menorah is lit for eight days.
I take the story as a reminder: for those who fight for the right reasons, even if they are small and outnumbered, God (whatever that is) gives a helping hand. And for me, even when my battles don't work out the way I'd like, there are still small miracles to behold.
(But I'm no rabbi! Please check in with an actual Jewish authority for a legit take on this holiday.)

So what does this have to do with delicious circles of chocolate wrapped in foil to resemble coins? I have no idea. But I will tell you that See's Hannukah gelt contains the best chocolate of all the gelt I've tasted. And I've gobbled up a lot, trust me~ I don't let my gentile-ness get in the way of Hanukkah candy consumption, heck no! So get some good gelt for a friend or two; the box contains four mesh bags of milk chocolate "coins" that unfortunately never last as long as that holy oil :)
$15 for a 1-lb. box of kosher milk chocolate gelt, divided into 4 mesh bags.

What a Cook Wants, III

Popcorn That Tastes As Good As That Scratch 'n Sniff Sticker Smelled
In the 5th grade my favorite scratch 'n sniff sticker was the "Poppin' Good"~ it smelled fresh like toasty corn with a subtle buttery note. At the time I didn't understand the scent was high-tech food chemistry at its (frightening) finest, I just wanted MY popcorn to smell and taste as good. This was at the peak of microwave popcorn madness; it smelled tempting, but ultimately any corn taste was drowned out with those heart attack-oils that weren't very buttery. sigh We also had an air popper, which produced popcorn about as flavorful as stale cardboard. It took nearly a stick of melted butter to properly coat one big bowl's worth, which today in my healthy-wellness LA lifestyle is not generally a viable option. double sigh

But fear not, dear reader! I bring you glad tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people who have $25. For unto you this day, from the wise folks at Wabash Valley Farms, a Whirley Pop popcorn popper is now available in red!
My sister Jen sent me one of these years ago and it enjoys primo shelf space in my postage stamp kitchen. A spoonful of oil and couple handfuls of kernels makes a big bowl of crisp, fragrant popcorn. Turning the crank on the stovetop as the corn explodes is undeniably fun and goes pretty quick. There's enough oil evenly distributed that the salt sticks quite well, and you can even skip the butter without having that dreadful cardboard experience.
When I was quite small and my family lived on a limited budget we made garlands of popcorn and cranberries with a needle and thread to decorate our Christmas tree, which I would surreptitiosly nibble whenever I needed a snack. I would dance around the twinkly-lit living room with my doll Samantha to the Alvin and the Chipmunks 45 record, chewing tough dry popcorn. And I was happy.
Which is a long way of saying, Who doesn't want popcorn for Christmas?
$25 for a red, 6-qt. popper that comes with a wooden handle and crank, plus a 25 year warranty.

What a Cook Wants, II

A Beautiful Table
I've been a fan of Lotta Jansdotter's design for a long time. Her work is mostly abstract and feels kind of timeless to me, but this tablerunner is festive for the season! This piece could be dressed up with silver candlesticks and a scattering of ornaments amongst your good china, or remain sleek and minimal adorned only with simple white plates. Either way you'll have a beautiful table for your feast.
$54 for the "Bunke" 12x70-inch linen tablerunner

What a Cook Wants, I

Welcome to the Holiday Gift Guide, dear reader! 'Tis the season of giving AND festive eating, so this brilliant series is just in time! Each day I'll feature a fantastic gift for the cooks and foodies you cherish, because c'mon: if the cook is happy, odds are your belly will end up happy too.
For the last few months I've been writing a column full of hipster stuff to buy for 805 Living magazine, so my brain is in a bit of a shopping mode~ please, spend that holiday money! My dad would say you're helping the economy, and I say don't forget to get a little something for yourself too. You deserve it.

Have French Press, Will Travel

The Double Shot Travel French Press Mug
We can all agree that aside from an expensive espresso machine, a French press makes the best coffee. Well some wise, on-the-go fellow coffee fiend was clever enough to modify it for travel. Your lucky recipient doesn't have to suffer that office swill any longer~ s/he can now be the happiest commuter ever.
This mug not only fits most cupholders, but the bottom has room to store additional grounds for two more cups! Sweet. In theory you could also brew loose leaf tea in this sucker, but I prefer the black gold myself.
$29; it's made of 18/8 stainless steel with a baked enamel finish that comes in so many colors one might even match their car~ how clever!

( hungry ) lessons learned on the journey from fat to thin

I just polished off this delightul morsel by Allen Zadoff. Dear reader, it kicks ass. This is my first book review here, what a great one to start!
Full disclosure: the author, Allen, is what I would consider a Friendly Acquaintance. We haven't been out for coffee, but we've been to many of the same gatherings and chatted at length. I respected him before I read his book. Make of it what you will!
I haven't written about eating disorders before either, because I (luckily) don't have one. However, I think it's hard to be a person in America~ let alone a lady in Los Angeles!~ and not struggle with some body image issues. I have difficulty accepting my juicy thighs, for example (see below) and know many friends who hate their breasts, or are ashamed not to have six-pack abs.

Zadoff's book is the best sort of memoir: he gives up the juicy stuff most people don't divulge, is brutally honest and bitingly funny at the same time. We never drown in a puddle of pity or despair because he doesn't either. He's shockingly compassionate as he reflects on his lowest moments (an example I appreciate!), and explains complex emotional processes and motivations in simple, clear ways that helped me identify my own.
He takes an unflinching survey of his relationship to food and overeating: from his delicious discovery of Devil Dogs at age six through teenage loneliness compensated by large pizzas and Doritos, his frantic run through a zillion failed diets and a mid-twenties full of misery and isolation (with its steady companion, fantasy), until his scale tipped way over 300 pounds. At 28 he finally surrendered and reached out for help; the meatiest cuts of the book follow. His words are best here,
Over the course of a year, more than 100 pounds fell from my body, and my thin life, the one I'd been waiting nearly 30 years for, finally began. It was nothing like I expected. For starters, Calvin Klein did not call with a modeling offer. The gifts of the thin life, which I'd always assumed included a beautiful wife, gorgeous house, and handsome Labrador retriever, did not materialize. My life was not suddenly perfect. It was a lot more interesting than that. It turned out that losing weight was only the first step in a much larger and more amazing journey.
I've read a lot of literature on eating disorders; Zadoff doesn't offer elaborate food plans, "tricks" for cutting calories, or grand theories as to why so many over (or under!) indulge. He does something far more shocking: he gives us a spiritual perspective on the journey "from fat to thin," with humilty and humor. And he admits his slim tome is not a self-help book, "because I cannot help myself." What a delight to hear from someone who admits he needs the wisdom and guidance of others, whether it be the community of overeaters he discovers or his "personal connection to a power greater than myself." His lack of ego and gentle tone actually made me listen a little closer.
I picked it up last night and couldn't put it down until I finished it this afternoon. Please check it out if you're so inclined, what a thrilling ride through a tempestuous Devil Dog sea!

I Came, I Comme Ça, I Chowed Down

I recently attended the opening of Comme Ça, chef David Myers' newest venture. (see above and below)

Myers has beautiful eyes and a smoldering intensity (but perhaps more pertinent to this blog!) is a cuisine-forward, thrilling chef to behold. This is his second venture after Sona, a restaurant I love dearly. What I like about his cooking is that it gracefully dances that razor-thin line between
1. advanced, intellectual dishes and
2. food that is actually delicious and accessible.
Most chefs who fall into category 1. completely forget about 2. I love having my brain stimulated while I eat, but ultimately the pleasure that matters most is in the mouth.
But I digress, dear reader, back to Comme Ça!

The focus of all restaurant openings, oddly, isn't the food. Openings are basically an amped up catering experience (seriously, there was a catering truck out back, though to his credit it did belong to Myers), which is ok because the purpose is not to dazzle the palette but rather convince everyone there that This Is The Place To Be! Look at all the cool kids! So hopefully they'll tell their friends, and more cool kids will come (like these gals).

Standard-issue LA Hotties, exhibit A






Comme Ça's opening was quite successful to that effect: it was crammed with hipsters young and grey, well-cut suits and too-cool-for-school $60 t-shirts, a few dedicated foodies, other talented chefs, and a lot of folks eager for free drinks.
And the drinks were superb, oh my goodness. I'd never had scotch with anything other than soda (P.S. I hate scotch, the smell makes me want to hurl), but their fabulous 'Penicillin' with scotch, ginger, lemon and honey made a believer out of me. Sweet Lord, it cured all my ills. Likewise, the 'Rumble' with rum and bruised blackberries was its own modern art, gorgeous in the glass and jiggy on the tongue.
The restuarant will be an LA brasserie, something this city sorely lacks, though I can only assume (and hope!) Myers will put his own tasty twist on the classic French dishes. I was delighted by his Salad in a Spoon. Frisee (I like to think of them as thistles), lardon~though they seemed suspiciously like tiny cubes of pork belly, yum~ and a delicate hard-cooked egg, all in one perfectly assembled bite? Tory heaven.
There were also crusty, lusty breads from Boule, Michelle Myers' gift to the LA pastry (and chocolate!) scene:
But perhaps my favorite part was the 3 cheese stations: goat, cow, and bleu! Excellent cheese is always the right answer:
That tasty bit had butter, a nutty bleu who's name I forget (somebody had one too many Penicillins!), and was drizzled with honey. Decadence of the finest sort.

Let's see, final credits... all the photos here were taken by Victor Rodionoff and pilfered by yours truly from MetroMix (thanks guys!). And look, I even made it into one of them! Yes, I am famous now, very exciting.
>Slightly-more-eclectic LA Hotties, exhibit B

I'm the juicy one, second to right. I can't wait to eat there for real, they open their doors to all tomorrow. Bon Appétit fellow Angelenos!
Comme Ça
8479 Melrose Ave.
323.782.1104

Rest in Peet's

When I was 22, I moved across the country to San Francisco.
I'd just finished college and had no idea what to do; without structure I was totally lost. I wanted to be like my other clueless friends: go to Europe or Asia in Tevas, (that's not me, my feet are adorable!) carry everything on my back and stay in youth hostels for $11 a night, stand in front of the great art I'd only seen in pictures and let it guide me. I also wanted to eat pierogis in Poland, risotto in Italy, paella in Spain, and muffins in merry old England.
Alas, dear reader, I was broke. Books, winter coats, graduation robes and late night pizza left me with a great degree and many happy memories, but no coin for fancy travelin'. What was I to do?
And then the voice came to me, Go west, young woman. And I said, Seriously? And it said, Why not? You've never been to San Francisco, and hippies are nice. Move and have your adventure that way.
Even at the tender age of 22, I'd learned that when the still, small voice spoke I had to follow. So I packed my clothes, shoes and computer and took a train across the country. It didn't seem right to wake up in Philadelphia and go to sleep in San Francisco to begin my new life; I wanted to feel the expanse, the vastness of space between where I started out and where I hoped to land. I needed to experience the distance.
I had a sublet lined up in Berkeley, one room in an apartment for two. My first morning there the kind woman in the other bedroom drew me a map of the hills so I could find my way into town. I walked down the hill, past exploding rosebushes and gigantic Birds of Paradise that peeked over fences, and panicked.
Each time I take a brave step into the unknown there is a scared and angry voice in my head that talks nonstop if I let it. It's the source of my procrastination, why I eat too many chips late at night, and the impetus behind my obsessive need to pick at my legs. That morning the voice was shrieking and I was powerless to stop its rant, You don't have a job! You don't know anybody here! Everyone you're related to lives within 20 minutes of where they went to high school, what the hell are you doing??? Who do you think you are?
It was a beautiful morning with clear sunlight and bees buzzing around leafy old trees, and I was terrified.
But then I smelled it. A half block before I found it, the most magnificent scent meandered up my nose and into my crazy twitching brain. It was dark and deep with whispers of chocolate and a high note of blackberries. I looked down: my legs were moving and I was still present, but the air was otherworldly. I moved a bit quicker and finally saw the source: a modest picture-book-perfect California bungalow, cheery and unassuming, with a sign that mispelled "Pete's." Silly Californians. To my delight the door was open, and inside I bought a small cup of inky black promise from a real aging hippie (who was friendly, just as I suspected). There was chilled half-and-half on the counter.
I stepped back outside for my first sip. As the (now) caramel-colored elixer glided over my tongue and slipped down my throat, the shouting in my head cut off. Silence. In that moment I knew I'd made the right choice, that the Universe would take care of me. The panic subsided; I clearly belonged in a land that made coffee like this. Exhale.


I found out today that Alfred H. Peet, the founder of Peet's Coffee & Tea, passed away at the end of August. He was 87. Paul McCartney was singing "Blackbird" on the radio when I got the news and my eyes filled up with gratitude for the guy who, with one exquisite cup of coffee, validated my bold and scary step. Thank you, sir. I'm sure you're smiling down at us from that big cafe in the sky.

A Smokin' Summer Breakfast

L.A. is mid-heat wave right now, yuck, though it's not as bad as last summer when we had the blackouts. Small favors, sigh. Since I became my own boss and now have the best commute in L.A. (I shamble from my bedroom to living room. Yay, no traffic!) I try to use the saved time to make breakfast everyday. I read years ago that people who eat breakfast end up consuming less calories over the course of the day... probably because they're not starving by lunchtime, so are less inclined to eat a magically delicious Double-Double (proof #427 that God loves us):


When I get hungry my brain shuts off completely, well, except to pick fights with those nearby, and all I want is fat and grease. Mmmm. There's a place in my world for the joys of fat and grease, but I like to choose them for the right reasons (they're delicious! I'm on a road trip! PMS!) versus the wrong reasons (Must-not-faint-gimme-fat-gimme-fat-you-bastard!).
In the summer I find it harder to eat, the heat shuts off my stomach, but this tasty treat is always appealing:

A crusty slice of rye, toasted medium, a pleasant schmear of cream cheese, and wild-caught Alaskan smoked salmon. Wild-caught costs a little more, but it tastes better and is apparently less likely to kill you than farmed salmon. Yikes! Sometimes I top it with my fancy Italian salt-packed capers, but today I was too lazy to rinse them off and picked the Pretty Parsley Option instead.
Best part? The brief time my toaster toasts doesn't make my apt. any hotter, which is good because it's 96° in L.A. right now. Ack! What I wouldn't give to be a kid again, with nothing to do but swim and read all day. What else can you do in this heat? I mean, apart from eating popsicles... but we're not up to lunch yet :)

The Best EZ Cheese Recipe Ever

Dear reader, please enjoy. And be sure to follow the instructions closely... have your crackers ready!
My lovely friend Brendan just purchased a Blendtec blender, I'll give a full review as soon as he's foolish enough to leave me alone with it!

A Spot of Tea? or June: TTM, Part II

Dear reader, at long last, please enjoy this photo essay of the lovely English Tea I catered for the bridal shower my talented friend Debora threw! Her daughter was about to wed and move to London-town, so they wanted a traditional tea in the English style. Debora is of Mexican descent, and many of la familia and guests had never experienced the joys of tea sandwiches. Ay dios mio! So I made elegant cucumber and very pretty smoked salmon treats, using the only rye bread worth eating in L.A. (how I long for the fanatastic Jewish baking of my youth):
I also created super-girly strawberry and coconut tea sandwiches cut in the shape of flowers, naturally.
Mmm, and worth a mention was the fantastic fruit salad of Honeydew, Mango and Raspberries with Lime and Ginger. I've noticed when trying out the foods of another culture that though novelty is exciting, we all do better when there are also a few familiar elements. I found this recipe (thanks Cook's Illustrated) and thought, perfect! Mango and lime will be comfortable ingredients. And look at how beautifully it turned out! That is some sexy summer fruit.
I try not to overextend myself, so I hired my exceptionally gifted baker-friend LeeAnn to make chocolate-cherry and pear-ginger scones, as well as raspberry-marzipan and lemon-poppy muffins. Sweet Lord. (Those are my delicate cucumber sandwiches in the background. The secret is to mix in the tiniest bit of blue cheese, it makes them mysteriously interesting.) I find great eating (and catering) is often in the details: for this event I served only decadent Irish butter for smearing on the scones and muffins. Though these touches directly subtract from the bottom line (American butter is so much cheaper!), it's this attention to delicious, best-quality ingredients that differentiate good from f***ing fantastic. Why put in all that effort to turn out merely "acceptable" food? When people take a bite and I see their eyes pop out of their head because they didn't know it could taste so amazing, then I am successful.

So lastly here is yours truly, tired but pleased, shortly before the guests arrived. The flowers were arranged by Boriana, who I bet could trounce Martha in a Floral Goddess Smackdown any day. I cannot over-emphasize the importance of a beautiful table; it makes the food more appealing and guests prettier when beside it. (And please note, dear reader, how my outfit matches both the decor and the food. Oh that's no accident, I think of everything. Thanks, obsessive tendencies!)
I served a fabulous smoky black tea from Edinburgh (oops! ran out of English) in mismatched teacups. Guests got to choose their own, and many had been in Debora's family for generations~ a lovely touch. What a pleasure to help celebrate love and families coming together.

Growing up I often felt I didn't have a culture, that mine was standard American WASP; it didn't feel like anything special, or different. Like being surrounded by trees and not recognizing you're in a forest, sometimes I can't see my life clearly until I'm outside of it. I didn't appreciate the excellent Englishness of all the showers I got dragged to as a kid until I put this one on myself. I saw people say, "Cucumber sandwiches?" with wrinkled noses, or "What are those triangles?" as they pointed to the scones. Then their faces would break into bright smiles and I'd hear, "Ooooohhhhh" as they nibbled; I thought yes, this is the food of my people. Thank you, stuffy ancestors, for all the deliciousness you handed down to me. Cheerio!

June: The Tastiest Month I

Oh dear reader, I am touched we are still together! This is a level of love and devotion (and probably grumbling tummyness) I cannot imagine, you are the *best* dear reader ever. Thanks for sticking around, I missed you guys!

So then where did I go? Basically, I worked almost every day in June and very nearly killed myself in the process. Some fantastic food came out of my manic over-achievement, but I'm still exhausted. How exhausted? Here's an actual photo of me taken July 1st:



But today I took a long nap, shaved (that fur was out of control!), and am ready to share June: The Tastiest Month, which shall come in 3 installments. We can pretend it's a Dickens' novel, except I won't make you cry with boredom nor will I demand a useless 'compare and contrast' report at the end.

Part I will largely be told by others: it's hard to say nice things about myself, and luckily I don't have to! Mid-June I had the good fortune to teach a cooking class for the birthday party of Len Wein, a super-cool and jolly guy who, among other things, created the Swamp Thing and New X-Men comic book series. I had such a good time reading Swamp Thing as a kid... it is remarkable how the Universe operates, isn't it? What a gift to be able to offer some fun back to him. Christine Valada, a devoted foodie and Len's lovely wife, hired me as a surprise for his party. Their kitchen is mid-remodel, so she wisely chose the class, "You Can Grill That?"
Yes dear reader, you *can* grill a salad! We were outside the whole time and grilled appetizers, a main course, salad and dessert. And pizza, check it out:

Christine and Len wrote flattering things I am incapable of saying, please check out their blogs for a full report. Len offers a thorough review of the menu and I think felt and perfectly expressed my whole purpose in pursuing this delicious path: food has magical power to bring people together (and at times heal them too). He totally picked up on that, yay! I feel successful. Christine took great photos and detailed the course of event beautifully! Check 'em out, and stay tuned for Part II: an English tea!

Whew! I'm back.

Maybe Those Anti-Carb Freaks Have A Point

The No. 1 Rule of Cooking

Last night I taught my first cooking class for Sur La Table at The Grove! Dear reader, I was so nervous. I got a call a few days ago asking if I could sub for a teacher who suddenly canceled. I've learned when the Universe drops a gift in my lap the correct response is, Thank you! But my impulse is to doubt myself and believe I'm not enough. I've taught plenty of cooking classes for birthday parties or groups of friends and they've always been a hit, but Sur La Table is an official entity. A corporation I seem helpless against giving lots of my money to: they have such fun toys! Now they're going to pay me? I will represent them? Whoa. I wasn't sure I was worthy.
Check it out, the menu was ambitious: Crab and Avocado Tostadas; Roast Pork Loin with Mole (a streamlined version, the original takes 3 days, sweet Lord); Chicken Enchiladas with Green Olives, Three Chile Rice (though the recipe included only 2 kinds of chiles, very mysterious); Spinach, Orange and Jicama Salad with a Toasted Cumin Vinaigrette; a Tres Leches Cake; and homemade Jamaica Tea that we turned into margaritas.
Fortunately it was a hands-on class, not all demonstration, but still I was plagued by those "You're not qualified, you gringa imposter" evil whispering voices in my head. So I did what I've learned to do in these situations: I prayed to the Goddess of my kitchen to help me be of service by teaching folks to be happy in their kitchens. Then I completely over-prepared because I can't help myself.
Last summer I taught an excellent "Mexican Cooking for Gringos" cooking class for a birthday party, so I dug up my notes from that shindig. Then I did lots more research on the cuisine de Mexico, all its amazing indigenous ingredients (tomatoes started there, not in Italy), and finally went through the recipes with my crazy-obsessive attention to detail.

And you know what? It was fantastic! I lectured for a half hour on this nuanced cuisine and its ingredients, then took everybody through the recipes so they'd be prepared for the work ahead. The students loved it: they paid attention, asked questions, and were intrepid cooks as they boldly attempted new techniques and tried different flavors. I cracked jokes, sung the praises of the Aztec God who gave us chocolate, and taught them the Tory Davis No. 1 Rule of Cooking.

Do you know the rule, dear reader? Ok, pay attention because this is important:
You can always order pizza.

Take a minute, reflect on this. It's good, right? Basically, we don't have to be afraid to try something new in the kitchen because the worst that can happen is we'll completely ruin it. And then you order pizza. Pizza will arrive at your house in under an hour and everybody likes it. No big deal. I feel there's a larger lesson in there somewhere, but hey, I just talk food.

So join me dear readers, if you're so inclined and live around LA, for the next class I'm teaching. June 25th, back at Sur La Table, we'll have some fun doing Easy Mexican Cooking. As my business card says, Today is all we have. Why not eat well?

In Defense of Cheap Ice Cream

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In this glorious gelato rennaissance, pinkberry madness, and age of super-premiun ice cream, I will take a decidedly low-brow stance in defense of cheap frozen treats. *gasp* I know, I know, what kind of food snob goes to bat for neon green, metallic-tasting mint peppered with waxy chocolate shards that taste how they look: brown? I'll tell you: the very best of food snobs. Or maybe I'm just a foodie, no need to add the snob?

Dear reader, fellow eater, how can we know light if we never stumble through the dark? How can we feel soaring joy if we don't wail over bitter loss? I would argue it is impossible to taste the ecstasy of the most delicate, sensuous black currant-tarragon gelato (created by an emissary of the Goddess herself, more on that later) if we have not first contemplated the cool creaminess and bracing minty edge of a thin paper cup full of .99¢ Rite Aid hot pink peppermint ice cream.



So thank you, cheap pink peppermint sugar rush. Without you, I would not feel the vast expanse of joy that rises when I'm blessed by heaven's coolest confections.

The Ice Chest Cometh

I have a confession, dear reader: my freezer froze shut, and it made my life unmanagable! Oh sure, I was in denial for a while (who needs ice cubes? it's not summer), but then last week my friend LeeAnn called in a crisis: the compressor in her fridge had blown, could she borrow some fridge and freezer space until tomorrow? Alas, I had only fridge space to share, there was no getting into the icebox. How humiliating.
Though shame is usually an obstacle to growth, in this situation I found it very motivating. Yesterday I attacked that sucker, finally!, and though it took forever and ever and ever (good thing this is a slow week, jeez), I'm delighted to report I enjoyed some very cold ice cubes in my drink last night. I also discovered a gorgeous dorado filet my friend Brendan brought back from a fishing expedition. There are rewards to cleaning up.
Here is the freezer at its worst:

Thank goodness I still have my hairdryer from 1989.

The first time I defrosted this ridiculous appliance, I noticed instructions on the inside of the freezer door, "Never Use Sharp-Pointed Instruments To Remove Frost." Wait, you mean like a knife? I bet that would work really well...

Hey look! I own corn!

Wow, it was mostly frost and ice in there. Looks kind of foreboding (don't worry, this doesn't end with anyone's pinky emerging from the ice, though it would be more exciting. If only I were a Soprano.)


Only in L.A. do many apt.s not come with a fridge. I think it's due to the general food phobia (Oh my god, will that make me fat?), and the competitive nature of housing here. When I moved in, my landlords informed me that the fridge came with the place, but when it died I would have to replace it. sigh. I'm trying to make it last a little longer. We'll see. I think it's older than my dad.
Anyway, I read that putting in a pot of boiling water speeds the process...


When did I buy popsicles?



And if 1 pot works well, I bet 2 would be twice as nice.

Ohh! That speeds things up! Can you see the steam? Cool.

Who has unexpressed rage?


So many chunks of frost


Ewww, this is all the dirty melted ice water


And finally, here is the finished space! Look, there's lots of food!


I celebrated by buying a frozen pizza to store in there, but that didn't work out so well because I ate it.