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.