You're a Wonder...

I've loved Wonder Woman since I was 6-years-old and watched her inspiring tv show. Though today I reluctantly admit she isn't technically real, I still admire what she stands for and her constructive problem solving skills (if only I could find my own golden Lasso of Truth...).

The last year has involved a lot of upheaval and sadness, and I freely admit one of my biggest comforts has come from this:

The script says, "As lovely as Aphrodite, as wise as Athena," an excellent message to see over and over throughout the day. It's ceramic and feels solid in my hand, and it makes others smile.

A few weeks ago I left it on top of my car, drove off, and it shattered when I turned the corner and my cheery yellow mug smashed into the ground. Losing Wonder Woman pushed my last button; I pulled over and had a complete little kid meltdown. I thought, Really, God? You had to take my Wonder Woman mug too? (It's been a tough year.)

Earlier this week I was driving past Warner Bros. studios in Burbank. I thought, Hey, don't they sell Wonder Woman stuff there? I pulled over, parked, walked through the metal detectors and Holy Diana! There it was! $18.61 later, balance is restored and I am on my way once again.

Latté Love

My friend Eve made me this delectable item today:



Her employer, Square One, uses Intelligentsia coffee and does hardcore training for its staff. I overheard some of it; I believe there were advanced calculus problems involved and I realized~ yet again~ many things I love I actually know very little about. *sigh*

I find very very good espresso doesn't give me the jitters. I don't know why; I'm sure there's the same amount of caffeine in a great or terrible shot, but this latté went down smooth and mellowed me the heck out. Maybe it's because you just can't gulp the good stuff. Like a nibble of exquisite cheese or a chunk of serious chocolate, when there's serious umami a little goes a long way.

What a Cook Wants. 5

.
Ridiculously Good Coffee

This coffee is in the category of affordable luxury. The folks at Intelligenstia are the best sort of coffee fiends, they're in it to win it and just as OCD as our good friends at Cook's Illustrated magazine. I like these types: they obsess so I don't have to.
If you have a coffee lover in your life this is an economical way to delight them, plus an easy way to be the belle of the ball at any sort of holiday gift swap you attend. I'd suggest starting with the house blend, it's bright, slightly fruity with notes of chocolate and perfectly balanced. $14 might seem like a lot for a pound of coffee, but it's cheaper than an espresso machine!
Intelligentsia House Blend coffee, $14 per pound. It's worth it to go to the page simply to check out the choice of grinds. There are 14 options. Sweet.

What a Cook Wants, 5

The Newest Toy for Espresso Fiends
You've heard by now about my little coffee, uh, problem. Not that it's really a problem because I can stop any time. I can... I just don't feel like it right now. Whatevs. You're not my mom. Back off.
*cough* Anyway, you don't have to be espresso-obsessed to enjoy the ingenuity of this electricity-free press. The guy who invented the aerobie frisbee is also a fan of the dark bean, and he designed the acrylic tube system that uses simple physics to brew the espresso in less than a minute, thus avoiding a lot of the harsh tannins and bitterness. And satisfying your serious coffee jones, pronto.
Heck, you could even take it camping.
The Aeropress Coffee & Espresso Maker, $30 and worth every cracked-out nickel.

What a Cook Wants, 2

A Knuckle Sandwich
This is for the big bruiser in your life. Maybe it's your cousin who works in "sanitation" and is always disappearing at 2am, maybe it's your high-powered attorney friend, maybe it's your mom. (We've all met those moms.)
The mug is actually a slightly fabulous piece of art, from the L.A. duo P.A.D. They're only doing runs of 100 each, so give 'em to your favorite tough cookie fast... you don't want to fight for this.
Gold Knuckles Mug in black or white from P.A.D., $98. It makes the coffee stronger and a little bitter. Grrrrrr.

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!

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.

Coffee Crisis!

Sweet Lord, I believe my espresso machine has died! Whatever shall I do, dear reader, where ever shall I go? Two days ago it heated up when I flicked the switch, but when I turned the knob to 'caffè'
nothing happened!

And yesterday morning, I flicked the switch: nothing. It didn't even heat up. Eeeeek! I don't know what to do. How can I enjoy my coffee love each morning?
I was forced to make do with this little cutie

imported from Italy, I've had it for years. I even took it camping once; over the fire it took forever (and I was hung over, ouch), but on a gas stove it quickly turns out a lovely, airy espresso. But what if that one breaks?

Hmm, I'd probably be forced to use my Froggy French Press,
which actually makes a tasty pot of coffee. The flavor is very clean and the pressing part is fun every time (simple pleasures, friends).



Of course I could probably get by with my little black coffee pot:
or my big white pot:

(You notice both of those are in far away cabinets? We see which method of coffee preparation brews the worst cup!)

Though in the end, I suppose I could simply open up my new espresso machine!

It's not as good a machine as my beloved Krups, but (true story) it was a gift from Barbara Fairchild, editor in chief of Bon Appétit. I think she wanted it out of her car's trunk, and I was the one standing closest.
I just hope I can figure out a way to have my latté tomorrow morning!
sigh I believe this is what we'd call a "quality problem" :)

The Most Important Meal of the Year

Every year I feel a bit superstitious about Jan. 1, that it's important to set a good tone for the coming year. This can be challenging when one perhaps stumbled into bed at 3am the night before, after what we'll call "too much fun." Fortunately my friends Tanya and Erik were less self-abusive last night, so held a lovely New Year's brunch. I helped with the meat preparation; this photo reminds me of my mom and grandmother at the stove when I was small, all that's missing is a cigarette dangling from my lips.
I hope everyone's new year started with good company and delicious food. Our eggnog French toast was delightful.

Back on the Caf

One of the terrible side effects of FOUR DAYS of food poisoning is that even the most faithful among us, the most devout of devotees, cast aside our daily worship practices.
I'm sure some of you are thinking, "That's terrible, there's no excuse for ignoring your God, Tory."
While other, more gentle folk might be thinking, "The Goddess understands, the important thing is to get back to your practice once you're feeling better."
To which I reply, What on earth are you people talking about? I'm writing about coffee here. This ain't no religion blog.
Jeez.
Ahh, my true source of power and wisdom: the lusty bean. I don't know how long it's been since I didn't have a cup of joe in the morning. I had to drink green tea for several days while my body was in protest; it got the job done, but wasn't the same. The smell of coffee is so welcoming and enveloping, it says, come here friend, you are loved and everything is ok.
I like knowing that regardless of what is happening in my life or in the world I can still be greeted by a cup of coffee and feel good. People die, jobs end, a romance goes sour-- through it all I can fire up my espresso machine and find solace in the earthy brown elixir.

Now I have friends in AA who've shared about their gnawing need to drink, how alcohol and drugs made them feel warm and whole when their world seemed empty and bleak, how it was the one friend, nay lover, who (at least for a while) didn't let them down. One of these kind folk recently observed that I seem to "need" coffee to function, that my attitude towards it sounded obsessive. He noted when I don't get coffee in the morning, I become, how do you say, hmmm, I believe the word he chose was hostile.
You know, I can stop any time... I don't need coffee to have a happy life... it's not interfering with my daily living... mmm, must go to Peet's... ah, hello coffee my old friend, my precious...