Summer Simplicity

Sometimes there is something to be said for simple. When I'm on my own, I tend to favor buying a burrito or making a peanut butter sandwich. In my more profligate and less slender days--which is relative, I grant you--I would sometimes order a pizza, reasoning that I could live off the leftovers for two or three days, or at least one day.

But sometimes I rise to better things. When I was in college, I often made brown rice, black beans, and salsa, a combination suggested by my friend Peter and facilitated by the fancy rice cooker I bought from him on his emigration to New Zealand. Cheap, easy, and light, kind of like me.

I made it again last week, while Marina was on vacation, but instead of salsa, I sliced up an apple. It proved a good combination, feeding me for three nights. I was kind of surprised at how quickly the apple slices took on a brownish tinge once I cut them, browning with almost as much unbridled enthusiasm as the padron peppers showed in shriveling out of the frying pan last week.



It was quite nice, the warmth of the rice and beans combining well with the cool juice of the apple.

What similarly simple meals do you like to prepare?

You Know You're Advancing When You Fry Something With A Spanish Name

For months, Marina has been touting pimientos de Padrón, or Padron peppers. We finally procured some last week, but before we could eat them, Marina had the burden of going to Hawaii for vacation, poor thing. So she asked me to make sure to cook and enjoy the peppers enough for the both of us.

If that was not enough pressure, there was just a little bit more in this case, because of something I overheard when we were getting the peppers. For reasons that will become obvious, I won't mention where or how we got them; suffice to say, I was waiting for Marina next to the woman who was distributing the small bags of peppers to customers. A friend of hers pedaled up on a bike, and she greeted him cheerfully enough, and then started to speak in a quieter voice, and told him that her breast cancer was back, and that she was trying to tell everyone she knew in person.

This put me in an awkward position; I tried to disappear, as it were, steadfastly looking in another direction, not because I wasn't saddened for her, but because why would she want a complete stranger to react to such intensely personal news? How should one react in these cases? Discretion is the best response, but it was a little more ambiguous once Marina showed up and I realized that we were going to purchase peppers from the woman. Did she know that I knew what she had just told her friend?

I acted as though I had heard nothing, and simply smiled and thanked her as Marina completed the transaction, assuming she would want nothing more from a stranger than to be treated in completely normal fashion.

This meant that I would be cooking peppers provided by someone who clearly cares a lot about them, is dealing with breast cancer, and who advised us to serve the peppers by frying them in a little oil, adding a dash of salt, and matching them with a good white wine. So as I said, just a bit of pressure.

I decided to pair the peppers with scrambled eggs, just to have something else to eat in case the peppers proved intensely hot, and also because I didn't know how filling they might be. Looking online, I saw that the unique trait of these peppers is that only 1 in 10 is considered particularly hot, which seems interestingly random. I thought about putting them in the eggs, but I opted to have them on the side.

My first effort last night was not entirely satisfactory, so I am going to try again today to see if I get a better result.

SATURDAY, AUGUST 21ST

I crossed the hill to the Good Life Grocery and bought a bottle of Spanish white wine and organic brown eggs from Petaluma--outside of the industrial-agriculture complex and therefore not touched by the recall of eggs.



When I got home, I put a cast-iron frying pan on the stove, started heating the oil, dumped in the peppers, and turned on Mexican Football, Tigres versus Santos, because I figured that maybe listening to the Spanish of the announcers on TV while drinking Spanish wine and cooking a food item with a Spanish name would make me instantly more fluent in Spanish overall.

That's when I realized I had no idea how long the peppers needed to be cooked.

I madly powered up my computer while the peppers and oil sizzled and the excited Mexican television announcers spoke at a rapid fire clip about the football, and found that it should only be fried for 1-2 minutes, or until the peppers started to blister or turn brown or black.

This sounded counter-intuitive to me. All my life, the media has portrayed a blister as a bad thing. Media conspiracy, perhaps? I could understand if they said the ideal pepper should develop a callus, as if it had spent a lifetime of hard work on the vine--peppers grow on vines, right? But, as Socrates is reputed to have said, I only know that I know nothing. And yes, a little known fact is that Socrates was saying this with respect to learning how to cook peppers and pair them with kalamata olives, because even philosophers need to cook. A philosopher who can't cook can't throw dinner parties, and a philosopher without a dinner party is like a panhandler without a bus stop. (Okay, so a Google search for what Socrates/Plato actually said or might have meant complicates things beyond the scope of a blog about food; let's just move on.) If Socrates can accept that he knows nothing and can learn from other people, then so can I. I took the website's advice without a grain of salt.

Actually, that's not technically true. I added a few grains of sea salt to the oil and peppers as I fried them. As they burbled away, blisters formed and they turned brown and black, maybe a little more so than they should have done. I removed them from the heat and put them on a plate, where I dried them with a paper towel. As they dried, they lost a little of the swelling that happened during the frying process. I added a little more salt, and as I started on the eggs, I tried some of the peppers. They seemed to have a little more spice than a normal pepper, but otherwise, they were a little sweet, but nothing extraordinary. Next time, I should use less oil, I think, or dry them more, or cook them less. Or add more salt. The third pepper I tried had a little lingering heat, but nothing I couldn't handle with a sip of wine.

I decided to cook the eggs in the same pan as I used to cook the peppers, to experiment with what flavors might infuse the eggs.



Cooking the eggs in a deep pan rather than the shallow pan I normally use didn't seem to make a whole lot of difference, although the eggs bubbled a little more than I expected, which is probably due to too much heat, or maybe the remnants of the olive oil. I added salt and pepper, some basil and oregano, and then served up.



It was okay, but not as great as I would have liked. The eggs were a little oily, not as dry and crisp and fluffy as I would like, and the peppers were damp as well, and could have used more salt. However, the sixth pepper I ate after serving up was hot, leaving two delicate, parallel lashes of heat that ran the length of my tongue. Nothing unmanageable, but definitely memorable. The wine was cool and pleasant.

SUNDAY, AUGUST 22ND

Today I decided to fry some more of the peppers with a little less oil and a little more care, and accompany them with a couple quesadillas and more wine.

As I fried the peppers, I could hear them popping, absorbing the oil and heat, and I could see the blisters materializing along the green flanks. This time, the peppery scent was unmistakable.



After a couple of minutes, I scraped them onto a plate, and even as they were hitting the porcelain of the plate, they were deflating, shrinking with a quiet hiss; it felt like time-lapse photography. I put them in a small bowl, added more salt, and this time, they are more flavorful, a little hotter, though so far, nothing like the surge of heat from the one pepper from last night. The trick may have been less oil, less cooking time, more drying, and more salt.

They tasted sweet and hot, an excellent counterpoint to the texture of the cheese quesadillas. I feel much better about this effort today. Has anyone else done anything special with this type of pepper? What sort of recipes do you have?

North Of The Border, There Is More Than Maple Syrup

Work has felt more manageable of late, despite a barrage of non-stop calls from start to finish, Tuesday through Thursday, but for some reason, I've been feeling pretty good and at peace with it. In part this is because I've had a good book to read at lunch and on breaks, The Pillars of Hercules by Paul Theroux, describing his journey circumscribing the Mediterranean. There is something about travel literature that I always find soothing, especially when the author talks about eating; plus, I have now realized that my lifelong ambition has always been to eat bouillabaisse on the French Mediterranean coast, while reading and watching the sea. The closest I have come so far was eating seafood paella in a cellar restaurant in Palma (featuring cuttlefish, one tentacle of which went flying into the ashtray due to poor knife skills on my part).

Or perhaps my sense of well-being was imported from Canada, on the heels of our mad dash through Ontario for Ben and Yona's wedding. It was a lovely trip, if too brief--for instance, I did not have time to meet a writer friend of mine from various websites who lives in the area. Here, then, is the diary-by-food retelling of Toronto and beyond. The individual experiences I write about will be ranked on a scale, not from 1-10, but from 1-10.5, because of the exchange rate. I'm hoping to get Marina to write a response to this, a culinary rebuttal or supporting statement, as the case might be. Look for that soon, when she returns from her Hawaiian escape.

I. ARRIVAL

We flew into Toronto on Friday, August 6th, landing and clearing customs around 4 p.m., and after some traffic confusion--missing the exit, and having to bail out of a traffic jam--we defied the advice of a stereo equipment salesman and did not get back on the highway, but instead cut through the middle of various villages surrounding downtown Toronto until we reached Queen Street West. Our destination was here, the Drake Hotel.


Queen Street West is considered a hipster, artistic neighborhood. I don't know what that means, in general, but for me, it was full of interesting stores, old bars, and people having fun, so that was good. We ate in the Sky Yard Patio at the Drake, which was as good as it sounds. Benches ran around half the perimeter of a courtyard, under a transparent roof; the middle of the yard was open to sky, full of tall tables and stools. At one end, below the movie screen where they sometimes show films, was a tiki bar, and the other end featured a regular bar where you could buy "tubs" of beer.

The exciting part was that fish and chips came with mushy peas, which reminded me of England--I can't imagine why. Mushy peas are surprisingly good, better than you might think from the name. I've found several good fish-and-chips places in San Francisco (The Pig & Whistle, The Irish Bank), but I haven't found any places that serve mushy peas. Apparently, this might be a west coast thing, because after we commented on this, our waitress, from Vancouver,remembered that she couldn't remember seeing mushy peas in B.C.

Unfortunately for my theory, I think I just remembered eating mushy peas at John Foley's.

Also, I had a very good Maple Jack Sour cocktail.

There was a persistent fly of some description that buzzed around for a bit. That, and the fact that I don't want to overinflate the grades, means that I will give this a 10.23 out of 10.5.

II. LIMBO

Our first night in Toronto was spent at the Sheraton in the downtown. A cheap room booked on Hotwire in a massive, business-conference environment, all you need to know about the experience at the Sheraton was that I had no interest in the room service breakfast meal, which never happens. I ALWAYS want room service breakfasts. The Sheraton, therefore, gets a N/A rating, because it was indifferent.

III. TOURING TORONTO

In the morning, we were eager to explore, so we stopped to eat at Tim Horton's. As I understand it, Tim Horton's is to Canada what Dunkin' Donuts is to the USA.



The thing that struck me about Tim Horton's was that the bagels, coffees, and cinnamon rolls all seemed rather small. My theories were either that the exchange rate also applied to portion size, or that in the United States, we are used to inflated portions. Tim Horton's provided good fuel for the day, hence a 6.3 rating.

We finished up the morning in the Distillery District, a collection of shops and restaurants in old brick buildings, and where, apparently, everyone in Toronto, if not Canada, goes to get married--seriously, we encountered three separate wedding parties in the hour we were there. Great architecture, cool photos, more of which will be posted in other, non-food-focused blogs, but here is this picture from where we ate:



Yes, it was a pub, and a good one, notwithstanding the sign's disturbing similarity to the logo for Budweiser, American for bad beer. Interestingly, I had fish and chips that were completely different in preparation and shape than the fish and chips from the Drake. I also tried a Canadian beer, Tankhouse Ale, which was satisfying.

Set in one of the narrow, cobblestoned side streets of the Distillery District, the outdoor seating gave a great chance for people watching. Overall, I would give the pub an 8.73 out of 10.5.

THE CANADIAN VINEYARDS, WEDDING LIFE

So, apparently in Toronto, it is considered a good idea to shut down the Gardiner Expressway, the major freeway to get from downtown out to the QEW to head south and east to Jordan and the Niagara region where Ben and Yona were getting married. Seriously, the freeway was a ghost road above our heads, as we and thousands of other cars crawled along the city streets, trying to get free. We learned that Canadians, while stereotypically polite and nice people--and we generally found this the case--can be evil drivers (who drives down the left side of a residential street past all the other cars stuck at a stoplight ahead of you, only to cut in to the line at the last possible moment?)

In this manner, a 1 hour, 20 minute drive turned into a three hour slog.

So it was indeed a lucky thing that a) there was a Dairy Queen at the Ontario Road exit, where we got blizzards--no Butterfinger flavor, but something with a different name that was totally Butterfinger--and directions to the country road where Yona's family farm could be reached, where we had a lovely meal of various salads--I think there was couscous, veggies, etc--and meats, light and tasty, along with a good local chardonnay and pastries.

The meal served the next day at the wedding was also exquisite, bread, salads, chicken, so good! I can't do it justice of describing it in full, because I was focusing on the wedding, but the wine was great, and the cupcakes for dessert were highlights! Because a wedding is such a unique, isolated event, I won't attempt to rate the food, because that would steal the focus from what was a lovely ceremony, a lovely gathering, and a happy moment in the lives of two wonderful people.

We stayed at the Best Western in Jordan, on the edge of Lake Ontario, with great views across the water from our private patio. During the Saturday evening twilight, you could see the outline of the CN Tower and the Toronto skyline in the mist of distance. It was a much more relaxing hotel experience, much friendlier service. We swam, we watched TV, and of course, we ordered room service for an early Sunday morning breakfast. French Toast, a side of eggs, orange juice and coffee. Lots and lots of maple syrup, because this was Canada. It would have been rude not to have tried the maple syrup, you know? I'll rate it a 7.23 out of 10.5.

After that room service idyll, we dashed down the freeway to Niagara Falls, because it was there. It was impressive, for sure, though not as impressive as the Yosemite waterfalls. It was, however, impressive in a much more interactive way, because we took the Maid of the Mist boat ride to the base of the falls, and I have never been more soaked in my life. The little plastic ponchos they gave were of little help.

It certainly whet my appetite. On the way out of Niagara Falls, we drove down Lundy's Lane, because, well, we had to see the doppelganger to the Lundy's Lane where we live in San Francisco. For all the charms of the SF version, proximity to the Mission and Bernal Hill, being home, it does not have a diner in the shape of a flying saucer, called, appropriately, the Flying Saucer Diner.



And of course, when at a diner, one must have pancakes. It's the raison d'etre for diners. Plus, the maple syrup imperative must be obeyed.

All that needs to be said was that I could not finish the scrambled eggs/house potatoes/five large pancake combination, and that wasn't because they were bad, but because there was so much food. And two such meals, one for me and one for Marina, with coffee and orange juice, all for less than $28 Canadian. Amazing deal in a fun atmosphere, decorated in sparkly red booths and mirrors, like a disco flying saucer. I'd rank it 8.12.

So, yes, there was more to Canada than maple syrup. There was also fish and chips. What can I say? When I travel, there are certain routines I have when it comes to meal selections.

Do you have certain foods that you find yourself choosing when you travel? Was there something else I should have tried in Canada?

6 Degrees of Pasta Cooking

It seems like we cook a lot of pasta. Variations on a pasta theme would be the symphonic version of our cooking experiments, or at least mine. That's because the pasta part is easy, and gives you a baseline from which to experiment with sauces and salads, appetizers and wines. I'm okay with that for now. We did, however, take a step forward by heeding the advice of others and buying a grill/griddle fixture for the stove, which I'm sure will come in useful (discussions of pancakes have commenced).

Here are some pictures from our recent meals we've prepared. You'll see some familiar things, but with pictures, everything can look fresh and new, ideally, which is the joy of cooking, watching a meal come together in rich color, taste, texture, etc.

In honor of Mad Men, here's a picture of a cocktail that Marina made, in front of two bowls of farfalle, cream sauce, heirloom tomatoes, and walnuts:



And then, because sometimes one cocktail just isn't enough:



Before you eat a lot of pasta and drink cocktails, you should have flowers around, just to prove that the city isn't so foggy that nothing vibrant can be found, even if this is the coldest summer since 1973--proving once again, in comparison with the record heat across the country and out east, that San Francisco is so darned contrarian:



And what are flowers without a little wine and some appetizers?



(This wine is produced close to my grandparents' house on the Sonoma Coast, where I spent the best parts of my childhood in California. It is produced in Cazadero, familiar to fans of Jerry Garcia.)



I liked this wine, but to be fair, my tastebuds have a default setting of liking wine.

My creativity is shifting from the world of salads to the world of presenting appetizers. For the one pictured below, Marina gets the credit for suggesting the combination, which was sliced tomatoes, mozzarella balls, balsamic vinegar, and basil:





Anyway, that's enough for now. Tomorrow I'll write about our dining experiences on our mad dash trip to Canada for our friends' lovely wedding in Canadian wine country, with a brief sojourn in Toronto beforehand.

In the meantime, what are some of your favorite and unusual appetizer combinations?