Gilding the Lily since 2006
This side dish is from ONE beet. One perfect, golden nugget so sweet I could eat the whole plate for dinner alone. I scrubbed and cubed it, steamed it, then simply dressed it in good butter, a splash of Norm’s homemade Pinot vinegar, and some …
Because I am completely détritus blanc, I prefer my mac & chee with ketchup. Oh, don’t look at me like that. Some of you are toasting marshmallows onto pork loin chops or eating barbecue sauce on spaghetti. Like that’s a thing. Ketchup on mac & …
The other day I was wandering around New Seasons, as is my wont, and they had an unbelievable deal on pork spareribs. Like $2.38 a pound or sommat. Sure, you’re mostly paying for bone, but that’s still so cheap that you can get a half a rack for a few bucks and feed two people easily.
Their root veg was particularly enormous, too, and I wound up buying a turnip and a golden beet, each easily the size of my head. The crispy autumn sunshine and oak duff worked their magic on me, and I fell into the trance of a slow braise. Orange zest and juice, sugar, soy sauce, garlic and shallots warmed in a wide casserole and I slipped the ribs under the cozy liquid, tucked it snug in its bed with tinfoil, and kissed it goodnight in a three-hour warm oven.
When the meat was dripping off the bones, I reduced the liquid until sticky-sweet and earthy soy. I boiled and mashed a whole megatuber, Super Mario-esque turnip with a lot of buttermilk and cultured butter, added a pinch of salt and chopped parsley, and then ran the immersion blender through it for good measure.
Pencil-thin asparagus (not in season, but Scott tends to pick it up for his requisite steak-and-mashed-potato-while-Heather-is away Man Dinner, and we had some left from last week when he made just such a purchase) took a hot pan with olive oil, salt and lemon zest.
Most of the meat fell off when I tried to cut the ribs apart, but I was able to salvage a few for the photo. I can’t stop thinking about everything else I want to braise.
I swear, I’ve almost worked through all of my chanterelles. I’m actually getting tired of eating them, being too much of a good thing. I’ve been craving pot pies and brown gravy and all that, and thought I’d give making pasties a go. It’s pretty …
…and their respective Meatloaf Sammiches. Warning: iPhone photos ahead! Apologies for the powdered milk patina. So, I’ve been out of town a lot for work. It’s a controversial project that I can’t discuss, but I do a lot of driving and hiking. In the rain. …
Meeehhhhhhh. Weh!An ass-busting week in the field, an all-night Halloween bender followed by an all-day wicked hangover, then I started my woman times yesterday. I have not given less of a shit about blogging since I chopped off the tip my pinky last spring. I haven’t blogged in more than a week, and no one has even noticed! Cue tiniest violin in the world playing my fucking song.
Needless to say, I need a little hug. Sure, the husband is good for a pitying hug when I give him that look (he has a special way that makes you feel comforted, but not patronized, even when you know you’re being an unfuckable hag), but nothing can hug my insides like a bowl of bibimbop.
Bibimbop is the ultimate Korean comfort food – I surmise it’s what Korean moms make their rainy-day kids instead of grilled chee and Campbell’s tomato soup by the fire. A hot bowl of steamed rice top with bits and ends: leftover steak, thinly-sliced and dressed with black vinegar and sesame oil (throw some leftover eggplant in there too to soak up some beefy juice); some sautéed shiitakes (from my shiitake logs) marinated in mirin, sugar, thick soy sauce and black pepper; thinly-sliced cucumber quickled in rice vinegar, sugar, salt and black sesame seeds; some wilted bean sprouts hit with a splash of mirin and sake; yam boiled in soy sauce and sugar; and red bell pepper and onion browned with sesame oil, chile and garlic. I have some leftover gai lan with oyster sauce, throw that on there too. Oh, and you can’t forget a spanky wad of kimchi. Top with an egg fried over easy (stir the raw yolk into the hot rice) and a blob of gochujang. Commence toe-curl.
Now if you’ll excuse me, I have some Gossip Girl and Heroes to watch.
October is the month of the Eat Local Challenge, and while I don’t subscribe fully to the notion that we should necessarily restrict ourselves to procure all of our food from a 100-mile radius (I like cooking with salt and pepper, thankyouverymuch), I sometimes forget …
…or, wherein I find out that Ilan Hall is actually super nice, and pretty funny in real life. He totally forgave me for making fun of him and everything (for the record, he is NOT afraid of starfucking fangirls, and isn’t into the dick. He …
Okay, this is a total phone-in. I will give the concession that I used homemade chicken stock, and sure, I poached the chicken breast with lots of fresh ginger and garlic, some sake, mirin and sesame oil, then added sliced shiitakes, Sweet Nantes carrots and delicate pearl potatoes. I even threw in some heirloom Italian pepper such deep carmine that it resembles raw beef. But this is hardly cooking.
Okay, I added cubed silken tofu, slivered scallions and sliced snow peas, and at the end I folded in some thick, chewy udon noodles (boiled separately so the broth wouldn’t go all soapy-starchy).
Come to think of it, what I did was truly cooking, but the act of breaking a couple cubes of Golden Curry into soup made it feel like I was faking it. Sure, I could’ve just added some curry powder, MSG (yes, I keep a fatty sack of it in my cupboard) and a little sugar and corn starch, and I would’ve achieved the same result. But I used the cubes. And I feel like a dirty cheater admitting it.
I keep cheapie Gekkeikan around for cooking, but a nice bottle of Momokawa Diamond Junmai Ginjo (I love the cloudy Pearl Junmai Genshu in the summer) for drinking. I know it’s probably sacrilege, but I heat osake in the microwave. In exactly one minute it reaches perfect blood-temperature.
Oh, p.s. I’ll be in and out a bit until Sunday. My good friend Catherine Wilkinson from The Dish is in town competing at the Tillamook Macaroni and Cheese Cook-off. In case you’re wondering, yes, she really is that hot in real life. Today I brought her chanterelles for her recipe, then we sat in the bar of her hotel making fun of Ilan Hall from Top Chef Season 2, who is emceeing the event. Catherine had been mistakenly calling him “Ian” all day, and couldn’t figure out why he was so standoffish. For laughs, I went to the concierge and asked her to page Ilan’s room to tell him he had two ladies waiting for him in the bar. He never showed up; probably because he is gay, or afraid of starfucking fangirls.
Oh, p.p.s. I’m planning a very special dinner for twelve of my closest friends this weekend. Elk roast with alder-smoked chanterelles, coho loukaniko with Fraga Farm saganaki and Hood River pear galettes with Douglas-fir needle ice cream will feature prominently. Stay tuned, and happy autumn!
I’ve really been craving Ethiopian food lately. Maybe I’m deficient in pulses, or just have a jones for hallucinogenically spicy food. The first time I tried Ethiopian food, I didn’t really know much about it other than its reputation for being hot, that it leans …