Things to Eat Before You Die

A Compost Cookie from Momofuku Milk Bar.

Any cookie from Milk Bar will do, really. But the chewy, chocolatey, oatmealy richness of the Compost Cookie will be dreamed about on rainy afternoons for years to come.

We asked the baker what the secret was --

"Beat the shit out of the butter and sugar," she said, scooping more cookie onto a baking sheet.

And now we know...

Momofuku, More, Again!

Yes I could show you a photo of the Momofuku Pork Buns, the house made pickle and kimchi plate, and the rice cakes with pork sausage and cilantro -- but isn't it better to imagine it?

Especially when I report that all our dishes were so much better than expected, magical, in fact. Picked cucumber, beets, potatoes, mushrooms, fennel, daikon, and a pile of messy, spicy, fermented kimchi. Two perfect pork buns bursting with fatty meat and cool cucumbers. A mound of rice cakes that looked more like packing peanuts -- crispy on the outside but with some squishy give in the middle -- smothered in spicy pork sauce with piles of cilantro. It was so good, so much better than expected, even though we knew it would be great. I wish I could go every single weekend.

Oh the Places You'll Eat

The cliche is that a picture is worth a 1,000 words. And most of the time I think that is true. But having spent the weekend in New York City I find I didn't take nearly enough photos. Each picture I have needs paragraphs of words alongside it -- additional descriptions and memories so that I won't forget anything about the trip.

Each day starts somewhere. This one began at an outpost of Bouchon Bakery. There was rich, plain yogurt with granola and blueberry compote, a chocolate cherry walnut scone that was surprisingly sophisticated and not at all cloying, and a savory, salty, cheese, chive and bacon biscuit. And coffee, lots and lots of coffee.

After the red-eye and the seemingly endless train ride into the city, coffee is absolutely essential. It is the only way I can make it through a day in the city.

Jonesing for Toast

I wanted toast for breakfast so badly this morning that I nearly put on socks and shoes and walked to the neighborhood bakery where they sell toast for one dollar just so I could feed my crispy bread craving. Instead, I tried to placate myself with the idea that in less than twenty-four hours I'll be back in New York City, undoubtedly full from brunch at Prune, coffee and toast at Cafe Gitane, or a round, warm cranberry-walnut boule from Balthazar.

I made myself an extra big coffee with lots of warm frothed milk, checked into my flight, and packed.

There were a million things to do this afternoon: bills to pay, phone calls to make, details to accomplish. Faced with an afternoon of tasks and just a tiny bit of anxiety about all that needs to be done, I coped by doing what any self-respecting, stressed out person should do: I made granola.

Yes, making granola was on the master to-do list. I like to travel with some healthy snacks, and since I'll be gone for nearly ten days, granola was a must. But there's just something about baking or making that is a huge stress reliever for me. It gives me a sense of accomplishment, yes. But I also love the few moments in the kitchen, combining, stirring, tasting and creating.

This is my staple granola recipe. If you look closely at the photo you'll notice that today's batch is missing about half the ingredients the recipe calls for. I was out of all that other stuff. What I did have was the oats, a bunch of sunflower seeds, and some dried currants. So I modified and mixed. I know it will turn out well, a tasty afternoon snack, or breakfast before I hit the East Coast morning air with yogurt or steaming hot milk.

By the time I return, we'll need more.

Everyday Granola
8 cups rolled oats
2 cups bran
1/2 cup sesame seeds
1 cup coconut
2 cups sliced almonds
1 cup flaxseed
1 tablespoon cinnamon
1/2 teaspoon salt
3/4 cup maple syrup
1/2 cup canola oil
1/2 cup honey
1 tablespoon vanilla
dried fruit, optional
Heat oven to 350 degrees. In a large bowl combine oats, bran, sesame seeds, coconut, almonds, and flaxseed. Sprinkle cinnamon over the top of the mixture.
In a saucepan gently heat salt, maple syrup, oil, honey, and vanilla till thin, about 5 minutes. Pour over oat mixture and stir well to coat.
Spread oat mix on parchment lined (essential!) cookie sheet. Bake at 350 degrees for 12 minutes, stirring occasionally. Then bake for another 5-10 minutes, until golden brown and fragrant.
Let cool and toss in dried fruit if you like. Store in airtight containers.
P.S. This recipe makes a lot of granola. I halve the recipe and make it more often, though I do find it keeps very well.

Monday Meal

Do you ever have one of those days? The kind where it feels like no matter what you do, something happens and you must do it again? You get one parking ticket, pay it promptly (so as to avoid the additional fine), then walk outside to mail it and there is another parking ticket on your windshield. You send an e-mail and it comes back undeliverable. You make a to-do list, only to lose it. This is how my life has been for the past few days. There is too much to do, none of it is happening in an efficient manner and it is raining so hard that at night I feel like I am sleeping on a boat.

Last night I was particularly disgruntled. And then --
I came home to a perfectly clean house, a cold glass of vouvray, and dinner on the stove. I took a hot shower, wrapped up in my robe, and went to work arranging a bunch of stargazer lilies in a big green vase while M. attended to dinner.

He told me it was going to be good, and he was right: there was pork, cooked slow in chilies and spices. There were red beans in a piquant sauce. There was rice. There was green garlic, picked from the garden just before dusk and pureed with cilantro till it formed a brisk green sauce. It was near perfection.

We ate too much, danced in the kitchen to Ray Charles and ate a couple of chocolates for dessert. And then, somehow, it felt like it had been a very good day.

Sweets for My Sweet

They say chocolate is the sweet of Valentine's Day and I don't disagree. But I eat chocolate nearly every day, sometimes twice a day. Chocolate is quotidian. Valentine's Day deserves something special. It merits a rich, decadent dessert that mimicks the intensity affection I feel for my valentine.

I don't know how I decided that bread pudding was the thing to make. Maybe it was the sack of challah rolls that were sitting on the counter uneaten and beginning to be a bit dry. Or perhaps it was the recipe, calling to me from a favorite cookbook.

I made this swoony dessert on Friday the thirteenth and we picked at it all weekend. We ate it hot and straight from the oven late Friday night while watching a John Wayne western. I ate it cold, a few bites snuck from the fridge as we lazed on Saturday afternoon and prepped for a dinner party. It was excellent re-heated and served to friends who moaned and smiled and asked for just a spoonful more.

This was just as bread pudding should be: cozy and boozy and comforting and rich. It was the perfect thing to have around over a long weekend that was full of blustery wind and rain and that also involved a bit of celebrating and love.

Cranberry Valentine Bread Pudding

1 cup dried cranberries

1/2 cup brandy -- admittedly, we only had vodka, which I used with good results.

1/4 cup hot water

1 loaf of white bread (about 10 cups of torn pieces)

2 cups half and half

2 cups milk

6 eggs

1 tablespoon vanilla

1 cup white sugar

3/4 cup brown sugar

2 tablespoons cinnamon

1 teaspoon salt

additional 1/2 cup white sugar, for sprinkling

Soak the cranberries in 1/4 cup hot water and 1/2 cup alcohol for an hour.

Tear bread into large rough chunks and place in large mixing bowl.

In a medium bowl combine half and half, milk, eggs, vanilla, sugar, and spices. Pour over bread. Add cranberries and liquid. Mix well.

Pour into buttered, high sided dish. Let sit half an hour to soak up the custard.

Cover top of pudding with additional 1/2 cup sugar and cover dish with a buttered piece of foil. Place covered pan in a second baking dish, one size larger. Fill larger dish with water. Bake for 60 minutes at 350 degrees in this water bath, adding more water if needed. Remove the foil and bake 20 to 30 minutes longer, till top is shiny and hard.

Happy Valentine's Day!

Life in France

A good friend was in France when I dropped him an e-mail to tell him about the book deal. It turns out he is one of the lucky ones, with an aunt who has a home in Southern France, and a bookshelf stuffed with many great books including The Gastronomical Me, by M.F.K. Fisher.

"Should I take the book?" he asked.

"Maybe," I said, secretly thinking it was a very bad idea to potentially jinx my impending book by involving myself with theft. "Or you could just read it."

Then I told him that The Gastronomical Me is my very favorite M.F.K. Fisher book. In my opinion it is the best of her work, the book that made me fall in love with Fisher and inspired my soon-to-be book. I told him that Fisher loved France and considered Cassis, a tiny port town, her spiritual home.

It turned out that he was going to Cassis the very next day. We agreed it would be decidedly different in 2009 than it was when she first visited in 1929.

Then I said, "Send me some pictures, I'll use them for inspiration." I didn't really believe that he would, but he did. Lovely, foggy views of a southern French town in early February.

And yes, I am inspired.

Dinner for When You're Home Alone & Want to Eat Green

I am home alone and cooking for one yet again. There's something lovely about being able to cook just what you want for dinner. Tonight I wanted something healthy and green. A bit of penance, perhaps, for a weekend that was full of chinese dumplings and sesame balls, shared burgers and fries, and more than one glass of wine.

I sat at work and tried to remember what was in the pantry. I knew I had organic brown rice and a large bunch of broccoli. Then I remembered the cilantro, the scallions, the eggs, and all of a sudden I knew I would make fried rice.

With the exception of the brown rice, which does take some time to cook, this is a very easy and healthy meal. I doubled it, so I would have leftovers to eat for the rest of the week. This dish would be perfect next to a piece of pork or chicken, or you could add in shrimp, crab, tofu or any and all vegetables. You'll see the recipe I used doesn't even call for broccoli. That was my own addition, cooked first and then added to the rice. And cilantro? I don't think cilantro is typically found in fried rice, but I love it, and especially love the combo of scallions and cilantro and broccoli, so ample greens were added to the dish.

I ate so healthy and well for dinner I decided to reward myself with a peanut butter chocolate cookie, sprinkled with a glittery mess of turbinado sugar and fleur de sel. It was the perfect ending.

Fried Brown Rice
Serves two -- easily doubled and modified
1 cup brown rice
2 cups water
1 tablespoon olive oil
2 inch piece ginger, peeled and grated
1 tablespoon sesame oil
2 tablespoons soy sauce
1 tablespoon rice wine vinegar
5-6 scallions, chopped
2 eggs, beaten
sriracha hot chili sauce to taste (careful, it's hot!)

Bring water to a boil, add rice, stir, then cover and lower heat to a simmer. Cook for 40 to 50 minutes, or until done. Then put in fridge to cool.

Heat oil over medium-high heat in a large frying pan until quite hot. Add the ginger and fry for about a minute (don't burn it!) Add the rice and toss to coat with oil and ginger. Cook for about a minute.

Stir rice vinegar, soy, sesame oil, and add to the rice. Add scallions and cook for another minute, until everything is warmed through.

Add eggs and cook until finished. Finish with sriracha sauce to taste to add some extra heat.

Farmer's Market Goodness

February Saturday at the Ferry Plaza Farmer's Market: greens and citrus shining in the sun:

Cooking Disappointments

My new oven was delivered nearly a week ago. Until last night I had not turned it on once. I hadn't even opened the door to stare at its shiny interior. It was a little sad. Day after day I fired up my new power burner to heat water for coffee or tea. I warmed leftovers on the simmer burner. But the oven was cold.

I was faced with an inexplicable loss of inspiration. There were so many things I wanted to make, but none of the recipes seemed to fit my week: M. was out of town. I was home alone with my leftovers. I had cookies to eat. I wasn't in the mood for muffins. The potluck party I was invited to was cancelled.

And then last night I decided I simply must make something. Ideally it would be something that M. might like a taste of when he returned from his road trip. Ideally it wouldn't be too sinful.

I got stuck on the idea of rice pudding. This week I have been reading Laurie Colwin's More Home Cooking. One of the opening essays is about a post holiday dinner party that ends with a "creamy and consoling lemon rice pudding." I was intrigued, and became more intrigued when The Kitchn featured Ms. Colwin's rice pudding recipe this week and called it "heavenly." I had arborio rice in the pantry, milk, and lemon in the fridge, and a bright orange le cruset just dying to be used for the project.

The recipe calls for cooking the rice, milk, a bit of sugar, and lemon peel in a 250 degree oven for two and a half hours, stirring every forty-five minutes. Sadly, the two hours in the oven was the zinger for me -- the oven got to be on for nearly the entire evening, I would check in periodically, and at the end I'd have something sweet, warm, and comforting.

That is not what happened. First of all I got bored. Two and a half hours is a long time in the oven for pudding. I ended up munching happily on a cookie about an hour in to the project. Finally, the pudding was done. I dipped my spoon in and waited for the heavenly taste of a perfect lemon rice pudding. I was seriously underwhelmed. The recipe calls for adding the juice of one lemon at the end. I added the juice of two lemons, plus a pinch of salt, hoping for an additional jolt of acid and zing. I still wasn't happy. So I added some cinnamon, and a teaspoon of vanilla. This made it better, but not great. I ate some warm spoonfuls and decided to let it cool overnight. According to Colwin, it must be chilled.

But once chilled the pudding was simply cold. It had lost whatever comfort it had, and now was bland and uninteresting. It reminded me of the kind of food you might want when you are sick and needing something plain but with some healthful nutrients. But I am not sick. And now I am a little disappointed. I was hoping for more. Perhaps I don't really like rice pudding? I'm not really sure. Perhaps M. does? Somehow I doubt it.

Lumpy Leftovers

M. is currently out of town which means instead of cooking and baking away on our new stove, I am eating leftovers. Tonight it was the Carolina pork mixed with the peigon peas and some leafy Asian greens we brought home from the market over the weekend. Last night it was earthy mushroom ragout eaten on the fly before a yoga class.

And although I miss M. madly, there's something rather nice about being at home alone. My papers are spread out and the computer is on. The TV is too. My stacks and piles are littered about, a reminder as I move from room to room that M. is far away.

I am drinking my wine out of a tumbler, not a slim wineglass. And don't ever tell, but I am eating on the couch. I justify this because it is my couch, a cozy brown velvet one I brought from Portland to San Francisco with me.

I paid for it, and I will pay for it if I spill juicy pulled pork on the fat cushions. But I don't spill, thankfully. because if I did I would be eating crow for dinner for the rest of the week. I've told M. there's to be absolutely no food on the couch. It's one benefit to having a small apartment, if you need to eat while watching the TV the table is right there.

Still rules are made for breaking, and break them I do, just as I'm sure he does when I'm far away.

Firsts and Lasts

Our first meal on the new stove was also our last meal on the old stove. On Saturday night we had a little dinner party for a friend who was in town from New York. M. started cooking on Thursday, dousing a pork butt in an entire bottle of vinegar in an attempt to make authentic Carolina Pulled Pork. The pork slowly cooked on the old stove and the smell of vinegar infused the house. Neither of us slept well that night, and I'm convinced its because all my dreams were filled with pungent and intense smells. The pork cooked for six hours and then sat all day Friday and Saturday too. Meanwhile M. whipped up several bottles of special sauce -- the light red tinged accompaniment to his pork. By the time Saturday evening rolled around I was ready to eat. The pork finished in the oven, roasting and crisping a bit, the slaw was chopped and dressed and a pot of pigeon beans simmered away on the stove.

It was a good meal and we were so hungry. It was over much too soon. I have never been to the Carolinas and thus do not really know about the greatness of pulled pork. But this pork sandwich was delicious. Luckily there were leftovers and we were able to do it again. This time the meal was prepared (only heated really if one must be technical) on our brand new stove.

In a way it was perfect -- minimal preparation and maximum enjoyment. A homage to the old while being very excited about the new.

And the pork was good too, maybe even better the second time around.

A Poem for Monday

I was cleaning out my e-mail inbox and found this poem. Someone sent it to me once, not so long ago, knowing how I loved the city. It is a beautiful afternoon, a hint of spring in the air, a day for poetry. Enjoy!

The Changing Light

The changing light

at San Francisco

is none of your East Coast light

none of your

pearly light of Paris

The light of San Francisco

is a sea light

an island light

And the light of fog

blanketing the hills

drifting in at night

through the Golden Gate

to lie on the city at dawn

And then the halcyon late mornings

after the fog burns off

and the sun paints white houses

with the sea light of Greece

with sharp clean shadows

making the town look like

it had just been painted

But the wind comes up at four o'clock

sweeping the hills


And then the veil of light of early evening


And then another scrim

when the new night fog

floats in

And in that vale of light

the city drifts

anchorless upon the ocean

By Lawrence Ferlinghetti

Our Newest Arrival

I am a baker. I love to bake. Baking makes me happy and satisfied in a way not many other things can. When I moved to San Francisco, unpacking my baking supplies and getting acquainted with the oven were at the top of my list. When I made my first batch of cookies, rosemary shortbread, on a sunny Friday afternoon, I finally felt like I was home.

Our small, apartment sized oven shoved in the corner of our narrow kitchen was perfect for a baking sheet or a 9 by 13 pan. When not in use it held our collection of le cruset casseroles. Prior to my arrival the oven got very little use. M. is not much of a baker or a roaster -- most of his magic happens on the stove. The oven was mine, all mine.

But there was a little problem. Because the oven was so rarely used, M. didn't know there was a little gas leak. I'd turn on the oven to bake and then notice it smelled gassy, very gassy. Soon there were jokes about me, the mildly tortured writer, pulling a Sylvia Plath.

Then I was told I could no longer use the oven because of the gas leak. I tried this for a week or two, and then started baking with all the windows and doors open, the smells of lemon cookies and corn muffins wafting into the backyard. Thank goodness this January has been temperate, for this could have been far more unpleasant than it actually was.

Last week M. suggested we purchase a new stove/oven. I don't mean to be dramatic, but this was very very exciting. I was trying to wean myself from the oven but it was much harder than I expected and it made me a little sad too. The idea of a new appliance, that both of use could use and love, was fantastic.

Our new beauty, purchased and delivered by Sears will arrive today and I couldn't be happier. We've yet to discuss who gets to use it first, but I think it is clear that M. gets first crack at the stove, and my fingers will be the first to twist the oven dial to bake. But with all the excitement, I can't decide what the inagural recipe will be. It will be my first baking escapade in my first purchased appliance -- all of a sudden it seems like I might be a grown up.