Home Ec: A Guide to the Knives You (Actually) Need

Let's talk knives for a moment.

I'm thinking about the knife skills class I'll be teaching as part of the Home Ec series at 18 Reasons next month, putting together a list for my students.

Over the years as I've guided plenty of professional and amateur cooks toward cutlery purchases, it's come to my attention levels of insanity at the knife shop can seem, at times, to be directly correlated to testosterone levels and the amount of food television watched.

Ahem.

All I'm saying is that some of the best chefs and cooks I know have some of the humblest knives.  A fancy, long, expensive Japanese knife does not necessarily a good cook make. 

Tamar's book has done a lot to remind me of the value of amateurism.  So many of the problems that home cooks face result from a cultural tendency to conflate what is appropriate and/or necessary in a professional kitchen with what is appropriate and/or necessary in a home kitchen.  That conflation, or confusion, really, is actually just a terrible story being told to us by the people who want to sell us more crap and make us think that we can't cook, and cook well, without every single doohickey they're trying to get us to buy.

However, having the proper tools on hand definitely makes things smoother, easier, and more comfortable.  And frankly, you waste a lot less when you use the right, sharp knife for a task.

For most home cooks, three, maybe four knives are plenty.  When I'm too lazy to unpack my knife roll at home, I often get away with just a chef's knife and a bread knife.

Knife blocks are a waste of space, and sort of silly, if you ask me.  Knife sets are just ways to get you to spend way more money than necessary.  Expensive German and Japanese knives are nice, and can definitely feel really luxurious, but I tend to think of them more as fancy cars than workhorses.

I've done my best to put together a no-nonsense knife shopping resource for you.  I hope it explains what needs to be explained and guides you toward purchases that make sense for you, and most importantly, help you feel at home in the kitchen.

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illustration from MarshallMatlock.com

Glossary

Forged Blade: A blade shaped by pounding a single, thick piece of heated steel under extreme pressure using a hammer and die.

Tang: The part of the knife that extends into the handle.  On a typical wooden handled knife, you can check the length of its tang by looking at the top of the knife handle and seeing how far the metal extends.

Stamped Blade: A knife blade that's stamped from a piece of steel, much like how a cookie cutter stamps cookies out from dough.

Bolster: The knob of steel located at the back of the blade, where it meets the handle.  Typically, forged knives have bolsters while stamped knives do not.

Carbon Steel: The metal of choice back in the day.  It can get really, really sharp, but dulls quickly and rusts, so most knife makers have abandoned it in favor of stainless steel.

Stainless Steel: The metal of choice these days, because it doesn't corrode or rust, but the average stainless steel blade can't get as sharp as its carbon steel counterpart.  However, the higher quality the steel, the fancier and more expensive the knife.  Some Japanese knives are made with extremely fancy stainless steel that can actually get sharper than carbon steel, and hold an edge for even longer, too.

Sharpening: Redefining the edge of a knife's blade by using a sharpener or whetstone.  Sharpening a knife blade actually whittles away a fine layer of its metal, giving it a completely new edge that's ideally set at an angle that will allow you to cut thinly, quickly, and easily.  A well-set edge will last several weeks to several months, depending on how much you use your knife, how well you take care of it, and what material it's made of.

Honing: Running a knife blade across a honing steel to realign all of the little metal teeth that get all mixed up each time you use a knife.  Honing does not actually sharpen a knife, extending the lifespan of a sharpened blade instead.

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Forged versus Stamped Blades

Let me break things down for you.  Basically, there are two methods for constructing knife blades: stamping and forging.  Generally, stamped blades are considered to be of lesser quality and forged blades of higher quality.

A stamped blade is cut, or stamped, out of a roll of steel, and then handles are attached.  Since there is no bolster, and since stamped blades tend to be on the thinner side, a stamped knife is typically lighter and less expensive than its forged counterpart.

Though stamped knives are often considered, and often are, inferior to their forged brethren, there are some great knives with stamped blades out there, appropriate for both professional and home cooks.  Global knives, omnipresent in restaurant kitchens and on cooking shows, are among the highest quality (and most expensive) stamped knives out there, though I don't much care for them myself.

I'm a huge fan of Victorinox-Swiss Army (formerly Forschner Victorinox) knives with rosewood handles.  I can't tell you how many of these knives I have owned, given away, and recommended over the years.  Made in Switzerland by the same folks who've been making Swiss Army knives since the 1880s, this line of stamped knives is well-constructed, durable, and completely reasonably priced.  The wooden handles are attached with rivets, and the tang, while not full, reaches deep into the handle so there is little risk of the blade snapping off.

Forging a blade is a more complicated process which requires a more skilled hand, resulting in a better crafted, more expensive knife.  In the process of forging a thick, hot piece of steel is shaped by pounding it with a forging hammer and die (think Hephaestus).  Forged knives are also given bolsters, or thick pieces of metal where the blade meets the handle that can serve to protect straying fingers and offer balance between the blade and handle.  Because of the bolster, and the thicker steel, forged knives are often substantially heavier than stamped knives, which can be useful for chopping, but which can also lead to fatigue more quickly.  Forged knives often, but not always, have a full tang, which means that the knife is made from a single piece of steel from the tip of the blade all the way to the end of the handle.  Besides being sturdier than a partial tang, a full tang will make a knife better balanced, which in turn can make it easier to use.

A lot of people, myself included at times, are really into Japanese forged knives, which can offer the best of both worlds--an extremely well-crafted yet light, thin bladed knife with superior design.  Some of my favorite Japanese knives combine carbon steel, which can get really sharp, with stainless steel, which does not rust, for blades that sort of do it all.  The thing is, Japanese knives can get really expensive really quickly.  Does the average home cook need a fancy Japanese knife?  No.  Will it make you a better cook?  No.  Will having one make certain tasks much more enjoyable?  Definitely.

The most important thing to consider when buying a knife (assuming you've already checked to make sure that it's not serrated or micro-serrated, like a Ginsu) is how it feels in your hand--that's why I highly recommend going to a cutlery shop in person to try out knives before purchasing them.  We all have different body types, hand shapes, and likes and dislikes, so different knives of equal quality will be preferable to each of us.  That being said, the Victorinox Rosewood line is a great place for almost everyone to start--those knives are well-priced and well-made, not too heavy, not too light.

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The Three (or Four) Knives Every Home Cook Needs

An 8-inch or10-inch chef's knife.  If you prefer, you can choose a Japanese santoku knife instead, but since santoku blades are rarely longer than seven inches, this could prove frustrating when chopping large amounts of herbs, vegetables or greens.  Since this Hiromoto 2800 santoku is relatively inexpensive (and really awesome), it might be the ideal gift to request for your birthday in a year!

A paring knife.  I prefer bird's beak paring knives because they offer greater mobility and are really useful for trimming vegetables and other tasks that require a delicate, precise touch.

A serrated knife for slicing bread and tomatoes.

A boning knife with a thin, flexible blade is extremely useful for butchering and slicing raw and cooked meat.  Anyone who plans to cook fish, chicken, or other meat at home should invest in one of these.  I also LOVE this one with the granton, or dimpled, edge.

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Basic Accessories

photo from Martha Stewart Everyday Food

Honing Steel. Rather than sharpening a knife, a few swipes across a steel simply realign, or hone, the tiny metal teeth along the edge of the blade.  These teeth get out of whack each time you use the knife, and regular honing will extend the lifespan of a sharp blade, prolonging the time between each sharpening.  Using a steel is not a replacement for sharpening your knife!

I love this black ceramic steel because I can use it with my Japanese knives as well as my Euro-style knives.  It's also really sturdy, unlike most ceramic steels that will snap in two if you just look at them the wrong way.  

Vegetable Peeler.  These inexpensive Swiss vegetable peelers are the best, and their ergonomic design allows you to swiftly peel a pile of carrots without straining your wrist.  I basically can't use any other peeler.

photo from Martha Stewart Everyday Food

Sharpener or Whetstone.  Learning how to use a whetstone to sharpen knives is an invaluable skill that takes a bit of trial and error and a good dose of patience to master.  But, in the long run, it's totally worth it because having sharp knives will become the rule instead of the exception in your kitchen, and sharp knives are not only more pleasurable, but also safer, to use.

If a whetstone just isn't your cup of tea, then consider getting a sharpener or commit to taking your knives to a local sharpener at least twice a year.  

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Getting Fancy

Fujitake, Misono and Hiromoto are three of my favorite Japanese knife makers.  All of them make well-constructed, gorgeous knives that are a pleasure to use.  I have a Fujitake 240mm and Hiromoto 180mm that use all of the time.

Mac Knives are sorta hip these days.  I've been through three of these over the years (between losing them and just sharpening them down to nothing)....they are invaluable for fine slicing and dicing if you find yourself doing that kind of thing.

Cut Brooklyn.  Simply beautiful.  A total luxury.

Cleaver.  I have and love an older version of this cleaver from Due Cigni.  If you plan to buy whole chickens, ducks, or work with any other meat bones, a cleaver is handy.  I was taught never to use a knife to cut through bone, and grimace every time I see someone do it.

Saladini knives.  Scarperia is a medieval hamlet in the Tuscan foothills with a rich history of ironworking and knife-making.  In the fifteeth and sixteenth centuries, knives from Scarperia were unparalleled in quality, and by the late 1800s, the town had become recognized throughout the country as the home of Italy's most skilled knife-making artisans.  As a result of industrialization and the passage of laws prohibiting the production of certain types of knives in Italy, only a few knife makers remain in Scarperia today, down from something like 80.  Saladini is by far my favorite.  I spent some time in their workshop when I lived in Tuscany when I chose each and every handle for the steak knives we used at Eccolo.  The level of craftsmanship is extraordinary, and all of the horns the handles are carved from are naturally shed.

Vintage Sabatier Carbon Steel Knives.  I'm obsessed with these beauties.

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Knife Shopping Resources

In the East Bay

• Hida Tool
• Tokyo Fish Market
• East Bay Restaurant Supply

In San Francisco

• Bernal Cutlery
• Columbus Cutlery
• North Beach Cutlery
• Economy Restaurant Fixtures
• Town Cutler

Online

• My Guide to Basic Knives for the Home Cook on Amazon
• Cut Brooklyn: Gorgeous artisan knives.  Made by hand in Brookyln, NY.
• Orchard Steel
• Chelsea Miller Knives
• Korin Japanese Knife Shop

And finally, here is a gorgeous video profile of Joel Bukiewicz of Cut Brooklyn, with shots of him working on the knives, at various points in the forging process.

something out of nothing: frittata di spaghetti

Now that I work in an office, I have a commute, officemates, and a proper lunchtime three times a week.   Since--in case you didn't realize it--writing blog posts/ cooking class handouts/ a book proposal/ story pitches doesn't exactly yield a fat paycheck, I actually have to think ahead about what I'm going to have for lunch the next day.  For the first time in my adult life I'm in a position to eat leftovers for lunch.

As you might imagine, I find this disproportionately thrilling.  Especially because I'm so cheap.

It's like the world has dawned anew.  Possibilities for tomorrow's lunch lie in the unlikeliest of places.  At any moment, I might find inspiration.  And if not, there's always a slice of Chad's bread with peanut butter.

I'm sure it'll grow old.  But for now, I'm enjoying the challenge.

Last night was one of those nights where I couldn't bear the thought of leaving home to get groceries for dinner, so I rummaged through the cupboard and found an opened box of angel hair pasta.  Out of the freezer, I dug some tomato sauce someone had given me, made with tomatoes and basil from her Noe Valley garden.  I added some Calabrian chilies and parmesan, and had a perfectly respectable bowl of pasta for dinner.  And with what was left, I decided to make a

frittata di spaghetti

, or in this case, capellini.

Italians rarely cook more pasta than they'll consume immediately, but when they find themselves faced with leftover noodles, the

frittata di spaghetti

is often how they choose to serve them.

Before I started cooking the frittata, which derives its name not from the presence of eggs, but rather from the simple fact that it's fried together in the shape of a frittata, I peeled apart two pieces of string cheese I found in the back of the fridge and mixed them into the cold noodles.  I also grated a handful of parmesan and added that in.

I got out my one and only non-stick pan (in a braver moment, I might have considered using the cast iron, but between the cheese, tomato sauce, and all of that starch, I feared the worst.  Plus, using the non-stick meant I wouldn't have to watch the frittata as closely, and therefore, could watch Downton Abbey while the pasta cooked) and heated it.  Then I added a healthy splash of olive oil and the noodles, packed them down and cranked up the heat for a few minutes so the pasta could form a healthy crust.

After about three or four minutes, I turned the heat down to medium-low, rotated the pan, and dove back into the Grantham family saga (I'm only on episode three of season one, so I still have some catching up to do).  When I was able to pull myself away from the show about eight minutes later, I went back to the stove and swirled the pan to see if the frittata was starting to come together.  When I'm cooking straw cakes, the way I know they're ready to flip is when I can put my fingers in the potatoes and rotate the entire cake with a light twist of my wrist.  I figured it'd be something similar here, and it was.

After a little bit of peeking at the bottom crust with the aid of a spatula, I figured it was time, crossed my fingers, and went for the flip.  If the flip scares the bejeezus out of you, then just slide the cake onto a cookie sheet or large plate and invert it back into the pan.  Then, start over with the high heat to get the crust going, and the medium-low heat to finish.  When the frittata is done, slide it out of the pan and serve slices.  It's equally delicious hot or cold, perfect with a little salad, some hot sauce, and a bit more parmesan.

Ye Olde Resolutions Post

Sel gris, a photo by Indirect Heat on Flickr.

Here we are again--the first blog post of the year.

Time for resolutions, I guess.

The thing is, this year, I'm not making any.  Well, none of the typical "changing habits" resolutions, anyway.  Instead, I'm committing to writing three days a week.  That ought to be enough of a change.  I mean, I've spent the past six months shifting a lot around in my life and in my head to make this possible--from ending Pop-Up General Store to arranging to rent a real, bona fide office where I work alongside real, bona fide writers, there has been no shortage of action on my part of late.  Now, I just need to sit down and do the work.

I'm excited and terrified in equal measure, but honestly, I had no other choice.

The rest of the time, I plan to teach, to cook, and to spend time with my friends.  Luckily, in my life, a lot of those things often overlap seamlessly.

Charlie and I are also going to work on a couple of things together, including the curriculum for a class about food, art, literature and social consciousness we want to teach to high schoolers.

And I lied.  I do have two, small "changing habits" resolutions I want to mark for the record:

1) To make stuffing at least once a month. That is to say, to find more delicious and unexpected ways to use up all of the fantastic bread from Pizzaiolo and Tartine that inevitably grows stale each week on my countertop. And hopefully, to share instructions and recipes for the successful versions here with you.

2) To make sel gris my base salt.  As much as I love kosher salt, I have long dreamt of being one of those people who has a big crock of sel gris on the shelf and grinds a handful each time she cooks.  I'm looking forward to seeing how cooking with a higher quality, naturally derived salt might change the overall flavor of my cooking. 

What about you?  Any good resolutions to share?  Wanna jump on the sel gris train with me?

tartine afterhours

photo by kimberley hasselbrink

about once a month, i cook dinner at tartine bakery.  we push all of the tables together, serve bountiful family-style platters of food, invite musicians to come play, and generally just encourage everyone to have a lovely evening.  plus, there's always tartine bread involved!

it's not fancy--just good, honest food.

we do it out of love.

if you'd like to come, you'll need to fill out the form when each dinner is announced and enter the lottery for seats.  i simultaneously send out a newsletter, post a blog entry, update my facebook page, and tweet to announce each dinner, so to make sure you stay abreast, subscribe to any or all forms of social networking appropriate to your needs.

Enter email address for monthly updates on Tartine Afterhours

New Year's Eve at Tartine Afterhours

We're thrilled to announce our New Year's Eve celebration at Tartine Afterhours! Last year's dinner was magical, surpassing all our expectations. We're upping the ante this year by packing in even more special treats for our guests. We truly hope you can join us for this intimate, surprise-filled evening.

We'll have freshly shucked oysters, piles of Dungeness crab, big bowls of chicory salad and a huge batch of Liz's famous eggnog. Chad'll be baking up some special loaves for us, and we'll have a parade of secrets to reveal to you throughout the night. Trust me, it doesn't get much better than this.

Shine off your fancy shoes and bring along a bottle of your favorite hot sauce because things are gonna get ridiculous.

I wish I could have this meal again, right now, a photo by Board Shanty on Flickr.

the details:

who: the fab folks at tartine (and me)
what: a raucous family-style crab feed celebrating new year's eve
where: tartine bakery (600 guerrero st. sf, ca)
when: saturday, december 31st at 9pm
why: to highlight the joy of good food and good company
how much: $120. The all-inclusive ticket price includes cocktails and hors d'oeuvre, three-course family style dinner with wine, champagne toast at midnight, gratuity, party favors and endless fun. Just pay here and show up ready to party
to reserve: this dinner has sold out.  please join the mailing list by entering your name in the box on the sidebar to receive notice of our next dinner and enter the lottery.

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the fine (or same font size) print:

Please note, tickets to this dinner are non-refundable. You can, however, find someone to fill your seat, send someone in your place, or write in to see if we have a waitlist to draw from. Feel free to email us at tartine.afterhours@gmail.com if you have any questions.

Our New Year's Eve dinner is extremely shellfish-centric (i.e. lots of oysters and Dungeness crab), so if you're not into shellfish this might not be the best place for you to spend the evening. However, we do our best to make Tartine Afterhours as inclusive as possible, so please let us know in advance via email if you or any members of your party are vegetarian and we will do our best to take care of you.

sometimes, it's just too much (and, a recipe for nettle lasagna. sort of.)

last night, i found myself at this table, alongside sixty of the most righteous farmers, artists, writers, cooks, surfers and thinkers i have the pleasure to know.

many of my favorite people were seated beside me, eating crab with chili butter and chicories with persimmon, sausages with applesauce and satsumas and brownies.  it was a ridiculously perfect dinner, with much talk of wendell berry, the protein structure of egg whites, and the true meaning of craftsmanship.  it was one of those nights where there are so many wonderful people to see and talk to that there's just no way to get to everyone.  

charlie gave a toast.  a version of the same toast he always gives, including something along the lines of, "as a child, never in my wildest dreams could i have imagined that my life would yield days and nights like this.  i am happier than i've ever been, and have all of you to thank for it."

i came home and smiled myself to sleep.

washing nettles

today, i woke up and spent the entire day making lasagna, one of my favorite things to cook.  i shared one pan with grace, a farmer i befriended yesterday.  she came over today and spent the day cooking with me.

brilliant green

i had one pan for dinner with a friend and his family.

and i sent one pan over to be eaten by three of the people i love and respect most in this world, with their families and friends.

apart, together we ate the same thing.

i am happier than i have ever been, and i have all of you to thank for it.

the healthfulness was hardly betrayed by the deliciousness

nettle pasta.  i could go on for days about nettle pasta.

in january of 2003, i was living in piemonte, desperate to find a way out of a tough situation. chris and janet came and whisked me away to tuscany for a bit.  i raved about

da delfina

to them, having recently been there with jonas and melissa, so we made a reservation for lunch on the last sunday before they were to close for winter break.

obviously, we got lost on the way there.  driving on italian

autostrade

without doing so is pretty much impossible.  especially when

lastra a signa

or

signa

is involved.  ack--the most confusing exits ever!

we were hours late for our reservation.

suffice it to say they were not happy to see us when we finally did arrive; they were more than ready to leave for vacation.

but we persevered, and ordered quickly.  two of us misunderstood the menu and ordered pasta with nettles and spinach, thinking we'd get tagliatelle with sauteed greens.

instead, we got the most heavenly plates of pasta i've ever had: fragrant, nutty tagliatelle flavored with

ortiche

, or nettles, tossed casually with a handful of wilted spinach, olive oil, and parmesan.

every nettle pasta i have had or made since has paled in comparison to that perfectly precarious memory.

until today.

i had two farm boxes of nettles, about 4# after i picked through them.  it was plenty, and i committed to making the pasta with raw, instead of my typically cooked, greens.

so i picked and washed the nettles, drained and chopped them finely, and pureed them with a small amount of eggs and yolks to get a deeply verdant mixture which i then folded into the flour.

for 4 cups of pasta, which yielded plenty of sheets for all of the pans i described above, with more to spare, i used 2 eggs, 6 yolks, and about a pound of nettles.

i rolled the pasta fairly thin, then blanched it, dabbed it dry, and brushed it with olive oil to keep it from sticking to itself.

the rest of the greens i sauteed, with garlic and onions, and used in the filling.  i alternated greens with a thick bechamel, some bellwether ricotta seasoned with salt, good oil, parmesan, and thyme, and a scant amount of mozzarella.

layer, layer, salt, cover, bake.  yum.

remind me to detail my lasagna manifesto here for you all sometime.  in the meantime, though, trust me: your instincts are enough.  and if you can't find nettles, (bloomsdale) spinach is equally delicious.

local.sustainable.creative.handmade: a bay area holiday gift guide

the trip to china gave me a lot to think about, and a big part of that has been examining my relationship with consumption.

i love stuff.  i love pretty things, and good food, and hoarding books i may never read.

i also, secretly (or not so secretly, if you know me well) love target, even though it pains me to admit it.  something about all of those thousands of items you don't need, all perfectly lined up under one roof is too much for me to handle.  maybe it's one of the vestigial signs of my southern california suburban upbringing.  who knows?

like a teenaged boy obsessed with the latest video game, i can pine over random things for days, weeks, months, before breaking down and buying them because i conclude that i cannot possibly survive without them.  two weeks later, i can't remember what it was that made me want that thing in the first place.  there's a flat screen tv sitting 10 feet from here that i've turned on maybe once since i moved into this apartment almost three years ago.  the bike i don't ride nearly enough.  the pairs of shoes i've never worn.  thankfully, this strange disease rarely extends into the realm of kitchen appliances, which i'm just not that big on, or clothing.  but still, i often find myself spending an undue amount of time concerned with apple products i don't need, or this cursive olivetti typewriter (someone, just buy it so i can stop obsessing!!!).  

it's really annoying.

anyway, i left china with clear understanding that what's most important is to invest in people, in relationships with those i love.

i've never been a massive hoarder or utterly concerned with material things, but i'm always ready to be challenged, to grow and learn, and expand my world.  and though i've never really celebrated any winter holidays myself, i've always appreciated the sense of community and the unbridled generosity which are implicit in the season.  i love giving, and i love watching others give.  there are so many ways to give, but if it happens to be about gifts, then what better way for me to participate than by encouraging folks to support my friends and colleagues doing great work, whose products and services would make ideal gifts?

it's so complicated, my relationship to all of this.  i've been working on a holiday gift guide for a couple of months, and now, after china, i've reconsidered putting it up because, do i really want to encourage more consumption???  yet on the other hand, i believe in supporting people who do good work, and if i can spread the word about great people doing great things, then why shouldn't i?

welcome to my head.

while i continue to grapple with this line of self-questioning, let me offer a compromise: a highly curated list of my favorite things, as well as the suggestion that you consider a book-exchange christmas, a thrift-store christmas, an exchange of completely homemade gifts, or even (gasp!) a giftless holiday.

but most of all, i wish you all a wonderful december.

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local.sustainable.creative.handmade: 
a bay area holiday gift guide

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CLASSES, MEMBERSHIPS & SUBSCRIPTIONS

Home Ec: a series of basic cooking classes

building a pantry :: knife skills :: salt :: fat :: acid :: heat 

1.

3.

2.

4.

  5.

6.

9.

8.

1. my five-part home-ec series of cooking classes, at 18 reasons ($350 and up, sliding scale)
2. membership to siren seasa sustainable seafood CSA ($20 and up)
3. marmalade-making workshop with june taylor herself ($200)

4. quarterly ($25)

5. kinfolk magazine ($24)

6. annual membership to 18 reasons ($50)

7. annual subscription to canal house cooking ($50)

8. a membership to the brand spanking new baia pasta pasta CSA. place an order here to pick up on 12/10 and 12/11 at rare device in san francisco ($8 and up).
9. six month subscription to tattly ($60)

AT THE TABLE 

1.

2.

3.

4.

5.

6.

1. any one of the variety of well-curated spices, salts, and spice mixtures from our very own neighborhood spice shop. grand opening tomorrow, saturday, december 3rd ($5 and up)

2. one of june taylor's traditional fruit cheeses ($18)

3. new year's osechi bento in a handmade three-level cedar box from peko peko ($250)

4. the ramona bar from double dutch sweets ($6)

5. a bottle of homemade tonic water (about $8 for ingredients and a bottle)

6. a country loaf from tartine bakery ($7), a sandwich loaf from outerlands ($5), or one of noah's sunday loaves at pizzaiolo ($7)

FOR THE TABLE

1.

2.

4.

3.

5.

1. aletha soule's gorgeous ceramicware ($40 and up)

2. salt and pepper cellars from diana fayt ($37)

3. a set of classic champagne coupes foraged from urban ore or the goodwill (about 50¢ each)

4. orkney tablecloth from rough linen ($130)

5. one of the fantastic deals from the piles of seconds or thirds at the heath factory store (astonishingly inexpensive)

IN THE KITCHEN

1.

2.

3.

1. hand-hewn magnetic knife holder from MR/CW (from $95)
2. set of two bento bags from ambatalia ($25)
3. vintage finel enamel mushroom bowl from pot and pantry ($48)





CALENDARS

1.

2.

3.

1. maria schoettler eat local 2012 calendar ($30)

2. young america creative seasonal calendar ($28)

3. simply breakfast 2012 calendar ($35) 

ETC.

1.

2.

3.

4.

5.

6.

7.

8.

9.

1. donald mitchell t-shirt from creative growth ($25)

2. silver and gold thread from bell'occhio ($6 each)
3. picnic basket rental for a perfect day in washington square park from little vine ($25 per person)
4. a perfect terrarium or other gorgeous oddity from crimson ($20 and up)
5. homemade worry dolls (a few bucks for supplies)
6. kaweco sport fountain pen ($21)
7. faber-castell basic wood rollerball pen ($11)

8. lamy aqua safari fountain pen ($29)
9. pink pelikan fountain pen ($18) (i'm really into refillable pens this year)

JEWELRY

1.

2.

3.

4.

1. staple and tack earrings from general store ($35 and up)

2. pyrite stud earrings from lauren wolf at esqueleto ($45 each)

3. cairo necklace from marisa haskell ($170)

4. small circle post earring--recycled silver from melissa joy manning ($65)

BOOKS

1.

2.

3.

4.

5.

6.

1. penguin threads series, with cover designs embroidered by jillian tamaki ($10 each)
2. an everlasting meal by tamar adler ($15)
3. standing by words by wendell berry ($10)
4. penguin great food series ($6-10 each)
5. tender by nigel slater ($22)
6. food rules by michael pollan, illustrated by maira kalman ($16)


and if none of these ideas does it for you, how about a gift certificate to one of my (or your) favorite restaurants?

bar jules
outerlands cafe
pizzaiolo
nopa
chez panisse
boot & shoe service
tartine bakery

grace

though i think that every day brings with it countless opportunities for gratitude, there is no day better than thanksgiving for sharing it.

so, as i sit here in a cloudy jet-lagged haze, looking back at the most surreal week in china and forward to what i hope to be a year filled with lots of meaningful, enjoyable play, work and love, here's what's got me brimming with gratitude in this moment:

the life and values my parents have given me.

having my best friend around the corner.

getting to cook whatever i want for lovely, enthusiastic people who support tartine afterhours and pop-up general store.

selling articles with minimal pain, and that it looks like i'll have an easy enough time selling my book when i'm ready, too.

endless opportunities for continued learning, about myself, about the world, and cooking, and writing, and the beliefs that ground me.  though i'm in a bit of a tough place with my asana practice, yoga has changed my life and i'm so grateful for the perspective it's given me.

all of my incredible j-school friends.  taking that class with michael five(!) years ago was one of the best things i ever did for myself, most of all because it led me to all of you. novella, malia, charlotte, singeli, charlie, joylynn, sindya--i'm so grateful for your friendship and guidance.

living in a world where i get to conspire and collaborate with, learn from and teach some of the people i have looked up to and loved since the moment i entered the kitchen, from alice and michael to cal, chris and charlie. from aya and tamar, chad and liz, to lori, sam, rosie and jerome.  to all of you, my friends and mentors, i am in awe of you each and every single day.

(and i'm grateful for a blog where i can write run-on sentences as long as i like without having to go back and edit them).

happy thanksgiving, all!

Recipe: Aaron's pie crust

photo by the ever-magical

peden+munk

For those of you who don't know, my best friend Aaron is a pie crust savant.

No longer a professional cook, he worked with us at Eccolo for two years, and then for Mary at Ici for two years, but being one of the smartest, most curious people I've ever met, once he became obsessed with pie-making, he went out of his way to perfect his version, conducting trials and poring over Harold McGee until he was satisfied with his dough.

I must confess that I've never been much of a pie fan, but Aaron's is transcendent.  So flaky and light, in some ways it's closer to puff pastry than any pie you've ever had.  It's more than a pie, more than just the intersection of flour, butter, sugar and fruit.  Magic happens in the oven when you put this version in, so much so that when we were dreaming up a menu for the pig roast for the CP 40th birthday, I knew instantly that I wanted a shelf of pies made by Aaron, evoking Wayne Thiebaud, for dessert.

So if you're still poking around for a pie dough recipe, look no further.  This one is it, for the rest of your life.

Aaron's Pie Dough

makes two disks, enough for either one covered pie or two uncovered pies

8 oz. (2 sticks) butter, cubed

2 ¼ cups All-purpose flour

1 generous tablespoon sugar

large pinch of salt

water with ice cubes (very, very cold)

Place flour, sugar and salt in bowl of a stand mixer with the paddle attachment.

Freeze the bowl, with ingredients and paddle, for 20 minutes.

While bowl cools, also place butter and water in freezer to chill even more.

Place bowl in mixer on “Mix” speed (the slowest).

Add cubed butter and mix until butter looks like broken walnuts.

Quickly add water and mix minimally until dough barely holds together.

Turn dough out onto work bench and cut in half with bench scraper. Wrap the two pie

dough discs in plastic wrap and refrigerate for at least one hour and up to 2 days. At this point, the dough can be frozen for months.

When baking, freeze assembled pie for 25 minutes before placing in 425° oven.

After fifteen minutes, turn oven down to 400°, after another 15 turn down to 350-75° until

pie is done (bubbling out of steam vents).

If blind baking for pumpkin, pecan, or banana cream pie, then simply dock the chilled dough with a fork, line with foil and fill with beans or pie weights and bake along same trajectory until lightly golden, about 35-45 minutes.

on creativity

Wabi-Sabi, a photo by Yo Spiff on Flickr.

I've been asked some questions and want to think about them for about a week before I turn in my answers.   I've just jotted down some initial notes, but I'd love to hear what any of you have to say.

How do you define creativity?


???


What is the ideal creative environment?



some space, some discomfort, some solitude, some community
challenge
beauty
pain
ugliness


Who do you consider creative?

japanese masters of wabi-sabi
aya brackett
creative growth
jen causey
the voracity
italian grandmothers
cal
charlie
wendell berry
chad robertson
amaryll schwertner
dave eggers
nigel slater

something out of nothing: pasta with long-cooked broccoli

there's this thing i love to do:

i'll go over to a friend's house for a visit, and then, as it tends to do, the afternoon will give way to evening.  the rumbling sounds of protesting stomachs join our conversation, steering it to the question of dinner.

and because i am the cook, the answer is almost always up to me.

i become a forager, an indoor forager with years of experience under my belt: housesitting, cat sitting, dog sitting, baby sitting, and every other type of sitting have all prepared me well for this moment.

dank, forgotten corners of cupboards, refrigerator drawers filled with flagging produce from seasons past, freezers whose icicles compete with those of february cliffs in nova scotia all become my territory as i search for the parts that will make a whole and more for us to share.

i take greatest pleasure when my friend repeatedly insists (and apologetically, no less!) that there is nothing to be found and offers to order a pizza or take me out for a bowl of noodle soup.

it might be because i'm a contrarian, which i don't deny, but i prefer to think it's because i love showing people how so much can be made out of what they perceive to be so little.

it's the way i cook, making something out of nothing.

this week, i'm not visiting any friends because i'm away, desperately trying to work things out with the book proposal i'm writing.  i'm having a hard time, which might explain all of the blog posts.

i'm having a hard time deciding, not on the content which is clear as day, but on the format.  should i teach the lessons as part of a narrative, or just simplify the story and present the meat of the matter?

my friend tamar's beautiful new book,

an everlasting meal

, does both masterfully, somehow.  she has a way with words that one can only be endowed with and never learn.  and so for her it made sense to write such a lyrical story (do yourself a favor and buy this gorgeous book!), but me?  i don't know.

if the point is to give people the simple tools they need in the kitchen, in their arsenal of cooking know-how, to be able to cook with a confident hand, then shouldn't i just spell things out in the clearest possible way?

that's what i thought.

but then as i sat down to write the introduction and proposal, i got carried away with writing the stories of how i came to know, love, and understand cooking.  isn't storytelling part of what makes me me?  isn't it part of what makes students come to my classes?  i feel like it is, and that it would be a disservice to choose the sterile version.  but i'm worried--always so worried--about muddying the content with too much narrative.

can i get what i want to get across across and still be me?

ay, there's the rub.

i'm sure you're wondering what the heck this has to do with broccoli pasta.

at this point, so am i.

oh tangents, how i love you so,

so here i am, in this lovely place, with nothing on my plate but writing.  i had some goals for these two weeks, but i've let them go.  all of them except for this: to come away with a proposal i will fight to the end for.

this place is heaven.  we are fed lovely dinners, given endless space (and dozens of surfaces upon which) to read and write, and best of all, there is no phone.  the sunsets are a different color each evening, brilliant  pinks and oranges.  there are beaches and mountains nearby, and last night we stumbled upon a little shack made entirely of driftwood on a quiet, forgotten beach. improbably, it had a dining table with a centerpiece made of kelp, iceplant and found feathers, and a cast iron candelabra mounted on the wall.  someone, or many someones, had spent a lot of time and care creating this little hideaway, and it was an honor to discover it.

our dinners are generous and quite delicious, but for breakfast and lunch, we're on our own.  before i left, i emptied my fridge and arrived with a few groceries, and the larder here is well-stocked.  but we've been here nearly a week (yikes!) and have worked through much of that.  after a little digging, i managed to round up a couple stalks of broccoli i got from blue heron farm last week, a bag of penne pasta, and a piece of parmesan i was smart enough to bring.  i also snatched up half an onion and a few garlic cloves, left on the counter by one of my co-residents and set out to make lunch.

everything i collected: 

two stalks of broccoli

250g pasta (half a package)

1/2 medium onion, sliced

3 small garlic cloves, minced

salt

cayenne pepper or chile flakes

parmesan

olive oil

put on a big pot of water to boil for the pasta, and next to it, heat a large saute pan over high heat.

when the pan is hot, coat the bottom with a generous splash of olive oil.  let it get hot before adding the sliced onion.  there should be a big sizzle, and you should see the onions on the edge of the pan start to brown almost immediately.  reduce the heat to medium, give it a stir, and turn your attention to the broccoli.

trim the florets of broccoli and set them aside.  peel the stems with a vegetable peeler and paring knife before slicing them thinly and adding them to the onions.

when the water has come to a boil, salt it generously and then drop in the florets.  let them cook for a few minutes, until tender, while you keep an eye on the onions and stems to make sure they don't burn.  add a sprinkle of chile flakes and a pinch of salt to the pan, and maybe a splash of the broccoli water, if it looks like it needs it.  now might be a good time to cover the pan to encourage the steam to stay in there and prod the onions into tenderness.

when the florets are cooked, or nearly so, remove them from the pot with a strainer or sieve and add them directly to the pan of onions and stems.  if the pan looks dry, add another splash of water or perhaps olive oil.  add the minced garlic.

now, the real cooking begins.

the florets will break down, mixing with the water and oil to become part of the sauce, while the stems and onions continue to caramelize.

add the pasta to water, and stir.  it'll take about eight or ten minutes, enough time for the broccoli to break down and become really creamy.  the key is to make sure there's enough water in the pan so the broccoli, oil, and water emulsify and become saucy and sweet.  keep cooking, and stirring.  keep the pan covered, or add water as needed, to get where you need to go.

when the pasta is cooked, drain it, reserving a cup of the cooking water.  toss the hot noodles into the pan with the broccoli, and stir.  add another, final splash of olive oil and the salty pasta water to ensure the noodles are all well-coated, moist, and seasoned.  taste and adjust the salt and cayenne as needed.

serve with generous amounts of snowy, grated parmesan.

as i ate, i wondered, what was the difference between this most delicious bowl of pasta, and the many sad, bland versions of broccoli and noodles i've encountered so many times before?

this wasn't a fancy dish at all, nor was it complicated.  the whole thing took less than twenty minutes.  what did i know, or have, that allowed me to cook this way?  that's the question i'm trying to answer as i return to working on this proposal.   wish me luck in my writing.  i need it so very much!

Tartine Afterhours: Tuesday, November 8th

Due to a little shout out in San Francisco magazine, I'm announcing Tartine Afterhours a bit earlier this time, so welcome, new friends!  To be the first to be notified of future Tartine Afterhours dinners, and other events I put together, please join the mailing list by entering your email address in that little box to the right.  Please do note that the dinner will be on Tuesday, November 8th.

I've been racking my brain to figure out more creative ways to include the talented bakers at Tartine in the dinners.  It didn't take long to dream up a chicken pot pie topped with that perfect, flaky puff pastry the bakery is so famous for.  Please come join us in November for a dinner composed of the kinds foods that we all love and crave--comfort food.  Sitting cheek to jowl at the cafe tables, eating piles of Chad's bread slathered with European butter you can't really go wrong, can you?  

Come, have a glass of wine, get to know the folks at your table, and let us take care of you!

photo by Kimberley Hasselbrink

the details

who: the fab folks at tartine and me

what: a three-course family-style feast of all our favorite comfort foods

where: tartine bakery (600 guerrero st.  sf, ca)

when: tuesday, november 8th at 8pm

why: to highlight the joy of good food and good company

to reserve: this dinner has sold out.  please join the mailing list by entering your name in the box on the sidebar to receive notice of our next dinner and enter the lottery.

how much: $45 plus wine and gratuity (cash only, please!)

An Oakland Thanksgiving in Martha Stewart Living

Last year, on the day we had the photo shoot for my website, I returned home to several dozen emails, as usual.  

What was extraordinary was that the editor-in-chief of Martha Stewart Living had sent an email, asking if I wanted to put together an "orphan Thanksgiving in Oakland" story for the November 2011 issue.

Huh?

I'm still not sure how that happened.  But there was definitely some magic involved.  Clearly, I jumped at the opportunity, even though I was facing an intense November and December, with all sorts of Pop-Ups and catering gigs, and Tartine Afterhours all over the place.

photo by Aya Brackett

The next day, we spoke, and she asked if I had any ideas about who would be included, where we'd shoot, or who might be our photographer.

Um, well, we'd just had the most incredible photo shoot of my life the day before at Charlie's well-lived in hand-restored house.  Aya, the photographer of my dreams, with her wabi-sabi, beautiful mess philosophy, had effortlessly translated the feeling of me into hundreds of gorgeous photos.  So, I asked, "How about Aya?  How about Charlie's house?  How about a group of cooks and artists who represent the East Bay with grace and diversity?"

Amazingly, she said yes to everything!

photo by Aya Brackett

We shot a Fauxgiving lunch in mid-December, with the help of all of the lovely people you see in the photos, and so many you don't, including editors Stephen Johnson and Christine Albano from Martha Stewart Living, prop stylist Brian Andriola, who made the textures of Charlie's home sparkle, and all of the fantastic purveyors including BN Ranch, Blossom Bluff Orchards, Tartine Bakery, Ghost Town Farm, and Riverdog Farm, who made it so easy to cook beautiful, delicious food.  And endless gratitude to Alice Waters who lent some plates, glasses and that wooden salad bowl for the shoot from her home and Chez Panisse.  Pretty much everything else was mine, Charlie's or Chris and Janet's.  

photo by Aya Brackett

As my friend Amber said, "I remember when you started cooking, we used to cook from Martha Stewart Living, and now you're in it!"  

It's crazy, I know!  

I hope the piece offers a little bit of inspiration for your own holiday gatherings this year, and remind you to find family wherever you are.  

something out of nothing: oven-dried tomatoes

after last week's pop-up general store, i was left with a windfall of perfectly ripe dirty girl dry-farmed early girl tomatoes.  knowing that i wouldn't have time to can them or room to freeze them, i opted to dry them out.

one of my best discoveries while living in italy was at my local alimentari. the plump sun-dried tomatoes packed in oil didn't resemble their brittle american relatives one bit. seemingly half-dried, full of flavor and more like candy than anything else, those tomatoes quickly made themselves indispensable in my kitchen.  chopped up in pasta, strewn amongst lamb shoulder or chicken legs in the braising pan, pounded in a mortar and pestle and smeared on crusty bread--well, their uses are many.

oven-drying tomatoes is an efficient and tasty way to preserve a bit of summer's brightness.  i took some shortcuts and just cut them in half, removing any suspect bits as i went along, then sprinkled them with salt and a slight rumor of sugar.  i packed them snugly onto a parchment lined cookie sheet and stuck them in my oven at 200°F for about 12 hours.  at that point, some were a bit drier than others, but i like a little variety.  none of the tomatoes seemed soupy or wet, which is how i knew they were done.

when they were done, i let the trays cool before sticking them in the freezer.  once the tomatoes were solid, i peeled them off the paper and packed them into ziploc bags and returned them to the freezer.  that way, they won't all become one big mass of tomato gooeiness, and i can just pull out a couple at a time as i need them.  if you prefer, you can pack them into jars and cover with olive oil, but this is a more frugal, less messy way to deal with them so i chose this method this time.

i'll let you know when i cook with them for the first time!

Tartine Afterhours: Wednesday, Oktober 19th

It's that time of year again--Oktoberfest!  This time, I'm going to browbeat Chad into making some of his fantastic German-style rye bread for us.  Trust me, you haven't had rye until you've had this.  Toss in a little wurst, spätzle, cabbage, beer and Underberg bitters and you've got a party.  Do come join us!

photo by Christopher Lehmann

the details

who: the fab folks at tartine and me

what: a three-course family-style feast celebrating Oktoberfest

where: tartine bakery (600 guerrero st.  sf, ca)

when: wednesday, october 19th at 8pm

why: to highlight the joy of good food and good company

to reserve: this dinner has sold out.  please join the mailing list by entering your name in the box on the sidebar to receive notice of our next dinner and enter the lottery.

how much: $45 plus beer and gratuity (cash only, please!)

something out of nothing: raised waffles

one of the strongest traits i've inherited from my paternal lineage is a love of junk.

my grandmother has scoured garage sales every saturday morning since she moved to the states in the seventies.

my dad is not only a lover of the junk shop, but also a hoarder.  don't even ask for details--i can't go there.

i love junk.  i love the idea of uncovered treasure amongst someone else's discarded bits.  i love making something old new again, giving what's been exhausted a second life.  and of course, i love finding a use for something thought to be useless.  that is, after all, the way i cook.

every town has a junk store (and i'll readily admit that east coast and midwestern junk is far superior to california junk), but berkeley's

urban ore

has no equal as far as i'm concerned.  it's humongous, relatively organized, and has a constant stream of new junk.  there are those devotees, i'm sure, who visit every single day.  there are those, i know, who have renovated entire homes and businesses solely using materials from urban ore.  and then there are people like me, who go there when we need a new filing cabinet or just pull into the lot on a whim when we're in the neighborhood.

the other day, i did just that, and i found this beauty for $5:

the sunbeam w-2, produced from 1945 to 1955.  after a little web research, i learned that the same machine can now go for $295!  score!

it was a bit scuffed and greasy, but i got up close and personal with a stainless steel scrubbie and shined it up.

what next?  waffle party, of course.

and since i was planning ahead and had my wits about me, i made the best waffle recipe ever*,

marion cunningham's raised waffles.

the thing i love most about waffles is that even someone like me, whose refrigerator is usually populated with nothing other than two dozen half-empty condiment jars, reliably has all of the necessary ingredients on hand.  and even when i don't have maple syrup around, i do have all sorts of other sweet and delicious things to put on top.

this time, i made some berries with beaumes-de-venise and whipped cream, pulled out all of my jams and honeys down from the cupboard, fried up some bacon for the amy-dencler-original-bacon-in-waffle, and told everyone else to bring things to put on top of the waffles.  guests showed up with butters, coffees, and even maple syrup made by an old friend.

i was so busy running around, i didn't get a chance to take any photos to share, but they didn't look too far off from

these

(though molly's appear to have been made on a belgian waffle iron).  trust me when i say that much fun was had.

marion cunningham's raised waffles

(from

the breakfast book

, one of my most treasured cookbooks of all time)

yields about 8 waffles

1/2 cup warm water

1 package (1 tablespoon) dry yeast

2 cups milk, warmed

1/2 cup (1 stick) butter, melted

1 teaspoon salt

1 teaspoon sugar

2 cups all-purpose flour

2 eggs

1/4 teaspoon baking soda

Use a large mixing bow, as the batter will rise to double its original volume.  Put the water in the mixing bowl and sprinkle in the yeast.  Let stand to dissolve for 5 minutes.

Add the milk, butter, salt, sugar, and flour to the yeast mixture and beat until smooth and blended.  Cover the bowl with plastic wrap and let stand overnight at room temperature.

Just before cooking the waffles, beat in the eggs, add the baking soda, and stir until well mixed.  The batter will be very thin.  Pour about 1/2 to 3/4 cup batter into a very hot waffle iron.  Bake the waffles until they are golden and crisp.

This batter will keep well for several days in the refrigerator.

*even though most who taste these marvel at their amazing lightness, crispness, and all-around amazingness, there are those who are disappointed because they were expecting a chewy interior.  if that's what you're looking for, i suggest

marion's classic waffles

, which are also good for those times when you didn't plan for waffles ahead.

Gaz: Persian Nougat

teeny tiny candy boxes

Aaron and I cooked a special Persian birthday dinner for some lovely folks last week.  He helped with the dessert, which I'll talk about another time, but I was most excited about these little party favors.

I got the boxes, gold leaf, and Moroccan-ish candy cups from

Spun Sugar

, and we made

gaz

, a Persian pistachio nougat scented with cardamom and snuck in some candied tangerine peel.

Gaz

originates from Isfahan, a city in central Iran, where there are still dozens of producers making the candy.  Originally, it was made with with the juice of of a plant called

angebin

, a member of the

Tamarisk

family associated with

manna

, combined with pistachio, rosewater, egg whites and cardamom.  

I got this recipe from

Christine

, and have made it a couple of times with great success.  I have to say, for something made in Berkeley, it sure tastes a lot like Iran!  But beware, it is a tad bit sticky!  And if you go over by even a couple of degrees, it'll be tooth-breakingly hard.

Gaz

: Persian Nougat

adapted from

Muffin Top

Ingredients:

2 cups granulated sugar

1 1/2 cups light corn syrup

1/4 teaspoon salt

1/4 cup water

2 egg whites at room temperature

4 teaspoons rose water

1 teaspoon ground cardamom

1 cup toasted pistachios

Oil the bottom and sides of a baking pan, then line with parchment and generously oil the parchment.  The nougat is sticky, so do whatever it takes to ensure that you'll be able to get it out of the pan later!

Beat the egg whites in the (very clean) bowl of a stand mixer to stiff peaks.  

In a large saucepan, combine the sugar, corn syrup, salt and water over medium-high heat.  Stir until the sugar is dissolved, and continue to cook until the mixture reaches hard-ball stage (250°F).

When the sugar syrup has reached 250°F, remove it from the heat.  Turn the mixer back on to a low-ish speed and slowly pour about a quarter of the syrup into the stiff egg whites.  

Continue to beat the egg whites until the mixture holds its shape.  Turn off the mixer.  

Return the saucepan with the remaining syrup to the stove, and continue to cook over medium-high heat until the mixture reaches hard-crack stage (300°F).

Turn the mixer back on to a low-ish speed and pour in the remaining syrup slowly and continue beating until the mixture is thick and stiff.

Add the rose water and spices and mix together. 

Remove the bowl from the mixer and fold in the nuts by hand.  Stir until combined.  

Spoon the nougat into the prepared pan and press and smooth it in evenly.  

Keep the nougat in the refrigerator until it's set (about a few hours).  Take it out of the mold and cut it into squares.  Toss lightly in cornstarch to keep them from sticking to one another, then garnish with gold leaf if desired (not traditional, but very beautiful!).  

Hope you love it!

Tartine Afterhours: Wednesday, September 21st

lovely photo by kimberley hasselbrink of the year in food

the details


who: the fab folks at tartine and me
what: a three-course family-style feast
where: tartine bakery (600 guerrero st. sf, ca)
when: wednesday, september 21st at 8pm
why: to highlight the joy of good food and good company
to reserve: this dinner has sold out.  please join the mailing list by entering your name in the box on the sidebar to receive notice of our next dinner and enter the lottery.
how much: $45 plus wine and gratuity (cash only, please!)

something out of nothing: provençal vegetable tian

i've been thinking a lot lately about how to sum up my approach to food.  chris lee calls it "cooking from weeds," i call it

something out of nothing

--using what's at hand, even what you didn't know you had in the back of the freezer, the corner of the garden, or lost in the pantry to make a meal.  that, and a careful attunement to the seasons, to your local geography, and to the traditions in kitchens near and far pretty much comprise everything i think you need to cook really delicious food, really simply.

i'm not saying it's easy.  being a good cook, like being a good anything, takes practice, patience, and presence.  but it's simple.  stick with it, and you'll get it a lot sooner than you think.

with that in mind, i'm going to start writing more about food here.  more recipes, more stories about how to put together a meal, and hopefully, more nice pictures.  let's start here with this lovely eggplant, zucchini, and tomato tian i made last week.

tian, like cassoulet, is the name for both the earthenware dish and the particular food that's cooked in it.  a true tian dish is a shallow, rectangular terra cotta dish into which a mixture of summer vegetables is layered, and then baked until caramelized, sweet and soft.

whereas a gratin is comprised of sliced vegetables (often potatoes) layered horizontally and then baked, the vegetables in a tian are shingled almost vertically, at about a sixty degree angle.

a classic tian starts with a base of sweated onions, and then alternating layers of eggplant, zucchini, and tomato are assembled onto it.  torn leaves of basil and paper-thin slices of garlic, as well as abundant salt, find their way into the dish before it's doused with a healthy dose of good olive oil and sent into a hot oven.

last week i found myself in a friend's kitchen, where she'd started stockpiling ripe early-girl tomatoes from the garden.  she was drowning in them, unsure of how to use them all up, so over the course of a few days i made swift work of scores of tomatoes--in sauce, salad, and this tian--so that by the time i left she was ready to face the plant and harvest another round to try her own hand at some tomato sauce.

we took a trip to the farmer's market, where i picked up:

3 medium italian eggplants

4 medium zucchini

3 medium red onions

1 bunch basil

in her pantry, i found:

good olive oil

salt

1 head garlic

from the garden, i used:

about 10 early girl tomatoes (or, about 5 heirloom tomatoes)

recipe

preheat oven to 400°F.

sliced and brown the onions with olive oil and salt, then place them into the bottom of a 9x13" (or thereabouts) earthenware or pyrex dish.

slice the eggplant, zucchini, and tomatoes into 1/4-1/2" slices.  it doesn't matter which thickness you decide upon, as long as you're consistent throughout.

pick the basil leaves.

peel the garlic and slice it.

season the sliced vegetables with salt, then layer into the dish at about a 60° angle, in shingled rows.  after every other row, tuck in a few torn basil leaves.  after every third row, tuck in a few slices of garlic.  make sure neither the basil nor the garlic is exposed to prevent it from burning.

when you get to the end of the dish, stick your hand flat against the final layer of vegetables and scoot it in tightly to compact the tian, then continue building.  do it again when you get to the end, until the dish is tightly packed with layers of vegetables.

drizzle generously with olive oil, and another pinch of salt for good luck, and then throw it into the oven, on a low-ish rack.

after about 20 minutes, take a look,  if it looks dry on top, add some more oil.  use a spatula to compress the vegetables down and let any dry parts (particularly dry eggplant) soak up some of the bubbling juices.

rotate the pan if it looks like it needs it.

keep cooking, and checking, and compressing with the spatula, until the juices have been released and then reabsorbed and reduced, and all of the vegetables are thoroughly cooked and caramelized.  if you cut the pieces into fatties like i did here, it can take about 90 minutes.  hey, i never said this was gonna be quick.

check it with a skewer if you're not sure it's done.  the eggplant should absolutely not resist in any way.

pull the finished tian out of the oven and let it rest for about 10 minutes before serving.  eat it with bread, fish, and a glass of rosé and call it a day.

pie filling still life, august 2011

Just a quick post to say, I'm committing to posting much more regularly here as things return to my own version of normal, but until I recover and get fully back on the ground, I'll be posting photos, links, and thoughts to my new public FB page, so travel on over there and "like" it if you haven't already to stay abreast.

Hope everyone is doing well!

I'm having a particularly Persian week this week, cooking lots of tah-chin and cucu sabzi for a series of dinners.  Hoping to post some photos of all of that, too!