Two Stories

 

I

Tonight I made a beef stew. I poured a bit of oil into a heavy pot and waited for it to get hot. While I waited I put a bit of flour in a large bowl with some salt and pepper and then threw the beef cubes in and tossed them until they were well coated. When the oil was hot, I added the beef in two batches, watching the edges curl and the flour darken and the spatters of oil and fat fly out and land. I turned my back on the beef and chopped an onion into medium dice and then I minced four cloves of garlic. I pulled a tube of tomato paste out of the refrigerator and rolled it up like toothpaste until it squirted out the top. The beef was browned in two batches, removed and sitting on a plate, the oil in the pot the burnt bits of beef then more oil and the onions and the garlic and the tomato paste stirred all together until fragrant. 

Read the rest here.

Day 60

I've been ordering fresh produce from a local cooperative, and yesterday's delivery was a bonanza of greens and lettuces, radish and baby broccoli, a scattering of herbs and lemons, a grapefruit, some blueberries and onions and a couple of tiny worms. The rendering -- the washing the drying the organizing the storing -- of all this fresh produce gets my tiny little mother mind™ thinking about convenience and waste and the myriad depressing ways a lot of us live, saying we're too busy or can't be bothered or whatever. Whatever. I'm no farmer girl, no rural girl, no grower of my own vegetables nor do I have any desire to do any of that. What I do love is fresh food, recipes and cookbooks and puttering around in my kitchen doing domestic things. I also like fancy things -- half and half in a glass bottle, tiny little jars of pot de creme from France, a weird Italian green that tasted salty like the ocean or what I imagine a cactus (it looked like one). I don't have much to say other than I've been depressed in a way that I can't remember being depressed and I'm very much aware of the luxury in that statement and the unoriginality in the condition. I'm angry, too, but I'm made of anger in no small part and as the gray takes over my hair I will try to be as exuberant as unapologetic because it's all about letting go letting god letting.






as much as i try to be an easygoing, stretch your wings and fly type... i just can't stop trying to burst people into flames

a card that a beloved sent me



People I'm Currently Trying to Burst Into Flames In No Particular Order, Except for the First Three:

Donald Trump
Mike Pence
Mitch McConnell
Men with submachine guns
Men who assault women
Men who kill black people
Men who shoot children
Men who beat up women
Men who make stupid jokes
Men who harass women
Men who are religious zealots
Men who date girls
Men who refuse to apologize
Men who can't get their shit together

Feel free to add to the list.

We Can Do Hard Things, Friday 3/27/20

What's the wider world looking like, Reader? The garbage trucks are passing by as I type, and I am as fascinated by those arms that reach out to grab the bins and carry them up and over and dump their contents as my small boys were so many years ago. I feel grateful that these workers are still out there, doing their jobs, for us. Thank you, sanitation engineers. Thank you healthcare workers. Thank you. The trees have burst forth tender green, the oakleaf hydrangea has decided to flower, the air is crisp still and the sun glorious.


Still.


An old friend died on Tuesday night in New York City. Floyd Cardoz, a 59 year old chef with whom I worked alongside for a year or so at Restaurant Lespinasse. I hadn't kept in touch with Floyd in many years, other than following him on social media and feeling glad that such a nice and talented guy had "made it." And he was the nicest guy. I worked with him on the line. Before I worked in the pastry shop, I worked the garde manger or salad and appetizer station. Lespinasse was a high-end (the highest of high-end) restaurant, and the appetizers and salads were elaborate. I remember one dish had 17 garnishes, and if one was missing,  Chef Gray Kunz (our maniacal leader who also recently died but not of Covid) would notice and scream at us something like WHERE IS THE CHERVIL?and we'd be in the shits, in the weeds, poking each other and rolling our eyes and always, always, laughing up our sleeves. Floyd was incredibly talented and just a good, good man. When I read his obituary late on Wednesday night, I cried for him, for his family, for all of us. It's just so horribly sad, and I don't understand how we will bear the coming weeks.


Here's a poem:

Try to Praise the Mutilated World

Try to praise the mutilated world. 
Remember June's long days, 
and wild strawberries, drops of wine, the dew. 
The nettles that methodically overgrow 
the abandoned homesteads of exiles. 
You must praise the mutilated world. 
You watched the stylish yachts and ships; 
one of them had a long trip ahead of it, 
while salty oblivion awaited others. 
You've seen the refugees heading nowhere, 
you've heard the executioners sing joyfully. 
You should praise the mutilated world. 
Remember the moments when we were together 
in a white room and the curtain fluttered. 
Return in thought to the concert where music flared. 
You gathered acorns in the park in autumn 
and leaves eddied over the earth's scars. 
Praise the mutilated world 
and the grey feather a thrush lost, 
and the gentle light that strays and vanishes 
and returns.

Adam Zagajewski 

Self Subversion

My uncle has come to stay with us for a while to further recover from a head injury he suffered several weeks ago after a fall. He's been in a rehab facility in the deep dark valley, and yesterday I went to pick him up. I'd like to say that it all went smoothly, that the medical system worked well, that all family members participated, that I never once lost my cool or spoke in the tone of voice I have acquired, somehow, despite myself, that lies somewhere between Stepford Caregiver cheerful and a dripping condescension. I'd like to say that getting lost in the facility and finding myself for a few minutes wandering through several rooms filled with disabled adults who milled about muttering or sat staring and nodding was at the very least, familiar.  Except that the medical system did not work well, all family members have not participated, I lost my cool a couple of times, and my tone of voice didn't just drip but splattered with irritation. And my wander through the halls of adult institutionalization resulted in a bout of sadness about nine hours later that I told Carl was something that just happens, sometimes, this wave of emotion that is best dealt with by assuming a kind of dead man's float, the better to not be drowned. The morning light brought so much relief it felt nearly funny, and I made blueberry muffins that I ate with the three men (one old, one in the middle and one young), along with pancetta that I scrambled with eggs. I cut up two blood oranges, and we ripped the flesh from the rind.

As the hours tick by and the caregiving continues, I think of self-regard, of self-care, of the illusion of the self.


Question: What do you have to look out for? 
Answer: Resentment. 


Resentment. If I could give it a shape, it'd be the infinity symbol or something impossible. If I could give it a color,  I think of something burnt red. Like the gray of embers with bursts of light. The word implacable. Women. Keeping our mouths shut. Resentment is not to be mistaken for anger which is the open mouth or red lips drawn into a smile.

Tripping to Sicily on a Leopard

Looking Sicilian

On Friday night ten people gathered at Casa Aquino to discuss Giuseppe Tomasi di Lampedusa's novel The Leopard and to eat a Sicilian spread. I think we were unanimous in our love for the novel, and the food disappeared, so I believe everyone was happy. Before I post pictures and the menu and have your attention, I wonder if you might hear me out about an idea I have of making this Books & Bakes literary and food salon an online business as well. What I'm thinking is a website where one can download the whole package -- the book suggestion, discussion questions and background/supplemental material and links, a full menu for the accompanying meal and recipes to download with links to where products can be found or ordered. You would, basically, be able to have a literary and food salon of your own, wherever you are and with whomever you'd like to invite, and I'd provide you with everything except, obviously, my physical presence. I'd appreciate your comments and suggestions for how much you'd pay for something like that. Given the constraints of caregiving, I am really trying to get creative with freelance work, so this might be a possibility.

Let me know.

In other news, I am going to Sicily with my sisters, cousin and father next weekend. My father turned 80 years old last April, and we decided that we'd like to take him to the old country. We'll be going to Sicily first because we've never been, but then we're headed to Calabria and the town where our family began. I am not sure what kind of internet service I will have while away, nor will I know if I can post from my phone, but if I'm gone for ten days, you'll know why. I'll take lots of pictures, in any case and post them on Instagram, if you'd like to check out my feed there.

Here's the menu from Friday night and some photos, excepting the dried fava bean soup, homemade cannoli and vanilla ice-cream. I forgot to take pictures of those! I would like to give a shout-out to my cousin Danielle who lived in Sicily for years and helped me with the menu. I ordered genuine Sicilian products from Gustiamo, a wonderful Italian food distributor where she works and highly recommend the outrageously delicious Sicilian extra-virgin olive oil and Sicilian sea salt. OMG, as the kids say.

BOOKS & BAKES

September 30, 2016

The Leopard

By Giuseppe Tomasi di Lampedusa

“If we want things to stay as they are, things will have to change”

MENU

Campari and Blood Orange Soda

Caponata

Polipetti Murati

Slow-Cooked Octopus with Estratto and Wine

Bessara

Sicilian Dried Fava Bean Soup

Pesto alla Trapanese with Busiate Pasta

Insalata di Lenticche con Menta e Scorzetta di Arancia

Lentil Salad with Mint and Orange Zest

Citrus Salad with Anchovies and Black Olives

Cannoli

Vanilla Ice-Cream with Sicilian Olive Oil and Sea Salt

Big Ole Pan of Caponata

Caponata and Italian Flatbread

Insalata di Lenticche

Citrus Salad of Blood Oranges, Oranges and Grapefruit with Anchovies and Sicilian Black Olives

Polipetti Murati

Pesto alla Trapanese with Busciati Pasta

Looking Together United Them

I decided to serve dinner at the table for this month's Books & Bakes. One of the consummate scenes in Virgnia Woolf's To the Lighthouse is the dinner where all the family and boarders are gathered round the table and Marthe serves the boeuf en daube and Mrs. Ramsay thinks her thoughts and Virgina Woolf so brilliantly mines the mind, the female mind and writes them down for us in a sort of epic of the domestic.

... of grapes and pears, of the horny pink-lined shell, of the bananas, made her think of a trophy fetched from the bottom of the sea, of Neptune's banquet, of the bunch that hangs with vine leaves over the shoulder of Bacchus (in some picture), among the leopard skins and the torches lolloping red and gold...Thus brought up suddenly into the light it seemed possessed of great size and depth, was like a world in which one could take one's staff and climb hills, she thought, and go down into valleys, and to her pleasure (for it brought them into sympathy momentarily) she saw that Augustus too feasted his eyes on the same plate of fruit, plunged in, broke off a bloom there, a tassel here, and returned, after feasting to his hive. That was his way of looking, different from hers. But looking together united them.

The boeuf en daube did indeed take three days to prepare, but most of that was done in the fridge where it marinated. I used my friend Cara Nicoletti's recipe from her blog Yummybooks. *

And she must take great care, Mrs. Ramsay thought, diving into the soft mass, to choose a specially tender piece for William Bankes. And she peered into the dish, with its shiny walls and its confusion of savoury brown and yellow meats and its bay leaves and its wine, and thought. This will celebrate the occasion -- a curious sense rising in her, at once freakish and tender, of celebrating a festival, as if two emotions were called up in her, one profound -- for what could be more serious than the love of man for woman, what more commanding, more impressive, bearing in its bosom the seeds of death; at the same time, these lovers, these people entering into illusion glittering eyed, must be danced round with mockery, decorated with garlands.

"It is a triumph," said Mr. Bankes, laying his knife down for a moment. 

We had the above boeuf en daube (prepared, literally, over three days), French Cheese and Crackers, Parsnip Soup, Mussels in Cider, Apple, Kohlrabi and Celery Salad with Walnut Oil Vinaigrette, Savoy Cabbage with Caraway and Cider and French Apple Cake for dessert.**

Cheers with Calvados!








Oh, and while we're looking together, here's my son Henry before the Homecoming dance. I think we can be united here -- however superficially so -- on the dash of this kid. Lest you think he's all beef, I assert that the beauty is as much on the inside as out.

* Cara is an adorable, kick-ass butcher and baker and writer and has just published a gorgeous book about food and literature called Voracious.   I'll forgive her ambivalence about Virginia Woolf because -- well -- you need to go out right now and buy it (and read the acknowledgements).

* I got many of the recipes from the delightful Seattle cookbook: A Boat,  a Whale & a Walrus. The French Apple Cake, especially, was amazing.

Lutefisk Love

So, have ya'll ever had lutefisk? I ordered a pound of it from a Norwegian food company in Minnesota and girded my loins to open the bag when it came on Friday afternoon. J. Ryan Stradal's book Kitchens from the Great Midwest describes the processing and cooking of this traditional food in detail, and it wasn't good. In an interview with the author, he compares the taste to what he imagines aquarium water to be. I'm not sure about aquarium water, but the moment I cut open the bag, I smelled fish and not the good, clean smell of fish. The texture of the filets was spongy -- grossly so -- and later, when I'd roasted it in the oven, it seemed more like jelly than fish. A couple of brave souls tasted it, declared it okay, but fishy, and one woman suggested I crumble it into balls, roll it in Panko and fry it.

I threw it away when everyone left.

So that's my lutefisk experience -- apologies to all Norwegians who hold it close to their hearts.

Other than the lutefisk, we had a really lively discussion about the novel with nearly everyone agreeing that it needed a bit more character development but was otherwise entertaining and a good read. Given how light it was, though, I'm tempted to suggest a heavier one for October and am floating around To the Lighthouse by Virginia Woolf. That's probably one of my top three favorite novels and has an incredible dinner party scene that I could replicate for Books & Bakes. What do you think? Anyone out there have any suggestions for next month's book? Please leave a note in the comments if you do.

Here's the menu from Friday night. All food, except for the caramel ice-cream, was mentioned in the book. A few of the recipes even came from the book!

Margaritas

Wisconsin Cheese and Crackers

Lutefisk

Summer Corn Chowder

Caesar Salad with Croutons

Vegetarian Lasagna

Pork Shoulder Tacos with Mint

Black Beans and Feta

Heirloom Tomato Salsa

Apple Crisp

Homemade Caramel Ice Cream

Celeste's Mud Bars

Books & Bakes Sneak Peak

Tonight is the fifth month of my Books & Bakes Literary and Food Salon. The May selection was the kooky memoir/cookbook Eat Me, The Food and Philosophy of Kenny Shopsin. I shook things up this month by asking people to bring a dish from the book in lieu of paying full price. It looks to be as kooky a line-up of food as the book was to read! I'm filling in the gaps with a main dish that isn't in the book and a dessert (Shopsin only serves milkshakes, as far as I can tell). Oliver took the photo above. I made Honeycomb Vanilla Ice-Cream and Brown Butter Poundcake. It'll be slathered with meringue and torched to make Mini Baked Alaskas. I got the recipes from Food 52, an amazing site to check out when you have a moment.

If you're in the southern California area, please think about attending one of my salons. Share with your friends, if you have a hankering to help my little cottage business grow. You might consider having me come to your home with your friends for a get-together, a change from your usual book club, a gift for someone or an office party. For more information on the June 22nd salon, see my other website. We're reading Toni Morrison's The Bluest Eye.

Wish you were here!

A Books & Bakes Chechen Feast

That's what I looked like several hours before last night's Books & Bakes, mainly because Saint Mirtha wasn't there yet to help me and also because what the hell was I thinking when I decided to concoct a Chechen menu?  Here it is:

Moscow Stinger

Eggplant Walnut Dip with Lavash

Sliced Radishes with Yogurt

Dates and Almonds

Yogurt Cream Soup with Herbs

Vegan Stuffed Grape Leaves

Beef Manti

Chechen Peppers and Mushrooms

Halvah Ice Cream

Dark Chocolate Sauce

Salted Peanuts

It was actually not entirely Chechen, but I stuck pretty close to the cuisine of the Caucasus with some Russian and Armenian borrowings. The Moscow Stinger was a very bracing cocktail made of vodka and white creme de menthe, shaken and poured over ice. I ran around Los Angeles visiting several liquor/package stores to find the white creme de menthe. I am being perfectly honest when I say that I have never been to a liquor store in Los Angeles -- not because I'm chaste or a teetotaller, but  -- you know -- any liquor that I drink is usually already at my house and has been there for at least fifteen years or someone brings it to a party. I found a very dusty bottle of the stuff at a place on Melrose and Vine, and it cost $7.99. Frankly, it might have been mouthwash (and I imagine mouthwash costs a hell of a lot more), but the combination of the vodka and that was bracing and very refreshing. We all had a swig or two while eating the eggplant dip and admitted that prior to reading A Constellation of Vital Phenomenoa, none of us had the remotest knowledge of Chechnya beyond the vague wars fought there and the recent brothers who bombed the Boston Marathon. If you haven't read Anthony Marra's novel, you must. It's a novel in which you can get lost -- lots of tragedy and drama and horror -- but it's also a novel of hope and dark humor. You will learn about Chechnya. It does feel a bit odd to be celebrating the food of the region and exulting in Marra's writing, particularly as the events and story described are so brutal and so far removed in any real way from our own. We talked about that, about the presumption and pretension of it, about the relatively pampered lives we live here. There's no getting round that discomfort, I guess, and I don't have any wise words to do so. I am grateful, though, to love like I do the words of others, for my eyes to be opened to places and situations that are different, true, but that also shed light on what it means to be human. 

That's a whole lot of cliche and folderal, though. Here's the food:

Denise wrote a wonderful blog post about last night. Read it here.

Books & Bakes February

photo by Sir Cecil Beaton, 1938

If you squint, don't I sort of, kind of, look like Gertrude? I even have a poodle! My Alice B. Toklas is Mirtha (just the cooking part), and I'm getting ready to have another group over to discuss Monique Truong's novel The Book of Salt. Because the book is about a Vietnamese chef who works for the legendary couple, our menu is both French and Vietnamese. We'll start with Pate and Gherkins and French cheese and crackers while sipping on a French rose. Dinner is a Vietnamese Noodle Salad with Shrimp, Beef or Vegetable Pho and Tofu Bahn Mi. For dessert I've shined up my rusty French pastry skills (another life) and made a Vacherin with Berries and some Ginger Black Peppercorn French Ice Cream. I won't divulge what happened to my first meringue.  Did it burn in our ancient oven that predates Gertrude herself? I'll never tell. I told you that I'm rusty, a far cry from this gal who cooked in a four-star New York City restaurant back in the day under one of those maniacal pastry chefs you read about and an equally maniacal French-Swiss-Hong Kong chef who yelled so much, his white face turned pink and his tall chef's hat nearly blew off with the steam from it. Never at me, though. Never.

The ice-cream base nearly boiled over, too, but I saved it in the nick of time, and it's now sitting in an ice bath, slices of ginger and tiny multi-colored peppercorns steeping away. Oh, la, la.

Wish you were here.

Green Shells on Treetops and Vaccinations

That's a Manus Green Papuina, a rare snail from high tree tops on Manus Island, off the coast of Papua New Guinea. No I did not find it lying in the sand next to the Pacific Ocean. I peered at its outrageous green through plate glass in a rare shell exhibit at the Museum of Natural History today. Oliver and I had a field trip -- mainly to do an evolution/adaptation project in the Dinosaur exhibit, but we also paid a visit to the shell collection and the gem and mineral exhibit in hopes of finding some pearls which would round out our reading of Steinbeck's The Pearl. There were no pearls. But that green! Outrageous! The universe is abundant!

I also baked two loaves of banana-coconut-chocolate-chip bread and made one big pot of Mulligatawny soup and some jasmine rice. I responded to someone's Facebook post about the recent outbreak of measles at Disneyland, not because I wanted to get into an argument but because this person asked the question why people don't vaccinate which then provoked the usual nasty and sarcastic replies about how stupid and immoral they are, that then provoked my indignation and real desire to let people know that not everyone who refrains from vaccinating their children is an immoral idiot. Sigh. I wrote my last post on this issue here, so if you want to read it, you can. Since I wrote that post, as planned I've begun vaccinating Henry slowly and judiciously, so if you're new to the blog and generally restrict your reading to mainstream media, are getting all freaked out that this is some crazy person writing, you can rest assured that he isn't a danger to the larger community.

Anyhoo.

To tell you the truth, I feel like wolfing down both loaves of bread which would probably be considered emotional eating, no? Instead, I am going to contemplate that beautiful shade of green and the creature that lived inside a shell, high on a treetop on a tropical island, slow to respond and basking unaware in its own beauty.

A Latin American Food and Marquez Feast

The photo above does small justice to the array of foods that my dear friend and caregiver to Sophie, Saint Mirtha, made for my inaugural Books & Bakes literary and food salon. Here she is preparing the empanadas, corn tortillas tinged red with paprika, stuffed with beef and potatoes and spices, then fried until crisp:

There were also Colombian arepas, pico de gallo, a brothy, beef soup called estofado de carne, a coconut chicken dish (pollo en salsa de coco), and beans (frijoles rojos Colombianos). We drank margaritas, Chilean white and red wine and finished with a Chocolate Red Wine cake -- a recipe that inspired me to pick Strange Pilgrims by Gabriel Garcia Marquez as my first Books & Bakes discussion. If you've never visited Cara Nicoletti's blog Yummy Books, please do. She's a young kick-ass butcher, writer and cook with what looks to be an amazing book coming out next summer.

Marquez' book of short stories, Strange Pilgrims, inspired a great discussion. The people who attended were really engaged, and whether they liked the book or not, had so many interesting thoughts and reactions. We all marveled over the language of the short stories, the humor in them, and above all, the seamless way Marquez moved from tight and journalistic prose into the flights of imagination that mark his mastery of magical realism. I learned so much from others' commentary and believe I managed to facilitate the discussion quite well. I have a second group of people coming in two weeks, and then Books & Bakes is on to another book, The Book of Salt by Monique Truong.*

* I have some open spots for February 13th or 27th, so if you're in the area and are interested, please email me to reserve one at elsophieATgmailDOTcom.

Reuben Casserole and Yeats

Misery doesn't always reign over here at a moon, worn as if it had been a shell. Since I just had to type out that ridiculous title to this blog, I think I should apprise those of you who are new readers why it's so unwieldy. Then I'll tell ya'll about the titular Reuben Casserole. When I started this blog almost exactly six years ago, I thought it was going to be a little poetry, a little parenting, a little of this and a little of that. I didn't know blogs from War and Peace, so I gave it a line from one of my favorite W.B. Yeats poems. The poem is called Adam's Curse, and I'd venture to say that some of the lines are the most beautiful in the English language, particularly when you say them out loud.

Here, try it:

Adam's Curse

We sat together at one summer’s end,

That beautiful mild woman, your close friend,   

And you and I, and talked of poetry.

I said, ‘A line will take us hours maybe;

Yet if it does not seem a moment’s thought,   

Our stitching and unstitching has been naught.   

Better go down upon your marrow-bones   

And scrub a kitchen pavement, or break stones   

Like an old pauper, in all kinds of weather;   

For to articulate sweet sounds together

Is to work harder than all these, and yet   

Be thought an idler by the noisy set

Of bankers, schoolmasters, and clergymen   

The martyrs call the world.’

                                          And thereupon

That beautiful mild woman for whose sake   

There’s many a one shall find out all heartache   

On finding that her voice is sweet and low   

Replied, ‘To be born woman is to know—

Although they do not talk of it at school—

That we must labour to be beautiful.’

I said, ‘It’s certain there is no fine thing   

Since Adam’s fall but needs much labouring.

There have been lovers who thought love should be   

So much compounded of high courtesy   

That they would sigh and quote with learned looks   

Precedents out of beautiful old books;   

Yet now it seems an idle trade enough.’

We sat grown quiet at the name of love;   

We saw the last embers of daylight die,   

And in the trembling blue-green of the sky   

A moon, worn as if it had been a shell   

Washed by time’s waters as they rose and fell   

About the stars and broke in days and years.

I had a thought for no one’s but your ears:   

That you were beautiful, and that I strove   

To love you in the old high way of love;

That it had all seemed happy, and yet we’d grown   

As weary-hearted as that hollow moon.

Sigh. 

Did you sigh, particularly after that penultimate verse?

Anywho. This casserole is outrageous, especially if you like a reuben. Vegetarians, vegans and bottled Thousand Island dressing haters need read no further.

Ingredients:

1 32 oz. jar of sauerkraut

2 tsp caraway seeds

1 medium onion, diced

1 pound Swiss/Gruyere cheese, grated

3/4 lb. sliced pastrami (or corned beef), cut up roughly

1 giant bottle of Thousand Island dressing (I got Ken's Steakhouse brand under the illusion/delusion that it's less chemical-y than the standard brand) or 2 cups

6 slices of Rye Bread, cut into 1-inch cubes

1/4 cup butter, melted

Preheat oven to 375 degrees.

1. Drain sauerkraut and rinse.

2. In a large bowl, combine sauerkraut, onions, caraway seeds.

3. Spread mixture evenly into the bottom of a casserole dish.

4. Top with half of the cheese, half of the salad dressing and all of the pastrami. Top with the remaining salad dressing and the remaining cheese.

5. In a large bowl toss the bread cubes with the melted butter to coat. Sprinkle bread cubes over casserole.

6. Bake, uncovered, about 35 minutes or until heated through and bread cubes are browned.

Knock yourself out.

Brother "Conversation," No. 457***

The Brothers were instructed to make dinner -- cook the chicken for the tacos and dispense the sides -- salsa, grated cheese, shredded lettuce, refried beans. Oliver is a Master Griller (I'm not joking), and Henry - well -- he always looks glamorous. When faced with the plastic top covering the container of salsa, this conversation ensued. Add in irony and humor, because that was the general tone.

Henry: Mom, how do I open the salsa?

Me: Henry, you get a small knife and pierce through that plastic and then peel it off.

Henry: I'm gonna starve in college, right?

Oliver: Henry, you're so bad in the kitchen.

Henry: Oliver, shut up or I'll kill you.

***The word "conversation" in quotes is intentional.

The Anti-Super Bowl Party

Both my boys are off to a Super Bowl party at a friend's house which lets me off the hook from even listening to it from another room. I just made some lentil soup with kumquats, so I'm inviting you over to have a bowl of soup and some crusty bread. I've got a copy of Fruitvale Station and a Netflix copy of The Intouchables -- take your pick -- and some beer, bourbon or wine to drink. It's a blustery day here in Los Angeles, a tad overcast and temperatures around 60, so when you want to go for a walk, we can do that, too.

Oh, if you're one of those people that enjoy watching the billion dollar industry of violence and brain injury, or claim you love the commercials, and you think I'm just a stuck-up snob eating lentils and kumquats, I've bought some Velveeta, a can of Ro-tel and a bag of tortilla chips and plan to make a bit of that for Sophie and me.

Reader, let me know if you're coming.

So, it's Monday morning, my favorite day of the week, and I've eaten the above digestive biscuits that I made yesterday -- not all of them -- for breakfast with my coffee. It's raining -- raining! raining in May in Los Angeles! -- the boys and Sophie are off to school, and it's a perfect day for an Emily Dickinson poem. This one is a tad obtuse, but if you read it aloud a couple of times, I think it'll make sense.

The Brain

The brain is wider than the sky,
For, put them side by side, 
The one the other will include
With ease, and you beside.

The brain is deeper than the sea,
For, hold them, blue to blue,
The one the other will absorb,
As sponges, buckets do.

The brain is just the weight of God,
For, lift them, pound for pound,
And they will differ, if they do,
As syllable from sound.

Emily Dickinson

Reader, what is your Monday like?

More Valentine's Day

Breakfast

Dinner

During and after the rain

We made cookies and ate them for both breakfast and lunch. We watched True Grit, and I was taken by surprise given all the gun-shooting, western stuff. Can we talk about this movie? I know I'm late to the game, but was that the most incredible and incredibly weird and wonderful stilted and formal writing and speech you've ever heard in a movie? I loved it. Jeff Bridges? I love him. That girl? I loved her. Matt Damon? I loved him and his silly Texas ways. Iris Dement singing at the end? I loved it. That last shot? Gorgeous.

Local Cookbook Signing

I think one of the last independent bookstores in the universe is in my neighborhood, and it's one of my favorite places in Los Angeles. Given my book nerdiness, and the expertise of the men and women who work at Chevalier's, I never leave the place without purchasing one or two or three new books to add to my already groaning shelves. The cookbook section is especially amazing, filled with both the usual bestselling cookbooks and the sublimely esoteric.

If you're in Los Angeles this weekend and next, I want to encourage you to attend two signings of two new and fabulous cookbooks.

The first is called Made in America: Our Best Chefs Reinvent Comfort Food by Lucy Lean. I flipped through it the other day and practically started salivating. A press release says this: as representing the entire United States, chefs have been selected for their accomplishments, talent, and focus on local and sustainable cooking. From Ludo Lefebvre’s Duck-Fat-Fried Chicken with Piquillos Ketchup to Alain Ducasse’s Gratinéed French Onion Soup to Mario Batali’s Pappardelle Bolognese to John Besh’s Jumbo Louisiana Shrimp to April Bloomfield’s Spicy Ginger Whoopie Pies, Made in America showcases our favorite dishes as conceived by our finest chefs.


Lucy will be signing copies of her book at Chevalier's this Sunday, October 9th from 12:00 until 2:00. 

The second book signing that I want to promote at Chevalier's happens on Sunday, October 16th from 10:00 to 11:00 in the morning. The famous chef and baker extraordinaire Nancy Silverton will be signing her new cookbook, The Mozza Cookbook: Recipes from Los Angeles' Favorite Italian Restaurant and Pizzeria. Silverton is the creator of the original La Brea Bakery, and if you've never tried any of her food, you don't know what you're missing!




I urge any of you Angelenos who are around this Sunday or next to come out and support Chevalier's Books and these superlative cookbooks. You can grab a coffee on Larchmont, go to the wonderful farmer's market and stop by Chevalier's to get a great gift for yourself or friends. When you cook from the books, you'll be supporting independent bookstores, too!