Little Ears

Orecchiette- which means "little ears"

The 28th year is said to be the Saturn Return. When that shift from your years of countless re-invention, exploration, transformation take a turn, and something brings you "home" again. Maybe home translates to the weary traveler as a place, or a feeling, maybe even a quality or trait that re-surfaces itself in your life. For me it literally brought me home. Eucalyptus in the air, in the land wild sage and avocados- Central California. 

So, once the siren of my 28th year sounded her song, I made it home in time for my birthday. Uniting first with my tribe of lady chefs and coming together to determine what new task on our ever growing list of creations to try.

"Ash, Orecchiette!!" 

Kim proclaimed with girl-like excitement. A creative task we had yet to embark on within our 9 years of cooking side by side. Convincing Peggy was easy, as she would be the one to give us the personal tales from watching the process on the streets of Puglia herself.

The day began with our fists united with in a vigorous kneading for 20 minutes on the white marble counter top. A strong task to ensure strong dough, our muscles feel it as our mound of raw orecchiette begins to smooth out and ready itself for rest.

The process is simple. Using a bench scrapper to slice off wedges of dough, then roll between your palms and the cutting board. The dough remains smooth and firm, in no way clinging to your fingertips when touched. An almost silky tactility that soothes the spirit as therapy through creation.

 Roll, slice into 1" squares and then quickly pull the dough across a wood cutting board with the back of a butter knife. The true Nonnas of Puglia would jump to their feet with disapproval if they witnessed our first attempts at Orecchiette- "NO! Non cosi!!!" they would proclaim. As dough was smashed, torn, or pulled too thick or too thin. But eventually we got our groove on, and little ears appeared one by one.

We set our pasta out in the garden, inside a clean beehive screen and covered with a linen sheet.

The destiny of our oriecchiette was to be happily united with kale, braised lamb with jus, and fresh chili breadcrumbs. 

Orecchiette drying in the March sun of CA

Table set, awaiting guests. 

Chèvre and beets unite!

A Birthday Menu

Cocktails- 28 Roses (gin, grapefruit & rose geranium) Thyme Sip (bourbon, meyer lemon, & thyme)

Hors d'ouvré - Fava bean and preserved lemon dip with crudite. Beet and chèvre spread with crostini and radish.

Pizzas- Radicchio, mozzarella and amaretti. Melted leeks, sausage and burrata.

Mains- Orecchiette with lamb jus, kale and chili breadcrumbs. Wood-fire oven broccolini. Salad of garlicky kale and roasted chickpeas.

Dessert- Choice of salted caramel or lemon curd ice cream. 

Coffee or verbena mint tea.

Bellies were full and sore from laughter. Our glasses remained filled with central California's best in red wine. Some still found space for another scoop to top off the evening, while a question was posed...

In this house and around this table for as long as I can remember, a question has been posed for all to answer. It's a beautiful tradition that brings everyones attention back to the center and gives each individual a chance to tell a story of personal importance. 

The question (posed by Howard, Kim's sweet husband)--

"What was a lesson or experience that you could not learn from anyone else, and only on your own?"

A wave of vulnerability and joyful emotion came over everyone as they told there stories of that lesson or experience that invited a shift and a transformation. We listened tenderly with open hearts as the smell of lamb from the wood fire oven continued to linger over the table. One of my favorite aging moments yet, the year of the saturn, and the night of rose geranium-scented cocktail surrounded by my favorite beings. A magical start to my 28th year.

28 Roses Cocktail on March 1st, 2013

:: 28 Roses Cocktail ::

5 oz Fresh Grapefruit Juice
1 1/2 oz Gin (Preferably Plymouth)
1/2 oz Fresh Meyer Lemon Juice
2 oz Rose Geranium Simple Syrup (recipe follows)

Add all the ingredients to a shaker with ice, shake and serve in a tumbler.


Rose Geranium Simple Syrup:
1 c White Sugar
1 c Water
4 or 5 Rose Geranium Leaves

Heat the sugar and water together until the sugar is completely dissolved without boiling. Add the Rose Geranium once you've turned off the heat and steep the leaves for 10 minutes. Or less. It can get strong quickly, so check the progress and taste as you go along.

Of Eggs and Fate

It was April of 2011. A long awaited and slightly avoided Skype call with my father was in order.
I had just flown into Mallorca Spain after 4 months in India and Morocco.  It was time. Time to face the facts and accept the raw truth of my reality. One that only Jimbo (that's dad) can offer to me at a time like this...
"Sweety, you have $500 in your bank account...... What on earth are you doing in Europe right now!? You can't even afford a ticket home to California, honey!"

He was right. And right then, like a lightning bolt, 4 months of colors and bliss came rushing through my mind. I settled into my seat and swam in a smile and satisfaction for money well spent. But the truth is unavoidable, and quite noticeable as I claimed a friend's sofa as my home and consumed only Spanish mandarins and fried eggs for a week now.

"I know, dad." I said calmly. "And you are right...... but I can't come home now. I'm living in the open question (yes. That is something you just do after months of "finding yourself" in India.) I am not meant to be there, I can feel it."

I was hovering just above that red line of financial lows, but I hadn't hit it yet... so to say.
The truth is that I did feel it. Something was happening, a shift in my world, and I could feel it deep in my being. A chapter was closing and a new to open, but I needed to hold still to see it. I couldn't leave now.

::Fast forward 7 days::

A couple traveling over from Austria were set to spend a weekend in Mallorca on holiday. A friend threw my name on the plate as someone to stock the fridge and tidy up. "oh yeah, and she's a chef and yoga teacher too." my friend mentions. On Thursday I made diner. Friday they enjoyed an hour of yoga and Berber omelet for breakfast. Sunday I moved to Vienna.

Now don't assume that I was just moving to Vienna to make some quick cash from a couple strangers. In fact, I actually liked them. There was a straight line of honesty and happiness from the beginning, and I wanted to see how this would evolve. It was like facing the open decision to turn right or turn left on a Sunday cruise. Your gut physically speaks the truth before your logic even kicks in. No I did not get punched in the stomach by a wealthy Austrian, thrown on a plane and made a servant in the kitchen. Far from. I was asked a simple question:
"Are you available for the next few months and beyond?"
Um... well...Other than my current in depth research of the citrus and egg diet manual I'm writing....... yes, I'm free.

::Fast forward 2 years::

I write this now from window seat on the third floor of a traditional family home in Switzerland. It is April and snowing. My fingertips smell of mountain cheese and cured meats, and my belly bloats from excessive bread consumption. I am happy, and I am set in motion of reflection.

In the past two years, in accordance with this couple and their extensive group of family and friends I have experienced an extremely abundant chapter in my life. As a private chef in their homes and boat, I cooked in 10 new countries, challenged my senses with foreign ingredients, challenged my  patience with tight quarters and long hours, challenged my stomach with high waves, and challenged my heart with an adorable Swiss engineer. My blessing from the past 2 years are abundant, and I can't help but be filled with gratitude, even through the struggle. My cup runneth over.

And to think, it all just started with a poached egg in spiced tomato broth on a Friday morning...

Berber Omlette

1/2 red onion, grated on a cheese grater
8 roma tomatoes, grated on a cheese grater
1 T Ras al Hanout (or a mixture of paprika, turmeric, cumin, ginger and pepper)
6 eggs
fresh cilantro, chopped
Olive oil
salt

In a 10" tagine or pan with lid, heat a drizzle of olive oil. Add the onions, tomatoes, salt and Ras al Hanout spice mixture. Cook the mixture down to 3/4, stirring regularly, about 15 minutes. Add the eggs on at a time in a  circle and one in the middle. Sprinkle with a bit more salt and cover. Cook for 5-8 minutes on medium heat. Depending on your stovetop, it may take longer. Just check for doneness, just how you would when poaching an egg in water. Your looking for white whites, not clear. Present your omlette on the table, unavailing your masterpiece at the last minute. Sprinkle cilantro on the top just before enjoying. Sometimes and extra drizzle of olive oil doesn't hurt either. Serve with good bread. Enjoy!

Belize It.

There are some places in the world that never make it to your bucket list. For one reason or another, it being the weather, the chaos, the people or animals, the danger, the boredom, it's history, or maybe it just lacks that "zing" that you crave in a new adventure. To many, destinations like India, parts of the Middle East, or Russia have dropped to the lowest point of places to be present in (according to my conversations with a few.) 

One of those places, for me a few years ago, was Belize.

I'm not even sure WHY it was not a destination of interest to me, in fact its quite bizarre. Now, I can't imagine life without knowing a bit of Belize.

I've recently been asked by many friends and family to offer suggestions for honeymoon locations. I know very little, if nothing, about honeymoon planning. But I do have cultured opinions on the place I "would" honeymoon in. And one at the top of the list really is the sweet country of Belize. 

Road side lunch

Belize City Marina

Belize City Fresh Market

Golden.Fried.Curbside

Fresh Catch. San Pedro.

Robinson Cay

Belize City Harbor

Pelican Cay

Fresh Market. Placencia.

We nestled ourselves primmarily in the southern town of Placencia. A place that is truly hard to leave. The water in Belize is clear, the reefs are abundant, the chilies are hot, the beer is tasty, and the people are overwhelmingly kind.  

Find a solid dock to tie your dingy to and stop into Yoli's. Run by an incredible family team that instantly treats you like one of their own. From the first moment you arrive, you intend on returning.

Till my coffee cravings and new found love of Caribbean cinnamon rolls beg me back to Belize....

-A

Salty Beer and Rich Papaya

"No dar la Papaya" 

The literal meaning is-- "To not give a papaya." 

But in Colombia this expression is known by all and translates to - "don't show off your stuff, or put yourself out there to be taken advantage of."

 Sandra and Maria (my two Colombian soul sisters, and present guides) explain this expression to me as we sit in a rooftop bar at midnight in Medellin. This Colombian night club was pouring over with fashionable and beautiful young adults. Dressed to the nines, with stilettos and laced with jewelry frosting. And yet even out here, you do not show your goods off.

I quickly recall that Maria had changed her earrings from earlier in the day to something else for night, something simpler as opposed to the chunky pearl studs she rocked when she picked us up at the airport. Sandra and I have just arrived from Cartagena to visit Maria for a long weekend and to see the famously, infamous city of Medellin. At night the city glows up the mountains that frame it, much like any city would. But the tumultuous history of Medellin has become something I am suddenly very interested in absorbing and understanding. So I begin to ask questions.

Both women had stories of their childhood growing up in Colombia- stories on the news, bombs, drug lords, killings, kidnappings, friends of family affected by tragedies... etc, oh AND Maria's childhood under house arrest.....

"Wait. what? I'm sorry, come again? House arrest?"

After her father was kidnapped and held for months until the family could pay for ransom, the Farc threatened to take his youngest child. Maria was 3. For nearly 10 years she stayed in and never went out without adults surrounding her. He father was kidnapped a second time, and unfortunately never came back to the family after that. 

An incredibly positive and talented woman, now in her 40's, she is a private chef and cooking instructor. Incredibly close to her family and her goals, she is in love with her country and speaks with tenderness on her life experiences and the loss of her father. Based out of her 5th district, Medellin apartment, she has the "Papaya" within the confines of her sanctuary, but she lives carefully outside the walls of her home. To me, she evokes all that is Colombia. Through strength and gratitude, her stories silenced me in curiosity of what it is like to be a true Colombiana.

The countryside of Medillin

The country itself is much different now than it used to be. Take for example the club in which we had drinks - a renovated mall, that was once under the care of Narcs to hold money, weapons, drugs, etc. Now, it's comparable to an expensive Manhattan-style trendy hot spot. But again, all this glamour is just a facade. 5 years ago it was illegal to travel in your personal car between major cities, for fear of Guerillas. It is a different Colombia now, with room to move around and experience the country's natural wonders.

We took a day out of the city to experience the thrill of the countryside. Winding through mountains of farmland with the brilliant sun guiding our path. Stopping for freshly baked cheese bread and handmade sausage. It was the countryside that committed me to loving the country of Colombia.

Homemade chorizos curing outside a home in the still, dry mountain air.

Roadside assistance- fresh baked cheese bread

A classic Paisa man on his way to church.
Tucked in shirt, hat, and wool blanket over the right shoulder is a symbol of the men from this region.

After connecting our beings with the earth of the country through mountain hikes, we were prepared to properly fill our bodies with some local magic. Seated outside at a traditional restaurant, micheladas were promptly ordered to cure our sun-strained fatigue. The menu was written in the local dialect of Medellin. I understood nothing.

from left to right: chicharon, blood sausage, chorizo, arepa, fried egg, dried beef, avocado, plantain, and white rice.
This is a classic Paisa plate (the meal of Medellin)

30 minutes later after grazing upon fried plantain chips and sipping our salty, thirst-quenching micheladas, the food arrived. A bowl of creamy beans, the color of warm caramel and the taste of wood-fire, this was the base. Garnishing the bowl with chicharon- fried pork belly, as the ultimate in crouton glory. Finely ground and dried beef to dust the surface of the bean soup. Slices of perfect avocado, white rice, and spoonfuls of Aji (hot chilies, onion and cilantro in vinegar) finish off the bowl. One dense, light yellow, and rich corn flavor arepa remains on the plate for dipping. Along with a fried sweet plantain to offset the array of flavor profiles before me. Incredibly rich and balanced, this meal struck me at the core with comfort and intrigue.

Sopa frijole

No thought or space in my being was left available for dessert. A rich flan-like pudding or sweet guava jelly filled rolls were offered, but not even a papaya could be craved. I was filled and fulfilled with Colombia and all it's simple, humble, and frosted decadence.

Colombian Micheladas

1 central American beer (Aguilla, Corona, Pacifico...)

Juice of 1 lime

dash of tabasco or chalula hot sauce

1 salt rimmed pint glass

Serve cold or on ice. 

Preferably on a hot day in the countryside. 

Buen Provecho!

-Ash

Danke Villmal

Switzerland Oct 2012

Here it was, my big moment, spot light on, ready to impress, take out the big guns.....
"Danke Billmal!"
(oh no... Did I just say something in Swiss German with a Spanish accent? Yes.)

Swiss

Laughter and applause erupts from the poor victim of my verbal Swiss massacre. He is the father of my boyfriend (here after referred to as Swiss) and I am meeting the parents here in Switzerland for the first time. It's apparent that my "Swiss-anish"slip-up has gone unnoticed.

This is not my first trip to Switzerland, nor my first attempt at the ultra romantic, and oh so fluid Germanic languages. My grandmother is Swiss, and although I never picked up on "that funny language Nonnie speaks on the phone to her cousins" when I was growing up, it does ring a familiar note in my ears. But while courting the young and handsome Swiss man, I did pull out the Nonnie secret weapon, placing them on the phone together to practice their odd throat-clearing techniques. I'm sure she helped seal the deal on our courtship.

My boyfriend's father (hereafter referred to as Señor Swiss) was nervous to meet me, and excited to see his son after yet another year of being away from home. It must be difficult to predict whom one is  going to meet when your son calls home and says he's dating an American..... an American that does not speak Swiss German...

Farmhouse at Sunset

Señor Swiss walks into the house and shakes my hand in greetings, hugs his son and announces a surprise. An extended moment later, we wait while Señor Swiss flips through his iPhone for something. He gives it a tap and a song begins to play. It's an instrumental melody that I recognize but can't name.
"The Stars and Stripes!" he announces (I'm a horrible American. I had no idea what the song title was...) and we all begin to laugh.
"You are. The first. American. In. This. House!" He says to me with steady and careful pronunciation. I'm honored and give him my thank you attempt in Swiss German (with a Spanish twang.)

view en route to Gruyere

Switzerland is dreamy in October. The air hydrates your body with a sharp freshness, it's a vitamin all on its own. The hills and valleys are blinding in electric green, sprinkled with cows grazing on the summer's last pasture. It is a magnificent country to wander about in, and even better to walk in the shadow of a local.

We spent our two week holiday from the boat (our home and work) to hike, breathe, sleep in, and fill our guts with copious amounts of cheese. All of which was wildly successful and beyond decadent.

Dairy Air

Now lets get down to business here...

 3 words: Cultured Cows Milk.
 Specifically speaking - Le Gruyere.

It's really not surprising at all that I have so easily fallen for a Swiss man. I did prepare for years and years for him, while slinging cheese at the neighborhood cheese shop, C'est Cheese. I spent four years honing and sharpening my cheese knowledge and appreciation. And for me, Switzerland was always (and I'm not just saying this to impress the Swiss or to diss the French) the highest echelon of artisanal cheeses. Plus they were always the most expensive cheeses in the shop, so that may have had something to do with it. But regardless, my love affair with the strong scent of mountain cheese has not only sustained a trip to Switzerland, but has also impressed a native family.

Here is a beautiful way to incorporate this flavorful cheese into your menu plans. I do highly suggest that you don't skimp on the type of gruyere you buy. Keep it real, and get the good stuff. It's imported and usually around $30 a pound, and it does not have holes in it. I did not include a filling in this recipe, but you can fill it with quiche fixens, or a savory tart of caramelized onions and fennel, etc . Or fold the corners up over thin slices of green apple and knobs of butter to make a zesty and sweet galette!

Swiss farmhouse decor

Gruyere Tart Crust-
1 1/4 cups flour
1/2 t salt
8 T cold butter
3 oz grated Gruyere
1/4 c sour cream
2 t lemon juice
1/4 c ice water

Add the flour and salt to the bowl of a food processor. Pulse about 3 times to combine. Add the cubed butter and grated cheese to the bowl and pulse until the size of the butter resembles small peas. In a small bowl, whisk together the sour cream, lemon juice and water and add this to the butter-flour mixture in the bowl of the food processor. Pulse several times until the dough starts to hold together when pinched between your fingers. The dough may seem dry. Dump the dough out onto a floured counter top. Gently bring the dough together into a tight ball. Try not to knead the dough too much or your warm hands will melt the butter and change the doughs composition. Wrap the dough in plastic wrap and refrigerate for at least an hour.

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees. Roll out the dough on a piece of floured parchment paper until it is about 12-inches in diameter. Put the parchment and dough onto a baking sheet. Chill the dough in the refrigerator for about 15-20 minutes.

Bake the dough at 350. And according to your recipe of desired fillings/toppings.

Harvesting walnuts.

Thank you for stopping by, and for reading. 

Gracias. Danke Villmal.

-Ash

Shy

handmade kuna sailoboat. San Blas Islands, Panama

I never believed in this so called "writers block" thing. That was just some lame excuse a few professional writers made up when their publishers called, and they were too hungover, too many days in a row to deliver the goods. So writers block is like some professional procrastination, right?

Well, for the past 2 months, I have looked at my blog title up in my bookmark bar, and can NOT bring myself to hit the button. Laziness, jet lag, busy, bad internet, new computer..... all have been exercised as brilliant excuses to keep me from writing about the Gypsy Chef. And then!! People that actually read this thing brought it to my attention. Like multiple times. It's not as if I have been cooking through 5 countries this summer, and have absolutely nothing to show from it! I do have 3 new sassy Colombian bikinis, and an overwhelming desire to eat areapa de huevo each and everyday, but have still written nothing.

So the night before I get on a plane (AGAIN!!!!) I am writing.

last night in Cartagena, Colombia

Topic to ponder: Shyness.

#1. Discuss shyness in attending to blog (you may re-read above at your convenience)

#2 Shyness of love-
A true Gypsy travels alone, wandering the streets, falling in love with empty bottles of Italian wine, ticket purchases, or the perfect scarf (to add to the backpack full of perfect scarves.) But how can a Gypsy fall in love and keep on Gypsying??? Well, when he has blue eyes, sailor scruff, and equally lacks a home in his quest for worldly connection.... you just figure it out. Oh that reminds me, please insert "Love" to the list of excuses in above paragraph. But there really is no shyness here, not even a twinge of cynical anti-male comments to follow. In fact, its all set and done. We will find a cave in some mountain, some where in the world, and make babies and cheese while growing old together.
Thats if two nomads can decide on one place in the world to live....

#3 Lack of shyness in the form of cookie consumption.
These cookies may have topped any (and I mean any...) childhood or adult dream of the perfect chocolate chip wonder. The craziest part of all, is that they are made completely and entirely with whole wheat flour! Think of the cookie love child from a Digestive biscuit, graham cracker, and chocolate chip cookie- a ménage a trois, or the Holy Trinity of cookie creations. I am sold!!

And as a pledge for forgiveness in my blog negligence, I ask that you take this recipe (even better, just buy the book- It's aaaamazing!) and that you promptly fall in love without any respective shyness.

Shy Kuna girl selling bracelets in San Blas, Panama

Whole Wheat Chocolate Chip Cookies- Adapted from Good to the Grain, by Kim Boyce
3 cups whole wheat flour
1 ½ tsp. baking powder
1 tsp. baking soda
1 ½ tsp. kosher salt
2 sticks (8 oz.) cold, unsalted butter, cut into ½-inch cubes
1 cup lightly packed dark brown sugar
1 cup sugar
2 large eggs
1 tsp. vanilla extract
8 oz. bittersweet chocolate, roughly chopped into ¼- and ½-inch pieces, or bittersweet chips

Position racks in the upper and lower thirds of the oven, and preheat to 350°F.

Combine the flour, baking powder, baking soda, and salt in a medium bowl, and whisk to blend.

Put the butter and sugars in the bowl of a stand mixer fitted with the paddle attachment. With the mixer on low speed, mix just until the butter and sugars are blended, about 2 minutes. Scrape down the sides of the bowl with a spatula. Add the eggs one at a time, beating well after each addition. Beat in the vanilla. Add the flour mixture to the bowl, and blend on low speed until the flour is just incorporated. Scrape down the sides and bottom of the bowl. Add the chocolate, and mix on low speed until combined.

Drop approximately 3 T of dough per cookie down onto lined sheet pans, leaving about 3 inches between each cookie. Bake the cookies for 15 to 20 minutes rotating the sheets halfway through, until the cookies are evenly browned. Cool and enjoy!

Gypsy portrait in Cartagena, Colombia

Lots of love from transitional shyness.

-A

Cured.

Although Salmon and curing have nothing to do with the Arcapalargo Island of Samblas, Panama where I am right now. It does in fact have something to do with the breakfast I serve each day.

Before we ventured off into the deep of Colombia and Panama (more appropriately descriptive photos/stories to follow...) I cured salmon. Alot of salmon.

Heavy on the salt, sugar, juniper and citrus skin. The combination of ingredients used for curing create an intoxicating cloud of aroma. The sweet simplicity in the art of curing has captured me recently. Small jars in my refrigerator are filled to the brim with carrots, cucumbers, Asparagus or shallots. All awaiting their destination alongside a panini, in a bloody mary, or layered inside Korean lettuce wraps. It was just the next step for me to properly cure a fish... or two.

Cured Salmon

(Recipe adapted from Barbara Lynch)

Note: the recipe is doubled for 4 sides of salmon. Don't let the excessive amount of citrus rind intimidate you. It makes all the difference in the outcome. Plus it is an instant air freshener!

1 c Juniper berries

2 c Coriander

12 Bay leaves

1 c Peppercorns

4 c Salt

4 c Sugar

10 Lemons- zested

14 Limes- zested

4 oranges- zested

Grind spices and mix with salt, sugar and zest in a large bowl. Cover salmon, top and bottom with curing mixture. Place the salmon top side down, and refrigerate for 48 hours. Rinse flesh clean and pat dry. Slice salmon thinly, at an angle from tail end to the top.

The coral colored flesh of the salmon is offset by the bright pink papaya on the opposite end of the table. Before forks are lifted by guests, and my pans are just hot enough to make eggs a reality, a knock at the aft deck draws our attention. Opportunities to buy local, and very recently caught seafood from the Kuna Indians is rare at times. Placing a large pot of water on to boil before I run down and receive the lively crustacean of the day. Breakfast has yet to begin, but lunch is already in the works.

Enjoy. -A