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One of the distinct and delicious benefits to working with people from all over the world is that when they travel home, or when their respective families come to visit, all sorts of delicious and unique treats show up in the office hallways. This time, the mother of one of my Turkish colleagues came to visit bearing boxes of "the best balkava in the world" from a bakery in their hometown.
Now I don't usually think of baklava as juicy but this stuff was exactly that (very different from the stuff at Gorgeous George's but both are amazingly delicious.) Practically dripping, as it was, with the sticky syrup that binds the 40 layers of dough and nuts together, it was just about impossible to extract a piece from the box without both becoming covered in stickiness and also without breaking the piece in half. But no matter - part of the fun is licking your fingers afterwards. The green in the picture is finely-ground pistachio that becomes a paste in the middle layer of the pasty and is also sprinled on top. The pistachios a little tart and salty, too. Somehow, despite the intense sweetness, the pastry is also savoury and even refreshing, though I might have found it a little overwhelmingly intense had I not, fortuitously, had a cup of iced mint tea to hand at the time.
This is the fifth and final part of the chronicle of the culinary adventures of July 18/19/20 when my parents came to town for a particularly food-filled weekend. [Beginning]
Part 5: The Lavender FestivalOne of my favorite things to do in Seattle in the summer actually takes place about two and a half hours away in a place called Sequim (say "Squim" despite whatever your brain may tell you about pronunciation.) The northern end of the Olympic peninsula is apparently an excellent climate in which to grow lavender (as is most of the pacific northwest given the large lavender plants in practically every other yard.) 
Once a year Sequim holds a festival to promote all things lavender and it is a great way to spend a day. Lavender is great both in cleaning products and also in food, though sometimes people have a hard time getting the image of soap out of their minds when eating something made with lavender. Sometimes dishes made with lavender can taste a little astringent and the real art of cooking with lavender is balancing the flavours so that you taste what lavender smells like - like with coffee, the aroma is sweet and rich and not harsh at all. I'm still trying to master that subtlty and nuance.
The lavender festival is great because it has two parts, a street fair with food and people selling stuff and also lavender farms where you can go pick your own bundles of different kinds of lavender and taste the various concoctions each farm creates for the festival. 
Some of these delicacies are just that - delicate and lightly perfumed with lavender. Others are flights of fancy - mixtures of flavours or experiments created simply for the joy of playing with a fun and versatile herb. Some of the highlights: Lemon-lavender sorbet - refreshing with a crispness from both the lemon and the lavender, but with a slightly rounder flavour than simple lemon sorbet. Peach-lavender ice cream - despite being cold it has a warm and soft flavour, like the outside of a peach. Lavender mini donuts - they don't even really taste like lavender but rather smell intensely of it because they're hot and steaming. Lavender crepes - powdered sugar with powdered lavender turns into a tart, savory (but still sweet!) syrup inside a hot, fresh crepe.
Some of the more peculiar items: Lavender-chocolate-orange ice cream - not quite sure where this one was trying to go, but too many flavours mixing in odd ways and one of those cases in which the whole thing ended up tasting a little soapy even though there wasn't much lavender in it. Lavender hot dogs - I was way too full with crepes and ice cream to try one of these but I'll try it next year. I suppose it shouldn't be that odd given that lavender is great in spice rubs on grilled meats but somehow it seems just a bit peculiar. Next year we shall see! 
And then there's the peace of submerging yourself in the sights, smells, sounds of a blooming field of lavender, which can't really be done justice in words.
This is the fourth part of the chronicle of the culinary adventures of July 18/19/20 when my parents came to town for a particularly food-filled weekend. [Beginning]
Part 4: Bon OdoriThe Bon festival in Japanese Buddhism is an occasion commemorating ancestors. It is a yearly festival that generally involves family reunion and Bon Odori, or the "Bon Dance." We were told about about the festival by one of the hosts at Etta's, with whom I was discussing the merits of soba noodles (which had accompanied my seared albacore tuna - yum!) Discussing soba turned into an exploration of cold Japanese noodles of all varieties and culminated with an exhortation to attend the Bon Odori at the Seattle Buddhist Temple the following day, at which many such noodle varieties could be sampled. So, what else, but off we went, after going to Bite of Seattle first! Bon Odori, according to wikipedia, is the traditional community dance done during the Bon festival. It is large - in this case several rings of people filling two blocks of street in front of the Buddhist temple. 
And since all that dancing works up quite the appetite, there are many varieties of food on offer. We went straight for the somen noodles and the first surprise was that they were ice cold. Thin noodles served in a brown bonito/miso broth with some scallions and a little chili powder and soy sauce, and all cold. As such, it was just about the perfect refreshing, yet filling, food for a hot, sunny day - a little sweet and a little salty at the same time, and it stayed cold until the last bite. Onto the list of things to try making, along with soba.
Then we discovered the grill around back of the temple and had yaki onigiri - grilled teriyaki rice balls. Sticky and sweet and crunchy, humming with ginger and soy and golden brown. Take a look - even the picture looks good enough to eat. 
A few Japanese restaurants make them and I can't think of any off the top of my head so I guess you'll just have to go exploring. As if a giant ball of rice on top of the heap of somen weren't enough, I had to try the shaved ice with sweet red beans and sweetened condensed milk in addition to the usual fruity syrups. The substance added by the milk makes the whole thing not quite so syrupy and sickly-sweet as were it just ice and fruity syrup and the beans add surprising little variations of texture and taste - a little salty, too - that complement the sweet, fruity crunchiness of the rest of the pile of ice shavings. It was a really good thing to eat while watching a taiko drumming performance.
[Part 5: The Lavender Festival >> ]
This is the third part of the chronicle of the culinary adventures of July 18/19/20 when my parents came to town for a particularly food-filled weekend. [Beginning]
Part 3: Bite of SeattleEvery year Seattle Center hosts a food festival called Bite of Seattle at which all sorts of food vendors and artists display and distribute their respective wares and skills. This is the first time I have been able to attend and it was a zoo! Thousands of people thronging the paths and all other available space at Seattle Center, all in pursuit of something delicious (though some were also interested in getting soaked in the giant fountain because it was a hot and glorious day. Course #1 was another ear of roasted corn - two in as many days! And then we wandered into "The Alley" hosted by Tom Douglas and where a very obliging total stranger allowed me to take a photo of her delicious-looking plate of food. 
The Alley is sort of a planned, multi-course meal of morsels from some of Seattle's best restaurants. On this day, the offerings were as follows:
Prawn-stuffed Halibut - good fish, stuffed with other kinds of good fish, with a light mustard sauce that helped all of the flavours dance but not step on each other's toes.
Portage Bay Cafe
Ancient Roman Meatballs - following what seems an increasing interest in cooking things like the Romans did these are sweet and sour and savory all at once, and rather different. I liked them because of their intensity of flavour.
Al Boccalino
Crispy Duck Cake - which was rather like a duck falafel. Sort of peculiar, but tasty. I wanted more duck and less crunch.
Andaluca
Gazpacho - this took the cake. It had a pinch of crabmeat in it and was topped with some avocado coulis. It was also a wonderful silky texture and refreshing and sweet, but light, too.
Salty's on Alki Beach
Mini Steak Sandwich - managing to have tender fresh-roasted beef for thousands of people? I think these folks know what they're doing with meat.
The Daily Grill
Slow Smoked Pork Butt with Sweet Corn Chow Chow - quite a mouthful no matter how you slice it.
Dahlia Lounge
Marion Blackberry Sorbet - ever eaten a blackberry and a marionberry at the same time? This is what it tastes like. But actually, their pistachio was truly transcendent.
Gelatiamo
After this "meal" (and meal it was, small bites though it may have been) we meandered through the rest of the festival until we heard about the place selling cajun alligator on a stick. Now this I had to try. But first we had to sample the fresh-roasted salmon at the stand next to the cajun place. As you'll see in the photo, they were cooking the salmon completely simply, sandwiched between a few sticks that were stood around a fire. 
I've never had salmon so tender and juicy so I think I'll be trying to cook like that at some point (though I'd have to find an open firepit.) But on to the alligator. I wasn't sure quote what to expect when I asked for the cajun alligator but here it is:
It was, in the finest cajun cooking traditions, battered and deep-fried, but frying done right actually seals the food and steams it inside the crispy batter shell so whatever is inside stays juicy and tender. And so was the alligator. I can best describe the flavour as incredibly intense pork, like carnitas only if you kept adding and cooking down more broth. And the texture was dense - very dense - but smooth and rich, with almost no fat anywhere. Conceptually it is a little odd to equate the meat, such as it was, to the large, scaly, dinosaurish reptile, but it certainly was tasty and I look forward to the next time I have it.
[Part 4: Bon Odori >> ]
This is the second part of the chronicle of the culinary adventures of July 18/19/20 when my parents came to town for a particularly food-filled weekend. [Beginning]
Part 2: Pike Place MarketOne of my earliest experiences in Seattle food was wandering around Pike Place Market on a bitterly cold winter day, spending three hours or so having a meandering lunch among the many various foods on offer and I've been going back for more ever since. Some of the shops have changed, but almost every one distributes free samples or tastings or has small-sized things to purchase for very small prices. It being a tourist attraction, summer weekends are nuts at the Market, but if you're not in a hurry it's no big deal and if you are in a hurry there are all sorts of little back-passageways and side-doors that you can use as shortcuts to bypass the crowds of wandering out-of-towners wishing they had something so delicious much closer to home. This will not be an exhaustive list of the things one can eat at the market, but, instead, a shameless tempting of the tastebuds and imagination of you readers to go have a gastronomic adventure of your own.
You'll enter the market from a different corner depending on where you manage to find parking in the Saturday parking melee. On this particular visit, we were coming from near the park overlooking Elliot Bay, in which there has recently appeared a man in posession of a corn-roasting machine. Not just a glorified BBQ, the giant, stainless-steel, blast-furnace-like contraption can roast several hundred ears at once to perfection. If you're from or have been to the midwest in late summer, you'll understand the glorious explosion of sweet and savory juiciness that is a freshly-roasted ear of corn, painted with butter and sprinkled with salt and pepper (or completely naked - also delicious!) And the corn is now local. So get one (with several napkins for the juice that will dribble down your chin) and resist the temptation to get another because there's lots more to come.
It's a good thing to have something in your stomach before you go wandering up the aisle of stalls selling fruit and jams and fish and beef jerky and honey and more fish and asparagus and the biggest morel I've ever seen and more fish. Buy some fruit. It's delicious. Right now the raspberries are amazing despite the cold wet spring putting off the season for about a month. The day we were there one of the greengrocers was also selling the biggest morel I've ever seen and huge bunches of asparagus. 
And just when you thought you reached the other end of the market you find that the fish-throwers not only throw fish but also give out samples of cured salmon - either the hot-smoked stuff that is juicy and incredibly sweet and not fishy at all or the cold-smoked "belly strips" that are basically like salmon prosciutto and can be used either cubed for a salad or quiche or shaved and layered on top of a fillet of fresh fish under the broiler so the oily belly strips get crispy and keep the fillet juicy.
Step next door to Don & Joe's Meats and grab a landjäger "German walking sausage" to eat while you watch the guys behind the counter wrestle with huge slabs of meat in pursuit of the perfect cut, which is all I've ever received from them. You'll also have to mull over the inevitable comparisons between the slightly spicy and tangy landjäger and the various cured salmons so head to Marketspice while you're chewing for a small cup of their house-blend tea (I prefer it iced, which you get in the summer.) And then (finally?) to the mini-donut stand to grab a half-dozen tiny, crispy, steaming, cinnamon-sugar donuts that always disappear faster than would seem to be permitted by the laws of physics. And then, if you really have time on your hands and still miraculously have room in your stomach, go into De Laurenti, the gourmet food store at the corner of Pike and First. This time my parents and I went in to taste olive oils (of which about 20 open bottles sit, for such a purpose, at the top of the stairs the the store's second level.) But olive oil is due a more comprehensive discussion later. If you're in the mood, you can also taste any of the many cheeses and they usually have another special tasting of something - the day in question it happened to be chocolate.
There are many other delicious things to be had on a stroll through the market, such as cheesecake truffles, steamed buns with BBQ pork filling, and all the varieties of fresh fruit and vegetables that are great to snack on, but part of the fun of eating your way through the market is not knowing quite what you'll find or want. So go explore!
[Part 3: Bite of Seattle >> ]
This is the first part of the chronicle of the culinary adventures of July 18/19/20 when my parents came to town for a particularly food-filled weekend.
When my parents come to visit the entire experience usually centers around food - what we're going to eat when or what we're going to eat next. When their visit happens to coincide with a weekend that saw a particular embarassment of riches in the way of food-related events it makes for a particularly memorable (and full) couple of days. It so happens that Seattle has one hell of a summer, though for an indeterminate lenght of time ranging from several months (two summers ago) to a very few weeks (last summer.) The unpredictability of the summer seems to incline event and festival planners to all try to cram their respective events and festivals into the few weekends when they can be reasonably sure the weather will cooperate, though history dictates that even with such careful planning the cold and damp can strike any time. This year, the weekend of 19/20 July contained at least these events - Bite of Seattle, the Sequim Lavender Festival, Seattle Bon Odori, The Kirkland Wine Tasting, the Ballard Seafood Fest - and who knows how many others. Add to this list an inevitable trip to Pike Place Market and the desire to enjoy some of the other treasures of Seattle food and the idea of making it through the long weekend and remaining upright seems a bit of a tall order. But when faced with such an epic and delicious challenge what is there to do but accept it and enjoy the gastronomical adventure?
Part 1: Gorgeous George
Gorgeous George runs a delicious mediterranean restaurant on Greenwood Avenue at 77th Street. It is a small place that he's had for about a year, having finally opened his own place after working all over the Seattle area and in many places in Europe and Israel. It is hard to decide if the best thing about the place is food or George, so I think the best way to sum it up is by saying that going there will be good for the stomach and good for the soul. Let's start with the smell. On walking into the restaurant your nose is greeted with a mixture of garlic, hot pita bread, and the tart but savory mix of lemon, mint, oregano and rosemary that hints at the flavours of the meal to come. George himself is warm and affable and gregarious, and very accommodating, but also serious about his business of feeding you well in a comfortable environment. And you will be fed well.
The home-made hummus is smooth and refreshing, and the pita warm and addictive. The falafel is perfect - cruncy on the outside and hot and tender inside and a little bit sweet. In short, everything I've eaten there tastes like it was made by family - made with love. The greek salad - a huge pile of vegetables with that verges on sensory overload with lemon, oregano, and tarragon (I think...) and a generous handful of feta that makes the whole thing look like Mt. Rainier in the winter and seem almost as big. And the lamb kebob is simple and hearty, with rosemary and some other spices that sneak past under the radar but deepen and intensify the flavours of the juicy and velvety chunks of lamb tenderloin (!). And if you have room, by some miracle of the multi-dimensionality of stomachs, the baklava provides a suitably intense and beautiful finale to the tastebud fireworks, crispy and flaky, with crumbling ground pistachios, and a glowing sweetness that seems impossible in something so unassumingly small. And if this preceding paragraph smacks of sensationalism I guess you'll just have to go see for yourself!
[Part 2: Pike Place Market >> ]
On a recent trip to Boston, Massachusetts I found myself at North Station with about an hour to kill. So, in usual fashion, I said to myself, "I'll walk that direction." As it happens, I had unwittingly put myself on the way to the middle of the North End - the Italian neighborhood. Also unbeknownst to me, it was the evening of the Feast of Saint Joseph, which, of course, was as good a reason as any for the neighborhood to have a big festival. Cue me, stumbling onto a street decorated with all sorts of banners and food and amusement stalls of all sorts. It was still early and things were just getting started, but there were already plumes of steam from the giant pasta cookers and smoke from the grills and flattops with meats and peppers and sausages. And on one corner there was a much quiter stand with a pyramid of cannoli shells piled on a table. I'd resisted the other stalls because I was going to be eating dinner soon, but how could I possibly resist getting a cannoli on the street in the North End? 
Three fillings were on offer: chocolate, vanilla, and sweet ricotta with chocolate chips - no contest, especially when the maker's favorite was also mine - the ricotta. The shell was crispy yet solid, not a stiff, cardboard-like tube that I've had out of bakery refrigerator cases before. And the filling was dense and cheesy, but also sweet and a little floral and with the tartness of the bittersweet chocolate chips. Glorious.
My advice: take the cannoli.
One of my true pleaseures in cooking is finding that incredibly simple combination of good ingredients that at the same time yields such a complex and delightful combination of flavours and textures. One such dinner of my recent making used the following:
1 Portobello Mushroom
1 Asian Pear
1 Clove Garlic
1 Handful Spinach
1 Splash Olive Oil
1 Drizzle Aged Balsamic Vinegar
1 Pinch Sea Salt
1 Twist Ground Pepper
That's it - 10 minutes. I briefly sauteed the garlic in a little olive oil and then sliced the mushroom and tossed it in, cooking it until coated in oil and softened. I sliced the pear into thin segments and ringed the plate with them, put the handful of spinach in the middle of the plate, dropped the hot mushroom slices (with remaining juices and oil) on top of the spinach and finished with salt and pepper on the mushroom and a drizzle of the old sweet balsamic over everything. 
I love asian pears - they taste like eating a crunchy and refreshing combination of honey and sunshine. And with the darker sweetness of the balsamic and the clean smoothness of the olive oil it's like eating a perfect autumn day. The mushroom is dense and earthy, and juicy, too. The garlic's tartness is good in harmony with the richer taste of the mushroom and also the crispy fresh green of the spinach - the juices from the mushroom and garlic obviating any desire for dressing for the spinach.
And it is also singularly satisfying when something so quick and simple can also look so lovely sitting there on the plate.
At my most recent BBQ my friends and I found ourselves confronted with a singularly intractable problem. What exactly defines a muffin as distinct from a cupcake, and vice versa? Many theories were floated, but while all potentially equally valid (or invalid, as the case may be), all lacked a convincing air of correctness. Whether or not fruit or icing is present? If a wrapper is used? None were conclusive and exceptions abound.
So I put it to you, dear readers: How do you tell the difference between a muffin and a cupcake?
Also, in case you were wondering, these (concocted and brought by a generous friend) were what sparked the controversy in the first place because they're so incredibly delicious and we had the classic human urge to classify them according to their appropriate species. But perhaps they are the culinary equivalent of the platypus? We decided to compromise on the name (which we also thought Cupcake Royale might like).
BANANA CHOCOLATE-CHIP MUFFCAKES
Adapted from Aunt Jemima's Pancake Muffins - even they're not sure what to call them! (Our additions in italics.)
2 C Aunt Jemima® Whole Wheat Blend Pancake & Waffle Mix
½ t Cinnamon, ground
⅔ C 2% Milk
⅓ C Honey
1 Egg, slightly beaten
¼ C Vegetable Oil
1 t Vanilla Extract
2 Bananas, mashed
½ Bag Chocolate Chips (or as many as you think you can get away with!)
1. Preheat oven to 425° F.
2. Spray 12 medium muffin cups with nonfat cooking spray or line with paper baking cups. Our recipe made 15, not 12...
3. Combine pancake mix and cinnamon in medium bowl.
4. Combine milk, honey, egg, oil and vanilla and banana in small bowl with wire whisk; add to dry mixture. Mix just until dry ingredients are moistened. Mix in chocolate chips last.
5. Fill muffin cups ¾ full. Bake 15-18 minutes or until toothpick inserted in center comes out clean.
6. Cool 2 minutes in pan. Remove to cooling rack.
Notes:
1. You could use pretty much any fruit - the bananas add moisture, other fruits would be more like the chocolate chips and remain chunks instead of blending in so well.
2. Top with icing and a drizzle of chocolate sauce, or really anything for that matter. I can imagine topping these with raspberry-ginger preserves, etc.
Grilling fish can be tricky, especially with flaky fish. But the following proved quite tasty:
Black Cod Fillet, skin on (a solid, slightly oily fish, so perfect for grilling)
Vgetable Oil (preferably canola)
Paprika (smoked), ground
Ginger, finely ground
Cumin, ground
Onion, dried shavings
Salt
Pepper
Rub the fish all over with the oil. Then rub on the dry spices in approximately equal quantities except for the salt (use less). Start light - about a half-teaspoon of each spice per about 2/3 pound of fish and add a bit more of whatever you're favoring that evening. Let sit for about 20 minutes.
Fire up the grill and make it hot (white-hot charcoal or high gas). Grill the fish, turning every 2-3 minutes, until layers are flaking and it is just opaque in the middle - time varies greatly with thickness of fish. The skin should also get nice and crispy. (There may be a bit of flame-up, which is good - it makes the fish a bit crispy on the outside.) Enjoy!
Such read the text message I received one Sunday morning from a friend attending the Broadway Farmers' Market here in Seattle. There is a friendly, laid-back guy at the market who sells baked goods - delicious ones - representing Heavenly Pastry & Cake. And he's resurrected his german grandmother's soft pretzel recipe (or something like that), in my opinion for true benefit to the general public. The pretzels live in a brown paper bag that advertises their buttery goodness by looking buttery itself. The pretzels themselves are smaller than expected, golden-brown and irregular. Covered in flaky kosher-style salt, they're chewy and dense and a little bit sweet, too. And oh so buttery! A squeeze of yellow mustard and you're off to pretzel heaven.
I'll post a picture next time I go get a pretzel. While eating the two I bought last weekend I forgot about basically everything else.
UPDATE:
I went to the market today and arrived just after all of the pretzels were eaten. Damn. But instead I made do with something called a Big Cheezy, a cross between a biscuit and a scone made with cheese and jalapeños - rich and tangy and a little salty, but good for breakfast because there's still a bit of sweetness in the dough in addition to all the savory goodness.
There's no accounting for taste, and sometimes differences in individual sense of taste can get you condemned to the culinary doghouse for longer than you might expect. May the two following examples serve as warning to the gastronaut seeking to share an adventure in food with unprepared or skeptical companions.
I love cheese, in a Wallace and Gromit kind of way. Almost every kind of cheese is delicious (I hesitantly except Morbier from my general love of cheese but that's a story for another time.) But many people are unprepared for the variety of cheeses available, or for their occasionally pungent nature. I was to see some friends one evening many months ago and I thought to bring some bread and cheese along with me. I chose a baguette and a few favorites - Boucheron (an aged log of goat's cheese,) and I think a wedge of Rogue Creamery's Smokey Blue Cheese, and, most particularly, a small crock of St. Marcellin, a cow's-milk cheese that becomes soft and runny as it ages so it is sold in small pottery dishes. It can be particularly pungent, but the taste is actually quite mild and milky despite what the nose may say (and I think it smells rather good, but apparently I can't be trusted!) 
In ignorance, I laid out the cheeses with a brief description of each and the assembled company fell to, trying the more familiar first and then moving on to the St. Marcellin. One of my friends took up a small piece of bread with a small dab of the cheese, tasted it, immediately pulled a pained and disgusted face and whether she spit out the morsel or not I cannot recall. Exclamations of horror and dismay followed, along with solemn vows never to trust my taste in cheese ever again. My credibility was shattered. I've spent the time since slowly rebuilding my cheese reputation and paying much more careful attention to the tastes of everyone else when I plan to introduce a potentially dangerous cheese.
But even with ample forwarning will an experiment not to everyone's taste cause long-standing condemnation of or skepticism toward of one's cooking skills or sense of taste (not to mention state of sanity.) I refer, for illustration, to the Garlic Chocolate-Chip Cookie episode (of which there actually have now been two, since I was foolhardy enough to attempt to win over some skeptics by a second try.)
I love garlic, to an extent which may be considered a fault by some. It does not necessarily belong in everything, but I am always interested to find where else it might be delicious. My mother was given a recipe for garlic chocolate chip cookies from the Garlic Lovers' Cookbook and shared it with me. I decided to make them. The first time I made them, I followed the recipe. The second time I experimented. Changing the recipe didn't have much of an effect on the taste, rather on the texture. But I'll describe the variations later.
The first time, I also made the absurd leap of faith that unproven garlic chocolate-chip cookies would be improved by lavender icing. The combination proved absolute sensory overload to many of my friends, whether they would have liked either part independently. It didn't help that I made the first batch of lavender icing way too strong - three or four times too strong. As such, while some liked all of the above, even in combination (once I'd weakened the icing), for others the reaction was dramatic - one friend memorably describing the experience as like to "being hit in the mouth with a bar of soap wrapped in a dirty sock." Lovely.
But despite the negative press, I cajoled many to try both the first and the eventual second versions. Some really like the concept and the result, others can't understand why one would ever try such an abomination and certainly can't abide the fruit of it. And still others come with an open mind and then can't figure out whether they like the cookies or not. Generally, though, for all but the people who like them, my standing as a cook of taste and sanity is called into question, accompanied by constant asking about future public offerings, "is there garlic in that?"
With that colossal grain of salt, garlic chocolate-chip cookies are very much like regular chocolate-chip cookies, just with a bit more depth and complexity. The chocolate-chip cookie is a good foundation for experimentation because it is already delicious. The garlic just adds a savory warmth to the flavour, with more or less sweetness or garlic aftertaste depending on how exactly you cook the garlic before mixing it into the cookies. Version one followed the simmer-garlic-in-maple-syrup original recipe, while version two was the slightly more aggressive boil-sugar-and-caramelize-garlic-in-that experiment that was a little scary and ultimately much more garlicky. The texture of the first version was much more like regular cookies, crispy and a little chewy, getting a bit stiffer over the few days I had them. Version two was much harder and a bit stickier at first and then softened up over the next few days in the cookie jar - weird. The method was scary because I poured boiling sugar and garlic into the cookie dough, which promptly became almost liquid - baking really is edible chemistry and I think I messed with the standard experimental procedure a wee bit, hence the odd final texture. And the caramelized sugar defintely added a slightly smoky caramel taste, too. Best start with the original recipe, transcribed from Accidental Hedonist where the description of the flavour is much the same as my own experience, so I'm not entirely crazy...
GARLIC CHOCOLATE-CHIP COOKIES
Makes 5 dozen or so.
10 cloves Garlic
½ C Maple Syrup
1 C Unsalted Butter, softened
¾ C Brown Sugar
¾ C White Sugar
2 Eggs
1 t Vanilla
½ t Salt
2½ C Semi-Sweet Chocolate Chips
½ C Walnuts, chopped (optional)
2½ C All Purpose Flour, sifted
1 t Baking Soda
3 bowls
Boiling Water
1. Drop whole, unpeeled garlic cloves into boiling water and cook until tender (about 7 minutes). Remove garlic from the water, peel and chop. In Bowl #1: soak garlic in the maple syrup for 20 minutes to one hour - the longer you soak the garlic, the stronger the garlic taste.
2. Preheat oven to 375°F.
3. In Bowl #2: cream together butter, sugars, eggs and vanilla until light and fluffy. In Bowl #3: sift together flour, salt and baking soda. Mix flour mixture into butter mixture. Add chocolate chips and walnuts, mixing until evenly distributed.
4. Add maple syrup (+/- garlic) to dough. (If you want more garlic flavour, leave the garlic pieces in, otherwise strain them out and just use the syrup.
5. Drop by tablespoonfuls onto ungreased cookie sheets, about 2 inches apart from each other. Bake for 8 to 10 minutes (or however you prefer your cookies.) Remove from oven and cool on racks.
LAVENDER ICING
Be very sparing with the lavender essence - it is stronger than it seems. This is also very much a try-as-you-go recipe that you have to make to your taste and texture preferences.
Sweetened Condensed Milk
Powedered Sugar
Lavender Essence (you should be able to find culinary lavender essence somewhere - it happens to be readily available in Washington.)
Start with a few tablespoons of the condensed milk. Mix in the powdered sugar by the teaspoon until the icing is thick enough. Mix in 2 drops at a time of the lavender essence. Taste after each addition and err on the side of too little - just a hint is sufficient. Use at will.
Sometimes after work I arrive home to an unfriendly and mostly empty refrigerator that does not readily offer up any particularly obvious tasty morsels for dinner. On such days the fridge does not so much lurk in a corner - like the one conjured by Douglas Adams to terrorize the kitchen of his 'Holistic Detective', Dirk Gently - but it does exert a somewhat chilling influence on the atmosphere of the kitchen and on my spirits at the end of a tiring day. And a barren fridge certainly does not dull an emptiness of stomach, either.
Before getting too carried away with the bleak imagery, let me clarify. On the particular evening in question, my refrigerator contained the following: one bunch of rather old asparagus, four ageing rutabaga, three partially-finished bottles of wine of varying ages, some jam, half a carton of Trader Joe's vegetable broth, some gouda cheese, and a bottle or two of beer. (Let's ignore for the present that some consider beer a suitable substitute for dinner, especially in the case of Guinness, shall we?) So technically my fridge was not empty, but neither did any of the above seem to make much of a warm or comforting, let alone tasty, meal.
One of the media that seems to lend itself well to combining odd combinations of ingredients is risotto, with the added benefit of its making a generally savory and satisfying meal. I had some arborio rice in the cupboard so I set about to make Odds and Ends Risotto, which I imagine I will make again, at some point, with completely different results dependent on my refrigerator's capricious whim. Risotto is also wonderful in its essential simplicity - one cup of rice, a splash of olive oil, and four cups of liquid are all that are necessary for the base, taking about half an hour and almost no work. Where the adventure begins is when choosing what to use for liquid and also what else you want to throw in the pan.
A typical liquid mixture is three cups chicken stock and one cup white wine. Recipes abound for what vegetables are best and how best to pre-cook them, when to mix them in, what cheeses are best, &c. so I suggest you poke around a bit to see what other people have tried, too. Or you can try something like this:
For liquid, I used the remainder of the vegetable broth, the remainder of my white wine, and the remainder of my red wine, since that added up to just about four cups. For the vegetables, I rescued and chopped the few salvageable asparagus spears (about one and a half cups chopped) and also cut up two of the rutabaga into half-inch cubes (about 2 cups chopped.) Oh, and some of the gouda to make it all stick together a bit more at the end. An odd mixture, to be sure, but I hoped that the asparagus would give the dish an earthy yet fresh and green taste, the rutabaga a subtle sweetness and a little crispness, the red wine a bit of warmth, and the aged gouda a slightly tart and lemony tang.
The easy way to make risotto involves little more than heating rice and olive oil in a heavy saucepan until the rice becomes a little translucent and golden, and then throwing in the liquid and simmering until all the liquid is gone, stirring occasionally. The more labour-intensive method is to slowly add the liquid a bit at a time and simmer and stir constantly until the bit you added has been absorbed before adding more. This latter method certainly allows for more precision in determining the final texture of the dish, but does not allow for either cooking vegetables in with the rice (as I did with the rutabaga and asparagus) or for doing anything else while you wait hand and foot on the risotto pan. So I cooked everything together, tossing in the rutabaga shortly after pouring in the liquid at the beginning (they do well with a nice long simmer), and waiting until I thought it had about five minutes to go before adding the asparagus so it wouldn't overcook.
The result was tasty, and also a funny purple color which I don't normally associate with risotto - especially dotted with orange and green as it was by the vegetables. And it tasted much as expected, which only added to the satisfaction of the meal. Thankfully the vegetables remained crisp, not overcooked, which was a good contrast of texture, too. Next time, who knows what hidden gems the lurking fridge may contain.
ODDS AND ENDS RISOTTO
This is an intentionally general recipe, for use as a springboard into the waters of delicious unknown risottos.
1 C Arborio Rice
3 T Olive Oil (if you need more to coat the rice completely, add more)
4 C Liquid (Generally around 3 C Stock of some kind and 1 C wine)
½ C Grated Hard Cheese, though I imagine blue or goat cheese could also be mighty tasty. (Optional, but highly recommended.)
3 C (approximate) Other Stuff (This could be vegetables such as I used or pre-cooked sausage or other meats, or a combination.)
Herbs, Spices, Salt, Pepper to taste.
1-2 T Butter (if you want it to be really rich!)
Combine olive oil and rice in heavy saucepan over medium heat, stirring to make sure all rice is coated in oil, until rice is translucent and starting to turn a golden-brown (2-5 minutes.) Add liquid and bring to boil. As soon as it boils, turn down to a simmer (still bubbling, but small, gentle ones.) Simmer uncovered, stirring occasionally to make sure the botom doesn't stick, until all liquid is absorbed (about 20 minutes.) Add cheese (and butter if you're using it) and stir until melted in.
If using vegetables:
Root Vegetables: Chop into half-inch to one-inch cubes and toss in as soon as the liquid boils.
Squash/Zucchini/Mushrooms: Cut into slightly larger pieces and toss in about half-way (after simmering the rice for 8 minutes or so.)
More Delicate Vegetables: Chop as you like and add closer to the end. Add the vegetables later than you think you should because they will continue to cook after you take the pan off the heat.
If using meat:
Cook the meat beforehand, at least partially, to make sure it is fully cooked when the risotto is done. Sausage, bacon, pork or poultry are good, shellfish, too, though I've never tried it myself. Not sure what I think about beef or fish - if you try it, leave a comment with directions. Mix the meat in near the end if you want it to retain its own flavour and a different texture (like crispy bacon or sausage), or earlier if it has a strong flavour you want to impart to the overall dish.
Serves 4-6.
This story begins with a hat. The particular hat is wide-brimmed and made of straw, in the Panama fashion, with a black ribbon band, and is slightly discolored here and there because it is certainly the hat of a working man. And this particular working man is certainly good at his job and loves what he does at least as much as he loves and is inseparable from the hat. So inseparable are the two that Thierry Rautureau is known, simply, as The Chef in the Hat.
The chef and his omnipresent hat appear in various places in and around Seattle food culture - he has a restaurant, Rover's, and shows up weekly or so on local radio (I can only assume the hat is there, too.) But occasionally he shows up in random and unexpected places, like demo-cooking in Whole Foods one afternoon a while ago. I happened to be walking by the fish counter while he was setting up at a table nearby, preparing to make something I only assumed would be delicious (despite the fact that, at that time, I had no idea who he was!) The whole situation was quite amusing becasuse he seemed to have been left completely on his own with none of the staff to either aid or accompany him. When he needed a utensil, he went rummaging through the supply drawers behind the fish counter and generally had the run of the place.
He was in a rather jovival mood and, thus, seemed happy to put up with me hanging around pestering him with questions for the half-hour or so it took him to create Halibut with Bacon, Ramps, and Morels. More on the recipe in a minute, but I would first like to thank the man for sharing his love of food and his other random stories, like about his old pan, the knife someone made for him, and the rest, all while working with a single electric burner and an eclectic set of utensils to create something that tasted all the better because of everything besides the food (which, itself, was excellent.) He is evidently a man who loves food, loves making food, and loves making food for other people - all of which I appreciate very much.
But the fish, the fish!
First, butter is a wonderful thing. Eating too much of it can get dangerous, but, by and large, it is good for you. Second, bacon is also a wonderful thing. Health benefits debatable, but flavour incomparable. Third, the morel is a wonderful thing. (See a pattern?) Mushrooms plucked from the forest floor have a rather nasty reputation for causing conditions that generally tend toward death, but the ones that don't, such as the morel with its deep and complex taste, can be magnificent. Fourth, the ramp is a wonderful thing. The bastard child of the leek and the garlic, with a growing season of about 2 minutes, use them if you can get them or you'll be seriously missing out. And halibut is a wonderful thing. Cooked well it embodies all of those qualities of which other fish rarely attain but few - it is light and flaky, but at the same time soft and moist, rich and meaty. Perhaps a seeming piscene contradiction-in-terms, but I do not jest.
The sample cooked that day by The Chef in the Hat was delicious and clearly well-practiced - the halibut flaky, the sauce rich and buttery, with the smokiness of bacon, the earthiness of the morel, and the savory tang of the ramps. Unfortunately, I was only permitted one small mouthful (maybe I snuck a second - I cannot recall...) Fortunately, I was given the recipe and, better yet, had seen it made by practiced hands - almost like cooking with your grandmother, though in that case you rarely get a recipe, just the eternal answer, "When it's enough."
I've tried this recipe twice now. The first time I overcooked both the fish and the sauce, so while the taste was right, the texture was off. The second time, being a bit more gentle with the heat and a bit more thoughtful about why each step in the recipe was proposed, success! Try it. You'll like it.
Some things I learned from and about this recipe:
1. When finishing this sauce (and others like it) only boil the sauce for a moment at the very end to make all the flavours and textures harmonize - too much boiling at the end will make the sauce oily and lumpy.
2. Halibut especially, but I would guess other fish as well, cook very well when partially poached and partially baked. I used vegetable broth with the butter and few bits of bacon for twice as much fish as the recipe dictates and it still came out really well.
3. Don't underestimate your dutch oven (or similar) pot - it can work miracles.
4. Be gentle.
BAKED ALASKAN HALIBUT WITH MORELS, RAMPS, AND SMOKED BACON BUTTER SAUCE
Transcribed from the recipe leaflet I picked up that day in Whole Foods.
The Chef in the Hat also has a book of recipes, if you like this one.
5 oz Applewood Smoked Bacon, cut into quarter-inch pieces
8-10 oz Ramps or Small Leeks
8 T Unsalted Butter
4 oz Morel Mushrooms, cleaned and halved (or quartered, if large)
2 t Shallots, minced
½ t Garlic, minced (or 1 t if using leeks instead of ramps)
¾ t Thyme, minced
1¾ C Fish Stock (I used vegetable stock and it worked well, too.)
1 lb Halibut, skinless fillet, cut into 4 portions
Salt
White Pepper, freshly ground
2 t Chives, minced
Garnish: Beet Oil
1. Cook the bacon in a medium skillet over medium-high heat until crisp and brown, 5-7 minutes. Drain bacon and set aside, reserve the fat if you like.
2. Trim the root-ends of the ramps and cut each ramp in half where the white gives way to the green leafy tops. Cut the white portions into ¼-inch pieces and leave the green leaves whole. (If using leeks, trim to the white and pale green portion, halve crosswise and then cut into ¼-inch-wide strips.)
3. Preheat oven to 350°F.
4. Heat 2 T butter (or you can include some of the bacon fat) in a medium skillet over meduim-high heat until melted and slightly nutty-smelling. Add the morels and sauté for 30 seconds. Add the white of the ramps (or all the leeks) with the shallot, the garlic, and ½ t of the thyme. Sauté, stirring often, until the ramps begin to soften, 2-3 minutes.
5. Add ¾ of the bacon, the ramp greens, and 1¼ C of the stock. Bring just to a boil and then turn down to a simmer to reduce the volume by three quarters, 8-10 minutes.
6. Add another 4 T of butter, swirling the pan so it melts creamily into the sauce. Keep warm over very low heat.
7. Put the remaining ½ C of stock in a large ovenproof skillet and warm over medium heat. Whisk in the remaining 2 T butter and add the remaining bacon and ¼ t thyme.
8. Season halibut with salt and pepper and place them in the skillet. Spoon some of the cooking liquids over the fish and bake until the halibut is just nearly opaque through the center, 5-10 minutes depending on thickness of the fish, basting with cooking liquids once or twice.
9. Pour halibut cooking liquids into the pan with teh sauce and bring just to a low boil. Stir in the chives and season with salt and pepper.
10. To serve, spoon some of the bacon, ramps, and morels onto warmed plates. Top with halibut pieces and spoon the remaining sauce over top of the fish. Drizzle beet oil around and serve immediately.
My notes:
1. Cooking times took a little longer, but that might be my range and oven, and the fact that I used twice as much fish.
2. It reheats marvelously.
Many of my recent experiments in the kitchen were inspired by a pastry that was, itself, particularly inspired. It was a pear-rosemary tart from the local (fantastic) bakery Le Fournil. What I loved about the tart was the unexpected combination of two so different, yet complimentary flavours. Given my love for both rosemary and pears, (and fantastic pastries,) it is no siurprise that I fell head-over-heels and decided to try my own such unusual combinations, though I had to wait for the right opportunity to present itself.
Rhubarb is one of those plants which I'm surprised humans ever started eating in the first place. Its leaves are poisonous, it is bright red, and it is fibrous and very tart until cooked. Whether for related reasons or not, 'rhubarb' also means 'a fight or argument' and, colloquially, refers to the occasional good-old-fashioned throw-down in baseball. And yet, the peculiar vegetable is pie-maker's gold.
I had never been very interested in rhubarb until I saw a box of it at the farmers' market two weeks ago. It is one of the first edibles to show up in the spring, and it grows explosively. It keeps on growing for basically the entire spring and summer, provided the weather does not get too hot. I was browsing through the market and saw a box full of the stuff, early rhubarb - the beginning of the season, and despite having never before done anything with it, I wanted to buy some. And then, eureka! Next to the box of rhubarb was a box of basil - this stuff definitely the first of the season and also something I buy in massive quantities later in the summer to make pesto, so I was excited to see it starting to appear. And then I thought, 'why not?'
The people who did not think I was completely nuts for attempting a combination of rhubarb and basil at least thought I was momentarily a bit off. But since when has that been a reason not to try a recipe? My mom, who loves rhubarb, told me the basics of making a rhubarb compote to put over yoghurt and the Joy of Cooking gave me the rest of what I needed to know about pies and cobblers so I could start actually making stuff.
I decided to try two different things - a compote and a cobbler, though both start from the same basic mixture so it was very simple. The compote I kept simple - just rhubarb and basil with a squirt of lemon - but the cobbler I spiced up a bit with cinnamon. Odd as they many sound, both were delicious - the rhubarb providing that tart, fruity base and the basil giving it a refresing, summery feel. The cobbler, with the added cinnamon, was rich and savoury, sweet, but with a little spice overlaying the rhubarb and basil combination. The recipes follow. On behalf of my mom, I recommend eating the compote over non-fat, greek-style yoghurt, with or without granola. The cobbler eat hot, or cold, or reheated - I couldn't figure out what would make it not taste good.
RHUBARB-BASIL COMPOTE AND COBBLER
Both of the recipes start from the same base.
2 lbs Rhubarb Stalks, chopped into half-inch lengths (about 6 cups)
¼-½ lb Fresh Basil Leaves, chopped medium (stalks not used for this recipe)
2 C Sugar (more or less to taste)
Squirt Lemon Juice
Mix all together well in non-metal bowl and let sit for at least 20 minutes (the longer it sits, the more juice gets sucked out of the rhubarb.)
If you're making the compote, dump the whole mixture into a saucepan and cook on medium (no boiling) until the rhubarb begins to disintegrate. Taste - if too tart, add more sugar and cook a little longer. Cool, serve however you like, store in the refrigerator. It is perishable so eat it quickly, but that shouldn't be a problem.
If making the cobbler, preheat oven to 375°F and add to the mixing bowl above:
2 T Cinnamon (really up to you)
¼ C Corn Starch
Pinch Salt
You'll also need to mix up a batch of biscuit dough. Any type seems to work - I used the Joy of Cooking's basic recipe.
Mix well and let sit for a few minutes. Pour into a baking dish of some kind that will be filled at least two inches with fruit but also have space left at the top. Top with biscuit dough, either one big sheet that covers the fruit like a crust or a bunch of smaller circles of dough arranged overlapping across the top of the fruit mixture. Brush the biscuit dough with milk and sprinkle with sugar if you want to be really fancy. Bake for 40-60 minutes at 375°F (until the top is brown and lovely and the fruit mixture is bubbling up underneath.)
An element of the culinary lifestyle of a certain demographic of social foodies, characterized by the constant exchange of reusable leftover-storage containers. Everyone has a shelf or drawer full of containers, along with matching and, often, mismatched lids, but leftovers from parties and picnics get passed around so freely that you quickly forget which ones you bought and your current set really just exists as part of the collective whole. Therefore, somewhere out there must exist the lid for that slightly-squarish, round, medium-shallow, translucent green one you've had in your closet for months.
What I made for dinner tonight seems like a really good place to start this conversation because, well, I just finished making it and am currently eating it. My dinner this evening actually began life a number of weeks ago, around the time I was finishing Barbara Kingsolver's new book, Animal, Vegetable, Miracle - a delicious read in many ways, not least because of the recipes. At the time, one of the most iminently seasonally-doable recipes was the weighty-sounding Asparagus and Morel Bread Pudding, which was instantly appealing because the name contained the words 'Asparagus,' 'Morel,' 'Bread,' and 'Pudding.'Off I went to the West Seattle Farmers' Market, with intent to procure the necessary ingredients (I had convinced some friends to come feast on the results later that day.) Given the season and given the weather I thought I was golden. Alas, I was informed I was two weeks too early for asparagus - too cold a spring, courtesy of increasingly fickle Pacific Northwest weather. The farmer even went so far as to call his wife at the Ballard market to ask if she had seen any over there, but no luck. And yet, I was undeterred. Early-spring greens were abundant, even such things as flowering kale - looking fresh and springy with its small yellow flowers and tasting, the farmer said, like a cross between broccoli and asparagus, only a bit sweeter, at which point he tore off part of a stem and handed it to me to eat. He was right - good evidence, I suppose, that farmers are the true 'foodies,' knowing the taste, use, care and value of everything grown, from germination or infancy to harvest.
I decided to experiement (which, so you will find, is something of an inevitability when I cook) and to substitute half flowering kale and half fiddlehead ferns for the asparagus in the recipe, chopped to about the same dimensions as recommended. Fiddleheads are a teaser for asparagus season, resembling a very mild asparagus in taste even if they do look rather alien - like coiled tentacles... Morels were, thankfully, easy to come by, if astonishingly expensive. These were fresh, tender, and some as big as my fist, and they smelled like a rain-doused forest fire. An almost-purple pumpernickel loaf completed the shopping and off I went to assemble. I think I used too much bread. Of course, this also meant that I had to approximately triple the cheese (though I might have done so anyway - more on cheese some other time.) But it also meant that I had a lot of volume and my baking dishes weren't big enough. My pudding came out about 2 ½ inches high and took an extra 30 minutes to cook, so I think a shallower pudding would cook through more quickly and also have more delightful crispy bits. 
Regardless, despite my substitutions and experimentation, the verdict? Delicious. Soft, springy, earthy - serious comfort food. Also, I ended up with enough for an army, so it is a good thing that it both freezes and reheats well and is a versatile platform for elaboration. Which brings me to my dinner tonight. I arrived home famished, for whatever reason, and racking my brain for what to make that was a| quick, b| delicious, and c| warm, as it was about 50F, dark, and raining in Seattle, despite it being 21 May. My freezer yielded the answer - I still have about 6 servings (good-sized 3" x 5" x 1" blocks) of the bread pudding put away against just such a rainy day, even after feeding 3 people, sending them home with an extra serving or two each, and eating the leftovers for lunch for a week! But inevitably, when reheating something that is, by nature, a little soft and soggy, that soft and soggy something becomes even more so. Feeling slightly decadent, I defrosted the bread pudding in the microwave and then fried it in butter - only about half a tablespoon, though. Frying the slices of bread pudding dried them out a bit and made the outside crispy again, though perhaps that's an obvous benefit to frying anything. The intoxicating smell of browning butter and bread made me crave some caramelized onions, too, so I chopped up a small yellow one and tossed it in the pan with the bread pudding, and then left the onions in the pan with a pinch of salt to brown and soak up the rest of the butter and jusces after taking the bread pudding out. Cooking, especially in anticipation of what I know will be a really tasty meal, always makes me happier and also a bit silly and creative, so by the time I was finishing up the onions I had a real zinger of an idea. On the suggestion of a friend, one of the things I had tried when the bread pudding was fresh was eating it with maple syrup. Definitely a good idea, but also definitely very sweet. Today, that sweetness sounded appealing again, but I wanted to spice it up a bit. After taking the onions out of the pan, and with the pan still hot but off the heat, I poured in a few tablespoons of maple syrup. The syrup bubbled and boiled a bit, getting a little darker, at which point I added about a tablespoon of Cholula hot sauce. This addition caused more frothing as I heated the pan a little and mixed it all together, and once it was mixed to a slightly cloudy dark brown I poured it over the onions and crispy bread pudding. I shaved a bit of aged gouda (bought at the Seattle Cheese Festival) over it all and I just finished eating it - warm and rich, soft, but with crispy bits, earthy yet tangy, and sweet, but with a spicy edge to keep on warming after the plate is cleaned. It may not be pretty, but not bad for one pan and a bunch of leftovers. 
ASPARAGUS AND MOREL BREAD PUDDING(see the recipe at http://www.animalvegetablemiracle.com/BREAD%20PUDDING.pdf)My notes: 1. Use more cheese. How much more depends on you. 2. Make in a baking dish that allows for a thickness somewhere around 1 ½ inches.3. I love rosemary, especially the smell, so I dropped a few sprigs on top of the just-finished pudding to add to the already intoxicating aroma.SPICY MAPLE GLAZEThis recipe is done entirely to taste - use your favorite hot sauce and add more of it if you like it spicier. This mixture is a good starting point.6 T real maple syrup1 T Cholula hot sauceTo a heavy, nonstick (which I prefer not to use except for extremely sticky things) pan that is already at medium temperature, add the maple syryp. It should immediately start to bubble - if not, raise the heat a little but be careful not to boil the syrup too much. (I started with the hot pan off the heat so I could better judge how vigorously the syrup would boil without extra heat - you can always place the pan back on a hot burner for a moment to get things rolling.) Once the syrup darkens in color and begins to really froth, make sure to stir well and add the hot sauce - the boiling will subside. Once well-mixed, bring to a frothy boil again and then immediately pour over the favored food, be it waffles, pork chops, or ice cream.
There, I've said it, and while my saying so may be no surprise, it is the reason I start, here, on the adventure of writing about it.
What I enjoy so much about the subject of food is that, like food itself, the subject has many parts, flavours, textures, can be rich or lean, is frequently the realm of the unexpected, and encompasses so much more than just the meat and potatoes of life.
Fundamentally, I enjoy food because it is, by and large, delicious. Like a mad scientist with a spatula, I experiement - 'what happens if I add some of this...?' I try restaurants, try to replicate or modify dishes I like. I cook (and cook) for friends, because good food always tastes better with good company. And, yes, of course, there are the humorous failures and occasionally spectacular manifestations of the saying 'there's no accounting for taste.'
But wait, there's more! I like going to farmers' markets, talking to the producers about what they're growing when, being introduced to new foods by the 'have you ever tried this? Here, have a bit' ...*breaks off a stem and hands to me to munch* method, and seeing what others choose as a means of inspiration or education.
And there yet remains the consideration of food as a resource, as nourishment, and as something which is a daily struggle for many other people in situations very different from mine. That food keeps us alive is no small thing to consider, and only heightens my facination with and enjoyment of this remarkable part of my life.
Food, and the culture with which we surround it, is rich and dynamic and flavorful. It touches all the senses, pleases them, excites them, nourishes them - an endlessly variable and delicious landscape the exploration of which it gives me great pleasure to share.
Now I don't usually think of baklava as juicy but this stuff was exactly that (very different from the stuff at Gorgeous George's but both are amazingly delicious.) Practically dripping, as it was, with the sticky syrup that binds the 40 layers of dough and nuts together, it was just about impossible to extract a piece from the box without both becoming covered in stickiness and also without breaking the piece in half. But no matter - part of the fun is licking your fingers afterwards. The green in the picture is finely-ground pistachio that becomes a paste in the middle layer of the pasty and is also sprinled on top. The pistachios a little tart and salty, too. Somehow, despite the intense sweetness, the pastry is also savoury and even refreshing, though I might have found it a little overwhelmingly intense had I not, fortuitously, had a cup of iced mint tea to hand at the time.
