Thai Moon

I want this cappuccino in the morning.


But alas, It's in Bangkok off a small street near Koh San Road. So I'll just have to find another one that looks this good, and in my general area.... of California.

I just love how clean the line of dark espresso is around the white foam. It kinda looks like the full moon we have here tonight, huh?
This cup made me so happy when It was delivered to my table all shiny, foamy and caffeinated. I was a wreck at the time, exhausted from sweating and traveling all day. I took this photo because I had no one to share my excitement with at the moment. I remember just staring at it in Aw, for a good while. It was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. And to take a sip was like taking its virginity. So I just stared for awhile, and then I indulged.

well, thats all I have to say- Full moons and Thai cappuccinos. I'm happy with that.

Grapefruits & Goodbyes

I spent a bit of time in the great state of Texas last year. Austin, Texas to be exact. I went out there with a friend to visit a music festival, drink sweet tea and cheap beer, and get my years fill of pulled pork. I've always fantasized about being a Southern girl- with a cute little twang, debutant stature, and family heirloom recipes for fried okra and peach cobbler. But alas, I am a Southern girl from the great state of California. San Fernando Valley, California to be exact. A SoCal girl who awkwardly can't wear high heel shoes, has an heirloom recipe for dijon chicken from her Irish Grandma, and opts for saying words like "Ciao!" "Adios!" and even "Peace Out!" (yes- an embarrassing residual from high school...) instead of Goodbye. But I do think I have some real Southern blood in my veins- I wear rustic leather boots with jean shorts, I love lard, I proudly use the word "y'all" whenever possible, and I honestly admit to enjoying a good queso dip (even though I know well, that queso dip isn't really cheese at all.) But most importantly is that some of the most genuine, inspiring, and closest relationships I have in my life, have all come from those great Southern states. So I am pretty convinced that I am attracted to these folks because I am just one of them, thats all there is to it!

I was back to Austin a few months after my first visit to dabble more deeply in the food scene. Pulled pork Sandwiches from Iron Works BBQ, Gingerbread pancakes from Magnolia Cafe, crepes and cupcakes from Airstream trailers, crawfish boils, cheap beer in personalized koozies, softball sized grapefruits and peaches, and breakfast tacos with an endless bowl of queso dip on the side. But best of all, the city is filled with the scent of smoky BBQ, and the songs of constant live music all day! And no matter how hard the humidity is weighing on your chest, or how bad it is to tame the mass of curly hair that has tripled in size- happiness is found in the city of Austin.

My friend Sean and I traveled back and forth from Santa Barbara and Austin last summer in search of live music and good eats in each others cities. We camped and hiked up the California coast, stopping at hippy bakeries and seeking out quality coffee. And I introduced him to my favorite cocktail alongside California Oysters- The Greyhound Proper. Quality Gin mixed with fresh grapefruit juice, over ice, with a candied grapefruit rind. He jumped right on board with the lovers of Greyhounds, and soon we were drinking sweet Texas grapefruit juice and gin, out of mason jars in the Austin sunshine.



Greyhound Proper-

1 1/2 oz Plymouth Gin
5 oz of fresh grapefruit juice (Texas grapefruits... of course)

combine all ingredients in a cocktail shaker with ice and shake well. pour over ice into a highball glass and serve with candied grapefruit peel. Enjoy!


I got to spend a day with Sean just this past weekend while he was in-between flights on his way to New Zealand. He sold his belongings, moved out of Austin, packed a backpack and is moving to New Zealand for a year of adventure and unknown. I love it when people make choices to take charge of their life and independence like that. To answer the call deep inside you that just wants to run to a far away place, filled with nothing and no one familiar, climb a mountain, sleep in a van, think, read, acknowledge, be, and just breathe in your own existence. Traveling alone is the most rewarding thing I have ever done for myself, and I know it will be for him too.



So I dedicate this post to Sean. And his adventure of a lifetime. To answering those questions, walking those trails, and creating those stories that will shape his life forever.

When you travel,
A new silence
Goes with you
And if you listen
You will hear
What your heart would
Love to say.

May you travel safely
Arrive refreshed
And live your time
Away to its fullest
Return home
More enriched and free
To balance the gift of days
Which call you

And most importantly- May you bring me some quality farmstead cheese, and arrive back with a ferocious appetite for Barbeque and Greyhound Propers. Bon Voyage and Good Luck, Sean!

Bend for Breakfast

Sparrow Bakery in Bend, Oregon February 2010.

I woke up this morning with a sore throat, dizzy head, achy arms and legs, and this pastry on my mind.


So, does that mean that all the late night sangria, mid-day beers and bottomless breakfast Bloody Marys I enjoyed in New York, this past month, may have had something to do with my current discomfort? Definitely not! And I'm also sure that my "Welcome Home to California!" fresh strawberry margarita escapades with friends in the warm Santa Barbara sunshine had NOTHING to do with my sloth-like physical state at the moment... And for the record, I really do think that I am the only happy, healthy, 25 year old on the planet whose liver looks like a shriveled, yellow kitchen sponge after just 3 days of enjoying my youth. Once my liver has decided to take a holiday from processing my toxins, my immune system quickly follows and thus leaves me here. At home. With a luke warm cup of Throat Coat tea, and a pyramid of bed-side vitamin C and Ricolas.



But I really did wake up thinking about how much fun I had in Bend a few months back, and how cozy and wonderful my trips to Sparrow Bakery were. The first image is one of the infamous Ocean Roll- croissant dough, sprinkled with freshly grated cardamom, cracked black pepper and sugar before baking. It is, hands down, one of the BEST breakfast pastries I have ever had! After touching my Pacific Ocean again yesterday for the first time in 6 weeks, I can completely understand why a city in the high desert of inland Oregon would name their prized pastry, the Ocean Roll- Because it induces pure bliss.
Oh, and the croissant breakfast sandwich with avocado and a poached egg was equally as good. Do keep Sparrow Bakery in mind if you ever make it up to Bend.

I will say though, that having just dabbled in the first of our summer strawberry season, it is going to be a great one! I'm totally and completely prepared to gorge on everything strawberry for the next few months.... just hold the tequila please.

Here is something that i am looking forward to making as soon as I can get out of my pajamas. Enjoy!

Strawberry Frozen Yogurt (adapted from David Lebovitz)
About 1 quart


1 pound (450g) strawberries, rinsed and hulled
2/3 cup (130g) sugar
1 cup (240g) plain whole milk yogurt or greek yogurt
1 teaspoon fresh lemon juice

Slice the strawberries into small pieces. Toss in a bowl with the sugar and vodka or kirsch (if using) until the sugar begins to dissolve. Cover with plastic wrap and let stand at room temperature for 2 hours, stirring every so often.

Transfer the strawberries and their juice to a blender or food processor. Add the yogurt and fresh lemon juice. Pulse the machine until the mixture is smooth. If you wish, press mixture through a mesh strainer to remove any seeds.

Chill for 1 hour, then freeze in your ice cream maker according to the manufacturer's instructions.

Homemade

Been eating out a lot in New York and Chicago. But I have thankfully had some wonderful opportunities to cook with some incredibly talented foodie friends of mine too. Here are a couple little shots of my favorite homemade moments from these past few weeks.


In New York, I made the Italian marscapone cheesecake with bitter orange marmalade that I learned to make in Italy. I served it to friends at our annual Urban Family Easter celebration. Our meal included a gorgeous ham glazed in Dr Pepper and mustard, melted leeks over burrata, Orzo salad with peas and mint, horseradish deviled eggs, and this tart. A tart that we ate for breakfast alongside our cold-brewed iced coffee for the next few mornings.



After waking up to a cloudy day in Chicago, an impromptu breakfast in our pajamas and slippers was in order. I awoke with a ferocious sweet tooth (surprise surprise...) and my cure was in the shape of pancakes- Oatmeal buttermilk pancakes. With stewed prunes in a sauce that reduced to a rich honeyed caramel, and topped them with marscapone. We also had two duck eggs left over from making fresh pasta the day before. These sunset colored beauties were poached and topped on a potato hash of collard greens and lamb chorizo. We gathered our cameras to geek-out over perfect morning light, gold pancakes, and blue chairs. Our coffee was cold by the time we stopped shooting and laughing. It was totally worth it for a good morning with a much missed friend.

I head back to my mountains and ocean of California in one week.

Noodles

My relationship with noodles… or pasta, has changed a lot in the past years of my life. The whole chicken noodle soup thing never carried over in our house as kids, so I didn’t grow up with an overwhelming fondness for the boiled dough. In fact, it was Campbells tomato and rice soup alongside a mandarin-lime natural soda that nursed us back to health when a head cold or stomach flu came into town. Now my mother was a fantastic cook mind you, and she did throw down some hand-made whole wheat noodles for her soups every now and then. But with 4 home-schooled kids, a dog, a holistic practice out of the house, and a thriving garden to tend- just open a can of go-to Campbells soup, mama! And still to this day, post-culinary school and with a healthy knowledge of the sodium content in a small can of Campbells, I still crack open a can of congealed, pink, salty, tomato base with plenty of water logged white rice grains. And not only does it heal me, but I love it.

Now, knowing that pasta, and noodles in general, are considered the “ultimate comfort food,” I only felt that this boiled egg and flour mixture was merely a bland vessel to carry hearty Bolognese, tangy pesto, or sweet peppers and sausage to my mouth. I would have opted for any number of these sauces, served in a large bowl with a hunk of crusty bread. Just let me be alone with my sauce…. but of course, in the manner that all food prejudices should be crushed- I moved to Italy. I made and ate fresh pasta prepared with quality egg yolks and semolina flour. I was left with a perfect pasta that accompanied the sauce and dissolved on my tongue. It was then that my idea of noodles as comfort food changed.



I must admit though, that my spaghetti Bolognese bowl of comfort has been properly trumped by a steaming hot bowl of pho, bun, or ramen. Thick vermicelli rice noodles, alongside shredded pork, spiced fish meatballs, fried baby eels (being my favorite in Hanoi) or crisp tofu topped with fresh shiso leaves and mint, and swimming in a pool of spicy aromatic broth…… Need I say more to convince you of it’s power? I was in South East Asia for 3 months, and I had a bowl of steaming hot noodle in beautiful broth for at least one meal a day. Even in the haze of humidity, I was to be found sitting on a small plastic stool, curbside, with my knees to my chin, ordering a hot bowl of noodles and broth.

A photo montage of the bowl sized comforts in Cambodia, Vietnam and Laos

Vietnam



Cambodia



Laos





I recently dabbled in a bowl of comfort here in New York’s East Village, by the name of Momofuku ramen. Ramen noodles topped with slices of pork belly, shredded pork, scallions and a poached egg. All floating in a tantalizing broth, and served with my very own bottle of siracha hot sauce. I sat there, alone, at the bar of a crowded NY hotspot with my bowl of bliss and a lychee slushy, getting high from the flashbacks of Asian curbside soups. I was so entranced by this bowl that I even started to imagine that the wafts of loud conversations and Indie Rock music was actually buzzing motorbikes and songs of a non-understood language. The yolk broke open and gave the soup a richness that I had never experience before. I would have freaken’ crawled in the bowl and splashed around if it was at all socially appropriate. But I went to bed that night, feeling like this bowl of noodles had just healed me. It had not only transported me back, but it made me as comfortable with the same nostalgic appeal as the tomato rice soup that mom delivered to my bedside when sick. Needless to say, spicy Asian noodle bowls are the chicken noodle soup of my existence.

Definitely check out Momofuku if your in Manhattan or pick up the cookbook here, for a great glimpse into the genius of David Chang. And a couple of great noodle recipe from my friend's Carrie & Andy here and here. Enjoy!

Ode' to Breakfast

I have a strong love for all things breakfast.

I'm the type that goes to sleep excited to wake up for breakfast. Like every night. Whether I'll be in the mood for fluffy pancakes with maple butter, simple oatmeal and brown sugar, a cup of coffee and a scone, or a hangover curing breakfast burrito, I'm anticipating it's arrival into my life before I even shut my eyes.
I have been taking pictures of my favorite breakfast moments, and perfect cups of caffeinated bliss for years now. And I've been following food porn blogs like Simply Breakfast for quite some time.

So here is the start to my Ode to Breakfast, an ongoing post from the archives of my favorite meal of the day.


Amsterdam, Netherlands. March 2008

España

I have been away from Spain for 2 years now. I think about it often though. Very often.

I had lunch today, here in Manhattan, with an old friend from my life back in Palma de Mallorca. We played catch up for hours, filling in all the missing gaps in our 2-year hiatus from one another. Sitting face to face in an über healthy, hippy, vegan café in Union Square. We sipped kombuchas, barefoot, at a large communal wood table. Our bodies still zinging with juicy post-yoga vibes. Quite American of us indeed, and very far from our old Spanish ways. Our conversation danced from life as of late to life way back when. From albondigas and paella, to tofu and quinoa. Remembering tasty moments of croquetas de bacaloa, tortilla Espanola, gambas al ajillo, café con leches, and jamon, jamon, jamon….

I would have paid BIG money at that moment to have one of those hemp-wearing, new age, crystal worshiping employees change the Om-Jaya-Shiva-Yaya music to European Techno, and to have my macrobiotic bowl doused in a boat-load of garlicky aioli. Ah, to be back in Spain….




Much has changed in life since leaving the island of Mallorca, for both of us. Our tight group of friends have all scattered themselves across the globe, and our favorite little café where we would congregate to spill our lives out in tales over a cappuccino, has since shut it’s doors for good. Life is a trip, and the cards it deals you can be so captivating and yet so paralyzing at the same time.

My dear friend reminded me of how precious this life of ours really is- the past, the present, and the future that it holds. How living in the moment is the only time we have, and it really can be the best part of our lives. To expect the unexpected, and to always find the time to relive the memories that still make us smile. I don’t take enough time to do that because I’m just “too busy” for appreciation all the time- Gotta change that.

Almost 2 years to the date, we’ve gone from toasting glasses of vino tinto around my dining room table, to clinking glasses of fermented hippy tea around a large wood table on a different continent. The table allows an outlet to pour out joy, sorrow, advice, concern, laughter, and nourishment of all forms, from one part of the world to the next. And the table -la mesa- hosted us on a sweet trip down memory lane. A trip all the way over to España.


-Tortilla Española -
(what I always make when my Spanish meter is running low)

1 1/2 cups oil
2 1/2 pounds boiling potatoes, peeled and cut into 1/3-inch dice
2 1/2 cups chopped onion
1 tablespoon coarse salt
10 large eggs

Heat oil in a 12-inch nonstick skillet over moderate heat until hot but not smoking and add potatoes, onion, and half of salt. Cook over moderately low heat, stirring occasionally, until vegetables are very tender but not colored, about 45 minutes. Drain vegetables in a large colander set over a bowl and cool 5 minutes. Lightly beat eggs in a large bowl. Gently stir in vegetables with 1 tablespoon oil, salt, and pepper to taste.
Return 1 tablespoon oil to skillet and add mixture, pressing potatoes flush with eggs. Cook over low heat, covered, 12 to 15 minutes, or until almost set. Turn off heat and let stand, covered, 15 minutes. Shake skillet gently to make sure tortilla is set on bottom and not sticking to skillet. Invert tortilla onto a large flat plate and slide back into skillet, bottom side up. (Alternatively, especially if top is still loose at this point, slide tortilla onto plate first. Cover it with skillet and invert tortilla back into skillet.) Round edge with a rubber spatula and cook over low heat, covered, 15 minutes more, or until set. Slide tortilla onto a serving plate and serve warm or at room temperature.


This recipe is best enjoyed with a long lost friend, a cold beer, and doused in a boat-load of garlicky aioli.
Bon Provecho!