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, 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, 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.

Matzoh Balls, Brisket and Babies! Oh My!

On Sunday night my fabulous Cooking Club convened for a comforting evening of Jewish cuisine, and I made my beloved matzoh ball soup. Beloved because
a) I render the schmaltz (chicken fat) myself; the purity of chickeny flavor that results is the best I've tasted. I think Canter's, Jerry's and all the other Jewish faux-deli's in L.A. use margarine in their sodden, salty lumps. Wretched. The other reason my matzoh balls are beloved is
b) they remind me of these German dumplings my Pop-Pop (grandfather) made for soup when I was small. Elaborate discussions always followed the meal on how heavy or light they were that day: was it his gentle blending that made them so buoyant? Was it the humidity that made them doughy rocks? (Surely it couldn't have been his cooking, oh no.) My matzoh balls achieve the same feathery lightness his best efforts produced; when I eat them I swear Pop-Pop is next to me, nodding in admiration despite himself.

The Cooking Club has been one of the best parts of my year. Every month or so a group of foodies as insanely into eating as I am gathers at our friends Susan and Wylie's place to put our best fork forward for a different cuisine. We started with a Spanish noche of paella, divine despite its blanket of peas, and have chopped, stirred, nibbled and baked our way through Persian, Italian (you know the pasta was homemade), Indian, Vietnamese (God's food), Carribbean, White Trash BBQ (I cannot deny my heritage), a Brunch when we were tired, and Jewish food. We've scoured Indian markets, Chinatown grocers, bodegas and Iranian mini-marts in search of authentic ingredients and the best cooking advice.
The passionate opinions in the flurry of e-mails as we decide which dishes will star in the next feast, the intensity in Susan's kitchen as we finish the last bit of prep (I'm forever behind schedule) and the hearty good cheer around the table have produced stellar results, both in my belly and out in the world. We were featured in The Christian Science Monitor and on the Bon Appetit blog (which included a photo of the torso and spring rolls of yours truly). All we need now is a series on Bravo. Hmm, I'll make some calls...

This past feast was especially sweet because two of the ladies announced they are pregnant. We toasted to the tiny members-to-be, then dug into meltingly tender brisket, a sweet and nearly healthy kugel, some Sephardic couscous-stuffed eggplant, and rounded out the meal with Nina's stupendous chocolate-cherry rugelach (thanks, Hashem) and Josh's first attempt at chocolate-dipped macaroons. You'd never guess he was a novice, that one. My matzoh balls compared favorably to several folks' grandmas, high praise, and I thought my belly might pop by the time I rolled home. I left with block of kugel and three more rugelach, score!
In December, we're throwing ourselves a party filled with holiday treats and sparkly drinks to celebrate our excellent year of eating and good cheer. We have plans to compile a cookbook and heck, who knows what's next. Maybe Inuit cuisine? I always wanted to try Polar Bear...