Making Do on Turkey Day

I spent the day before Thanksgiving pretty much in a funk. With no family coming for the holiday, and no invitation to join others, I was wallowing in self-pity. Around mid-afternoon I decided to take control of things and plunged head-long into the maelstrom of supermarket shoppers to buy me a Thanksgiving dinner, by god.

The parking lot was choked with the stressed, the rushed, and the pissed off, all vying for limited parking spaces. Inside, every cart was loaded with enough ingredients to cook for several neighborhoods. Not me. I was into short cuts. No fun cooking from scratch for myself, I decided, so I grabbed the very last cooked turkey breast in the warming drawer and headed to the deli counter for cranberry sauce, the packaged goods aisle for stuffing-in-a-box and an envelope of generic and tasteless brown gravy mix. Next, the freezer section for a frozen pumpkin pie. The only concession I made for fresh food was one sweet potato. Done!

Thanksgiving dawned warm and sunny, and after dawdling on the patio with the morning paper and a cup of coffee, I assembled the ingredients for my feast-for-one to decide my "cooking" strategy. It was so simple: everything could go into a 350 degree oven starting with the frozen pie which required a couple of hours of cooling time, followed by the potato, the stuffing and, finally the turkey breast which just needed warming up.

In the end, I think it was about creating the aromas and sounds of Thanksgiving that I craved: the savory stuffing browning off in the oven and a football game on the TV in the background. I also realized that I had been true to the traditions I had been brought up with -- a meal that tasted like home and was surprisingly good. Minus my mother's green bean, mushroom soup and fried onion casserole. I just couldn't do it.

An English Tea Room in an Unlikely Place

Ojai, California isn't a place where you'd expect to find an English tea room, but then again Ojai is full of things you wouldn't expect to find in most small towns. The Plaza Pantry has been a fixture here for decades and it's where ex-pat Brits go to get their fix of biscuits, shortbread, Heinz beans, PG Tips and of course to enjoy an afternoon cuppa with scones. And it's where I found the elusive British ingredients I needed for the Yorkshire Parkin I made recently.

As I was packing up jars of Devonshire cream and orange marmalade and tins of Lyle's treacle, I lamented to owner Beryl how much I missed Cornish cream teas. With that, she handed me a flyer announcing her monthly "English Afternoon Tea" and I immediately made myself a reservation.

When I arrived for the event, I sat down next to a chirpy table of ladies who were members of the Daughters of the British Empire, an American society of women of British or Commonwealth heritage. There are dozens of chapters in California, but this group's members were from Ventura and Santa Barbara counties. Broad English accents mixed with flat American twangs in a happy cacophony of conversation and bonhomie. I shared my table with a lovely couple from Wales who had just moved to Ojai to be closer to their children and grandchildren. We shared stories of traveling in the U.K., and talked about the different ways afternoon teas are served in Britain and in the U.S. We talked about English weather versus California weather. And we discussed the latest scandals shaking each country.

Our table was decked out with typical floral-patterned china, and tea came in a cozy-covered pot. A selection of small tea sandwiches arrived: tomato, cucumber and egg, along with little sausage rolls. Next, fresh scones were served. As teas go, this one was quite authentic, although we were surprised to find our scones buttered, which isn't customary and certainly wasn't necessary since we were adding jam and clotted cream to the warm scones anyway.

 
The final course was a lovely Victoria sponge with the traditional layer of jam in the center and a dusting of powdered sugar. It was delicious, although by then I was so full I couldn't finish but half of it. I'm thinking of making a Victoria sponge when my family comes for Christmas, but I wouldn't serve it for afternoon tea; they wouldn't sit still for it. I'd serve it after dinner, perhaps embellished with fresh berries and a dollop of whipped cream.

I'm sure this is exactly how authentic regional recipes get adulterated when they migrate to new locations. People do that too. They leave one place and go to another and they change and become someone new. I tried to imagine my grandfather who left England for America in 1879, leaving behind his family, his village and foods that were familiar to him. I wondered if he missed afternoon tea with scones and Victoria sponge. It was a tradition that would have been hard to replicate in the ramshackle mining towns of California. I can only hope that some kind English lady opened up a tea room for all those homesick blokes who would have enjoyed a little bit of home in the most unlikely of places.

This One's For You, Guy Fawkes

I spent the month of September in England on a family history research trip, specifically in Cornwall in the southwest where my father’s ancestors lived. But I also have roots in the northern county of Lancashire where my maternal ancestors once lived, and still do. And that’s where Jenny comes in. I discovered Jenny on Ancestry.com and it turns out that we share great, great, great, grandparents and she is my fourth cousin.

Thanks to Jenny’s parents (her mother Gillian is my third cousin once removed) who invited me to their home in Devon, I got a chance to meet Jenny in person after corresponding with her via email for almost two years. The occasion (as if we needed any other reason to meet!) was a family birthday and Jenny was serving a dinner of traditional British dishes: cottage pie and Parkin, a rich and dense gingerbread kind of cake that I think the English would call a “sticky pudding.” Whatever you call it, Parkin is delicious and as an added bonus it has an historic pedigree.

The recipe has been around for ages and although it originated with working class families in Yorkshire during the Industrial Revolution, today it is enjoyed everywhere in England, including Lancashire. “It’s something our ancestors would have eaten,” Jenny assured me. And with that, I immediately felt connected to all our shared family members who went before us through the ages. It is traditionally served on Bonfire Night, which is November 5^th, a night that has been commemorated in England since 1605. That was the night that 17^th century scoundrel, Guy Fawkes, was executed for treason for his part in the Gunpowder Plot, the failed attempt to assassinate King James I.

Jenny very kindly sent me home with a copy of her recipe and I made up my mind to bake a Parkin on Bonfire Night, even though by then I would be back home in California where bonfires are forbidden. Little did I know the extent of the battle that was about to begin. First of all, Jenny’s recipe is stated in metric and Imperial units, and call me naïve, but I was confident I could simply do the arithmetic to convert grams and and milliliters into cups. I went online looking for conversion charts and adapted recipes, but the more I learned the more I understood that volume and weight are not the same thing. I then turned to my brilliant British pal Katrina who worked on converting the recipe, but finally advised me to use a kitchen scale calibrated to make accurate conversions. That’s when I gave in and bought a digital scale that shows tare weight in grams.

Next, I tackled the ingredients that called for items not available in the U.S., like golden syrup and treacle. I was ready to make do with light and dark corn syrup when I ventured into a local shop run by a lovely British lady who pointed out her small collection of imported British products, and there they were: authentic golden syrup (much darker and richer than that thin, watery Karo syrup I thought would do), and jars of double cream that I knew would be the perfect topping for my finished Parkin. For treacle, I substituted dark molasses, which worked well enough.

So after almost a month of trying to decipher this recipe and gathering the right equipment and authentic ingredients, I was ready to start baking. That’s when an email from Jenny arrived, encouraging me to remember my British relatives on Bonfire Night. And along with it, the taunting photo of a perfectly beautiful Parkin that had just been baked by her 9-year-old son Rory! My determination surged to new heights. If a small boy can make a Parkin, then by golly so can I! And so today, November 5^th, I baked a Yorkshire Parkin. Tonight when I tuck into it, there will be no bonfire and no party. Just a warm connection to my heritage and my English family with every gooey bite.

 Baked Parkin (in U.S. measurements)

1 ¼  Cups self-rising flour

Pinch of salt

3 Tablespoons ground ginger

2 Teaspoons nutmeg

1 Teaspoon mixed spice (I used pumpkin pie spice)

1 Cup oat flakes (I used Coach’s Oats)

¾ Cup golden syrup (Lyle’s is best, if you can find it)

¼ Cup black treacle (I used molasses)

1 Stick + 3 tablespoons unsalted butter

¾ Cup dark brown sugar

2 Medium eggs, beaten

1 Tablespoon milk

Pre-heat the oven to 275 F. Butter an 8-inch square baking pan and line with parchment paper.

Sieve the flour, salt, ginger, nutmeg and pumpkin pie spice together into a large bowl. Mix in the oats.

Place the golden syrup, molasses, butter and brown sugar in a small saucepan and melt over low heat, but do not boil. Stir into the flour mixture.

Mix the beaten egg and milk to a soft, pourable consistency. Mix into the flour/syrup mixture, and pour all into the buttered baking pan. Bake for 1-1 ½ hours until firm in the center. A toothpick inserted in the middle should come out clean. Remove from the oven and leave to cool in the baking pan for 5-10 minutes before turning out.

British cooks insist that Parkin in best eaten after it’s been wrapped and stored for a minimum of one day, and preferably more, before slicing into squares. Parkin can be served with ice cream, a seasonal fruit compote, or a generous glob of whipped cream.

Preserved Lemons, If You Can Believe That.

I can't imagine how I got fixated on preserved lemons....oh, wait, yes I can. I can blame it on Bryn. She and Doug were showing off some of their flea market finds for the kitchen, including an impressive collection of vintage decorative serving plates that they use daily for fresh fruits and vegetables, cheese and crackers, and just about anything that could benefit from a burst of color and style. As it turns out, Doug has developed quite an eye for unusual mid-century items and as a result their dinner table has become quite the visual feast, the perfect setting to showcase Bryn's prowess in the kitchen.

While surveying their kitchen shelves, my eye landed on a colorful Moroccan tagine, a cooking vessel I've never owned or used. But its graceful lines and indisputable practicality have always intrigued me.

This is a typical North African tagine with a domed lid. I like Bryn and Doug's better

because their tagine has a lid that is shaped like the Eiffel Tower.

The tagine was another of their second-hand store scores, but Bryn confessed she'd never tried using it. In a burst of enthusiasm, I suggested she and I find a recipe we could throw into the tagine for a fun dinner that night. After scouring the Internet, Bryn announced that we'd need preserved lemons in order to keep any recipe authentic, and that preserving lemons took 3-4 weeks, time we didn't have. In the back of my mind, I vowed that when I got back to California, I'd take advantage of my back yard lemon tree to try a batch of preserved lemons.

Preserved lemons, or citrons confits, are a staple of Moroccan cooking and Arab dishes to enhance anything cooked in a tagine: lamb, salmon, chicken, and all kinds of cooked vegetables. The experts highly recommend using Meyer lemons for their milder flavor and fragrant skins, which is lucky for me because my Meyer lemon tree produces more fruit than I could ever use.

I adapted this recipe to accommodate two 1-quart jars that I wanted to fill. Lemons vary is size but you can figure on needing at least 4 Meyer lemons plus the juice from 3 additional lemons for each quart-sized jar. I also opted to add some spices to the mixture.

Preserved Lemons

Wash and scald two clear 1-quart Mason jars. Also sterilize the lids and bands. Set aside to dry.

14 Meyer lemons, 8 will go into the jars, plus 6 more for squeezing. Use only unsprayed lemons!
Salt. Sea salt or Kosher salt is best.
2 Cinnamon sticks, 1 for each jar.
6-8 Whole cloves, 3-4 for each jar.
12 Coriander seeds, 6 for each jar.
8 Black peppercorns, 4 for each jar.
2 Bay leaves, 1 for each jar.

Scrub the lemons lightly with a vegetable brush and set aside to dry. Trim off the pointed ends, and cut lengthwise down through each of 8 lemons, stopping about a half-inch from the bottom. Turn the lemons and make a similar cut so that each lemon is almost cut into quarters but not into 4 pieces. Opening the lemon like a flower, pack each lemon with about 1 tablespoon of salt so the exposed flesh is thoroughly coated with salt.

Put 1-2 tablespoons of salt in the bottom of each quart jar. Start adding the cut and salted lemons into the jars, jamming each lemon down hard to extract the juices. With each added lemon, press down hard to release as much juice as you can. Add the spices to each jar. If you need more juice, squeeze the additional unsalted lemons to bring the juice level up to about 1/2-inch from the top of the jar. Do not use commercial lemon juice; it isn't the same as fresh lemon juice.

Seal each jar and set aside for about a month. Every day, turn the jars to re-distribute the juice and spices. After 4 weeks, the lemons should be soft and ready to use. These can be stored in the refrigerator for at least 6 months. Before using, remove the lemon from the jar with a sterile utensil (not your hands) and rinse to remove the excess salt. Scrape off the pulp and slice the peels into thin strips or dice.

Makes 2 quarts, which should be enough for numerous recipes. I'm told that diced preserved lemons are wonderful stirred into cooked green beans or carrots, spread over roasted squash, or mashed and mixed into softened butter and fresh herbs to flavor grilled fish. Personally, I'm dreaming about salmon or lamb braised with preserved lemon strips.

This batch will be ready for use when Bryn and Doug get here for the holidays. I think a chicken braised in a tagine with preserved lemons would be the perfect family dinner. I hope she's up for it because I'm all set to be her sous chef. Now that I've gotten the key ingredient down pat, all that needs followup reporting is the dinner itself. Stay tuned.

Cold Cucumber-Yogurt Soup

When I was in Boston last week, my favorite Bostonians and I made our way to a sidewalk cafe for a late afternoon cocktail. Feeling a bit peckish after a day on the water, we ordered an assortment of dishes to accompany our drinks and in the end, as it always happens, we had noshed enough to call it dinner. Each of us ordered something different so we could taste everything on the table: Creole fries with a garlic aioli, Thai shrimp tacos, focaccia with a white bean dip and a fresh peach cake for dessert.

I was intrigued by a cold soup on the menu that combined garden cucumbers and yogurt garnished with heirloom tomatoes and chives. It did not disappoint. Back in California, I vowed to recreate it without a recipe, and the result was pretty much on the money. There are many variations on this recipe; adding garlic, mint or dill would change it a bit, so experiment with abandon.

Cold Cumber-Yogurt Soup

2 English cucumbers, each about 12 inches long
2 Cups plain yogurt
1 Tablespoon honey, softened
1-2 Teaspoons salt, or to taste
2-3 Heirloom cherry tomatoes
Chives or scallions, chopped fine
Basil-flavored olive oil

Peel and seed the cukes, and chop into one-inch chunks. You should end up with about 2-1/2 cups of chopped cukes. Place in the food processor and combine with the yogurt, the honey and the salt. Process by pulsing to preserve some of the crunchy texture of the cucumbers; don't over-process into a puree. You should end up with about 3 cups of soup. Chill until ready to serve.

Just before serving, slice the tomatoes in half if they are quite small, otherwise quarter larger tomatoes into wedges. season them lightly with salt and freshly ground pepper. Chop the chives very finely for garnish and set aside.

Ladle into soup bowls and place the tomatoes in a decorative pattern on top of the soup. Garnish with the chives. Using a small spoon, drizzle the basil oil over all.

If you are a home gardener with more cucumbers than you know what to do with, this is one recipe that will come to your rescue. Try serving the cold soup in martini glasses garnished with a very small wedge of tomato for an elegant appetizer, or in soup bowls for a refreshing first course.

Serves 4.

Home-Brewed, Cold Pressed Iced Coffee

When I first arrived in Maine where I lived for a few years, one of the cultural oddities that caught my immediate attention was the affection Mainers have for coffee. Not that the rest of the country isn't just as fanatic about scoring a caffeine boost during the day, but this was different. Mainers are nuts about Dunkin' Donuts coffee. I swear there's a Dunkin' Donuts on every corner. The line at the drive-through window every morning was huge, and everyone showed up at their workplace toting a large cup of hot Dunkin' Donuts coffee.

In the summer the pattern shifted ever so slightly. The line at the drive-through window was just as long, but -- starting in May -- the beverage of choice was iced coffee. I mean huge containers of brain-freeze cold coffee enriched with lots of cream and sugar. For a girl used to one small steaming cup of joe in the morning, this hardly seemed civilized. Don't get me wrong. I adore iced coffee in the summer, but it's strictly reserved for an afternoon pick-me-up or as dessert after lunch, never first thing in the morning.

So now I'm living in California and the nearest Dunkin' Donuts to me is in Iowa. I could toss my hat in the ring and apply to be a new franchisee in Arizona which is a little closer, or I could look for a pound of DD coffee in the nearest Safeway. Mainers will call it heresy, but I prefer to start from scratch with a better quality coffee.

Recently, I perfected a way to have my sweet summer coffee and eliminate the caffeine that can ruin a perfectly good night's sleep.  Cold pressed coffee is much lower in acid than hot-brewed coffee, so it tastes smoother. I purchased a cold press coffee maker, experimented with a few trial runs and I think I've got this just right.

The first step is to buy a pound of good quality, coarse-ground decaf coffee (it has to be coarse), fill the coffee maker with cold water and stir the grounds into the water. It will look very sludgy. Don't despair; the best is yet to come.

Cover the mixture and refrigerate over night. The next day, using the plunger, gently press the grounds to the bottom of the container, then strain the brew through a paper coffee filter into a pitcher. Tuck the coffee filter into a wire strainer. You'll be surprised how much fine residue is removed from the blend by this extra step.

The clarified coffee is ready to use. Cover the pitcher with plastic wrap and keep the unused portion refrigerated for up to 5 days. Pour the coffee over ice cubes in a tall glass. I sweeten the coffee with simple syrup that I make ahead of time and keep in the refrigerator (it lasts for weeks), plus some half-n-half. Pure nectar on a hot summer afternoon.

My Bodum coffee press holds 6 cups of water and I use 1 1/3 cups of coffee which makes a medium-strong blend. If you are using a different sized container, this is a 4.5 to 1 ratio of water to coffee.

That's the Rub

I'm always on the prowl for ways to use the ground sumac spice I wrote about not long ago. It's not a staple in most American kitchens; it's used rampantly in Middle Eastern cooking and so it wasn't surprising that when I discovered a recipe for lamb kebobs, ground sumac was a key ingredient.

This is a very versatile rub and works nicely on beef or chicken kebobs, although there's nothing better than ground lamb balls and vegetables on a skewer grilled on the barbecue.

1/4 Cup chopped fresh thyme leaves
2 Tablespoons fresh oregano leaves
1 Tablespoon sesame seeds
1 Tablespoon ground sumac
1/2 Teaspoon kosher salt or fleur de sel

1/2-3/4 pounds ground lamb
1/2 pound baby zucchini, patty pan, or yellow squash
1 Red pepper
Extra virgin olive oil

Make the rub by combining all the dry ingredients and mix together. Blend half of the rub with the ground lamb and shape into 9-10 balls. Cut vegetables roughly the same size as the meatballs, brush with olive oil, and sprinkle remaining rub on the vegetables. Thread the meatballs and the vegetables onto skewers. Grill over medium heat about 8 minutes, turning carefully to brown all sides. Serve with rice or triangles of pita bread that have been warmed on the grill.

Patio Dining: Grilled Chicken and Spinach Salad

My friend Judy talked me into it. She had been planning an excursion to Costco to load up on victuals for the holidays. We both live alone, so bulk buying really doesn’t make sense for either of us, but we each had our families coming for an extended visit and the larders were bare. I don’t have a Costco membership and it had been easily 15 years since I’d set foot into a big box with food, so I went as her “guest.” After carefully strategizing the exact day and hour that seemed the optimal time for tackling the crowds, off we went on the 20-mile trek to Consumer Mecca to discover what we couldn’t live without.

I was fascinated with how the products were displayed, the variety of goods and the surprising high-end selection of many of the items. There were a number of organic and healthy choices. I examined lots of ethnic foods, prepared platters that only need to have the wrapping removed before serving, and tons of fresh fruits and vegetables. No doubt about it, times had changed from the Costco I knew years ago.

One of the items I picked up was a jar of smoked paprika. But like so many of Costco’s products, it was an outrageously large quantity. At 8½ ounces, it was easily three times as large as any container of spice I usually buy. I looked at that jar and figured I would never live long enough to use it up before its natural shelf life expired. So we agreed to split it after we got it home.

That buying spree took place six months ago, and I am still in possession of way too much smoked paprika.  I’ve sprinkled it on grilled chicken and substituted it for plain paprika in several recipes, but I don’t think I’ve made a dent in the quantity that’s still left. So I was delighted to find a recipe in the new issue of Sunset magazine that called for more than a dusting of the stuff.

I wanted to share the recipe with Judy, my co-conspirator on the Costco excursion, but she was out of town, so I asked my neighbor Jo Ann to join me for a grilled salad on the patio. Because so much of the preparation can be done ahead of time, and assuming you can grill and chat at the same time, this recipe gives the cook plenty of time to visit with guests. That was important to me because I don’t see Jo Ann often enough and she’s great company.

 Grilled Chicken and Spinach Salad with Smoked Paprika Dressing

½ Cup extra-virgin olive oil

¼ Cup sherry vinegar

1 Shallot, minced

4 Teaspoons smoked paprika

1 Teaspoon kosher salt

1 Teaspoon dried oregano leaves

½ Teaspoon fresh pepper

2 Chicken breast halves, boneless and skinless

1 Ear of corn, husks and silks removed and left on the cob

2 Portabella mushrooms, stems removed

5 Ounces of lightly packed baby spinach (or a generous handful of spinach leaves per person)

2 Scallions cut into 2-inch slivers

Whisk the oil, vinegar, shallot, paprika, oregano, and salt and pepper in a medium bowl. Set aside ½ cup of the dressing and put in the refrigerator to chill. Add chicken to the remaining dressing, turn to coat and chill, covered, for at least 1½ hours or overnight. Let chicken and reserved dressing come to room temperature before serving, about 30 minutes.

Heat the grill to medium-high. Remove the chicken from the marinade and transfer to a plate. Add corn and mushrooms to the marinade and brush to coat. Grill the corn, mushrooms and chicken until the vegetables are just browned and the chicken is no longer pink in the center (about 12-18 minutes for the chicken, 3-4 minutes longer for the corn.) Transfer to a cutting board as they are done.

Cut the warm corn kernels off the cobs into a large bowl. Cut the chicken and mushrooms into strips, and then add to the bowl along with the spinach, scallions and reserved dressing. Toss to coat. Adjust seasoning if necessary.

California Citrus Martinis

There are times in life when nothing else will do but a really good martini. A celebratory dinner. Girls’ night out. A promising date. A reunion with a much-loved friend. The latter was the impetus for a recent exploration of martinis made with local ingredients, so just before my pal Karen came to visit from Maine, I made a batch of simple syrup, picked an armload of blood oranges from the tree in the garden, and put a bottle of vodka in the freezer.

Depending on what’s available, you can make martinis with any kind of citrus that is in season. I figure I’m in good shape because I can select from blood oranges, Valencia oranges, tangerines or Meyer lemons -- all of which are abundant where I live from early spring to summer. All I have to do is pick what's ripe.

Karen was enchanted with blood oranges so that’s what we used for our martinis, and after five or six nights of experimenting, we agreed that we’d perfected the recipe. After exchanging congratulatory toasts, down the hatch they went. We wanted to test our recipe on another discriminating palate, so we asked Sonia to join us one evening. While I squeezed, mixed and shook, Karen and Sonia arranged a platter of cheese and crackers. We raised our glasses, toasted our good fortune and Sonia declared the recipe a winner. Now we'd like to share it with you.

California Citrus Martini

¾ - 1 Cup of fresh squeezed citrus juice

2 Jiggers vodka (I prefer Grey Goose Citron)

1-2 Tablespoons simple syrup, depending on the sweetness or tartness of the citrus

Fill a martini shaker about half full with ice cubes. Pour the juice, the vodka and the simple syrup over the ice cubes. With the cap securely fitted on the shaker, shake a few times to blend the liquids (but not longer than about 30 seconds), and decant into chilled martini glasses. This recipe serves two, but my martini glasses are on the small side, so I usually have a little bit left over for topping off each glass after the first few sips.

If you decide to make a Lemon Drop Martini, remember that lemon juice can be too tart to drink unless you start with Meyer lemons which are milder. I like to add a half-ounce of triple sec along with the lemon juice and the syrup to the shaker, then rub the rim of the martini glass with a strip of lemon rind to moisten it and dip the glass in superfine sugar. It takes the sting out of a too-sour lemon.

All martini recipes can be fairly flexible, so experiment a bit to see what is the best combination for you. This gives you an excuse to whip up a batch of martinis night after night until you get it just right. That’s what Karen and I did.

Cheers!

Chives: A Tonic for the Sagging Spirit and Most Recipes

Rounding the bend in the garden the other day, I cheered out loud when I discovered a chive plant thriving in a neglected corner. How it survived this winter's vigorous pruning activity that brought in a horde of tree trimmers who trampled every inch of the garden, I'll ever know. But there it was, no worse for the wear, its cheery purple heads bobbing in the warm spring air.

The smallest of the edible onion family, allium schoenoprasum is a cousin to the garlic, leek and shallot. They are grown mainly for their leaves that have a mild onion-y, garlicky flavor, but the flowers are edible too, either chopped up or served whole as a dramatic garnish.

Traditional Chinese medicine holds that chives restore the energy balance in a body worn down by winter. I'm sure it's true: There's nothing more revitalizing to the spirit than discovering a bunch of chives in the spring garden.

Chives are an easy-to-grow perennial in pots, or in the herb garden either as individual plants or in large clumps. You can keep the season going right up to the first frost by cutting the leaves down to about 2 inches above the ground which encourages new growth. It's best to harvest chives when the leaves are young, as they start to get chewy and fibrous as they age. And don't wash the leaves until you're ready to use them because prolonged moisture will cause decay.

In the kitchen, I love chopped chives on a baked potato, a plate of scrambled eggs, or mixed in with risotto. It's mild enough to serve with fish without overwhelming the fish. I like to mix chives into egg salad, tuna salad or chicken salad for a little extra flavor. I make an herb butter that is terrific slathered over corn on the cob, or simply smeared on French bread. Another favorite: a summer fruit and lettuce salad dressed with a light vinaigrette and minced chives.

Here's a really simple recipe for a dip that is divine with grilled lamb chops or lamb burgers.

Green Goddess Dip with Chives

3/4 Cup sour cream
3/4 Cup mayonnaise
2 Cloves garlic, mashed
1/4 Cup fresh parsley leaves
2 Teaspoons fresh tarragon, chopped
1 Tablespoon lemon juice
2 Anchovy fillets
1/4 Cup fresh chives, minced
Salt and ground pepper to taste

Toss the first seven ingredients into a blender (save the chives and salt & pepper for adding later). Transfer to a bowl and gently stir in the minced chives. Season with salt and pepper. Chill in the refrigerator at least an hour before serving to marry the flavors.

While we're at it, here's a wonderful dip that's great with raw veggies, crackers or pita chips.

Feta Dip with Chives

3/4 Cup Greek yogurt
1/2 Cup crumbled feta cheese
1 15-ounce can cannellini beans, drained and rinsed
1-2 Cloves garlic, depending on the size of the cloves
1 Tablespoon lemon juice
2 Tablespoons each: chopped fresh parsley, chopped fresh dill, chopped fresh chives and chopped fresh mint
1 Teaspoon fresh ground pepper

Put the first five ingredients in the food processor or blender (save the herbs and pepper for adding after). Blend until smooth. Now add the herbs and ground pepper and pulse gently until they are combined. Transfer to a serving bowl and chill overnight. The flavors will fully develop and the dip will thicken to a nice consistency.

Pandemonium on the Patio

It's as effective as an alarm clock: early every morning I am awakened by a cacophony of bird song right outside my bedroom window. High-pitched and shrill, and way too happy for the hour, the birds are already in full working mode, darting back and forth all the while chirping at each other with earnestness and purpose.

They're back. Late April every year dozens of common house finches take over the back yard, and every year a nesting pair sets up household on the patio. I'm convinced it's the same pair because after several days of exploring all the nooks and crannies, they inevitably return to their favorite spot -- the top ledge of the outdoor speakers in the corner.

I've been watching for the past week as they built their nest with small twigs and a wad of fluff for cushioning. At the kitchen window I keep my binoculars at the ready and follow the busyness throughout the day. Building the nest has been a two-bird job, both male and female adding small sticks and tucking them one by one into the framework. But the nest is now complete, and their shared construction job has given way to new roles. The female has taken over the nest, while the male visits often, staying just long enough to evaluate the situation then dart off again to do who knows what.

The female spends a great deal of time chirping out towards the yard seemingly to no one in particular, although when I listen carefully I can detect her mate's response. What is she saying? Is she going over the shopping list for her guy? Calling for room service?

Other times, she sits quietly without moving a feather for long periods of time. Is she contemplating motherhood?

My own activity in the kitchen annoys her. When I do dishes in the sink or open the window, she sits up higher in the nest, readying herself for flight. But it's when I open the patio door that she reaches her limit of patience, flying off and leaving the nest unprotected (although I'm sure she's watching my every move from a nearby tree). I wish she understood that I'm not a predator. As soon as the eggs are laid, both parents will have to fend off blue jays looking for easy pickings. I always dread finding a small crushed egg on the patio, knowing that a jay has finally scored a tasty meal.

By mid-May, a new set of voices will be added to the mix as the chicks hatch and start their endless demand for food. Both mother and father will spend every daylight hour foraging for their youngsters.

And then, almost as quickly as it all started, it will be over. The chicks will fledge and abandon the nest along with their parents. The patio will get quiet again, and I will be able to re-claim my lounge chair where I can read the newspaper in peace without disturbing my little avian family. But I will miss the cacophony -- even at the crack of dawn -- and the dedicated purpose with which nature's creatures live their lives.

Blossoms

Early this morning I took my tea out to the garden to have a look. The grass was dewy, the light was soft, and the sweet fragrance in the air was exhilarating. It seemed like everything was in bloom -- the fruit trees, the citrus trees, the roses, and the wisteria covering the pergola and the arbor. Not much to say here except admire the beauty.

 Beverly Hills Apple: deep pink buds open to reveal pale pink petals.

Blood Orange: creamy white from bud to blossom.

Meyer Lemon: fuscia buds open to white petals.

Wisteria: deep purple from bud to blossom in grape-like clusters.

Margaret Merril: a beautiful old-fashioned peachy-white floribunda rose with a 

luscious fragrance that blooms all season long.

Comfort Food, Part Deux: Chicken & Dumplings

The girls were planning another midweek get-together, something we'd all looked forward to before our pal Katrina returns to England. Since the weather forecast was for wind and some late season rain and I was in the mood -- again -- for comfort food, I volunteered to bring the main course: savory chicken and dumplings. I had made this dish a few times before, but had always served it straight from the stove, right after the dumplings were done. I wasn't sure how to the timing would work after pre-cooking it at home, cooling the pot before lugging it to a friend's house, then waiting for cocktails to be consumed before re-heating and serving to the ladies. I found out.

 After the chicken is browned, add the vegetables and herbs.

This is a very fragrant dish to cook. My kitchen was redolent with rosemary and thyme, freshly plucked from the garden. It started out beautifully: nicely browned chicken and colorful vegetables, but by the time it was served (almost 4 hours later), it had become a colorless blob. A couple of the ladies volunteered that they had never eaten chicken and dumplings before ("It's a Southern dish, isn't it?") and I hope they will not judge the dish by the way it was looked last night.

Here's the process. I've divided the ingredients into groups, according to each step.

Chicken & Dumplings

6-8 chicken thighs, boneless and skinless
2-3 Tablespoons extra virgin olive oil
1/4 cup all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon fresh black pepper
1 teaspoon paprika

1 large onion, chopped
2 large carrots, chopped or 1+ cups packaged baby carrots
3 stalks celery, chopped
3 large cloves garlic, chop fine
1 Tablespoon fresh parsley, minced
2 Tablespoons fresh thyme, minced
3 Tablespoons fresh rosemary, minced

1 cup dry white wine
2 cups chicken stock

Heat the oil until very hot, but not smoking, in a large stockpot -- wide, not deep. Toss the chicken pieces together in a plastic bag with the flour, salt and pepper, and paprika until the chicken is well coated. Place the thighs in the hot oil and brown on both sides. If the pot won't hold all the chicken pieces at one time, brown them in batches, setting aside the finished pieces while you add new pieces. Add the onions, carrots, celery, garlic and herbs and cook for about 10-12 minutes until the onions become translucent. Add the wine and stock and bring to a boil, reduce the heat and simmer, covered, for about an hour until the chicken is tender.

Meanwhile, make the dumplings.

1/4 cup shortening (like Crisco)
1-1/2 cups all-purpose flour
1/2 cup yellow cornmeal (keeps the dumplings from getting too doughy)
1/2 teaspoon salt
3 teaspoons baking powder
2 Tablespoons fresh parsley, minced
3/4 cup milk

Mix the dry ingredients together with the parsley in a large bowl. Cut in the shortening. Make a well in the center of the flour mixture and add the milk. Mix lightly until the milk is incorporated. No need to handle the dough and roll into little balls. Just use a teaspoon, and drop 1-inch globs of dough on top of the simmering chicken. Cover and cook 10 minutes until the dumplings have expanded and become fluffy. Do not stir and do not lift the lid: the dumplings need the steam to cook properly.

This served the five of us, with plenty of leftovers.

 Dumplings steaming in the pot with the cooked chicken.

While some cooks like to pull apart the cooked chicken into lots of smaller bite-sized pieces, I like to keep the chicken thighs whole. That way, the rich brown coating adds to the visual appeal. I also think that one dumpling per serving is sufficient and looks better than a bowlful of dumplings hiding the chicken and veggies underneath.

In the end, my lovely chicken and dumplings were woefully overcooked by the time we tucked into dinner. I'd be the last one to end any cocktail hour prematurely, but if we'd eaten an hour earlier, I think this time-honored Southern staple would've been better received.

P.S. The wine, asparagus, salad and dessert were great!

Beef Tenderloin

I have a confession to make: I have slighted a friend and I need to come clean.

A dear pal visited me from the East Coast recently. It was a visit that we each had anticipated for a long time, and I put a fair amount of effort into planning an itinerary of things to do and see, and where and what we would eat for dinner. I tried to imagine what she would enjoy most and so our days were filled with a variety of activities. We toured the Ojai Olive Oil Ranch and tasted some marvelous oils and vinegars, and purchased some beautiful soaps and creams. I drove her around our interesting neighborhoods, and spent some time taking in the panoramic views of the Ojai Valley from several vista points. We shopped in the downtown boutiques and looked at some of the beautiful private schools here. We saw a couple of good films. We visited two amazing spas and the magnificent chapel and library at St. Thomas Aquinas College. We shopped at the Farmers' Market and ate at several local restaurants. And every night we made a batch of Blood Orange martinis (which I will share in an upcoming post).

So what went wrong? Well, I tried to plan some good meals at home so we wouldn't have to be in restaurants every night, so before she arrived I cooked some main dishes and put them in the freezer, ready to be reheated whenever we wanted. You'd think it must have been cold and dreary when I started my cooking binge, but it wasn't. The weather was warm and sunny, but I was in the mood for comfort food. I made a ton of chicken and dumplings and we feasted on that for a couple of nights. Thank goodness we both liked it. And I also made a large meatloaf, following the recipe I posted here on March  10. I paired it with mashed potatoes, a salad, and a decent Cabernet. Not bad at all for meatloaf, and, like the chicken and dumplings, we ate meatloaf for a couple of nights, too. But by now I was getting decidedly uncomfortable with the avalanche of comfort food (pun intended).

By the time she left California, I was hankering to cook something more elegant. This weekend, I picked up a beef tenderloin and made myself a lovely dinner, but felt guilty with every bite that Karen hadn't been treated as well. I promise I'll make it for her when she returns.

Beef Tenderloin

1 2-3 pound center cut beef tenderloin, trimmed and tied, at room temperature
1 teaspoon each coarse ground pepper and salt
2 gloves garlic, finely chopped
5-6 rosemary sprigs, about 4 inches long
3 Tablespoons extra virgin olive oil

Heat the oven to 350, and put the oven rack in the middle position.

Pat the tenderloin dry. Coat all sides with salt, pepper and garlic. Tuck the rosemary sprigs under the strings on all sides. Heat the olive oil over high heat until hot but not smoking. Brown the tenderloin on all sides, about 10 minutes total.

Transfer the browned tenderloin to an oven rack fitted over a shallow roasting pan and roast until a meat thermometer inserted 2 inches diagonally into the the center of the meat reaches 120 degrees, about 25-30 minutes. Remove the meat from the oven and transfer to a cutting board and let stand for 15 minutes. The temperature of the meat will rise to 130 degrees. Discard the string and rosemary before slicing.

I served the tenderloin with a simple green salad dressed with balsamic vinegar, oil, garlic and mustard, and a nice Ghost Pines Cabernet from Northern California. A dollop of whole grain mustard from Napa Valley gave the meat a nice zesty accompaniment.

Comfort Food: Meatloaf Done Right

In Ojai, the churches take turns hosting the Family Shelter, providing a good meal and overnight shelter to those without adequate housing. Nightly hot meals, showers and a clean sleeping space, followed by breakfast the next morning, are provided by volunteers from December through March, and this week my church recruited its members to do some cooking. The menu was already set: meatloaf, green beans, mashed potatoes with gravy, rolls and butter, and chocolate cake. It had also already been decreed that everything but the meatloaf would be purchased in bulk from Costco, including instant mashed potatoes and gravy that needed only water added to bring it to life.

Since it's pretty much against my religion to eat canned green beans, or powdered mashed potatoes and gravy, I volunteered to make a meatloaf. I think meat loaf is a wonderful comfort food, bringing back memories of simple suppers around the family table, the house redolent with the smell of it baking in the oven.

But I also have grim memories of my mother lifting that same meatloaf out of the oven in a loaf pan, swimming in a pool of its own juices and fat. Depending on the grade of ground beef used, she could easily drain off close to a cup of greasy stuff, leaving the meatloaf tough and dry.

I knew there must be a better way, and I found it on Cook's Illustrated. In their test kitchen, they found that by baking the meatloaf on a rack over a rimmed baking sheet, all the juices flow away from the loaf, leaving it moist and grease-free.

I've tried this recipe a couple of times, and while it takes quite a bit longer to assemble than the way I was taught, the results are worth it.

Glazed Meatloaf

3 ounces Monterey Jack cheese, grated on small holes of a box grater, or in a grattoir
1 tablespoon unsalted butter
1 medium onion, chopped fine (about 1 cup)
1 celery rib, chopped fine (about 1/2 cup)
1 garlic clove, minced
2 teaspoons minced fresh thyme, or 1 teaspoon dried thyme
1 teaspoon paprika (I used smoked paprika)
1/4 cup tomato juice
1/2 cup chicken broth
2 large eggs
1/2 teaspoon unflavored gelatin (Knox)
1 tablespoon soy sauce
1 teaspoon Dijon mustard
2/3 cup crushed saltines
2 tablespoons minced fresh parsley leaves
3/4 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon ground black pepper
2 pounds lean ground beef (85% lean)

Heat oven to 375. Place oven rack in the middle position. Spread grated cheese on a plate and place in the freezer until ready to use. Prepared baking sheet by cutting heavy duty foil into a 10" x 6" rectangle, and with a metal skewer, poke holes in the foil about 1/2 inch apart. Place pierced foil on a cooling rack fitted into a rimmed baking sheet and spray with non-cooking spray.

Here is the meatloaf hot out of the oven. It was cooked on top of a rectangle of foil 

(pierced with multiple holes for draining and sprayed with Pam) 

which has been positioned on a cooling rack which in turn is placed in a rimmed baking sheet.

Melt butter in a 10-inch skillet over medium-high heat until foaming. Add onion and celery and cook, stirring occasionally until beginning to brown, about 7 minutes. Add garlic, thyme and paprika and cook, stirring until fragrant, about a minute. Reduce heat to low and add the tomato juice. Cook, stirring to scrape up any browned bits from the pan, until thickened, about 1 minute. Set aside to cool.

Whisk the broth and eggs in a large bowl until combined. Sprinkle gelatin over liquid and let stand about 5 minutes. Stir in soy sauce, mustard, saltines, parsley, salt, pepper and the onion mixture. Crumble the frozen cheese into coarse powder (no lumps!) and sprinkle over the mixture. Add the ground beef and mix gently with your hands (I wear clean rubber gloves) until thoroughly combined, about 1 minute. Transfer meat to the foil rectangle and shape into a 10 x 6 oval about 2 inches high. Smooth top and sides with a moistened rubber spatula. Bake at 375 for 55-65 minutes. Remove from oven and turn on the broiler.

While the meatloaf is cooking, make the glaze:

1/2 cup ketchup
1 teaspoon hot pepper sauce
1/2 teaspoon ground coriander
1/4 cup cider vinegar
3 tablespoons packed brown sugar

Combine all five ingredients in a small saucepan. Bring to a simmer and cook, stirring, until thick and syrupy, about 5 minutes. Spread half of the glaze evenly over the cooked meatloaf, using a rubber spatula or the back of a spoon. Place the meatloaf under the broiler until the glaze bubbles and begins to brown, about 5 minutes. Remove meatloaf from the oven and spread evenly with the remaining glaze. Place back under the broiler and cook until glaze is again bubbly and beginning to brown, about 5 minutes more. Let meatloaf cool about 20 minutes before slicing.

French Bread with Garlic-Herb Butter

When I was asked recently to bring some garlic bread to a potluck dinner, I fell immediately back into an old pattern of making a really simple assignment complicated.

I started thinking about a recipe that I’d gotten many years ago from my ex-mother-in-law. She was a marvelous cook, and in an effort to help her rookie-in-the-kitchen daughter-in-law, she gave me a little cookbook, marked up with her tips and advice. The cookbook, entitled “Hummingbirds and Radishes,” was the 1953 edition of the Kenilworth Center of the Infant Welfare Society of Chicago, and had been her go-to resource ever since it was first published. There are about 200 recipes -- some complicated, some very simple -- in this collection, and she had earmarked her favorites.

On page 109, she bookmarked French Bread with Herb Butter, and it’s worth quoting:

There are times when nothing but garlic bread will do – with the meaty casseroles or with any of the Italian things. But for more delicately flavored combinations we prefer our French bread done with herb butter. The possibilities are limited only by the scope of your herb garden or condiment shelf. Here’s one favorite combination. Try this on little three-decker tea sandwiches.

1½ sticks of butter

1 Tablespoon parsley, finely chopped

1 Tablespoon chopped chives or scallions

1 Tablespoon chopped sweet basil

½ Teaspoon lemon juice

1 dash Tabasco sauce

Soften the butter and mix in the herbs and liquids. Slice the bread and butter each slice before heating and serving.

I’ve used this simple recipe many times over the years, and I always get compliments. When I’m feeling very organized, I double the recipe, prepare the bread and freeze the leftovers in small globs to use on vegetables. For the potluck, which had an Italian theme, I mixed in some minced fresh garlic with the herbs and slathered it on a French baguette, and it was very tasty.

But I have never, ever, made tea sandwiches with it, and probably never will even though women must have done that often in 1953. Not this gal.

Jalapeno Poppers

I’ve been pretty much grounded since my surgery, limiting my activity to things like light housework, gentle exercise and way too much staying at home. But I’ve finally started physical therapy and I can feel my energy level coming back. And just in time, because last night was Girls’ Night Out and I wouldn’t have missed it for the world.

The occasion was to visit with a gal-pal who was here from England, so we gathered at the home of mutual friends, each of us bringing something for the meal: salad, garlic bread, pasta with meat sauce, wine and a marvelous orange butter cream cake. All of it was delicious (my appetite is coming back too!), but perhaps the surprise hit of the evening was the appetizer that Helen provided. First, she apologized for having forgotten to add an ingredient (the Parmesan cheese), but after sampling several of them, we all agreed that the final dish was just perfect as it was. We gobbled them up, those not-spicy-at-all jalapenos, and probably would have happily devoured a second platter had we not been called to the table for our feast.

The food and wine was just right and we ooh’ed and ah’ed over every dish and every bottle of wine we opened. The conversation was lively and went on far longer than our hosts probably wanted, but this was a celebration after all. It was a celebration of friendships that have endured and thrived over the years and over the miles.

At the end of the evening, we vowed to do this again and I volunteered my house for the next gathering. I know what I’m going to ask Helen to bring.

Jalapeno Poppers

1 pound lean bulk pork sausage

1 8-ounce package cream cheese, softened

1 cup Parmesan cheese

24 jalapeno chile peppers, about 3 inches long

 Preheat oven to 425 degrees.

Stir-fry the sausage in a skillet over medium high-heat until it is crumbly and evenly browned. Drain off the rendered fat and place the meat in a medium bowl. Mix with the softened cream cheese and Parmesan cheese (if you remember to add it).

Working in a clean sink or basin half-filled with water, and wearing clean rubber gloves, hold the peppers under water and remove the stems and cut in half lengthwise. This keeps the pepper fumes from getting on your skin and into your nose. Remove the seeds with a spoon or melon baller and discard. Do not touch your face or eyes with the gloves! Stuff each pepper half with the sausage-cream cheese-Parmesan mixture, and arrange in a large shallow baking pan. Bake about 20 minutes until the peppers have softened and the filling starts to bubble. Remove the poppers to a serving dish and serve hot.

Adding shredded Parmesan cheese to the sausage-cream cheese mixture probably gives the poppers a richer flavor but won’t be missed if you don’t. Another added fillip is to wrap each stuffed popper with half a slice of bacon that you’ve partially cooked in the microwave until soft, then securing the bacon with a toothpick before you finish them off in the oven. Personally, I think either addition is just gilding the lily, but it’s fun to experiment.

Makes 48 appetizers.