Gilding the Lily since 2006
I can’t seem to get enough strawberries these days. I cruised through 4 lbs of them in about a week, just eating them raw (stemmed and halved, with my fingers), and then had to pick up another flat of them over the weekend. It’s insidious. …
It’s been so hard to muster the energy or interest to cook, what with fatigue and nausea running the show. Pasta with red sauce seems to be accepted without a hitch, and requires nearly no effort, particularly when I have one last, treasured jar of homemade Bolognese from the homegrown heirloom tomatoes of last summer, canned with homeground beef chuck and fresh herbs. This last jar of sunshine was the end of an era.
This bastard lovechild between puttanesca (“the whore’s”) and Bolognese came from my need to taste red sauce with a little bit of saline fattiness of olives and the protein punch of beef. Chile flake (Korean, for flavor in addition to moderate heat) kicked it to a high hum.
Lots of grated parmesan and crusty bread to swab out the last smear of sauce is a no-brainer.
It’s so good to be back in my kitchen, I can’t even tell you. After the nettle dinner (those 24 things are so much work!) I was in the dry, dusty field for a week (botanical surveys in the western Central Valley, California), and spent …
Spring has officially sprung, and I was so tickled to take my first little stroll down to the forested wetlands at the nearby Reed College campus during an early break in the vernal rains. This time of year is my chance to shake the last …
I know, I know. I take off for a week, and this is all I got to show for it (especially since the last post was a total cop-out, even though I spent hours constructing that chocolatey cave from 2lbs of chocolate truffles)? Don’t worry, things will get exciting again real soon, I promise. I’ll be in the field off and on every week for a few weeks, and I’m going to try earnestly to find little roadside gems for you during my travels. Until then, I make my own diner food.
Pardon my photos, I’m trying to learn to properly use this camera instead of just clicking it over to the macro setting and letting it auto-focus. Adjusting the f-stop is an embuggerance, but will be worth it once I get it right! It’s a bumpy road to perfect mastery, but I’m trying to enjoy the ride.
Behold, the illustrious patty melt. A burger, for all intents and purposes, though open-faced. This one came on a thick slab of French batard (the King of Breads) with chopped green tomato pickle relish, mayo, hot mustard, a 1/3 lb patty of ground chuck and pork, grilled mushrooms and onions, and gooey, melted cheddar (hence, patty “melt”).
If you’re feeling conflicted about the fat and cholesterol (ha!), serve with lightly sautéed snap peas and a curry pickled okra spear. An ice-cold ginger beer wouldn’t hurt, either.
This is supposed to be about the sweet potato salad, but I really want to talk about the sandwich. Is it even okay to blog about a sandwich when I didn’t bake the bread or cure my own charcuterie? Is that allowed? We paid a …
Gratin Dauphinois is a basic thing. So basic, in fact, that I can’t imagine any reason why people would eat the boxed shit. The garbage dehydrated crap isn’t even cheaper. Okay, I’ll admit that it is marginally easier to open a box and a couple …
I don’t know if I can make this look any prettier. It’s a lot of monochrome visually, but the flavors were anything but one-note. I half-filled an olive-oiled baking dish with shaved fennel, layered on some milky-fleshed Dover sole filets (they smelled only of the Pacific and made me long for a gray day at the Oregon coast) the zest of an heirloom navel orange and some lightly crushed cardamom pods. Crunchy sea salt and black pepper, top with a protective layer of fennel fronds and into a hot oven. It’s done when the translucent fish goes porcelain-opaque.
Serve with a willowy Gewürztraminer and an ort of wit so obviously forced that it may as well be salami.
Hey, so I guess I feel like I’ve been doing a half-assed job at the blogging these days, and it 75% because I just don’t give a shit about food or cooking right now. I could probably eat a burrito or a bowl of noodles from a sketchy Chinese joint alternately and be perfectly happy. I guess part of it is shaking off the last bit of winter (unpredictable weather is causing a bit of learned helplessness) and some of it is the hassle of hobbling around in an orthopedic boot, but I just feel creatively tapped out.
How ironic, then, that I’ve been getting requests from marketers wanting me to blog about their product that they’re delighted to send me for free (chocolates? cheeses? sure, I’ll bite), and I’ve even been contacted a couple times to do a bit of real writing. The validation feels great, but unwarranted. When I feel the most proud of what I do, I feel my talents are being squandered and I’m unappreciated. When I blog through my self-loathing about a fucking grilled cheese sandwich with bacon and a fried egg, my traffic goes through the roof (it’s like the fucking Lotka-Volterra predator-prey model from Ecology 101). So I’m faced with an actual conundrum: do I whore myself to the traffic (and the sweet, sweet cash that it funnels into my PayPal account, thank you Foodbuzz), knowing that the people clearly want This Is Why You’re Fat SFW pornography? Or do I keep challenging myself creatively, accept that people’s eyes will glaze over if they can’t immediately relate, and resign myself to obscurity?
These questions don’t need your answers. I know the answer: you can’t force creativity and bacon fucking tastes good.
Don’t be afraid – it’s just pasta with fresh chickpeas and shredded pork. I threw in some calabacitas (a small, rounded zuke relative), too, just ‘cuz. I also found out that there is a Spanish word for pasta, and decided to use it instead of …