Showing posts with label time travel. Show all posts
Showing posts with label time travel. Show all posts

Wednesday, February 27, 2013

Culinary Time Travel: February 27, 1990


I don’t have a recipe to share with you today, but I’m thankful for this little blog space where I can sit and write.  I realize that I’ve enjoyed writing about food for a long time, starting with a prize-winning essay in fourth grade detailing my disastrous attempt at making breakfast for my family when I was six years old.  (It involved my cooking oatmeal to within an inch of its life, stirring the porridge so insistently that it went far past the point of creamy until it was fried beyond recognition, setting off the smoke alarm in the process!) We could write on any topic we wanted for this district-wide contest, but even as a kid whose age was still a single digit, I found myself choosing to write about food.

I was thinking about previous February 27ths today, and I was laughing to myself while remembering the dinner I’d attended on this day in 1990.  It was a memorable evening if only for the reason that I tasted all kinds of food I’d never tried before, and I felt like I had been introduced to this whole new culinary world.  I was a particularly obsessive journal-writer as a teenager so it's not surprising that I felt compelled to process the entire evening in one of my many cloth-covered notebooks as soon as I got home, scribbling late into the night.


I had been asked to perform at a LA-area fund-raising dinner for the Interlochen Arts Camp (formerly known as the Interlochen National Music Camp), the magical place where I’d spent several formative summers.  This event was held in downtown Los Angeles at the California Club, a very exclusive social club that provided my first encounter with valet parking, an old-fashioned elevator operated by a tuxedo-clad gentleman, and a cocktail hour with hors d’oeuvres passed on silver trays.  I was sixteen at the time and proudly wearing my favorite green-and-purple plaid Laura Ashley dress for the occasion, a detail I cannot write with a straight face now, and I was thrilled to be there.

Sunday, November 7, 2010

The Black Pearl Cake

Allow me to introduce you to The Black Pearl Cake. Isn’t it a beauty?


I was not a kid who wanted the same cake for her birthday each year. From the age of ten, I began using my birthday as an opportunity to try out the most elaborate and decadent new dessert to catch my eye in the previous months, but I have people in my life who make the same annual request when it comes to their birthday cake. Jorge has eyes only for my Frozen Ginger Key Lime Pie every year since he first encountered it several years ago, and Rob will have no other birthday carrot cake than mine. Cenovia, who appreciates a great black-and-white in all forms (cake, cookie, milkshake, cat, etc.), has proven consistent in asking for my Black Pearl Cake for several years in a row. I was more than happy to oblige this request for her birthday dinner last week.


This particular study in black-and-white is inspired by one of the exotic chocolate bars from Vosges Chocolates. Their popular Black Pearl Bar is 55% bittersweet chocolate that gets its kick from both ginger and wasabi plus a little crunch from black sesame seeds. This flavor combination doesn’t strike me as unusual now, having experienced chocolate paired with all sorts of wild ingredients over the years, but it seemed very daring when I first made its acquaintance in 2003.

Friday, February 5, 2010

Black Magic Cake


Today is my mom’s birthday, and if I were in California today, I would most likely be baking her a chocolate cake right now. Most of the time I can't imagine living anywhere outside of New York, but it always feels weird to me not being there to celebrate my parents' birthdays with them in person, especially since I love birthdays so much and have always been the cake-baker in the family. Since we’re on opposite coasts right now, the least I can do is post a recipe for Black Magic Cake in my mom's honor.


Black Magic Cake is a simple two-bowl affair, so easy that even a kid could make it, which is why this recipe came to be one of the very first cakes in my repertoire years ago. You sift all the dry ingredients together into one bowl, mix the wet ingredients in another bowl, then combine everything and bake the batter in a greased 13-x-9-inch pan. That’s it. The recipe only calls for cocoa powder, not melted chocolate, and the addition of brewed coffee intensifies the chocolate flavor. This foolproof cake was a great way to start my baking career once upon a time.

Thursday, December 31, 2009

Kitchen Fiddler: A Year In Pictures

It seems that just the other day I was enjoying Cranberry Ginger Pecan Muffins on January 1st, but suddenly it’s New Year’s Eve again. What happened to the time??!

 
 

As a teenager I did an extensive journal-writing session every December 31st that provided a recap of the current year, celebrating the areas in which I grew and improved, as well as ranking my top 25 favorite days of that particular year. I still do that in a way, spending time reflecting on both the major highlights and lower points of the year. It feels healthy and necessary to recognize the ways in which both the positive and the challenging experiences have stretched and deepened me in different ways. Taking time to acknowledge this always makes me excited about moving forward into a new year.

 
 

I’m still working on my own personal recap of 2009, but throughout the various highs and lows of this year, the one thing that remained consistent was that I always had a blast cooking and writing for this blog. I would like to take a moment to thank you for visiting and keeping me company here on Kitchen Fiddler this year. I’ve had such fun experimenting in my kitchen and sharing stories with you these past twelve months, and I look forward to sharing many more culinary adventures in the near future.


Many recent newspapers and magazines have been filled with photo retrospectives of the year. I’ve chosen some of my particular favorite images from my kitchen efforts this year to give you my own version of the year-end photo spread, "Kitchen Fiddler 2009: The Year In Pictures".


I wish you all a joyous and creative 2010, one that is filled with many blessings. And of course, here’s wishing you a year filled with memorable meals, especially ones that you have the pleasure of enjoying with the favorite people in your life. Happy new year!!!


Sunday, October 11, 2009

Marinated Goat Cheese and the Power of Memory

Most of us have certain foods that hold the power to instantly transport us back to childhood or another memorable time. In “Remembrance of Things Past”, Marcel Proust famously wrote an eloquent description of how a single taste of a petite madeleine cookie conjured up a flood of childhood memories, and I think many people can relate to a particular taste triggering a stream of involuntary memories. However, I’ve started to realize that I actually have the reverse issue. My awareness of the current date—and the memories of what happened on that day in any given year—is often the trigger itself for some very insistent cravings.

Sometimes these cravings are seasonally prompted, but my cravings are often weirdly specific, usually corresponding to the first time I tasted a particular dish. It’s not terribly unusual to seek out desserts featuring fresh berries when these summer gems are most plentiful, but I have had an insatiable craving for Mixed Berry Shortcakes every July 4th ever since I first experienced these in 1996. For five years now, I have been overwhelmed by an almost desperate need for Chocolate Toasts every January 30th, and I am likely to create a scrumptious BLT made with fried green tomatoes each August 19th in honor of the outrageous sandwich I had in 2006. And I get strangely hungry for goat cheese on October Ninths, largely because of a hilarious conversation I once had with Christopher Walken about bizarre dreams and goat cheese soufflés before a matinee performance on October 9, 1999! (Click here to read the story.)

Sunday, July 19, 2009

Rococo Variations

I have a few swoon-inducing bars of Rococo chocolate in my possession right now. I’m afraid this may make you horribly jealous of me, for if you’ve ever had the good fortune to experience this exquisite chocolate from London, you definitely would be green with envy and might actually come banging on my door, shamelessly begging me to share my chocolate with you. This is some of the finest chocolate I have ever known, and I give Rococo major credit for deepening my understanding of how magical chocolate can be.

I had my first personal encounter with Rococo Chocolate in the fall of 2006, although I had heard about these organic artisan chocolate bars long before that. Apparently Rococo used to sell their beautiful chocolate at Saks Fifth Avenue here in New York, which is how several of my friends had been able to meet their chocolate needs in the past. But for some inexplicable reason, Rococo terminated their account with Saks by the time I was lusting after their chocolates flavored with such exotic ingredients as sea salt, pink peppercorns and geranium. Nowadays it isn’t so unusual to encounter chocolate infused with herbs and spices or other floral flavors, but this was nearly ten years ago before the esoteric chocolate explosion had hit the States. The London shop wouldn’t export their wares, so short of flying across the pond and descending upon the shop myself, there were years when I had no way to get my hands on this legendary chocolate.

But it is a great thing to make friends with Londoners who frequently make the journey to and from New York, and when my friend Rob was visiting his parents in London three summers ago, I gave him a hundred bucks and asked him to buy as much Rococo chocolate as he could with it. He came through for me big-time, returning with a substantial supply of these elegantly packaged bars, each wrapped in what resembled a tobacco pouch. The first bar I opened was the Caramelized Almond, and what an experience it was!


Saturday, June 27, 2009

Floating On Limoncello Memories

It has been raining intermittently all week here in New York, but I am ready for some consistent sunshine. Even though this has been the coolest June in recent memory, I am ready to delve into my treasure trove of fun summer recipes and share them with you. Certain days conjure up specific culinary memories for me, especially those of the revelatory sort, and today happens to be such a day for it was on June 27th three years ago in which I was introduced to one of my all-time favorite summer desserts. And it would be my great pleasure to introduce you in turn to the Limoncello Float.

I was doing a recording session with Kelli O’Hara and Harry Connick Jr. on this very day in 2006. I’d always thought Kelli had such a magical quality each time I’d seen her on the Broadway stage, and I was thrilled that she was recording her debut album, “Wonder In The World”. I was excited to work with Harry Connick for the first time, and my enjoyment on the gig was definitely enhanced by the presence of Cenovia and Lorra who were also in the violin section. As they have been two of my major partners in culinary capers over the years, it is no surprise that our conversations frequently turn to new restaurant discoveries or recipes we’re longing to try. This particular morning was no exception, for before the recording session even began, Lorra was waxing eloquently about a marvelous meal she’d enjoyed at a new restaurant in Chelsea called Cookshop. Her enthusiasm ratcheted up yet another notch as she described the limoncello float that was the exquisite clincher of the meal. It sounded like the perfect treat on a blisteringly hot summer day, and I spent the morning daydreaming about how that would taste. When the producers called an unexpectedly long lunch break in between our recording sessions, the three of us immediately hopped in a cab and made our way downtown for those limoncello floats.


I felt very happy and calm the moment I walked into Cookshop, appreciating the minimalist space that was filled with lots of light and countless glass vases of joyful sunflowers. Lunch was delicious, but the limoncello float was out of this world! Served in an elegantly tall glass, the alternating scoops of lemon and strawberry sorbet bobbed up and down in soda water, creating a kind of liquid sunset. And when I stuck my straw into the bottom of this frothy lemony loveliness, the first thing that hit my taste buds was the limoncello liqueur that had settled in the bottom of the glass. It was unexpected and totally beguiling.

Friday, January 16, 2009

Vibrant Colors For Your Walls And Soups

My general theory is that the deeper a vegetable’s color is, the more nutritional value it packs. Compare watery pale green iceberg lettuce with hearty emerald green Swiss chard. No contest. Or take starchy white russet potatoes versus dense garnet yams. You don’t have to be Sherlock Holmes to figure out which one is going to register higher on the vitamin scale. Don’t get me wrong, for I certainly love shredded iceberg on a Houston’s hamburger or a great bowl of mashed potatoes slathered with butter and cream. However, in the interest of my health and my mental well-being, I feel better when I opt for the more vividly colored vegetables that fill me up and don’t immediately send me into the dreaded “carb coma”.

It may be drab and bitter outside, but today is the day to overcome the chill of winter with a burst of vitality for your eyes and your palate. I am warming my stomach and my soul with a bowl of brilliant orange in the form of Sweet Potato and Peanut Soup. This recipe is so much more to me than just a scrumptious and nutritionally rich bowl of soup, for this very dish conjures up memories of the week in which I invited a new vibrant palette of colors into both my home and my life.


It was three years ago today that my apartment was infused with COLOR, and after a lifetime of strictly white walls, this transformation is still worth celebrating! I had done a massive overhaul of my apartment earlier that month, dramatically rearranging furniture, installing new lighting and purging all the clutter from my life. But I needed serious assistance with painting since I was instantly reduced to a state of paralysis during a solo trip to the paint store, overwhelmed by the endless choices suddenly available to me. Thank goodness for Peter and Alison, my wonderful brother and sister-in-law, both of whom are fine artists and true experts with a paint brush in any context. They have painted every one of their apartments together, choosing bold hues to transform each one of their living spaces, and I was thrilled when they agreed to help me paint my own apartment for the first time.

I was grateful for Alison’s keen eye and intuitive sense of color as she helped me sift through an endless pile of paint chips. It reminded me of being fitted for a new prescription by the optometrist who asks, “Which is sharper, A or B? C or D? A or D?” until the doctor finds the perfect lens which allows you to see clearly. Alison held paint swatches side by side, narrowing it down until we found colors that would not only complement each other but would truly resonate with me.


“Now THIS is a color that looks like you!” Alison had said three years ago today, generously coating the roller with a luxurious deep red paint. A wide smile spread across her face as she expertly guided the roller over the wall, gradually transforming the dingy white walls of my bedroom into a gorgeous burgundy red, a shade appropriately named Fine Wine. “I don’t know why we didn’t do this sooner,” Alison said. “You somehow look more like YOURSELF against a wall this color!”

After the bedroom had been deepened by Fine Wine, my very sunny living room was brightened to an almost ridiculous degree by a brilliant shade called Sunspot. This particular yellow conjured up visions of a most glorious field of sunflowers I had once seen from a train journey through Tuscany, a visual image which nearly reduced me to tears of joy at the time. This transformation of my own walls made me unbearably happy, for how could one ever be truly sad sitting in a room this cheerful and light, even in the dead of winter?!

I felt clumsy and unskilled with a paint brush, especially compared to my sister-in-law whose hand was so steady and practiced. I watched with admiration as Alison created perfectly cut lines where the walls met the ceiling without even having to use painter’s tape. And when my brother came later to join the painting party, they worked beautifully in tandem as though they were dancing a slow dance, taking turns leading and following each other as they moved along the walls with their paintbrushes. When I asked how I could help, Peter grinned at me and simply said, “Would you make food for us?”

Now THAT I could do.

A hearty soup is always appropriate and welcome in frigid January, and I was inspired by the bold colors that were going on my walls at that very moment. Sweet potatoes were the most enticing option, and I thought of a recipe for something called African Peanut Soup that I’d once tried from one of the Moosewood cookbooks. It was an unusual combination of ingredients which seemed odd at first glance—sweet potatoes combined with carrots, ginger, tomato and peanut butter, of all things—but I remember it being fabulous and nearly impossible to eat just one serving of it.

I didn’t have a recipe but I improvised one based on what I could remember of that Moosewood soup. While Peter and Alison did the lion’s share of the painting, I chopped and sautéed fragrant onions and garlic with pungent ginger. I added carrots for sweetness, crushed tomatoes for a bit of body and acidity to balance the sweetness, and I poured in vegetable broth along with the cubes of sweet potatoes. My stockpot was a riot of oranges and golds, as though I had grabbed a handful of paint swatches and tried to find an ingredient to correspond with every color on the chip.


When the sweet potatoes were tender, I pureed the entire mixture with an immersion blender until it had coalesced into a smooth puree. I blended peanut butter into the soup, which added a richness and a depth of flavor. Chopped scallions were an excellent garnish, providing a textural contrast and a splash of vivid green.

 
 

We devoured our sweet potato soup as we looked around proudly at these crazy-bright living room walls. “I think good things are going to happen to you now that you’ve done this to your living space,” Alison said. “I think it would be impossible not to be affected in a really positive way by this.” She was right, for that was the beginning of one of the most incredible years of my life. As I spent time in my newly transformed apartment, I found myself energized and inspired in new ways, wanting to stretch and challenge myself in bigger and better directions. In the end, 2006 was indeed a year of marvelous adventure, one that was characterized by a substantial deepening in many of my relationships with others as well as great creative flourishing and exciting travel all over the globe.


As I stand in my kitchen, I have a view of both my Fine Wine bedroom and my Sunspot living room, and I get great happiness looking into those side-by-side rooms from my kitchen vantage point. I whipped up a huge batch of my Sweet Potato and Peanut Soup this afternoon in honor of our painting party and the improvised creation of this recipe on 1/16/06. Three years later I am still filled with happiness to be surrounded by such vibrant color on my walls, at my table, and in my life.



SWEET POTATO AND PEANUT SOUP
Inspired by a recipe in Sunday Suppers at Moosewood

3 tablespoons olive oil
1 large onion, finely chopped
2 large garlic cloves, minced
1 1-inch piece fresh ginger root, peeled and minced
½ teaspoon salt
¼ to ½ teaspoon cayenne pepper (depending on how hot you like it)
1 large carrot, peeled and chopped (about 1 cup)
2 large sweet potatoes, peeled and chopped ( about 2 lbs.),
6 cups vegetable broth
1 cup canned crushed tomatoes
1 cup smooth peanut butter
Additional salt and pepper, to taste
Finely chopped scallions, for garnish

Heat the olive oil over medium heat in a heavy-bottomed stock pot. Add the chopped onions and cook until translucent, stirring frequently, about 5 minutes. Add the minced garlic, ginger, salt and cayenne pepper and cook for an additional minute, stirring constantly. Do not let the mixture brown; if the mixture is dry, add a splash or two of the vegetable broth to prevent this from sticking to the bottom of the pot. Add the chopped carrots, stirring frequently until the carrot begins to soften a bit, about 5 minutes. Add the chopped sweet potatoes and crushed tomatoes, then carefully pour in the vegetable broth and stir. Increase heat and bring soup to a boil; when the stock is boiling, reduce heat and simmer over low heat until the sweet potatoes are tender, about 15 minutes.

Remove from heat and let cool slightly. Stir in peanut butter. Puree the soup using a handheld immersion blender. Alternatively, you can puree the soup in batches in a standard blender or food processor.

Taste the soup for seasoning, adding salt and pepper as necessary. Garnish with lots of chopped scallions. Serves 6 to 8.