Let's Make. . .my Last Meal on Earth

I have been neglecting my poor little blog. My new computer and my camera can't seem to communicate so I have a back log of recipes and photos. I don't want it to look like my blog is abandoned. . .so I thought I'd share this little essay - inspired by the book My Last Supper by Melanie Dunea and sitting around a bonfire with friends talking about what our own last supper might be. . .

Well, if I know I am going to die and I am not freaking the hell out, then there is some sort of magic going on. In that case, I will believe the magic will encompass the whole day. My dream last day/meals on earth would go down like so:

I would wake up to the smell of fresh, hot buttermilk biscuits and bacon. My nana and uncle Earl would be in the kitchen talking about the day ahead and the chores that need to get done. I would watch my uncle break a biscuit in half, dab butter on a corner and take a bite. He would eat the biscuit like that as he always did; dabbing butter on each bite. I would break my biscuit in half, marveling at the flaky layers and spread it with butter and homemade peach jam made with peaches from my nana’s orchard. I would not take this communion for granted and realize how lucky I was to have such amazing things to eat each morning. I would then help my uncle make his dog’s food – broken up biscuits drizzled with hot bacon grease – a meal his sweet dog, Prissy, ate every day of her long life.

As the magic continues, I would then be in the kitchen of my abuelita’s house. . .I can hear the lilting tones of her, my aunt Julie and my aunt Petra speaking Spanish. The smell of chiles and warm, fresh masa hang in the air. I am peeling silk off soaked corn husks and making a pile that diminishes as each woman takes a corn husk, spreads a dollop of masa and fills it with tender pieces of pork and a green olive. They gossip and work, laughing and arguing as only sisters can. A giant steamer hums along on the stove, piled with plump, fat tamales. My abuelita plucks a tamale out of the steamer and makes me a plate, untying the ends of the tamale and opening it up, the vapor redolent of cumin and sesame seeds. She spoons a small lake of smooth and creamy refried beans. . .the best refried beans on the planet – the beans I dream of to this day. I eat. She asks me in her broken English, “Are you satisfied?” I grow sleepy and she tucks me in on the little couch in the corner of her kitchen, wrapping me up in a thick wool blanket that smells of life in the kitchen.

As the day closes out, I am on the back lawn of my sister’s house overlooking the Puget Sound. There is a long table with benches; it is covered with beautiful food. A giant bowl of Matt Colgan’s Bolognese with the half rigatoni that Phoenix no longer makes. A platter of cheeses, fresh baguettes and perfectly ripe summer fruit. A soup terrine filled with my abuelita’s simple vegetable soup with tiny albondigas floating in it. A bowl of chile verde with hot, thick freshly made corn tortillas and more of my abuelitas beans. Bannie’s fried chicken. A perfectly ripe watermelon from Spurlin and Jewel's patch. A peach cobbler made by my nana with freshly churned vanilla ice cream and a Red Earth Cake made by Bannie Faubion – the best baker I have ever known. A white Burgundy I had once at La Folie and have never forgotten. Cold, fresh whole milk with the creamy cap in thick glass bottles sitting in buckets of ice. On my lap is my most beloved cat, Mouse. I am feeding him pieces of pork from the chile verde. My darlings LouLou and Ferghal are at my feet, any and all pets that have come and gone are there. Everyone I have ever loved and who loved me back is there and we are sharing this magnificent feast. We are happy at our good fortune. As the sun fades on my last day and my loved ones walk away from the dining table, I walk down to the dock and watch the water. . . and slowly, peacefully fade away.

Let's Make . . . Breakfast for Dinner!

One of my favorite scenes in any movie EVER is the scene in Moonstruck when Olympia Dukakis is making breakfast and makes the Italian version of Toad in the Hole with roasted red peppers, crusty Italian bread and an egg in the middle. It's so simple but no matter how many time I see that scene, it always sends me straight to the kitchen.

Since good Italian bread is hard to come by in Oakland, I substitute my homemade focaccia and since I like my eggs spicy, I use Calabrian chiles to give me that nice peppery hit. I get my eggs from Glaum Egg Ranch every week and they are delicious. When you're making something so simple, best ingredients are of utmost importance.

Breakfast for Dinner

1 slab of focaccia or 1 piece of crusty Italian bread, sliced about 1" thick
butter
olive oil
hot calabrian chile or roasted red pepper
ranch egg
salt & pepper

heat your skillet over low heat. Add a knob of butter and a slug of olive oil and heat gently. Cut a hole in the middle of the focaccia or bread, making sure it's wide enough so the egg is not too thick (not taking care to do this will result in runny whites). Add the bread to the pan and heat until the bread starts to become crusty. Add another small knob of butter into the middle of the hole and place the chile or pepper pieces in the center. Crack an egg into the hole and season with salt & pepper. Cook the egg until it starts to set towards the middle. Carefully flip the bread and cook the other side until the white of the egg is cooked through but the yolk is still liquid. Dust with salt & pepper. You can serve this with bacon, sausage or ham but I like to dip the crispy, buttery bread into the yolk. Mmmm.

Let's Make . . . Dinner for One

A Few Simple Ingredients

I will cook my heart out for other people. Yet, I tend to be miserly with myself. Since my culinary partner in crime has been on the road, I don't cook for myself at all. Cheese & crackers or Chinese Take-Out have become the norm lately. My wonderful friend, AJ, gifted me with a gorgeous bone-in pork roast from the Fatted Calf and I contemplated that lovely piece of meat for a few days before I decided what I wanted to do with it. My first impulse was to keep it simple. This meat is gorgeous. . no need to gussy it up or manipulate it too much. Here I will make a confession . . . I don't believe in brining pork. I believe it makes the meat flabby. I think a good dry rub is the best thing you can do for pork.

The following "recipe" comes courtesy of my first serious boyfriend. His mom was a foodie before there were foodies. His family were our next door neighbors and I watched her cook through their kitchen windows all my life - multiple Le Creuset pots and pans simmering away on the stove top. I always wondered what her kitchen smelled like. His and mine relationship was based solely on food. . his eating and my cooking. The classic "the way to a man's heart is through his stomach" kind of relationship. One day I bought a gorgeous pork tenderloin and was contemplating what to do with it. He announced that he would share with me his mother's favorite recipe for pork. My heart raced - a glimpse into my muse's culinary treasure chest. . . and he proceeded to give a recipe I had known for years. . .Marinade Seche from the icon of my life, Julia Child. So much for muses. This recipe is simple, simple, simple. It loves pork and pork loves it! Back in the day, ground bay leaves were not readily available so I would grind them by hand . . .what can I say, I thought I was in love. Also, the recipe says the garlic is optional, but in my mind it is not. The recipe also calls for scraping the marinade off the meat prior to cooking. . I never did that.

Marinade Seche (Mastering the Art of French Cooking, Volume I)
(per lb. of pork)

1 tsp salt
1/8 tsp freshly ground black pepper
1/4 tsp ground thyme or sage (I use a mix of the two)
1/8 tsp ground bay leaf
pinch of allspice
Optional: 1/2 clove mashed garlic

Mix all the ingredients together and rub into the surface of the pork. Place in a covered bowl. Turn the meat 2 or 3 times if the marinade is a short one; several times if it is of long duration.

GORGEOUS Pork Roast

There is a thick fat cap that I would never dream of taking off. I rubbed the marinade in and let it rest overnight. I brought the roast to room temp and then roasted it for about 1 1/2 hours. Pulled it out of the pan and deglazed the pan with a sprightly apple cider. I reduced the cider and then whisked in a dollop of grainy dijon mustard. I mounted the sauce with some beurre manie (equal parts soft butter and flour mashed together and whisked in to thicken the sauce).

As a side, I had some farro that had been cooked in double strength chicken stock. I cooked some Nueske's bacon lardons, removed them from the pan, added some chopped shallots and savoy cabbage. Once the cabbage wilted a bit, I added some diced Granny Smith apple and continued to saute. I added the farro, salt and pepper. Once the farro was heated through, I added back the lardon and a handful of freshly grated Emmenthaler cheese. I sliced the roast, placed it upon the bed of farro and spooned the cider/mustard sauce all around. I drank a cinsault/grenache rosé with this meal and it was perfect.

Dinner for One